Or Erotica for Easy Chairists...
The whole point, to me anyway, of porn or erotica is to create in the mind a fantasy like state whereby we con ourselves into thinking, however briefly, that we might someday be able to do or see the things listed in the magazines in real life. Naked pictues of beautiful women - I wouldn't mind seeing that for real someday again. Stories of seducing beautiful college girls at the local sorority - yeah, it could happen to me! Honest!
But lately, I've become seduced by another type of erotica, another quality of porn. After a brief foray into my manly mountain man phase of slogging through the mud and grunting and lifting heavy things, I've become convinced that there is a Neanderthal hiding inside my office chair framed body. And this new erotica that I have been seeing and reading has only convinced me that I could let this Neanderthal out and become the kind of person I read about in these fantasies.
Yeah, I'm talking about National Geographic's Adventure Magazine which is hard core adventure porn for pudgy people like myself. When I read about climbing Mt. Everest, or Mt. Kenya, or hiking through Red Rock outside Vegas, or kayaking down an obscure Alaskan river where I won't see anyone for nearly five days, I start to picture myself in such situations and feel my inner Neanderthal crying to be let loose. I want to climb. I want to hike. I want to live for days on nothing but freeze dried pork. I want to haul my tent, kayak, and supplies through mountain terrain and scare off bears with nothing more than a growl and standing tall. I want to stand on top of the world, ice covering my scraggly beard, and text message Andy at the beach thousands of miles away.
Of course, I've got a better shot with those sorority girls, but that's the thing about fantasies. They seem so real... until you drag them out under the inscrutible light of day and you realize that they are merely desires, figments of an overactive imagination.
Not that I'm going to stop reading Adventure magazine, mind you. A little porn is healthy and can spur all sorts of crazy schemes to get a real fix. But, I think I'll keep my caribiner in my pocket for a little while, all the same.
Have a great weekend.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Doll-Housing Crisis Set To Worsen, Mean Older Brother Says
DAYTON, OH — According to 5-year-old Janie Wright's mean older brother, Dave, 8, if unsuitable borrowers Ken and Barbie continue to default on their high-risk subprime mortgages, it could spell the worst doll-housing crisis to hit the plastic couple since someone threw their dream home's roof out a window.
"[Ken and Barbie] were dumb and ugly so now they're going to lose their home and it's going to wind up in the garbage," said the big jerk, who predicted that since the dolls have not made a single payment, he might just have to cut off all of Barbie's hair to sell it for extra money. "Maybe they can move into a shoe box that they barely fit into. But it won't have any windows so they'll suffocate and die."
The nasty older sibling added that since Ken and Barbie never insured the dollhouse, they would have no recourse in the event of fire, flood, or stomping.
Courtesy of The Onion
"[Ken and Barbie] were dumb and ugly so now they're going to lose their home and it's going to wind up in the garbage," said the big jerk, who predicted that since the dolls have not made a single payment, he might just have to cut off all of Barbie's hair to sell it for extra money. "Maybe they can move into a shoe box that they barely fit into. But it won't have any windows so they'll suffocate and die."
The nasty older sibling added that since Ken and Barbie never insured the dollhouse, they would have no recourse in the event of fire, flood, or stomping.
Courtesy of The Onion
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Weekend Warriors of God
For five days last week, I had an amazing, arduous, and elevating experience at a small Christian camp about two hours from San Francisco. Westminster Woods is the closest camp to San Francisco that serves kids in the usual functions of a Christian camp. Winter retreats and summer camp activities have been a staple of Christian youth in this area for some forty plus years now. Last June I received a letter from them explaining that they were planning on building a new playground structure at their camp and they needed volunteers to help build it. I thought through my time committments and realized that I would, indeed, be able to attend. And so, I strapped on the weekend armor of God and drove on up.
I missed the kick off by about an hour because of traffic and the need to get some sleep after class the night before. But when I arrived, I immediately put on my heavy duty boots and waded right in. At first, being an unskilled laborer, I was asked to help carry 2 x 4's from a prep area to a routing area where the boards were going to be beveled on all edges. I did that for about thirty minutes or so before one of the sub-foremen, Gary, snagged me away to help him cut boards with the straight saws. We were only at that for about a half hour or so before the big boss, Mike, came over and "borrowed" us to help load heavy 6 x 6 timbers into place around the playground site. These 6 x 6's would form the supports for the entire playground. Our "short" stint with the timbers ended up lasting the rest of the 5 days. I never did go back to helping with the wood cutting.
After taking the heavy 6 x 6's (some of them were as long as 16 feet and required four men to carry them) and dropping them into pre-dug holes, we needed to level the boards and fill the holes with a clay like river dredge that when packed down allegedly held the support beams level. As it turned out, this task took most of the warriors the rest of the day shift and all of the night shift to complete. But as we walked off the site at 9:00pm, every single support beam was in place (or so we thought).
For the first two nights I slept in a cabin by the swimming pool with a bunch of other guys. Whereas during camp it might be normal to get to really know my cabin mates, our conversations were only cursory as we were all too tired to stay up and talk much. By 9:30pm, most of us were fast asleep.
On Thursday, I woke up at 6:00am and took a short walk. My muscles ached from the day before, but after a short walk, I was feeling much better as I headed to breakfast. Westminster Woods has always had one thing going for it that other camps don't always live up to - the food is excellent! I mean restaurant quality excellent! And plenty of it! Still, as I had known for years, the harder I worked, the less hungry I became. I ate enough to get energy for the day and that was about it.
By 8:00am, I was back on site, joining a new team of men and a boss named Trevor. Trevor is a EMT firefighter out of Petaluma with a lovely wife and three young kids. He was also a sub-foreman and a true Christian leader. Our job was to tackle the "Rock Wall" steps that formed one half of the front of the playground. Our co-warriors for this task were Dan, a pastor from Fort Bragg, Lyn, a retired member of a local church, and Gary, another retiree from the same church. Together with Trevor, we formed quite a team. By lunch time, we had already managed to raise our base platform and nailed in all the support beams and legs for every single one of the stairs. We had made incredible progress, until we discovered that the entire structure was an inch and a half too wide. We had to undo all that we had done.
As the skies grew darker and more threatening, we undid one entire side of the structure, then painstakingly reconstructed it (after moving one of the giant support beams). As is typical of anything with God, just as we were physically and emotionally and mentally exhausted, along came a new warrior (Noah) who had fresh armor. He led the reconstruction effort for us and did most of the backbreaking work. By 9:00pm that night, as we walked off the site, we had gotten all the way back to where we had been at lunch time.
And then it rained... and rained... and rained...
By the end of Friday, we were walking in mud that rose to our ankles. But during Friday, we built up our basic structure into a set of very solid stairs and ended the day by capping the 14 foot structure with a bridge that connected the two front structures. It was exhilirating and tiring. But by dinner time on Friday, I was actually feeling pretty good. Call it a second wind, or call it God's strength, but I was feeling downright giddy.
On Friday night, I was joined by the Lakeside Youth Group. They split our group up amongst two "dorms" for the youth, male and female. The major advantage to this was that our dorm was right next to the chow hall (and much closer to the work site). The disadvantage for me was that I was now chaperoning a bunch of excited teenagers at camp for the weekend on a Friday night. To be fair, they set up an Xbox game system on the meeting hall's projection screen and tied it into the surround sound system and our dorm became a video game arcade. While somewhat annoying to hear video game noise when you're trying to sleep, it did have the soporific affect on the teens that you read about in all the video game reports. They shut up and played Halo 3 and, other than messing with my dreams, there was no lasting damage done. I slept solidly on the carpeted floor - my reward for three straight days of grueling work, including one spent in the mud.
Saturday awoke with a thin fog that covered everything, but by 9am, it had burned off and we were greeted to beautiful sunny skies for the rest of the weekend. It didn't immediately dry off the mud however. Eventually, we covered the mud with rock (the base of our playground ground covering) and that made things go much quicker and much cleaner. On Saturday, we completed all of the wood paneling, support beams, and other fixtures that needed to make our structure solid - and we built the wall that would hold our "rock wall" in place.
To be fair, with 400 volunteers on Saturday, I didn't need to go at the pace I'd been going. There was a lot of standing around and waiting for wood to be cut, followed by a flurry to get the wood in place, before we stood around and waited for the next piece. Some of the youth saw me standing there and asked me if I was just tired and I would simply reply, "Hurry up and wait" - an old Navy mantra.
Of all the days, Saturday felt the most like camp to me with hundreds of youth and adults running around the camp site, laughing, giggling, hugging, and straining with the effort of getting this massive project rolling. By the end of the day, the playground looked nearly completed and almost every feature was in place or was in the process of being completed.
There was a campfire for the youth and I'd like to report what it was that was said, but it started before I was off site and I was way too tired to walk up to the fire pit and sit in. I was half asleep by the time everyone trudged back into the "dorm" to play more Halo 3, and I was fully asleep not too long after that.
By Sunday, I was really feeling it - not just in the muscles that ached and the legs that felt like hardened jello, but mentally and emotionally. Throughout the day I would alternate between fits of irrational anger, depression, and extreme joy. I was on the ragged edge of exhaustion - but I stayed until the very end.
At noon we took the group photo and there were suddenly hundreds and hundreds of volunteers that showed up that I had never seen before. It didn't matter. I disappeared behind some people into the shadows of the structure that I had helped build from the ground up, and that somehow seemed fitting. I was reminded again and again that this was not about me or my glorification - it was about making kids happy in a safe, Christian setting.
The frustrations grew and the pain grew and my emotions were held in check by only the thinnest of margins and when, at last, 5pm rolled around and we nailed in our final board, I shook Trevor's hand and walked off the site to go find someplace to sit down. I had been taken to a place that I hadn't been in a long time, but I had left it all on the field and taken none of it back with me.
I felt empty for the first ten minutes or so until I started seeing the little kids growing eager for the opening ceremony to begin. They would run around, hugging one another with smiles as broad and as deep as the Nile. Though they had been put through the emotional ringer for young children, waiting for a structure to be built by their parents while they toughed it out in day care, the feelings and emotions of anxiety that their little hearts had been dealing with melted away with the anticipation of the good times to come. My emptiness began to fill up with the love of God and the feelings of His pleasure which was palpable in that formerly muddy field.
We opened the playstructure after a brief ceremony and a lovely prayer and I watched the kids flood onto the structure that I had built and immediately run up the steps that I had constructed to the bridge that I had stood on for nearly two days - delighted in the ability to finally realize their imaginations. And that was that. After saying goodbye to everyone, I hopped in my car and drove home - not needing any more thanks than that which I had received from kids too excited to form the words.
My armor was dinged up. My emotions were raw. My exhaustion both physical and mental. And yet I was feeling strong and powerful. I was soaring like on the wings of an eagle.
I missed the kick off by about an hour because of traffic and the need to get some sleep after class the night before. But when I arrived, I immediately put on my heavy duty boots and waded right in. At first, being an unskilled laborer, I was asked to help carry 2 x 4's from a prep area to a routing area where the boards were going to be beveled on all edges. I did that for about thirty minutes or so before one of the sub-foremen, Gary, snagged me away to help him cut boards with the straight saws. We were only at that for about a half hour or so before the big boss, Mike, came over and "borrowed" us to help load heavy 6 x 6 timbers into place around the playground site. These 6 x 6's would form the supports for the entire playground. Our "short" stint with the timbers ended up lasting the rest of the 5 days. I never did go back to helping with the wood cutting.
After taking the heavy 6 x 6's (some of them were as long as 16 feet and required four men to carry them) and dropping them into pre-dug holes, we needed to level the boards and fill the holes with a clay like river dredge that when packed down allegedly held the support beams level. As it turned out, this task took most of the warriors the rest of the day shift and all of the night shift to complete. But as we walked off the site at 9:00pm, every single support beam was in place (or so we thought).
For the first two nights I slept in a cabin by the swimming pool with a bunch of other guys. Whereas during camp it might be normal to get to really know my cabin mates, our conversations were only cursory as we were all too tired to stay up and talk much. By 9:30pm, most of us were fast asleep.
On Thursday, I woke up at 6:00am and took a short walk. My muscles ached from the day before, but after a short walk, I was feeling much better as I headed to breakfast. Westminster Woods has always had one thing going for it that other camps don't always live up to - the food is excellent! I mean restaurant quality excellent! And plenty of it! Still, as I had known for years, the harder I worked, the less hungry I became. I ate enough to get energy for the day and that was about it.
By 8:00am, I was back on site, joining a new team of men and a boss named Trevor. Trevor is a EMT firefighter out of Petaluma with a lovely wife and three young kids. He was also a sub-foreman and a true Christian leader. Our job was to tackle the "Rock Wall" steps that formed one half of the front of the playground. Our co-warriors for this task were Dan, a pastor from Fort Bragg, Lyn, a retired member of a local church, and Gary, another retiree from the same church. Together with Trevor, we formed quite a team. By lunch time, we had already managed to raise our base platform and nailed in all the support beams and legs for every single one of the stairs. We had made incredible progress, until we discovered that the entire structure was an inch and a half too wide. We had to undo all that we had done.
As the skies grew darker and more threatening, we undid one entire side of the structure, then painstakingly reconstructed it (after moving one of the giant support beams). As is typical of anything with God, just as we were physically and emotionally and mentally exhausted, along came a new warrior (Noah) who had fresh armor. He led the reconstruction effort for us and did most of the backbreaking work. By 9:00pm that night, as we walked off the site, we had gotten all the way back to where we had been at lunch time.
And then it rained... and rained... and rained...
By the end of Friday, we were walking in mud that rose to our ankles. But during Friday, we built up our basic structure into a set of very solid stairs and ended the day by capping the 14 foot structure with a bridge that connected the two front structures. It was exhilirating and tiring. But by dinner time on Friday, I was actually feeling pretty good. Call it a second wind, or call it God's strength, but I was feeling downright giddy.
On Friday night, I was joined by the Lakeside Youth Group. They split our group up amongst two "dorms" for the youth, male and female. The major advantage to this was that our dorm was right next to the chow hall (and much closer to the work site). The disadvantage for me was that I was now chaperoning a bunch of excited teenagers at camp for the weekend on a Friday night. To be fair, they set up an Xbox game system on the meeting hall's projection screen and tied it into the surround sound system and our dorm became a video game arcade. While somewhat annoying to hear video game noise when you're trying to sleep, it did have the soporific affect on the teens that you read about in all the video game reports. They shut up and played Halo 3 and, other than messing with my dreams, there was no lasting damage done. I slept solidly on the carpeted floor - my reward for three straight days of grueling work, including one spent in the mud.
Saturday awoke with a thin fog that covered everything, but by 9am, it had burned off and we were greeted to beautiful sunny skies for the rest of the weekend. It didn't immediately dry off the mud however. Eventually, we covered the mud with rock (the base of our playground ground covering) and that made things go much quicker and much cleaner. On Saturday, we completed all of the wood paneling, support beams, and other fixtures that needed to make our structure solid - and we built the wall that would hold our "rock wall" in place.
To be fair, with 400 volunteers on Saturday, I didn't need to go at the pace I'd been going. There was a lot of standing around and waiting for wood to be cut, followed by a flurry to get the wood in place, before we stood around and waited for the next piece. Some of the youth saw me standing there and asked me if I was just tired and I would simply reply, "Hurry up and wait" - an old Navy mantra.
Of all the days, Saturday felt the most like camp to me with hundreds of youth and adults running around the camp site, laughing, giggling, hugging, and straining with the effort of getting this massive project rolling. By the end of the day, the playground looked nearly completed and almost every feature was in place or was in the process of being completed.
There was a campfire for the youth and I'd like to report what it was that was said, but it started before I was off site and I was way too tired to walk up to the fire pit and sit in. I was half asleep by the time everyone trudged back into the "dorm" to play more Halo 3, and I was fully asleep not too long after that.
By Sunday, I was really feeling it - not just in the muscles that ached and the legs that felt like hardened jello, but mentally and emotionally. Throughout the day I would alternate between fits of irrational anger, depression, and extreme joy. I was on the ragged edge of exhaustion - but I stayed until the very end.
At noon we took the group photo and there were suddenly hundreds and hundreds of volunteers that showed up that I had never seen before. It didn't matter. I disappeared behind some people into the shadows of the structure that I had helped build from the ground up, and that somehow seemed fitting. I was reminded again and again that this was not about me or my glorification - it was about making kids happy in a safe, Christian setting.
The frustrations grew and the pain grew and my emotions were held in check by only the thinnest of margins and when, at last, 5pm rolled around and we nailed in our final board, I shook Trevor's hand and walked off the site to go find someplace to sit down. I had been taken to a place that I hadn't been in a long time, but I had left it all on the field and taken none of it back with me.
I felt empty for the first ten minutes or so until I started seeing the little kids growing eager for the opening ceremony to begin. They would run around, hugging one another with smiles as broad and as deep as the Nile. Though they had been put through the emotional ringer for young children, waiting for a structure to be built by their parents while they toughed it out in day care, the feelings and emotions of anxiety that their little hearts had been dealing with melted away with the anticipation of the good times to come. My emptiness began to fill up with the love of God and the feelings of His pleasure which was palpable in that formerly muddy field.
We opened the playstructure after a brief ceremony and a lovely prayer and I watched the kids flood onto the structure that I had built and immediately run up the steps that I had constructed to the bridge that I had stood on for nearly two days - delighted in the ability to finally realize their imaginations. And that was that. After saying goodbye to everyone, I hopped in my car and drove home - not needing any more thanks than that which I had received from kids too excited to form the words.
My armor was dinged up. My emotions were raw. My exhaustion both physical and mental. And yet I was feeling strong and powerful. I was soaring like on the wings of an eagle.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Making a living vs. Making a life
Have you ever filled out one of those job surveys that purportedly tell you the job you'd most be suited to doing? A scantron with the amazing powers of observation - a scientifically proven method of determining temperment and skill set to best utilize the skills and education you've obtained. Have you ever noticed how much you bristle when someone asks you what you do for a living, as if this somehow sums up who you are and your value to society?
But we're MUCH smarter than a scantron, aren't we? We all left high school and headed off to our prospective careers without ever changing our mind, didn't we? Of course not. Because we, unlike a scantron sheet, have ever differing opinions about what we'd like to be doing. As my brother so famously told his teachers when he was in 3rd grade and he was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, "I want to be a brain surgeon... or a garbage man." I've always secretly wanted to be a truck driver, but I'll keep my day job for now.
Even then, when we find a career that we like and that suits us, we quickly lose our joy in doing the work. It becomes work. It becomes toil. It is a painful reminder that our best dreams are only mere shadows of true happiness. Even the best tasks on the planet, leave us unfulfilled and frustrated. They may pay big money, or provide lots of travel opportunities, or fill our sense of pride, or command great respect, or just keep the food on the table, but no matter what, they are just jobs. Jobs that we choose to do.
But God laughs at both scantron and our own choice of living. He knows that we don't have a clue as to who we really are or what we are truly capable of doing or becoming. He knows the number of hairs on our head, how much better is He at determining what our best job would be? The only caveat to God's perfect resume for our lives is that He's not concerned with our advancement up some corporate ladder. He wants us to advance in life, to advance in love, and to advance in Him.
For myself, I somehow ended up working as a product manager at an import/export company. I also am writing a novel and learning how to work with film in hopes of being a producer someday. The only occupational skill test I ever took was for the Navy and they desperately wanted me to run Nuclear Power plants (I told them in true 60's Hippie Fashion, "Hell no, I won't glow!" ;) But God has me singing, playing handbells, and joyfully running around like a teenage maniac while dodging footballs being thrown at my head. I'm not quite sure what skill set is required for this job, but I find that the job suits me in a way that nothing else does. Its like He knows me better than I do myself.
As I head off for Westminster Woods Christian camp tomorrow morning to help them build a brand new playground, I can't help but ponder the journey that God has nudged me into taking so that I might be here right now serving Him in this manner. Though I have gone to a four year school and gotten a degree and attended many Navy training classes and spent years sludging away in the business world, it is a skill set I learned in youth group that best serves me now to do the job that gives me the most joy in my heart. God knew then what I would need to know now and He provided me with the training.
I can't wait to see what sort of job awaits me once I perfect the Christian TV Theme Songs skill. ;)
But we're MUCH smarter than a scantron, aren't we? We all left high school and headed off to our prospective careers without ever changing our mind, didn't we? Of course not. Because we, unlike a scantron sheet, have ever differing opinions about what we'd like to be doing. As my brother so famously told his teachers when he was in 3rd grade and he was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, "I want to be a brain surgeon... or a garbage man." I've always secretly wanted to be a truck driver, but I'll keep my day job for now.
Even then, when we find a career that we like and that suits us, we quickly lose our joy in doing the work. It becomes work. It becomes toil. It is a painful reminder that our best dreams are only mere shadows of true happiness. Even the best tasks on the planet, leave us unfulfilled and frustrated. They may pay big money, or provide lots of travel opportunities, or fill our sense of pride, or command great respect, or just keep the food on the table, but no matter what, they are just jobs. Jobs that we choose to do.
But God laughs at both scantron and our own choice of living. He knows that we don't have a clue as to who we really are or what we are truly capable of doing or becoming. He knows the number of hairs on our head, how much better is He at determining what our best job would be? The only caveat to God's perfect resume for our lives is that He's not concerned with our advancement up some corporate ladder. He wants us to advance in life, to advance in love, and to advance in Him.
For myself, I somehow ended up working as a product manager at an import/export company. I also am writing a novel and learning how to work with film in hopes of being a producer someday. The only occupational skill test I ever took was for the Navy and they desperately wanted me to run Nuclear Power plants (I told them in true 60's Hippie Fashion, "Hell no, I won't glow!" ;) But God has me singing, playing handbells, and joyfully running around like a teenage maniac while dodging footballs being thrown at my head. I'm not quite sure what skill set is required for this job, but I find that the job suits me in a way that nothing else does. Its like He knows me better than I do myself.
As I head off for Westminster Woods Christian camp tomorrow morning to help them build a brand new playground, I can't help but ponder the journey that God has nudged me into taking so that I might be here right now serving Him in this manner. Though I have gone to a four year school and gotten a degree and attended many Navy training classes and spent years sludging away in the business world, it is a skill set I learned in youth group that best serves me now to do the job that gives me the most joy in my heart. God knew then what I would need to know now and He provided me with the training.
I can't wait to see what sort of job awaits me once I perfect the Christian TV Theme Songs skill. ;)
Monday, October 15, 2007
Diet Craze Sweeps The Nation
Sounds like the title of one of those spam e-mails, donit? Well, it isn't. I'm here to tell you about a new scientific method for reducing your weight that doesn't require you to have a specific diet and that doesn't involve taking any sort of medication (except Asprin for headaches, Ben Gay for aching muscles and bones, and other medicinal supplements as required for your own mental health). I'm talking, of course, about the new Youth Group Leader Diet.
Ever find that on Saturday evenings you are feeling listless and bored and that your energy level is just flagging? Well, one or two Saturday nights as a Youth Group Leader will change all that. Feeling listless? A quick game of dodge ball will change that in a hurry. Feeling bored? Try running around in the dark looking for a good place to hide while 11 rambunctious teenagers chase you. Energy levels flagging? Watch your adrenalin spike when a hard football whistles by your head, narrowly missing your sweat lined face by centimeters. At the end of one evening on our Youth Group Leader diet, you'll feel the pounds have slipped away along with a great deal of torn cartilage, bumps and bruises, and any last shred of coolness you once held in the eyes of teens everywhere.
But wait, that's not all! You also get to learn great old Christian songs while being targeted with well placed reproachful, yet oddly enough still enjoying things, stares. And there's Punch like you used to drink when you were a kid. And there's good old-fashioned junk food to keep those energy levels spiked to near-coronary levels. There isn't an aerobic workout like it anywhere on the planet short of the sheer terror of war!
So join us now! You know you want to! Shed those pounds and gain something infinitely more valuable in the process - Christian street cred!
Side effects may include: broken noses, rug burns, jello snorting, church fun, and becoming a much more tolerant, patient, and adventurous Christian. People on this diet should not let teens operate heavy machinery or vehicles as this may result in a loss of hair, or limbs.
FDA warning: There are old youth leaders. There are whole youth leaders. There are no old, whole youth leaders.
Weight Loss will vary from customer to customer. Ask your church pastor for more information about the effects of this diet before starting.
Ever find that on Saturday evenings you are feeling listless and bored and that your energy level is just flagging? Well, one or two Saturday nights as a Youth Group Leader will change all that. Feeling listless? A quick game of dodge ball will change that in a hurry. Feeling bored? Try running around in the dark looking for a good place to hide while 11 rambunctious teenagers chase you. Energy levels flagging? Watch your adrenalin spike when a hard football whistles by your head, narrowly missing your sweat lined face by centimeters. At the end of one evening on our Youth Group Leader diet, you'll feel the pounds have slipped away along with a great deal of torn cartilage, bumps and bruises, and any last shred of coolness you once held in the eyes of teens everywhere.
But wait, that's not all! You also get to learn great old Christian songs while being targeted with well placed reproachful, yet oddly enough still enjoying things, stares. And there's Punch like you used to drink when you were a kid. And there's good old-fashioned junk food to keep those energy levels spiked to near-coronary levels. There isn't an aerobic workout like it anywhere on the planet short of the sheer terror of war!
So join us now! You know you want to! Shed those pounds and gain something infinitely more valuable in the process - Christian street cred!
Side effects may include: broken noses, rug burns, jello snorting, church fun, and becoming a much more tolerant, patient, and adventurous Christian. People on this diet should not let teens operate heavy machinery or vehicles as this may result in a loss of hair, or limbs.
FDA warning: There are old youth leaders. There are whole youth leaders. There are no old, whole youth leaders.
Weight Loss will vary from customer to customer. Ask your church pastor for more information about the effects of this diet before starting.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Grey skies are gonna clear up!
I aced my midterm test on editing. Not that this was a major accomplishment. I've already passed this class once with a very solid A. But since its a prerequisite for nearly every film class I want to take, and because the last time I passed the class was 20 years ago, I decided that perhaps I needed a refresher.
I wasn't worried. And, in fact, I guessed on a few answers. But there's no pressure. I don't need the course. I already know it. And ultimately, I already have a perfectly good BofA degree sitting on my wall collecting dust. No pressure means no mistakes. I laugh at their feeble attempts to grade my superior intellect.
Sorry, I watched The Wrath of Khan over the weekend and I'm still relishing in one of the better villains to ever grace the big screen - even if over half his dialogue was borrowed from Moby Dick.
Anyway, more importantly than some stupid film midterm, I achieved a HUGE milestone in the work on my Novel. This time, roughly a year ago, I was at about the exact same point in the Novel when I realized that there were some serious flaws in the narrative. I slugged on for a few more months and a few more chapters, but I could not undo the problems by wishing them away. I decided to go back and rewrite the entire first part of the Novel as a single book (thus breaking the Novel into three Novels). As of last night, I had finally gotten back to this same point in the first Novel and I'm happy to say that almost all of the problems from the last draft have been solved - and the one problem that remains I already know about and have a solution.
But most importantly, I have reached that point in the new Novel where almost the entire rest of the story is already written. I will need to tweak and fine tune what I have already written, but almost all of the new material has already been written. From here on out, the writing should pick up steam and I might even be done before the end of the year. So for me, this draft is nearly finished and I can already tell that it is vastly improved. And the next draft will be the final version - I PROMISE!
So put on a happy face! The Novel is almost done!
Again!
I wasn't worried. And, in fact, I guessed on a few answers. But there's no pressure. I don't need the course. I already know it. And ultimately, I already have a perfectly good BofA degree sitting on my wall collecting dust. No pressure means no mistakes. I laugh at their feeble attempts to grade my superior intellect.
Sorry, I watched The Wrath of Khan over the weekend and I'm still relishing in one of the better villains to ever grace the big screen - even if over half his dialogue was borrowed from Moby Dick.
Anyway, more importantly than some stupid film midterm, I achieved a HUGE milestone in the work on my Novel. This time, roughly a year ago, I was at about the exact same point in the Novel when I realized that there were some serious flaws in the narrative. I slugged on for a few more months and a few more chapters, but I could not undo the problems by wishing them away. I decided to go back and rewrite the entire first part of the Novel as a single book (thus breaking the Novel into three Novels). As of last night, I had finally gotten back to this same point in the first Novel and I'm happy to say that almost all of the problems from the last draft have been solved - and the one problem that remains I already know about and have a solution.
But most importantly, I have reached that point in the new Novel where almost the entire rest of the story is already written. I will need to tweak and fine tune what I have already written, but almost all of the new material has already been written. From here on out, the writing should pick up steam and I might even be done before the end of the year. So for me, this draft is nearly finished and I can already tell that it is vastly improved. And the next draft will be the final version - I PROMISE!
So put on a happy face! The Novel is almost done!
Again!
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Writing from the Journey, man...
What can the new NBC show, Journeyman, tell us about dramatic structure and God? Surprisingly, a great deal as I had a recent minor epiphany in regards to my own journey and my place in the God centered universe primarily as a result of having watched Journeyman.
For those of you who have much better things to do on Monday night, I congratulate you, but I'm still going to explain the show's brief premise. The idea is that our hero becomes unstuck in time. He travels backwards and through a series of encounters over time, he helps out someone who needs help. The how and why of the show has not yet been explained, so don't ask that question. If you accept the premise, you can absorb a great deal before you begin to really question things.
So, story wise, our hero is basically going in to someone's life and helping them through some issue. Its basically the same premise as Quantum Leap, Touched by an Angel, The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, etc... Each week, our hero brings about some important change in the guest star's life that ultimately redeems them or redeems someone else. That's the part that I want to focus on.
You set up a premise as a writer - Character A will help Character B throughout each episode. People follow the premise and, depending on the acting, writing, and pacing of the show, will be rewarded at the end when Character B is helped and Character A moves on with his life. Except, when you want to record a twist, Character A helps Character B, but in reality, its Character C that he's really helping. And at the end of the episode, just when Character B is supposed to be helped, we realize that it was actually Character C that was helped and then Character A moves on with his life. Its a neat trick, and it keeps a show fresh, but ultimately it doesn't provide for a lot of variation and eventually us wily viewers can catch on to the writer's intent long before the episode ends.
SOOOO... if God is Character A, and we're the doomed, damned, and ultimately dispicable Character B, the story should follow that God will step in and through refinement, love, and general interest reform us into loving, caring, and Christian creatures. We are transformed and God moves in with His story.
Except that every once in a while, God likes to throw us a twist and we feel that God is moving us on to something big, something new, some life changing transformation, and then... nothing happens. Because, although we can't see it, God has actually been using our story to transform Character C instead. He has been moving us into place so that we can be there to help someone else come closer to God.
I don't want to go into a lot of details here, but it suddenly occurred to me this week that my being a youth leader is not about transforming me at all. He has simply put me in place in order to help someone else. Its a bit of a humbling experience to realize that you are not the Character B, the guest star, of this particular story - just the means to another end. But at the same time, its quite wonderful to see the Master at work and to realize that He would go to all that trouble to save someone else. Its a good idea to be reminded that we are not the center of God's love, that He has many rooms in His mansion and that we don't get to occupy them all. I think it also reminds us to keep our eyes open to see if we can figure out the Author's intent before its spelled out for us.
Of course, the characters never do figure it out ahead of time... but its always fun to try.
For those of you who have much better things to do on Monday night, I congratulate you, but I'm still going to explain the show's brief premise. The idea is that our hero becomes unstuck in time. He travels backwards and through a series of encounters over time, he helps out someone who needs help. The how and why of the show has not yet been explained, so don't ask that question. If you accept the premise, you can absorb a great deal before you begin to really question things.
So, story wise, our hero is basically going in to someone's life and helping them through some issue. Its basically the same premise as Quantum Leap, Touched by an Angel, The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, etc... Each week, our hero brings about some important change in the guest star's life that ultimately redeems them or redeems someone else. That's the part that I want to focus on.
You set up a premise as a writer - Character A will help Character B throughout each episode. People follow the premise and, depending on the acting, writing, and pacing of the show, will be rewarded at the end when Character B is helped and Character A moves on with his life. Except, when you want to record a twist, Character A helps Character B, but in reality, its Character C that he's really helping. And at the end of the episode, just when Character B is supposed to be helped, we realize that it was actually Character C that was helped and then Character A moves on with his life. Its a neat trick, and it keeps a show fresh, but ultimately it doesn't provide for a lot of variation and eventually us wily viewers can catch on to the writer's intent long before the episode ends.
SOOOO... if God is Character A, and we're the doomed, damned, and ultimately dispicable Character B, the story should follow that God will step in and through refinement, love, and general interest reform us into loving, caring, and Christian creatures. We are transformed and God moves in with His story.
Except that every once in a while, God likes to throw us a twist and we feel that God is moving us on to something big, something new, some life changing transformation, and then... nothing happens. Because, although we can't see it, God has actually been using our story to transform Character C instead. He has been moving us into place so that we can be there to help someone else come closer to God.
I don't want to go into a lot of details here, but it suddenly occurred to me this week that my being a youth leader is not about transforming me at all. He has simply put me in place in order to help someone else. Its a bit of a humbling experience to realize that you are not the Character B, the guest star, of this particular story - just the means to another end. But at the same time, its quite wonderful to see the Master at work and to realize that He would go to all that trouble to save someone else. Its a good idea to be reminded that we are not the center of God's love, that He has many rooms in His mansion and that we don't get to occupy them all. I think it also reminds us to keep our eyes open to see if we can figure out the Author's intent before its spelled out for us.
Of course, the characters never do figure it out ahead of time... but its always fun to try.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Progress Report
According to Genesis, God spells out clearly how we're going to be evaluated when the end times come.
And for your lifeblood I will surely demand an accounting. I will demand an accounting from every animal. And from each man, too, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man.
Genesis 9:5
God will demand an accounting for our lifeblood - what we used it for and how we spilt it. Then he will also demand an accounting from us for the lifeblood of our fellow man - how he used it and how it was spilt and how we were involved in all that.
From the very beginning, we have not only been responsible for ourselves, but for each other as well.
So, how are you progressing on that accounting? Got all your ducks in a row, so to speak? Yeah, me neither.
Back to work.
And for your lifeblood I will surely demand an accounting. I will demand an accounting from every animal. And from each man, too, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man.
Genesis 9:5
God will demand an accounting for our lifeblood - what we used it for and how we spilt it. Then he will also demand an accounting from us for the lifeblood of our fellow man - how he used it and how it was spilt and how we were involved in all that.
From the very beginning, we have not only been responsible for ourselves, but for each other as well.
So, how are you progressing on that accounting? Got all your ducks in a row, so to speak? Yeah, me neither.
Back to work.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Lonliness does strange things to people.
There is a preview out for a movie coming sometime this fall. I don't remember the name of the movie but it stars Ryan Gosling as an intensely lonely person who brings home a date to meet his sister and her husband one night - only the "date" is actually a blow up doll that this lonely guy sees as being completely real. It sounds like a perfect set up for a bizarre Farrely Brother's comedy - a send up of Guess Who's Coming To Dinner perhaps. But the preview makes it clear that this is not supposed to be a comedy, but a drama about how lonliness can really mess with people's heads.
We, of course, are huge fans of Wilson - Tom Hanks' volleyball buddy from Cast Away. Trapped on a desert island for several years, Tom Hanks' character becomes best friends with Wilson, the volleyball, and comes to see this inanimate object as his only friend. This should seem like its pretty looney, and indeed it is, but think of all the other times we delude ourselves out of lonliness. There's the relationship we thought we had, but it was entirely one sided. Or the imaginary friend we had when we were kids. Or the many myriad fantasies that run through our head with real people who are somehow nicer, kinder, and incredibly more beautiful or handsome in real life. Quite frankly, the real world suffers by comparison with the Wilson's of our world.
I know intimately the thoughts, feelings, and relationships of all my characters and I like to spend time with them every once in a while. They are both more interesting to me than real people, less fussy to deal with, and, ultimately, always do what I say - most of the time. But as with anything, fantasy characters can sometimes come strangely close to real life people. It is easy to become obsessed with these fantasy people, easy to defend their actions, to defend their words, to defend their beliefs over the objections of others. It is easy to fall in love with something and someone you are never going to meet - because they do not exist.
How far is it, then, to go from a place where you dress up in a costume for a convention to the point where you start to believe that you are actually in that world. That is perhaps something for a psychologist to answer.
Would that the real world were as easy to overcome lonliness as the world of fantasy - where lonliness could disappear as quickly as talking to someone, phoning someone, or seeing someone on the street and saying hello. There is no rejection in the fantasy world.
In that, I wonder how much the longing we have for the fantasy world is a direct correlation for our longing for a closer walk with God. The real world will never be able to compete with a fantasy place that marches to the beat of our own drum, but the fantasy place can never possibly compete with walking with Him in divine glory.
There is one cure for lonliness and several providers. Let us all make sure that our cure isn't made of plastic and air.
We, of course, are huge fans of Wilson - Tom Hanks' volleyball buddy from Cast Away. Trapped on a desert island for several years, Tom Hanks' character becomes best friends with Wilson, the volleyball, and comes to see this inanimate object as his only friend. This should seem like its pretty looney, and indeed it is, but think of all the other times we delude ourselves out of lonliness. There's the relationship we thought we had, but it was entirely one sided. Or the imaginary friend we had when we were kids. Or the many myriad fantasies that run through our head with real people who are somehow nicer, kinder, and incredibly more beautiful or handsome in real life. Quite frankly, the real world suffers by comparison with the Wilson's of our world.
I know intimately the thoughts, feelings, and relationships of all my characters and I like to spend time with them every once in a while. They are both more interesting to me than real people, less fussy to deal with, and, ultimately, always do what I say - most of the time. But as with anything, fantasy characters can sometimes come strangely close to real life people. It is easy to become obsessed with these fantasy people, easy to defend their actions, to defend their words, to defend their beliefs over the objections of others. It is easy to fall in love with something and someone you are never going to meet - because they do not exist.
How far is it, then, to go from a place where you dress up in a costume for a convention to the point where you start to believe that you are actually in that world. That is perhaps something for a psychologist to answer.
Would that the real world were as easy to overcome lonliness as the world of fantasy - where lonliness could disappear as quickly as talking to someone, phoning someone, or seeing someone on the street and saying hello. There is no rejection in the fantasy world.
In that, I wonder how much the longing we have for the fantasy world is a direct correlation for our longing for a closer walk with God. The real world will never be able to compete with a fantasy place that marches to the beat of our own drum, but the fantasy place can never possibly compete with walking with Him in divine glory.
There is one cure for lonliness and several providers. Let us all make sure that our cure isn't made of plastic and air.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Post Modern Celebration
It could be because I want to be edgy and post-modern, or it could just be because I frankly just noticed. Either way... This post marks my 401st!
As Barry Bonds would say, "Okay, now show me the love!"
As Barry Bonds would say, "Okay, now show me the love!"
Monday, October 01, 2007
Periodic Recurring Online Dating Amnesia...
Occassionally I forget why it is that I hate online dating websites and I try one again. Perhaps, the addict in me says, things will have changed from the last time I tried the online dating scene and I might actually find happiness. I'm the kind of guy who gives eharmony nightmares. If I were to waste my money on such a site, I would quickly be asked to leave as I am probably crushing their harmonious statistics that make their website look successful.
The fact of the matter is, if you weren't likely to get a date before you go online, you're not likely to get one after you go online either. The factors that make you undatable in the real world will soon become evident in the online world as well.
But, I get amnesia and I go to a site like geek2geek and I post a pretty cool profile of myself (the best one I've ever written) and occassionally I get some interest. But then, something happens. I think its the lack of the millionaire, 90210 hunk, drives expensive car, vibe. Whatever it is, after about one message, if I'm lucky and they respond at all, I never hear from anyone again.
This is incredibly frustrating. I don't go to singles clubs or bars precisely because I can live my life much saner and much happier without all those "looks" one gets from prospective conversationalists. You know the look that says, "Please God, don't come over here and talk to me or I might have to chew off a limb to escape." I really don't need to pay for a site that gives me the exact same level of frustration from my home.
But, again, I forget. And I hope. And I get stonewalled. And even the women who show potential interest quickly ignore me. And I'm only left with two possibilities - either I'm a completely unlovable jerk (not my first choice) or women are extremely shallow.
My revirginated status tells me that either way, I'm not likely to ever find true love again.
See what I mean, this online dating stuff really messes with a person's confidence. I am better than anything I could ever write in an online profile. I am better in person than I could ever be online. But I still have yet to meet anyone worthy of me, either online or the real world.
My lack of feminine companionship tells me that there aren't very many gems out there to be found.
There. Now that's much better. I've just put myself above market price. Let's see if anyone can afford to date me.
The fact of the matter is, if you weren't likely to get a date before you go online, you're not likely to get one after you go online either. The factors that make you undatable in the real world will soon become evident in the online world as well.
But, I get amnesia and I go to a site like geek2geek and I post a pretty cool profile of myself (the best one I've ever written) and occassionally I get some interest. But then, something happens. I think its the lack of the millionaire, 90210 hunk, drives expensive car, vibe. Whatever it is, after about one message, if I'm lucky and they respond at all, I never hear from anyone again.
This is incredibly frustrating. I don't go to singles clubs or bars precisely because I can live my life much saner and much happier without all those "looks" one gets from prospective conversationalists. You know the look that says, "Please God, don't come over here and talk to me or I might have to chew off a limb to escape." I really don't need to pay for a site that gives me the exact same level of frustration from my home.
But, again, I forget. And I hope. And I get stonewalled. And even the women who show potential interest quickly ignore me. And I'm only left with two possibilities - either I'm a completely unlovable jerk (not my first choice) or women are extremely shallow.
My revirginated status tells me that either way, I'm not likely to ever find true love again.
See what I mean, this online dating stuff really messes with a person's confidence. I am better than anything I could ever write in an online profile. I am better in person than I could ever be online. But I still have yet to meet anyone worthy of me, either online or the real world.
My lack of feminine companionship tells me that there aren't very many gems out there to be found.
There. Now that's much better. I've just put myself above market price. Let's see if anyone can afford to date me.
JeMarcus Russel, French Existentialism, and Moneypenny...
JeMarcus Russel, French Existentialism, and Miss Moneypenny all have one thing in common - they prove that nothing can stop the tide of bad movie remakes.
Now, The Dirty Dozen is being remade. Set in modern times with a group of military convicts on death row (cause even though we're not technically at war, they have military convicts on death row, cause that's how we roll in the movies that don't need to be made) the new Dirty Dozen is being prepped for a mission to save some politician's monetary backers kidnapped daughter from Al Qaeda terrorists who, despite having done many heinous acts in the real world, have never done anything quite so heinous as the script for this Dirty Dozen remake.
You can read more about it here.
Now, The Dirty Dozen is being remade. Set in modern times with a group of military convicts on death row (cause even though we're not technically at war, they have military convicts on death row, cause that's how we roll in the movies that don't need to be made) the new Dirty Dozen is being prepped for a mission to save some politician's monetary backers kidnapped daughter from Al Qaeda terrorists who, despite having done many heinous acts in the real world, have never done anything quite so heinous as the script for this Dirty Dozen remake.
You can read more about it here.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Breaking News!
AUSTRALIA GETS DRUNK, WAKES UP IN NORTH ATLANTIC
Tired of Being Isolated and Ignored, Continent Isn't Bloody Moving
Copyright © 2002, SatireWire.
Tired of Being Isolated and Ignored, Continent Isn't Bloody Moving
Sydney, 800 miles S. of Nova Scotia (SatireWire.com) — After what witnesses described as an all night blinder during which it kept droning on about how it was always being bloody ignored by the whole bloody world and would bloody well stand to do something about it, Australia this morning woke up to find itself in the middle of the North Atlantic.
current location of australia
"Good Lord, that was a booze up," said a bleary-eyed Australian Prime Minister, John Howard, speaking from his residence at Kirribilli House, approximately 600 nautical miles east of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina.
According to Australians and residents of several countries destroyed or lewdly insulted during the continent's nearly 7,000-mile saltwater stagger, the binge began just after noon yesterday at a pub in Brisbane, where several patrons were discussing Australia Day and the nation's general lack of respect from abroad.
"It started off same as always; coupla fossils saying how our Banjo Patterson was a better poet than Walt Whitman, how Con the Fruiterer is funnier than Seinfeld, only they're Aussies so no one knows about 'em," recalled witness Kevin Porter. "Then this bloke Martin pipes up and says Australia's main problem is that it's stuck in Australia, and everybody says 'Too right!'"
"Well, it made sense at the time," Porter added.
By 2 a.m., powered by national pride and alcohol, the 3-million-square-mile land mass was barging eastward through the Coral Sea and crossing into the central Pacific, leaving a trail of beer cans and Chinese take-away in its wake.
When dawn broke over the Northern Hemisphere, the continent suddenly found itself, not only upside down, but smack in the middle of the Atlantic, and according to most of its 19 million inhabitants, that's the way it's going to stay.
"We sent troops to Afghanistan. You never hear about it. We have huge government scandals. You never hear about it. It's all 'America did this,' and 'Europe says that,'" exclaimed Perth resident Paul Watson. "Well, we're right in the thick of things now, so let's just see if you can you ignore us."
former location of australia
Officials on both sides of the Atlantic conceded that would be difficult. "They broke Florida," said U.S. State Department spokesman Richard Boucher. "And most of Latin America is missing."
Meanwhile, victims of what's already been dubbed the "Australian Crawl" are still shaking off the event.
"Australia bumped into us at about midnight local time," said Hawaii governor Ben Cayetano. "They were very friendly — they always seem friendly — but they refused to go around unless we answered their questions. But the questions were impossible. 'Who is Ian Thorpe? Do you have any Tim Tams? What day is Australia Day?'"
"Fortunately, somebody here had an Unimportant World Dates calendar and we aced the last one," Cayetano added.
Panama, however, was not so lucky.
"Australia came through here screaming curses at us to let them through," said Ernesto Carnal, who guards the locks at the entrance to the Panama Canal. "We said they would not fit, so they demanded to speak with a manager. When I go to find Mr. Caballos, they sneak the whole continent through."
When Caballos shouted to the fleeing country that it had not paid, Australia "accidentally" backed up and took out every nation in the region, as well as the northern third of Venezuela. They then made up a cheery song about it.
By late morning today, however, not everyone in Australia was quite so blithe. "We've still got part of Jamaica stuck to Queensland," said Australian army commander Lt. Gen. Peter Cosgrove. "I think we might have declared war on it. I don't bloody remember. Maybe it's time to go home."
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Cosgrove, however, is not in the majority, and at press time, U.S., African, and European leaders were still desperately trying to negotiate for Australia's withdrawal. But the independent-minded Aussies were not making it easy. In a two-hour meeting at midday, Australian representatives listed their demands: immediate inclusion in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, a permanent CNN presence in all 6 Australian states, a worldwide ban on hiring Paul Hogan, a primetime U.S. television contract for Australian Rules Football, and a 4,500-mile-long bridge between Sydney and Los Angeles.
U.S. negotiators immediately walked out, calling the Australian Rules Football request "absurd."
Copyright © 2002, SatireWire.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Oh the pain, the pain...
Right now I'm in a fiscal fetal position with my thumb in my mouth, crying, and really wanting to be hugged.
I took my car into the shop today for brake work and $1500 later, I might actually be getting new brakes. It seems that there's a small $20 part that broke and is leaking fluid in my brakes. The part is not a problem to replace, but the labor to replace the part is a big problem. Apparently, they have to remove the rear axle in order to replace the part and do all sorts of mucking around with the fluids and differential. I'm about as much of a car guy as I am a construction accountant. But I do know this much, my car is sick and fixing it costs money - lots and lots of money.
When I first took my car into the shop this morning I had this crazy thought that suddenly doesn't seem all that crazy - why do they only have financial aid for students? Shouldn't they have financial aid for car owners as well? Of course, I probably wouldn't qualify for any of those scholarships either, but that doesn't make the idea any less appealing.
I owe, I owe, its off to work I go... :(
I took my car into the shop today for brake work and $1500 later, I might actually be getting new brakes. It seems that there's a small $20 part that broke and is leaking fluid in my brakes. The part is not a problem to replace, but the labor to replace the part is a big problem. Apparently, they have to remove the rear axle in order to replace the part and do all sorts of mucking around with the fluids and differential. I'm about as much of a car guy as I am a construction accountant. But I do know this much, my car is sick and fixing it costs money - lots and lots of money.
When I first took my car into the shop this morning I had this crazy thought that suddenly doesn't seem all that crazy - why do they only have financial aid for students? Shouldn't they have financial aid for car owners as well? Of course, I probably wouldn't qualify for any of those scholarships either, but that doesn't make the idea any less appealing.
I owe, I owe, its off to work I go... :(
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Keeping up with the Beaches...
Celeste, Andre and I headed out to the ballpark last night for a little family time. Since I've started working for Lucasfilm, there hasn't been a lot of time for my wife and son - so I was happy to discover that George had given me his three right field bleacher seats for last night's game.
We arrived at the valet parking with about an hour to go until game time and me determined to make this a special night for all involved. I paid the guy a fiver to park our cherry red 1963 roadster in the parking lot and told him to keep an eye on it, then I escorted Celeste and Andre towards the Lefty O'Doul gate. But before we went in, we stopped at the Giants Dugout Store to buy some S.F. Giants 2007 NL West Champs hats and pins. Dutifully accoutred, we entered the park and took the steps to the top of the stadium.
The bunting was still in place from the Bonds 800th Homerun celebration the night before, but it looked a little sad - like it had perhaps seen its last hurrah. I told the bunting to cheer up since I knew that Bonds was likely to be signed for another couple of years so that he could make an attempt on Oh's all time homerun record.
We sat in our seats and watched the pre-game festivities and ordered hot dogs and beer from passing vendors. I was glad that they rolled back the prices. Andre wanted two hot dogs but I reminded him that he had a big soccer game tomorrow, so he wheedled me into buying him a Chocolate Malt instead. I swear my son is getting as persuasive as me some days.
The game started and Cain was dealing - six strikeouts in the first seven batters on only 24 pitches. But defense is boring for a seven year old, so we were both happy when Bonds hit #801 right over our heads in the 3rd. Andre looked at me as the ball hit the water as if to say, "Well, aren't you going after it?" I just patted his back and high fived him. Celeste and I shared a congratulatory kiss that made me wish Bonds would hit a couple of more jacks - onion breath and all.
But the real teaching moment came in the fifth inning when Bonds was up again and popped up a ball that dropped in front of everyone on the infield. But the ump had ruled for the infield fly rule and Andre cried out that it wasn't fair - that they should have to catch the ball. He turned to me and asked, "Why do you think God allows the infield fly rule?"
I looked at Andre and sensing one of those great Christian teaching moments that we all seem to enjoy with our sons, I replied, "Because even God doesn't understand the infield fly rule, son." It was a great father-son moment.
The Giants won the game 8-1 over the Dodgers (who just aren't the same since Jeff Kent became their manager) and we all went home happy. Tomorrow, I start work on the edit of the new Star Wars TV series, so I'd better get some sleep.
Oh, sorry I didn't have any photos. Andre accidentally threw my camera out into McCovey cove when Bonds hit the homerun and these two teens caught the camera, but their boat sank before they could return it to me.
Just remember what God said about the sincerest form of flattery...
We arrived at the valet parking with about an hour to go until game time and me determined to make this a special night for all involved. I paid the guy a fiver to park our cherry red 1963 roadster in the parking lot and told him to keep an eye on it, then I escorted Celeste and Andre towards the Lefty O'Doul gate. But before we went in, we stopped at the Giants Dugout Store to buy some S.F. Giants 2007 NL West Champs hats and pins. Dutifully accoutred, we entered the park and took the steps to the top of the stadium.
The bunting was still in place from the Bonds 800th Homerun celebration the night before, but it looked a little sad - like it had perhaps seen its last hurrah. I told the bunting to cheer up since I knew that Bonds was likely to be signed for another couple of years so that he could make an attempt on Oh's all time homerun record.
We sat in our seats and watched the pre-game festivities and ordered hot dogs and beer from passing vendors. I was glad that they rolled back the prices. Andre wanted two hot dogs but I reminded him that he had a big soccer game tomorrow, so he wheedled me into buying him a Chocolate Malt instead. I swear my son is getting as persuasive as me some days.
The game started and Cain was dealing - six strikeouts in the first seven batters on only 24 pitches. But defense is boring for a seven year old, so we were both happy when Bonds hit #801 right over our heads in the 3rd. Andre looked at me as the ball hit the water as if to say, "Well, aren't you going after it?" I just patted his back and high fived him. Celeste and I shared a congratulatory kiss that made me wish Bonds would hit a couple of more jacks - onion breath and all.
But the real teaching moment came in the fifth inning when Bonds was up again and popped up a ball that dropped in front of everyone on the infield. But the ump had ruled for the infield fly rule and Andre cried out that it wasn't fair - that they should have to catch the ball. He turned to me and asked, "Why do you think God allows the infield fly rule?"
I looked at Andre and sensing one of those great Christian teaching moments that we all seem to enjoy with our sons, I replied, "Because even God doesn't understand the infield fly rule, son." It was a great father-son moment.
The Giants won the game 8-1 over the Dodgers (who just aren't the same since Jeff Kent became their manager) and we all went home happy. Tomorrow, I start work on the edit of the new Star Wars TV series, so I'd better get some sleep.
Oh, sorry I didn't have any photos. Andre accidentally threw my camera out into McCovey cove when Bonds hit the homerun and these two teens caught the camera, but their boat sank before they could return it to me.
Just remember what God said about the sincerest form of flattery...
Monday, September 24, 2007
I love this Scary world!
Not everything about over consumerization is bad. For one thing, it makes a fertile ground for the imagination of one of my all time favorite authors, Richard Scary. For those of you with children, Richard Scary is probably a current favorite, but for those of you without children, you may have to think back to your childhood to remember his books. He created a whole series of books that showed a series of small animal figures in various scenes from real life helping to illustrate the hundreds of thousands of things we use every day that a young child might not know by name. For instance, an incredibly detailed picture of an airport that would take up two whole pages and would show, and label, everything from the control tower to the baggage handlers. Somewhere in the picture, you could always find the inch worm and the little fox and some pigs. It was a great way to learn the words for things (I even have a German version for learning the German words for things like Banhoff).
I was thinking about that today as I stood waiting in front of my work building waiting for an insurance inspector to arrive. I work in an industrial area and there are tons of trucks that pass our office every day. So as I stood there and waited, I watched a dump truck go by, and a plumbing van, and a cable truck, and an SUV, and a small fire truck, and a train rolled down the tracks nearby, and a helicopter buzzed through the air, and an inch worm rolled across the sidewalk nearby on a skateboard - and suddenly I was viewing the world through a Richard Scary lens. All of this variety, all of this wonderful variety, and everyone here with a purpose and a means of transport. I wasn't looking at traffic congestion. I wasn't looking at global warming. I was looking at this idealized and wonderfully diverse world, and it made me smile.
I spent the weekend playing youth group games at church and then hanging out with friends and then spending time on the ground with my nephew playing cars - what a wonderful weekend. God doesn't just want us to view His world through the lens of a child, he wants us to become truly childlike. He wants us to play Sardines. And he wants us to dodge balls. And he wants us to pretend that cars are getting in line for Pirates of the Carribean at Disneyland - because that's what cars really want to do. They don't want to break down and guzzle gas. Cars want to ride rides. Because when cars ride rides, we are not hurting each other, we are not hurting God - we are spending time with one another in community and happiness.
Nobody said life had to be hard... we just make it that way.
I was thinking about that today as I stood waiting in front of my work building waiting for an insurance inspector to arrive. I work in an industrial area and there are tons of trucks that pass our office every day. So as I stood there and waited, I watched a dump truck go by, and a plumbing van, and a cable truck, and an SUV, and a small fire truck, and a train rolled down the tracks nearby, and a helicopter buzzed through the air, and an inch worm rolled across the sidewalk nearby on a skateboard - and suddenly I was viewing the world through a Richard Scary lens. All of this variety, all of this wonderful variety, and everyone here with a purpose and a means of transport. I wasn't looking at traffic congestion. I wasn't looking at global warming. I was looking at this idealized and wonderfully diverse world, and it made me smile.
I spent the weekend playing youth group games at church and then hanging out with friends and then spending time on the ground with my nephew playing cars - what a wonderful weekend. God doesn't just want us to view His world through the lens of a child, he wants us to become truly childlike. He wants us to play Sardines. And he wants us to dodge balls. And he wants us to pretend that cars are getting in line for Pirates of the Carribean at Disneyland - because that's what cars really want to do. They don't want to break down and guzzle gas. Cars want to ride rides. Because when cars ride rides, we are not hurting each other, we are not hurting God - we are spending time with one another in community and happiness.
Nobody said life had to be hard... we just make it that way.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Awakenings
Remember that movie a while back with Robert DeNiro as a mental patient that suffers from a debilitating brain disease that causes him to be a virtual vegetable for most of his life until a doctor discovers a "cure" that wakens him up - only to have some complications along the way (I don't want to give away the ending if you haven't seen it yet). Well, I kind of feel like that right now. My synapses are firing sideways again, or diagonal, or whatever... and I'm feeling especially bizarre.
This is what I like to call... NORMAL.
For those of you who haven't known me for a long time, then you might know the NORMAL me. He has been hiding out for a while (I think he feared extradition to the Hague for Pun Warfare crimes against humanity) biding his time for a return to his evil and wicked ways. Small e evil and small w wicked. This is the NORMAL me who wrote a story, with a certain partner in beachware whose name I won't mention, that ended on an exact replica of Captain Crunch's island from the back of a cereal box. In the same story, I posited a former youth leader of mine piloting the space shuttle. This is the Normal Me who wrote about a wrestling match between a couple of pro-wrestlers and a rock musician on top of a stretch-RV while being pursued through the streets of San Francisco by an entire army (well, it sounded unlikely when I wrote it... now I'm not so sure ;) These are the kinds of ideas NORMAL ME has. These are the kind of mental waves I normally give off. And now, look out... I'm in charge of teaching your children about GOD! BWAH HA HA HA HA HA!
Okay, so admitedly, the idea that I just had about using Fish Dogs to teach kids about God's refining process was a little bizarre - even for me. Fish Dogs are hot dog buns filled with three or so long fish sticks, covered with tartar sauce, and cheese (think of a Filetofish Sandwich in a hot dog bun). I was going to ask for volunteers from the "studio" audience and have them try various things on the old Fish Dog to see if I could "refine" them to make them better. Then I was going to read some of the passages about refining in the Bible and make the comparison that we, and all our sins, are like fish sticks in hot dog buns covered with tartar sauce and cheese. Cause, you know, that's just what it says in the Bible... somewhere... And then God refines us and makes us into something Der Wienerschnitzel can't even imagine ever selling - something that even Pink's or Nathan's would drool over - something so spectacular that that Kobiyashi dude could only eat three or four of, tops!
Do you see where this is going? Cause if you do, let me know. I'm lost. My brain took a left turn somewhere around Topeka and I kept going straight. So, uh, I'm going to Refine my Youth Group plans for this weekend, and maybe go make a Fish Dog while I'm at it. Suddenly I have a craving for one.
This is what I like to call... NORMAL.
For those of you who haven't known me for a long time, then you might know the NORMAL me. He has been hiding out for a while (I think he feared extradition to the Hague for Pun Warfare crimes against humanity) biding his time for a return to his evil and wicked ways. Small e evil and small w wicked. This is the NORMAL me who wrote a story, with a certain partner in beachware whose name I won't mention, that ended on an exact replica of Captain Crunch's island from the back of a cereal box. In the same story, I posited a former youth leader of mine piloting the space shuttle. This is the Normal Me who wrote about a wrestling match between a couple of pro-wrestlers and a rock musician on top of a stretch-RV while being pursued through the streets of San Francisco by an entire army (well, it sounded unlikely when I wrote it... now I'm not so sure ;) These are the kinds of ideas NORMAL ME has. These are the kind of mental waves I normally give off. And now, look out... I'm in charge of teaching your children about GOD! BWAH HA HA HA HA HA!
Okay, so admitedly, the idea that I just had about using Fish Dogs to teach kids about God's refining process was a little bizarre - even for me. Fish Dogs are hot dog buns filled with three or so long fish sticks, covered with tartar sauce, and cheese (think of a Filetofish Sandwich in a hot dog bun). I was going to ask for volunteers from the "studio" audience and have them try various things on the old Fish Dog to see if I could "refine" them to make them better. Then I was going to read some of the passages about refining in the Bible and make the comparison that we, and all our sins, are like fish sticks in hot dog buns covered with tartar sauce and cheese. Cause, you know, that's just what it says in the Bible... somewhere... And then God refines us and makes us into something Der Wienerschnitzel can't even imagine ever selling - something that even Pink's or Nathan's would drool over - something so spectacular that that Kobiyashi dude could only eat three or four of, tops!
Do you see where this is going? Cause if you do, let me know. I'm lost. My brain took a left turn somewhere around Topeka and I kept going straight. So, uh, I'm going to Refine my Youth Group plans for this weekend, and maybe go make a Fish Dog while I'm at it. Suddenly I have a craving for one.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
What does it mean to live a life?
Lately my thoughts have dwelt increasingly amongst the dead. Perhaps I am getting old and facing thoughts of my own mortality for the first time. Perhaps I am reading Revelations and the thoughts of the end game have given rise to thoughts of my part in it. Perhaps its just the fact that death is a part of life and though we like to forget it, there are people dying all around us every single day of the year. I'm not sure which it is, but my thoughts have been jarred loose and have floated that direction.
I'm not sure what I want to say about it. The idea, the thought of being dead, immediately leads one to the next idea - what's next? But that's a non-starter. Despite my faith, I can't answer that question. I believe that AFTER I die, I will see a bright golden tunnel of warmth and light and emerge in a new place with my Grandfather and Grandmother and all those others who have gone before me. But its what will happen before that that has gripped my imagination.
I read a story yesterday about a bunch of scientists who are traveling through the Singapore area looking for geological evidence of an upcoming mammoth quake to rival the one that killed tens of thousands of people a couple of years ago. The interview was taking place on a beach in Phuket - one of the places hard hit by the previous Tsunami. As the geologist is giving the interview, they are watching the sand on the beach shake from an aftershock (foreshock) and the guy is basically acknowledging that at any moment, a giant tsunami wave could be coming on the horizon to blot out his existence. Then he goes on to say how he and his team will be traveling to other islands for the next several weeks and months looking for more information - with full knowledge of the likelihood of his own death.
When I was young and dumb, I joined the Navy and didn't really think through the ramifications of that decision. We like to all think that we'll have some say about our lives and that nobody would needlessly throw our lives away on some dubious cause. I knew people that were killed. I knew people who killed others. I could never imagine that thought that I might be shot or blown up or maimed on any given day merely because of the uniform I wore. Worst was the knowledge that to prevent intelligence from falling into our enemies hands - the marines would be given orders to kill me rather than let me be captured. I decided to simply ignore such thoughts. Facing mortality at such a young age is almost an impossible thing. I was still trying to figure out how to live. I certainly didn't want to figure out how to die.
But now, I am looking forward down the road to my 70's, 80's, 90's... and I am asking myself, what do I want to accomplish before that day that I die? What do I want to look back upon and say, "That was the proudest day of my life"? What sort of legacy do I want to leave?
And, at the same time, I am wondering - will it hurt? How much pain can I bear? What are the limits of my endurance? What would I do if faced with a decision between life in a diminished capacity or a gruesome death?
I've never had to ask these questions before. Death has always been a part of life, but not an experience that I've sought out nor ever tried to understand. We all joke about the sort of death we want, but we're usually thinking along the lines of what would give us and our loved ones the least amount of pain. Nobody ever answers that question with, "I'd like to have a massive heart attack in my home and not be found for three days." But that might be a reality for some of us. And its something to consider - even if its only in the fleeting dark spots of our mind. As Spock once told Saavik, "How we face death is at least as important as how we face life." I think that statement not only shows wisdom, but its also something that we don't truly consider until we've grown a little in our shoes and suddenly realize that the summit of our lives is approaching, and the long downhill is to follow soon after.
Of course, my Dad did tell me when he reached 65 that he was finally content to reach middle age... so maybe I've got a long time to think about this. But, just in case, its always nice to be prepared.
I'm not sure what I want to say about it. The idea, the thought of being dead, immediately leads one to the next idea - what's next? But that's a non-starter. Despite my faith, I can't answer that question. I believe that AFTER I die, I will see a bright golden tunnel of warmth and light and emerge in a new place with my Grandfather and Grandmother and all those others who have gone before me. But its what will happen before that that has gripped my imagination.
I read a story yesterday about a bunch of scientists who are traveling through the Singapore area looking for geological evidence of an upcoming mammoth quake to rival the one that killed tens of thousands of people a couple of years ago. The interview was taking place on a beach in Phuket - one of the places hard hit by the previous Tsunami. As the geologist is giving the interview, they are watching the sand on the beach shake from an aftershock (foreshock) and the guy is basically acknowledging that at any moment, a giant tsunami wave could be coming on the horizon to blot out his existence. Then he goes on to say how he and his team will be traveling to other islands for the next several weeks and months looking for more information - with full knowledge of the likelihood of his own death.
When I was young and dumb, I joined the Navy and didn't really think through the ramifications of that decision. We like to all think that we'll have some say about our lives and that nobody would needlessly throw our lives away on some dubious cause. I knew people that were killed. I knew people who killed others. I could never imagine that thought that I might be shot or blown up or maimed on any given day merely because of the uniform I wore. Worst was the knowledge that to prevent intelligence from falling into our enemies hands - the marines would be given orders to kill me rather than let me be captured. I decided to simply ignore such thoughts. Facing mortality at such a young age is almost an impossible thing. I was still trying to figure out how to live. I certainly didn't want to figure out how to die.
But now, I am looking forward down the road to my 70's, 80's, 90's... and I am asking myself, what do I want to accomplish before that day that I die? What do I want to look back upon and say, "That was the proudest day of my life"? What sort of legacy do I want to leave?
And, at the same time, I am wondering - will it hurt? How much pain can I bear? What are the limits of my endurance? What would I do if faced with a decision between life in a diminished capacity or a gruesome death?
I've never had to ask these questions before. Death has always been a part of life, but not an experience that I've sought out nor ever tried to understand. We all joke about the sort of death we want, but we're usually thinking along the lines of what would give us and our loved ones the least amount of pain. Nobody ever answers that question with, "I'd like to have a massive heart attack in my home and not be found for three days." But that might be a reality for some of us. And its something to consider - even if its only in the fleeting dark spots of our mind. As Spock once told Saavik, "How we face death is at least as important as how we face life." I think that statement not only shows wisdom, but its also something that we don't truly consider until we've grown a little in our shoes and suddenly realize that the summit of our lives is approaching, and the long downhill is to follow soon after.
Of course, my Dad did tell me when he reached 65 that he was finally content to reach middle age... so maybe I've got a long time to think about this. But, just in case, its always nice to be prepared.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Even Perry Mason Could Figure This One Out...
Was O.J. set up? Duh...
I have in the past been supportive of the idea that O.J. was rightfully acquitted in Los Angeles some years ago. Rightfully because the prosecution never proved that O.J. did it. Face it, folks, they were just beat up by O.J.'s defense team - a legal equivalent of the American Dream Team. That having been said, I can't say that I've ever really believed he was completely innocent either. Whereas I don't think its been proven that he killed his ex-wife, there are too many issues surrounding the original case to say that he didn't have some involvement whether before, during, or after the fact.
One thing I can say, however, with certainty is that O.J. always seemed to me to be not the swiftest thing on two feet. I've felt embarrassed for him and almost insulted by him since his acquittal and his vow to bring the real killers to justice. He has fumbled through many attempts to explain his actions on those nights and how he couldn't possibly be the killer - as if rehashing the subject was going to change people's minds. It always provided for me two scenarios, neither of which was very good for O.J. - First, that he was the killer and that his attempts to prove otherwise were manifestations of his own desire to be redeemed, or second, that he was innocent and too stupid to make an honest attempt to prove it to everyone else.
That brings us to Vegas and the events leading up to it. In a very simple timeline, O.J. writes a book called, "If I Did It," which clearly fits into either of my two pathetic theories. Then his publisher comes to his senses and says, "Um, no, I guess we're not going to print it." Then the Goldman's (who are either utterly convinced that O.J. did it and are doing everything in their power to make his life a living hell, or their just money-grubbing bastards) get the publisher to publish the book after all so that they can split the profits with O.J.'s kids.
And so, TA DUM, on the day O.J.'s book goes on sale, his "friend" tells O.J. that there's a bunch of guys in Las Vegas trying to sell his "stolen memorabilia". He not only knows who the people are, but where their located, and how to contact them. O.J. gets angry (O.J. smash puny humans!) and asks his "friend" to set up a meeting with the guys. Then O.J. gets together a posse and they ride into the hotel room to retrieve the stolen goods. And within hours, O.J. is being accused of armed robbery, and, lo and behold, an audio tape emerges that clearly nails O.J.'s behind to the wall. The audio tape has been recorded by O.J.'s "friend" - the one who set up the entire affair.
Here's the thing though... I think O.J.'s guilty as hell in this case. Unfortunately so, perhaps, but still guilty. Nobody that stupid should be allowed to walk around. You are O.J., one of the most recognized guys on the planet, and you're going to walk into a room and commit a robbery to retrieve your stolen goods - AND YOU DON'T SEE ANY PROBLEM WITH THAT?! Has the thought of calling the cops or lawyers or anything ever occurred to you?
O.J. was set up. No doubt in my mind. I knew it long before the tape emerged. But that doesn't change the fact that he walked into the set up willingly and willingly committed the crime. O.J. will go to jail because no prosecution, jury, or defense is going to let him walk this time. In the world of criminal justice, you only get one get out of jail free card.
We will still never know whether O.J. was guilty or not of killing his ex-wife. But, perhaps, justice will finally be served. Only O.J. knows for sure.
I have in the past been supportive of the idea that O.J. was rightfully acquitted in Los Angeles some years ago. Rightfully because the prosecution never proved that O.J. did it. Face it, folks, they were just beat up by O.J.'s defense team - a legal equivalent of the American Dream Team. That having been said, I can't say that I've ever really believed he was completely innocent either. Whereas I don't think its been proven that he killed his ex-wife, there are too many issues surrounding the original case to say that he didn't have some involvement whether before, during, or after the fact.
One thing I can say, however, with certainty is that O.J. always seemed to me to be not the swiftest thing on two feet. I've felt embarrassed for him and almost insulted by him since his acquittal and his vow to bring the real killers to justice. He has fumbled through many attempts to explain his actions on those nights and how he couldn't possibly be the killer - as if rehashing the subject was going to change people's minds. It always provided for me two scenarios, neither of which was very good for O.J. - First, that he was the killer and that his attempts to prove otherwise were manifestations of his own desire to be redeemed, or second, that he was innocent and too stupid to make an honest attempt to prove it to everyone else.
That brings us to Vegas and the events leading up to it. In a very simple timeline, O.J. writes a book called, "If I Did It," which clearly fits into either of my two pathetic theories. Then his publisher comes to his senses and says, "Um, no, I guess we're not going to print it." Then the Goldman's (who are either utterly convinced that O.J. did it and are doing everything in their power to make his life a living hell, or their just money-grubbing bastards) get the publisher to publish the book after all so that they can split the profits with O.J.'s kids.
And so, TA DUM, on the day O.J.'s book goes on sale, his "friend" tells O.J. that there's a bunch of guys in Las Vegas trying to sell his "stolen memorabilia". He not only knows who the people are, but where their located, and how to contact them. O.J. gets angry (O.J. smash puny humans!) and asks his "friend" to set up a meeting with the guys. Then O.J. gets together a posse and they ride into the hotel room to retrieve the stolen goods. And within hours, O.J. is being accused of armed robbery, and, lo and behold, an audio tape emerges that clearly nails O.J.'s behind to the wall. The audio tape has been recorded by O.J.'s "friend" - the one who set up the entire affair.
Here's the thing though... I think O.J.'s guilty as hell in this case. Unfortunately so, perhaps, but still guilty. Nobody that stupid should be allowed to walk around. You are O.J., one of the most recognized guys on the planet, and you're going to walk into a room and commit a robbery to retrieve your stolen goods - AND YOU DON'T SEE ANY PROBLEM WITH THAT?! Has the thought of calling the cops or lawyers or anything ever occurred to you?
O.J. was set up. No doubt in my mind. I knew it long before the tape emerged. But that doesn't change the fact that he walked into the set up willingly and willingly committed the crime. O.J. will go to jail because no prosecution, jury, or defense is going to let him walk this time. In the world of criminal justice, you only get one get out of jail free card.
We will still never know whether O.J. was guilty or not of killing his ex-wife. But, perhaps, justice will finally be served. Only O.J. knows for sure.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Still Doing Things...
I'm like on a doing kick right now. This weekend I managed to finish the movie that I had intended for Help Will Train and managed to get my webmaster to install the film online for me. You can now see this film that is at once self-pitying, hopeful, and... I don't know... I just really like it. Its a great mix of sillyness and great music. The marriage of image and sound and text is a menage a trois of pathetic proportions. So, if you can turn your sound down low, I recommend you watch it - but don't take it too seriously. It's a bit too artistic to be taken seriously.
I also started filming an idea I have for a short film which I hope to finish next week - right now you only get to know the working title, "An athiest walks into a bank..." I spent the afternoon today working with two young actors who were recording the dialogue of an angel and devil. It feels good to just be out there doing something that's not work related, nor school related, nor church related. Its been a long time since I reconnected with ME and did something just for myself. The film should debut on Youtube some time next week, assuming I can convince the actors to come back for some blue screen work (we never do anything easy around here).
I'm sorry if I messed with anyone's mind over the TAC website front page (see last post). I just had this silly idea for a front page and I wanted it to come across as a surprise. I think its more impressive if you're not expecting it.
Its funny that in all this creative development, I have not lost track that God is there in my life. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that this is all part of that little dance that leads me on to a new path. Somehow, all this bizarre creative energy is His doing. I am just grateful to be having fun for a change.
Okay, now back to work... have a good week everyone!
Da Wig
I also started filming an idea I have for a short film which I hope to finish next week - right now you only get to know the working title, "An athiest walks into a bank..." I spent the afternoon today working with two young actors who were recording the dialogue of an angel and devil. It feels good to just be out there doing something that's not work related, nor school related, nor church related. Its been a long time since I reconnected with ME and did something just for myself. The film should debut on Youtube some time next week, assuming I can convince the actors to come back for some blue screen work (we never do anything easy around here).
I'm sorry if I messed with anyone's mind over the TAC website front page (see last post). I just had this silly idea for a front page and I wanted it to come across as a surprise. I think its more impressive if you're not expecting it.
Its funny that in all this creative development, I have not lost track that God is there in my life. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that this is all part of that little dance that leads me on to a new path. Somehow, all this bizarre creative energy is His doing. I am just grateful to be having fun for a change.
Okay, now back to work... have a good week everyone!
Da Wig
Friday, September 14, 2007
Website Help Needed
Hi all,
I'm trying to test my new front page of my website - www.theadventurechronicles.com - and I seem to be having some problems on certain platforms. Its like the buttons don't want to work. And there seems to be a lag time in loading. Can some of you check out my front page and tell me what you think? I'm worried that the web inspectors might do something drastic if I don't get it fixed soon.
Thanks.
I'm trying to test my new front page of my website - www.theadventurechronicles.com - and I seem to be having some problems on certain platforms. Its like the buttons don't want to work. And there seems to be a lag time in loading. Can some of you check out my front page and tell me what you think? I'm worried that the web inspectors might do something drastic if I don't get it fixed soon.
Thanks.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Doing
It may seem that I've been quiet lately. Its not for a lack of thought. But sometimes thought becomes its own thing and sometimes thought is harnessed into action. Sometimes you reflect and sometimes you do. Right now, I'm doing.
But I can't help read things that others have written and I just can't quite find the words to respond. In A River Runs Through It, the main character remarks that if you listen closely to the river, you can hear God's words underneath the rocks. Well, there are times when I think my words go diving to look for them, because when I look around, my words are nowhere to be found. Its the written equivalent of being struck dumb.
And so, when I reach that situation where my words seem to be on vacation even as I'm stuck here left to fend for myself, I do two things - first, I become very quiet. Its easy to look intelligent if you never open your mouth, which is something the President's advisors might want to remind him from time to time. And second, I start doing. Doing up a storm. All the things I didn't do when I was too busy reflecting on the things I ought to be doing.
To be fair, scheduling seems to be a large part of it. I'm hardly around enough to reflect anymore. I've got class two nights a week, youth group one night a week, and church choirs on one night as well. Throw in all those pesky other meetings and planned outings and such and I've pretty much got things planned 8 or 9 nights a week. If I stopped doing, I'd have to reflect on how much I wasn't getting things done, and that's no fun. Far better to just do, and reflect later.
But not having the words means that when someone asks me, "What have you been doing lately?" my mind immediately clogs with images of all the stuff I've been doing. And because I can't unscramble all those thoughts with a tool as valuable as the English language, I just get this pained Neanderthal look on my face and reply with a very vague, "Things." Which isn't a lie. But its not very descriptive either.
You know, maybe I should add to my list of things to do - FIND WORDS. They must be around here somewhere. Of course, I do have a hole in one of my pockets, so perhaps they fell out and got lost. I should mend that hole while I'm doing things.
Anyway, I'm off to do some more. I'll check in as soon as I have something to reflect. In the meantime, expect some more announcements soon as all this doing seems to be paying off on getting things done.
But I can't help read things that others have written and I just can't quite find the words to respond. In A River Runs Through It, the main character remarks that if you listen closely to the river, you can hear God's words underneath the rocks. Well, there are times when I think my words go diving to look for them, because when I look around, my words are nowhere to be found. Its the written equivalent of being struck dumb.
And so, when I reach that situation where my words seem to be on vacation even as I'm stuck here left to fend for myself, I do two things - first, I become very quiet. Its easy to look intelligent if you never open your mouth, which is something the President's advisors might want to remind him from time to time. And second, I start doing. Doing up a storm. All the things I didn't do when I was too busy reflecting on the things I ought to be doing.
To be fair, scheduling seems to be a large part of it. I'm hardly around enough to reflect anymore. I've got class two nights a week, youth group one night a week, and church choirs on one night as well. Throw in all those pesky other meetings and planned outings and such and I've pretty much got things planned 8 or 9 nights a week. If I stopped doing, I'd have to reflect on how much I wasn't getting things done, and that's no fun. Far better to just do, and reflect later.
But not having the words means that when someone asks me, "What have you been doing lately?" my mind immediately clogs with images of all the stuff I've been doing. And because I can't unscramble all those thoughts with a tool as valuable as the English language, I just get this pained Neanderthal look on my face and reply with a very vague, "Things." Which isn't a lie. But its not very descriptive either.
You know, maybe I should add to my list of things to do - FIND WORDS. They must be around here somewhere. Of course, I do have a hole in one of my pockets, so perhaps they fell out and got lost. I should mend that hole while I'm doing things.
Anyway, I'm off to do some more. I'll check in as soon as I have something to reflect. In the meantime, expect some more announcements soon as all this doing seems to be paying off on getting things done.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Watchdog Group Says "High School Musical" Turning Kids Gay
Watchdog Group Says "High School Musical" Turning Kids Gay
COLORADO SPRINGS (CAP) - A conservative watchdog group has come down on the Disney Channel sensation High School Musical, saying that the TV movies are "minting the next generation of America's homosexuals" by introducing them to musical comedy at a young age.
"Parents may think it's very innocent," said James Dobson of Focus on the Family. "But just watch: one minute they're watching High School Musical, the next they're in the front row at Mamma Mia, their hand resting suggestively on a kneecap that's the same sex as theirs."
Though the main characters of Troy and Gabriella, played by teen idols Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens, are ostensibly boyfriend and girlfriend in the films, Dobson insists that their relationship is just a cover.
"You'll notice they don't even kiss until almost the end of the second movie," he said. "And even then, their mouths are closed - no tongues."
Dobson compared musical comedy to a "gateway drug," saying it's often the first step on the path to same-sex debauchery. "The studies are clear," he said, citing in particular a 2004 report by the Kenneth Mehlman Center for Public Affairs showing a clear progression from musical comedy to interior design, and from there to meticulously coiffed hair and a love of colored knit vests (perhaps olive green or burnt orange).
"Within a very short amount of time, even your casual musical comedy viewer is likely to become a flamboyant, family-values-eschewing homosexual," the report read.
Meanwhile, Disney CEO Robert A. "Bob" Iger released a statement yesterday disputing the claims. "There are absolutely, positively no homosexual undertones in either of our High School Musical movies, nor in any of the CDs, DVDs, posters, clothing or thousands of other related items available at Disney.com," said Iger.
"Unless you think maybe that there might be a market for it," he added.
Dobson, however, said that not only do the movies have a homosexual agenda, but that it's patently obvious. "Just look at that Zac Efron, with his skinny round tush and his tight pants, and those deep, sea blue eyes and the way he pouts with those full, red lips," he said.
Dobson then cut the interview short, noting he had to go use the bathroom at the Minneapolis-Saint Paul Airport.
(Now, that's some good satire!)
COLORADO SPRINGS (CAP) - A conservative watchdog group has come down on the Disney Channel sensation High School Musical, saying that the TV movies are "minting the next generation of America's homosexuals" by introducing them to musical comedy at a young age.
"Parents may think it's very innocent," said James Dobson of Focus on the Family. "But just watch: one minute they're watching High School Musical, the next they're in the front row at Mamma Mia, their hand resting suggestively on a kneecap that's the same sex as theirs."
Though the main characters of Troy and Gabriella, played by teen idols Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens, are ostensibly boyfriend and girlfriend in the films, Dobson insists that their relationship is just a cover.
"You'll notice they don't even kiss until almost the end of the second movie," he said. "And even then, their mouths are closed - no tongues."
Dobson compared musical comedy to a "gateway drug," saying it's often the first step on the path to same-sex debauchery. "The studies are clear," he said, citing in particular a 2004 report by the Kenneth Mehlman Center for Public Affairs showing a clear progression from musical comedy to interior design, and from there to meticulously coiffed hair and a love of colored knit vests (perhaps olive green or burnt orange).
"Within a very short amount of time, even your casual musical comedy viewer is likely to become a flamboyant, family-values-eschewing homosexual," the report read.
Meanwhile, Disney CEO Robert A. "Bob" Iger released a statement yesterday disputing the claims. "There are absolutely, positively no homosexual undertones in either of our High School Musical movies, nor in any of the CDs, DVDs, posters, clothing or thousands of other related items available at Disney.com," said Iger.
"Unless you think maybe that there might be a market for it," he added.
Dobson, however, said that not only do the movies have a homosexual agenda, but that it's patently obvious. "Just look at that Zac Efron, with his skinny round tush and his tight pants, and those deep, sea blue eyes and the way he pouts with those full, red lips," he said.
Dobson then cut the interview short, noting he had to go use the bathroom at the Minneapolis-Saint Paul Airport.
(Now, that's some good satire!)
Monday, September 10, 2007
The Secret of My Celeste
File this one under typical writer insanity...
A year ago, I was supposed to be in Florida meeting my dream woman - Celeste - the golf instructor. For those of you who remember, Celeste was a creation of mine from a series of blogs where I tried to imagine those ten days that I would spend in Florida last year. According to my imagination, I met Celeste at a golf lesson and we ended up going out for a few nights while I was in Florida. Of course, she wasn't real - in the sense that she didn't really exist, couldn't be actually touched, and certainly didn't have real lips to kiss me. But the imagination is a powerful thing according to Mickey Mouse and his trip Fantasmic.
For a writer to imagine a new character is nothing new. We do it so often and so routinely that it just becomes something rather boring - ordinary - commonplace. We are not really breathing life into a character, we are merely forming the outline, the structure, the accepted parameters of a pretend individual (like a forger might provide the documents for an alias). It is YOUR imagination that breathes life into a character. Without someone reading about the character, there can be no life given to this character. Its your imagination that gives a character its voice, its shape, its look, its spark of vitality. So the secret to the success of a writer's characters is mostly based on the writer's ability to stimulate that part of your brain that makes you breathe life into the writer's creation. Its a symbiotic relationship, and writers are often surprised what direction their characters take once life has been breathed into them by readers.
But Celeste is different. Celeste follows in a long line of different characters for me. To me, Celeste was alive. Is alive. Will be alive again. She is a tapping into a subconscious for me. She is a character that I found breathing and described to you and not the other way around.
Its a subtle psychological difference and its something that I've only noticed when I try to imagine female characters in love stories. To me, Celeste is closer akin to a fantasy than a character. She is what I'd Like To Have Happen To Me, and not some randomly generated plot driving floozy. The difference is quite stunning in terms of writing. Characters I control. They do what I tell them to do. They say their lines. And they die on cue. Girls like Celeste tell me what they're doing, even when it complicates the story line. They make me realize that I am lucky to have them. And that if it weren't for some trick of writing fate, I'd probably never even know them.
Let's be realistic - most great literary women are Celeste's. There's no way that Romeo meets Juliet and they immediately fall in love. There's no way that Juliet defies her parents and secretly marries Romeo. There's no way that Juliet agrees to fake her death because she loves Romeo so much that she's willing to do anything to be with him. And there's no way that Juliet kills herself when fate intervenes. These things don't happen to real people. These things don't happen to normal characters. They only happen to women of Celeste's ilk - creations of pure love - who show us not what the world actually presents, but what we'd LIKE TO HAVE HAPPEN TO US. Secretly, we'd all like to have a love that strong that we'd be willing to die for each other. Celeste, Juliet, Henriette, all of these women speak to our inner souls, our innermost desires, our Christian selfs. They remind us of the divine part of our nature. They remind us of what is true and noble and wonderful about life and love.
The secret of my Celeste is that she is that part of me that longs for the ultimate love of God. And she will not allow me to take any cheap substitutes.
A year ago, I was supposed to be in Florida meeting my dream woman - Celeste - the golf instructor. For those of you who remember, Celeste was a creation of mine from a series of blogs where I tried to imagine those ten days that I would spend in Florida last year. According to my imagination, I met Celeste at a golf lesson and we ended up going out for a few nights while I was in Florida. Of course, she wasn't real - in the sense that she didn't really exist, couldn't be actually touched, and certainly didn't have real lips to kiss me. But the imagination is a powerful thing according to Mickey Mouse and his trip Fantasmic.
For a writer to imagine a new character is nothing new. We do it so often and so routinely that it just becomes something rather boring - ordinary - commonplace. We are not really breathing life into a character, we are merely forming the outline, the structure, the accepted parameters of a pretend individual (like a forger might provide the documents for an alias). It is YOUR imagination that breathes life into a character. Without someone reading about the character, there can be no life given to this character. Its your imagination that gives a character its voice, its shape, its look, its spark of vitality. So the secret to the success of a writer's characters is mostly based on the writer's ability to stimulate that part of your brain that makes you breathe life into the writer's creation. Its a symbiotic relationship, and writers are often surprised what direction their characters take once life has been breathed into them by readers.
But Celeste is different. Celeste follows in a long line of different characters for me. To me, Celeste was alive. Is alive. Will be alive again. She is a tapping into a subconscious for me. She is a character that I found breathing and described to you and not the other way around.
Its a subtle psychological difference and its something that I've only noticed when I try to imagine female characters in love stories. To me, Celeste is closer akin to a fantasy than a character. She is what I'd Like To Have Happen To Me, and not some randomly generated plot driving floozy. The difference is quite stunning in terms of writing. Characters I control. They do what I tell them to do. They say their lines. And they die on cue. Girls like Celeste tell me what they're doing, even when it complicates the story line. They make me realize that I am lucky to have them. And that if it weren't for some trick of writing fate, I'd probably never even know them.
Let's be realistic - most great literary women are Celeste's. There's no way that Romeo meets Juliet and they immediately fall in love. There's no way that Juliet defies her parents and secretly marries Romeo. There's no way that Juliet agrees to fake her death because she loves Romeo so much that she's willing to do anything to be with him. And there's no way that Juliet kills herself when fate intervenes. These things don't happen to real people. These things don't happen to normal characters. They only happen to women of Celeste's ilk - creations of pure love - who show us not what the world actually presents, but what we'd LIKE TO HAVE HAPPEN TO US. Secretly, we'd all like to have a love that strong that we'd be willing to die for each other. Celeste, Juliet, Henriette, all of these women speak to our inner souls, our innermost desires, our Christian selfs. They remind us of the divine part of our nature. They remind us of what is true and noble and wonderful about life and love.
The secret of my Celeste is that she is that part of me that longs for the ultimate love of God. And she will not allow me to take any cheap substitutes.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Emptying The Clutter Part One - Chinese Products
Being a product manager for an import/export company that does business with several Asian manufacturers, you might expect that I have a very strong opinion about the availability of cheap manufactured goods from China. I do. They suck. Not only do they suck, but they are the single greatest threat to the United States of America, both in terms of its security and its hegemony in the rest of the world. Now, if we don't really care where we stand in the scheme of things, if we have no problem with going the way of Britain, Spain, and Rome and becoming a second rate world power, then we can simply ignore this blog. But if we've grown accustomed to being a leader in the world, then we simply can't ignore the danger such cheap products create.
So, why do we buy cheap products from China? Well, really, its a matter of supply and demand - more importantly, the Demand part. Let's start with WalMart.
While WalMart was by no means the first company to import products from China, they are certainly the best at it. Supplying the world's largest chain of stores requires extra ordinary effort on the behalf of WalMart. Most American companies can't keep up with the demand of the voracious Walmart shoppers - certainly not without wanting to realize a tidy profit as a result. In China, where profits can be measured in cents, not dollars, a product sold that realizes a few cents profit can be a huge boon to its manufacturers. So in China Walmart has a steady supply of products to fill its stores. It buys these products at incredibly cheap prices and passes on those savings to its shoppers. We buy things from Walmart because they are cheap. As a result, Walmart claims more and more of our business and gets larger and larger and needs more and more product and more and more of our money goes overseas to China. Demand fuels supply everytime.
This, of course, is not lost on those chains that are not called Walmart, nor on the manufacturers that supply those stores. In order to remain competitive with Walmart pricing, these manufacturers also have to start importing products from China. It doesn't matter that these products might be inferior to the products they already have. What matters is the price. As long as they are cheap, everyone can remain competitive. The second Walmart lowers their price to something less than we can offer, we lose that products sales to Walmart. Walmart keeps getting richer, and everyone else keeps getting poorer.
Soon you end up with a situation where 80% of all toys are produced in China, where 75% of all our food is produced in China, and where well over half of all our consumer goods are produced in China. Our manufacturers are laying off employees, suffering through hard times, and feeing the problem just to stay in business. Our money increasingly goes overseas. Our jobs increasingly go overseas.
In short, the purchasing of so many cheap products has turned the entire nation into a bunch of cheap whores - selling out to the lowest bidder every time.
So, one part of me is saddened that all this scrutiny is now being foist upon the Chinese market. I need those sales to keep my job and if there is too much of a backlash, business will surely suffer. Walmart will coast through such a downturn, but the rest of the companies who were forced to turn to China to save their necks, will be crushed under the weight of consumer indifference. On the other hand, any blow to the Chinese economy is good for the U.S.A. If you look at how quickly China has grown in the last ten years, it is primarily because we have been feeding it. China now has the world's fastest growing economy. Tie that to a nation of over 1 Billion consumers and look out. Demand for oil has caused the price to skyrocket. Imagine what demand for other products is going to do to the prices of other things. Five years ago, my very prescient friend told me that the one thing that scared him the most is the potential of China going capitalistic and democratic. If that happens, you can kiss our number one status in the world goodbye.
We made this happen. We demanded cheaper and cheaper products. We took the short term gain over the long term security. Its us that is to blame - not Mattel, not Walmart, and not the Bush/Clinton/Bush/Reagan governments. We drive the economy. If we want to get quality products back on the shelves and correct the imbalance in our economies, then we have to start putting our money where our mouths are - here in America.
There. Got that off my chest. Its now out of my mind. Some of the clutter is gone.
So, why do we buy cheap products from China? Well, really, its a matter of supply and demand - more importantly, the Demand part. Let's start with WalMart.
While WalMart was by no means the first company to import products from China, they are certainly the best at it. Supplying the world's largest chain of stores requires extra ordinary effort on the behalf of WalMart. Most American companies can't keep up with the demand of the voracious Walmart shoppers - certainly not without wanting to realize a tidy profit as a result. In China, where profits can be measured in cents, not dollars, a product sold that realizes a few cents profit can be a huge boon to its manufacturers. So in China Walmart has a steady supply of products to fill its stores. It buys these products at incredibly cheap prices and passes on those savings to its shoppers. We buy things from Walmart because they are cheap. As a result, Walmart claims more and more of our business and gets larger and larger and needs more and more product and more and more of our money goes overseas to China. Demand fuels supply everytime.
This, of course, is not lost on those chains that are not called Walmart, nor on the manufacturers that supply those stores. In order to remain competitive with Walmart pricing, these manufacturers also have to start importing products from China. It doesn't matter that these products might be inferior to the products they already have. What matters is the price. As long as they are cheap, everyone can remain competitive. The second Walmart lowers their price to something less than we can offer, we lose that products sales to Walmart. Walmart keeps getting richer, and everyone else keeps getting poorer.
Soon you end up with a situation where 80% of all toys are produced in China, where 75% of all our food is produced in China, and where well over half of all our consumer goods are produced in China. Our manufacturers are laying off employees, suffering through hard times, and feeing the problem just to stay in business. Our money increasingly goes overseas. Our jobs increasingly go overseas.
In short, the purchasing of so many cheap products has turned the entire nation into a bunch of cheap whores - selling out to the lowest bidder every time.
So, one part of me is saddened that all this scrutiny is now being foist upon the Chinese market. I need those sales to keep my job and if there is too much of a backlash, business will surely suffer. Walmart will coast through such a downturn, but the rest of the companies who were forced to turn to China to save their necks, will be crushed under the weight of consumer indifference. On the other hand, any blow to the Chinese economy is good for the U.S.A. If you look at how quickly China has grown in the last ten years, it is primarily because we have been feeding it. China now has the world's fastest growing economy. Tie that to a nation of over 1 Billion consumers and look out. Demand for oil has caused the price to skyrocket. Imagine what demand for other products is going to do to the prices of other things. Five years ago, my very prescient friend told me that the one thing that scared him the most is the potential of China going capitalistic and democratic. If that happens, you can kiss our number one status in the world goodbye.
We made this happen. We demanded cheaper and cheaper products. We took the short term gain over the long term security. Its us that is to blame - not Mattel, not Walmart, and not the Bush/Clinton/Bush/Reagan governments. We drive the economy. If we want to get quality products back on the shelves and correct the imbalance in our economies, then we have to start putting our money where our mouths are - here in America.
There. Got that off my chest. Its now out of my mind. Some of the clutter is gone.
Friday, August 31, 2007
We're Only Human
Sometimes being a Christian sucks. It just does. We are called by Jesus to a higher standard that requires us to humble ourselves before our enemies - to not hate them, to not wish them harm, to not want to run as far away from them as possible, to not fear them. But there are so many of them, so many people that wish us ill, or hate us, or chase us, or make us afraid. Its hard not to want to lash out, to strike back, to say derogatory things, to hide and run away. It is in our nature to do so. And to do the opposite is almost more difficult than dealing with the enemy in the first place.
We are only human. Our entire knowledge of the world is shaped by the things we perceive using our senses - things we see, things we hear, things we touch, things we smell, and things we taste. While we can KNOW people by seeing them regularly or hearing from them on the phone, or, unfortunately, smelling them, or more fortunately touching them or tasting them - we can never really KNOW KNOW them. We can't see inside their heads and we can't envision the world the way they envision it. We can't know what they see, or hear, or touch, etc... This can make us feel quite lonely even when we are in amongst a large group of people. Sometimes, we just can't communicate the way we feel, and we can't understand the way people feel about us. We are left to guess what those feelings are and to act on those guesses. At times, this can create an agony in us far greater than anything we are actually experiencing because we imagine that our guesses are our perceptions. We imagine being slighted. We imagine people whispering about us behind our backs. We imagine conversations that never take place. We FEAR for ourselves and our situations from imaginary foes. And we act on those fears. It is, perhaps, the most human thing that we do.
Those fears can lead to us to suspect that some people have bad feelings towards us. They can make us "realize" that we are not well liked or well received. They can exacerbate a situation that was minor and turn it into a major battle. We begin to be ANGRY with our friends, family and brothers and sisters. We begin to try and pick fights with them, just to confirm that which we already know. We can begin to HATE our enemies. And we can begin to act on that hate by drawing inside ourselves, by returning slights - real or imagined, by actively trying to give back the hatred that we've received. We can become perpetrators when we thought we were victims. We can try to destroy people over the mere perception that they are trying to destroy us.
And when we give in to these hatreds, we only bring SUFFERING. Suffering for ourselves and for our enemies and for everyone else caught up in the middle. When there is a breakdown in the safe and normal social order, everyone suffers. If one person suffers, a ripple effect will spread that suffering to everyone connected with that one person. And when two people are fighting, the number of people suffering doubles.
There is only one known way to circumvent the entire process - FORGIVENESS. And no, not in the way that we are naturally inclined to think as humans. No, we are not to seek forgiveness from others, we are to offer it. And offer it again. And again and again and again. We are to ask forgiveness of our friends, and family and brothers and sisters for thinking ill of them and for taking offense to minor things and for not being able to better communicate our feelings and our fears, to constantly feel the need for reassurance, to not trust their motivations, to not embrace them no matter what deficiences we perceive them to have. We are to offer forgiveness, to humble ourselves before them, and to seek reconciliation.
Its not easy being a Christian. It goes against everything we've ever felt deep down inside. And yet, it is so important for us to follow these precepts. It is important for us to love one another as God loves us.
Fear leads to anger and anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering. But forgiveness leads to love and to God. We can't choose to be human. But we can choose to be forgiven.
We are only human. Our entire knowledge of the world is shaped by the things we perceive using our senses - things we see, things we hear, things we touch, things we smell, and things we taste. While we can KNOW people by seeing them regularly or hearing from them on the phone, or, unfortunately, smelling them, or more fortunately touching them or tasting them - we can never really KNOW KNOW them. We can't see inside their heads and we can't envision the world the way they envision it. We can't know what they see, or hear, or touch, etc... This can make us feel quite lonely even when we are in amongst a large group of people. Sometimes, we just can't communicate the way we feel, and we can't understand the way people feel about us. We are left to guess what those feelings are and to act on those guesses. At times, this can create an agony in us far greater than anything we are actually experiencing because we imagine that our guesses are our perceptions. We imagine being slighted. We imagine people whispering about us behind our backs. We imagine conversations that never take place. We FEAR for ourselves and our situations from imaginary foes. And we act on those fears. It is, perhaps, the most human thing that we do.
Those fears can lead to us to suspect that some people have bad feelings towards us. They can make us "realize" that we are not well liked or well received. They can exacerbate a situation that was minor and turn it into a major battle. We begin to be ANGRY with our friends, family and brothers and sisters. We begin to try and pick fights with them, just to confirm that which we already know. We can begin to HATE our enemies. And we can begin to act on that hate by drawing inside ourselves, by returning slights - real or imagined, by actively trying to give back the hatred that we've received. We can become perpetrators when we thought we were victims. We can try to destroy people over the mere perception that they are trying to destroy us.
And when we give in to these hatreds, we only bring SUFFERING. Suffering for ourselves and for our enemies and for everyone else caught up in the middle. When there is a breakdown in the safe and normal social order, everyone suffers. If one person suffers, a ripple effect will spread that suffering to everyone connected with that one person. And when two people are fighting, the number of people suffering doubles.
There is only one known way to circumvent the entire process - FORGIVENESS. And no, not in the way that we are naturally inclined to think as humans. No, we are not to seek forgiveness from others, we are to offer it. And offer it again. And again and again and again. We are to ask forgiveness of our friends, and family and brothers and sisters for thinking ill of them and for taking offense to minor things and for not being able to better communicate our feelings and our fears, to constantly feel the need for reassurance, to not trust their motivations, to not embrace them no matter what deficiences we perceive them to have. We are to offer forgiveness, to humble ourselves before them, and to seek reconciliation.
Its not easy being a Christian. It goes against everything we've ever felt deep down inside. And yet, it is so important for us to follow these precepts. It is important for us to love one another as God loves us.
Fear leads to anger and anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering. But forgiveness leads to love and to God. We can't choose to be human. But we can choose to be forgiven.
Monday, August 27, 2007
The abuse goes on...
Now I know what it is like to be in an abusive relationship. And I also understand how difficult it is to get out of one, whether you want to or not.
Many have accused my church of being disfunctional in the past. I have, for the most part, disagreed with their final assessments. I wouldn't say that I couldn't understand their disapproval - because I'd seen it happen to others and, indeed, had felt its impact myself. The people of my church have a tendency to take and take and take and to never give back. Your value to them is often based on the idea of what have you done for me lately. People who do not contribute, or who are no longer able to contribute, quickly find themselves forgotten and discarded. But worse than that, contributions are never appreciated, merely assessed and scored on some giant tally sheet with the suspicion that if you are willing to contribute this much, you must be hiding a great deal more somewhere else that you have yet to contribute. So even those who contribute don't escape the scrutiny of a church that continues to want more of whatever you have to offer. I am not coming to this conclusion after a particular incident, but a particular incident has finally prompted me to come forward with this conclusion.
I thought I could change the church. I thought I could, in some way, prove myself worthy of it, could earn its love and admiration. I realize now that I will never achieve that goal and that such an achievement is impossible. If I continue to remain in this relationship, the church will do its best to bleed me dry and then discard me.
However, when I have tried to write my resignation, I have discovered that I can not leave this church or this disfunctional relationship. The good times and the good people are becoming more and more infrequent, but I still can not abandon them entirely - nor do I feel that the time is yet right for that move.
Instead, I will fight back. I will no longer take the abuse that is heaped upon me. And I will no longer give and give and give until I have nothing more. The next time someone questions my dedication to any portion of the church, I will merely reply, "You can try to replace me if you want. I have no more to give to you." I don't want to become an uncooperative a$$, but the truth is, my church needs to see that they can not continue down this path and still claim to be a church of Jesus Christ.
I'd better shut up now before I start into another rant. Please pray for me and for my church.
Many have accused my church of being disfunctional in the past. I have, for the most part, disagreed with their final assessments. I wouldn't say that I couldn't understand their disapproval - because I'd seen it happen to others and, indeed, had felt its impact myself. The people of my church have a tendency to take and take and take and to never give back. Your value to them is often based on the idea of what have you done for me lately. People who do not contribute, or who are no longer able to contribute, quickly find themselves forgotten and discarded. But worse than that, contributions are never appreciated, merely assessed and scored on some giant tally sheet with the suspicion that if you are willing to contribute this much, you must be hiding a great deal more somewhere else that you have yet to contribute. So even those who contribute don't escape the scrutiny of a church that continues to want more of whatever you have to offer. I am not coming to this conclusion after a particular incident, but a particular incident has finally prompted me to come forward with this conclusion.
I thought I could change the church. I thought I could, in some way, prove myself worthy of it, could earn its love and admiration. I realize now that I will never achieve that goal and that such an achievement is impossible. If I continue to remain in this relationship, the church will do its best to bleed me dry and then discard me.
However, when I have tried to write my resignation, I have discovered that I can not leave this church or this disfunctional relationship. The good times and the good people are becoming more and more infrequent, but I still can not abandon them entirely - nor do I feel that the time is yet right for that move.
Instead, I will fight back. I will no longer take the abuse that is heaped upon me. And I will no longer give and give and give until I have nothing more. The next time someone questions my dedication to any portion of the church, I will merely reply, "You can try to replace me if you want. I have no more to give to you." I don't want to become an uncooperative a$$, but the truth is, my church needs to see that they can not continue down this path and still claim to be a church of Jesus Christ.
I'd better shut up now before I start into another rant. Please pray for me and for my church.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
A Perfect Storm
Standing at the bottom of a very large wave of incoming projects, I can't help but be awed by the perfect storm of events that have led me to this moment. Every single project that I have undertaken to perform is a logical extention of me, my interests, and my beliefs. So, how did I end up here? How did I get to the point where I'm about to be flattened by the sheer enormity of work I'm about to face?
First, the obvious... I have to work to make a living. Money doesn't grow on trees in California ever since they were all cut down to make way for freeways. So, working is a constant 9 to 5 interupption in the rest of my normal routine. Sometimes, I hardly notice it. And sometimes... Massive Sales Meeting, New products arriving, China Lead Tests everywhere, preparing for next year's big show and even more new products, inventory incredibly out of whack, two major orders in the same week depleting all of my stock... sometimes work can almost be a perfect storm in and of itself.
Second, the committments... Being a youth group leader can be fun, but getting a program restarted can feel a little bit like one of those intensely dramatic moments of E.R. - where the patient is not only lying on the operating table, dying right in front of you, but the city has been plunged in a huge black out, the back up generators don't work, terrorists have seized the hospital, and a large semi-helicopter just crashed through one of the walls, and, of course, the patient has a bomb strapped to their chest. Nevertheless, God shrugs His shoulders and says, "That's your problem." So, I have an Ice Cream Social this week, and the launch of a youth group program in two weeks, several youth events to plan, and meetings to attend, and people already questioning my committment to the program because I have to miss two weeks for basketball (see below). Yet, I wouldn't give it up, nor singing in the choir, nor playing the handbells, nor serving on the website committee, because a) I'm committed to the church and to my fellow Christians and to following the way of Jesus Christ. Between church and work, I've already committed over 50 hours a week.
Third, the education... So, what was I thinking then, when I decided to go back to school? What could have possibly lead me down this path? Yet, for the past two decades I've always had an outside project that was a means to furthering my education or enriching my knowledge in some way. Whether I was learning how to build websites, or Flash, or writing a Novel, or exploring the city and state, I have always been active in doing things that don't let me sit on my a$$ and watch TV. Going back to college, something I have been planning since I left the darn place, was just a logical next step in my educational plans. Two classes, plus an online class, and all the homework, reading, and projects that those classes entail, and suddenly my committment is well over 60 hours a week.
Fourth, the family... I'm including basketball here because as much as I love watching the college game, I wouldn't be doing the stats for USF if it weren't for family ties. An average of two games a week means an additional 6 hours of committment from November through March, and often at times when I really can least afford it. Yet, I dare not abandon this job because of its connection to my family. But there are other family committments as well. I really learned this lesson while working on the Novel, that as much as it helped get the story written, abandoning my family and friends for weeks and months on end while I wrote put a severe strain on my relationships and on my health. It seems that the more time you commit to other things, the more you have to make room for family and friends (which might be contradictory, but is certainly born out by life.) So, if I was doing 60 plus hours before, after I add family and friends to my list, that number grows to over 80 hours a week.
Fifth, the incidentals... And this is the Katrina like fear of anyone with 80 plus hours of committment already guaranteed - the incidentals, the surprises, and the things beyond our control. Illness, fatigue, lost hours, road blocks, detours... all of these things that seem to come out of nowhere and take what little time we already had and leave us with almost nothing for ourselves. We become shells of people, shadows, barely able to concentrate on one project while already planning the next one. If something should even go minorly wrong, the whole perfect schedule should collapse. It only takes one hole in a levee before flooding can occur, and sometimes only one more inch of rain will swamp an entire county. All I can do with the incidentals is hope that they aren't severe and see what I can do to minimize them.
So, what's left of me? What's left for time to watch TV? What's left for time to excersise? What's left for prayer and prayerful consideration? Am I a product of this fast paced world we live in? Or am I merely taking advantage of all this free time I've been granted? I don't know and I don't have time to contemplate the answers. Instead, I'll just keep plunging forward until I hit a wall and have to stop.
I apologize in advance if I'm absent a great deal these next few months. I'll be somewhere amongst the large waves of my life - trying to stay afloat and happy for a chance to swim.
First, the obvious... I have to work to make a living. Money doesn't grow on trees in California ever since they were all cut down to make way for freeways. So, working is a constant 9 to 5 interupption in the rest of my normal routine. Sometimes, I hardly notice it. And sometimes... Massive Sales Meeting, New products arriving, China Lead Tests everywhere, preparing for next year's big show and even more new products, inventory incredibly out of whack, two major orders in the same week depleting all of my stock... sometimes work can almost be a perfect storm in and of itself.
Second, the committments... Being a youth group leader can be fun, but getting a program restarted can feel a little bit like one of those intensely dramatic moments of E.R. - where the patient is not only lying on the operating table, dying right in front of you, but the city has been plunged in a huge black out, the back up generators don't work, terrorists have seized the hospital, and a large semi-helicopter just crashed through one of the walls, and, of course, the patient has a bomb strapped to their chest. Nevertheless, God shrugs His shoulders and says, "That's your problem." So, I have an Ice Cream Social this week, and the launch of a youth group program in two weeks, several youth events to plan, and meetings to attend, and people already questioning my committment to the program because I have to miss two weeks for basketball (see below). Yet, I wouldn't give it up, nor singing in the choir, nor playing the handbells, nor serving on the website committee, because a) I'm committed to the church and to my fellow Christians and to following the way of Jesus Christ. Between church and work, I've already committed over 50 hours a week.
Third, the education... So, what was I thinking then, when I decided to go back to school? What could have possibly lead me down this path? Yet, for the past two decades I've always had an outside project that was a means to furthering my education or enriching my knowledge in some way. Whether I was learning how to build websites, or Flash, or writing a Novel, or exploring the city and state, I have always been active in doing things that don't let me sit on my a$$ and watch TV. Going back to college, something I have been planning since I left the darn place, was just a logical next step in my educational plans. Two classes, plus an online class, and all the homework, reading, and projects that those classes entail, and suddenly my committment is well over 60 hours a week.
Fourth, the family... I'm including basketball here because as much as I love watching the college game, I wouldn't be doing the stats for USF if it weren't for family ties. An average of two games a week means an additional 6 hours of committment from November through March, and often at times when I really can least afford it. Yet, I dare not abandon this job because of its connection to my family. But there are other family committments as well. I really learned this lesson while working on the Novel, that as much as it helped get the story written, abandoning my family and friends for weeks and months on end while I wrote put a severe strain on my relationships and on my health. It seems that the more time you commit to other things, the more you have to make room for family and friends (which might be contradictory, but is certainly born out by life.) So, if I was doing 60 plus hours before, after I add family and friends to my list, that number grows to over 80 hours a week.
Fifth, the incidentals... And this is the Katrina like fear of anyone with 80 plus hours of committment already guaranteed - the incidentals, the surprises, and the things beyond our control. Illness, fatigue, lost hours, road blocks, detours... all of these things that seem to come out of nowhere and take what little time we already had and leave us with almost nothing for ourselves. We become shells of people, shadows, barely able to concentrate on one project while already planning the next one. If something should even go minorly wrong, the whole perfect schedule should collapse. It only takes one hole in a levee before flooding can occur, and sometimes only one more inch of rain will swamp an entire county. All I can do with the incidentals is hope that they aren't severe and see what I can do to minimize them.
So, what's left of me? What's left for time to watch TV? What's left for time to excersise? What's left for prayer and prayerful consideration? Am I a product of this fast paced world we live in? Or am I merely taking advantage of all this free time I've been granted? I don't know and I don't have time to contemplate the answers. Instead, I'll just keep plunging forward until I hit a wall and have to stop.
I apologize in advance if I'm absent a great deal these next few months. I'll be somewhere amongst the large waves of my life - trying to stay afloat and happy for a chance to swim.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Sports and the Law - Several Case Studies
We can probably start the blame with OJ - a charismatic former sports star and Hall of Famer who allegedly killed his ex-wife and her "friend" one evening in Los Angeles. We all think we know what happened, but truth be told, we don't have a clue. We have some facts. They have some other facts. And there are a whole lot of facts missing. The case, interestingly, divided the populace in half largely on racial lines. White people tended to overwhelmingly believe the man guilty, black people believed him innocent. What we can say with a certain amount of conviction (pun intended) is that a jury of his peers after sitting through the trial of the century, found him Not Guilty of all charges. Whether through courtroom dramatics or lack of evidence or a sincere disbelief in the prosecution's case, OJ walked free. And has been relatively vilified ever since.
So in the case of the People vs. OJ, we have to say OJ 1, the People 2. People win. OJ loses.
About five years later, we started hearing rumors of steroid use in baseball. The funny thing is that these rumors were just rumors until the federal government decided to arrest the owners and operators of the BALCO lab that was allegedly supplying athletes with the performance enhancing drugs. This led to a Grand Jury and to testimony and to leaked testimony and to all sorts of accusations flying everywhere. But as to actual justice? So far, the only people tried and convicted were those first arrested - the BALCO Lab people.
Of course, you know, this is where I go off on Barry Bonds. I have defended Barry Bonds again and again not because of my belief in whether he used steroids or not, but in my belief that he has not been afforded an opportunity to actually defend himself. He has never been on trial. He has never been accused of anything. And after more than five years of accusations and recriminations, nobody has ever actually filed any charges against him. Nevertheless, Barry Bonds has been accused and found guilty by the general public without ever letting the slugger explain his side of the story. Clearly a text book case of mob justice.
In this case, Barry 0, Mob 1. The Mob wins. Barry loses.
In Duke, the same Mob was ready to tar and feather the members of the Duke LaCrosse team after an overzealous prosecutor used the case against them to get reelected despite the fact that there was little evidence to support the charges. The Duke LaCrosse team had to forfeit the rest of the season, the coach lost his job, and four players were arrested and spent years in jail and under suspicion before being cleared of all charges.
In this case, LaCrosse Team 0, Mob 1. The Mob won. Justice lost.
But this post is actually not about OJ, Barry, or the Duke LaCrosse team. It's about Michael Vick. Here is a man who has been accused of creating, and operating, a dog fighting ring. Being a dog owner, I found the charges to be the sort of thing that made me sick and I was incredibly upset about the whole concept. However, I held out hope that the entire thing had been some sort of misunderstanding. I hoped for the man's innocence. Not because I like Michael Vick - I don't, and I think he's a lousy football QB as well - but because its what we're supposed to do as Americans, believe in each other's innocence, until we can prove guilt.
In Vick's case, the NFL acted as they needed to, taking the position of innocent until proven guilty. They did not allow mob justice to ruin a man on the basis of incredible accusations. And they let the system play out the way it was supposed to. That Vick justified everyone's hatred by agreeing to plead guilty yesterday does not mean that the NFL didn't act swiftly enough to punish Vick. What it means is that the NFL has respect not only for the letter of the law, but for its intent as well.
I am glad Vick is going to jail. And I hope they lock him away for a very long time. And if it should ever be proven that OJ killed his ex-wife, I will be happy to see him behind bars. And if Barry should ever be convicted of using steroids, he should go there as well. And the same thing with the members of the Duke LaCrosse Team. But we have a system of laws in the country that are founded on a basic principle of innocent until proven guilty. It is a system of law that we need to protect and preserve especially in light of situations like these. I don't care if you are the biggest scumbag on the planet, you ought to be proven guilty every time. I know that its something I'd want people to take seriously if I were ever accused of doing something that I'd not done, and I bet you'd want the same if it were to ever happen to you. If you are guilty, then you should do jail time... but only after we prove it.
So in the case of the People vs. OJ, we have to say OJ 1, the People 2. People win. OJ loses.
About five years later, we started hearing rumors of steroid use in baseball. The funny thing is that these rumors were just rumors until the federal government decided to arrest the owners and operators of the BALCO lab that was allegedly supplying athletes with the performance enhancing drugs. This led to a Grand Jury and to testimony and to leaked testimony and to all sorts of accusations flying everywhere. But as to actual justice? So far, the only people tried and convicted were those first arrested - the BALCO Lab people.
Of course, you know, this is where I go off on Barry Bonds. I have defended Barry Bonds again and again not because of my belief in whether he used steroids or not, but in my belief that he has not been afforded an opportunity to actually defend himself. He has never been on trial. He has never been accused of anything. And after more than five years of accusations and recriminations, nobody has ever actually filed any charges against him. Nevertheless, Barry Bonds has been accused and found guilty by the general public without ever letting the slugger explain his side of the story. Clearly a text book case of mob justice.
In this case, Barry 0, Mob 1. The Mob wins. Barry loses.
In Duke, the same Mob was ready to tar and feather the members of the Duke LaCrosse team after an overzealous prosecutor used the case against them to get reelected despite the fact that there was little evidence to support the charges. The Duke LaCrosse team had to forfeit the rest of the season, the coach lost his job, and four players were arrested and spent years in jail and under suspicion before being cleared of all charges.
In this case, LaCrosse Team 0, Mob 1. The Mob won. Justice lost.
But this post is actually not about OJ, Barry, or the Duke LaCrosse team. It's about Michael Vick. Here is a man who has been accused of creating, and operating, a dog fighting ring. Being a dog owner, I found the charges to be the sort of thing that made me sick and I was incredibly upset about the whole concept. However, I held out hope that the entire thing had been some sort of misunderstanding. I hoped for the man's innocence. Not because I like Michael Vick - I don't, and I think he's a lousy football QB as well - but because its what we're supposed to do as Americans, believe in each other's innocence, until we can prove guilt.
In Vick's case, the NFL acted as they needed to, taking the position of innocent until proven guilty. They did not allow mob justice to ruin a man on the basis of incredible accusations. And they let the system play out the way it was supposed to. That Vick justified everyone's hatred by agreeing to plead guilty yesterday does not mean that the NFL didn't act swiftly enough to punish Vick. What it means is that the NFL has respect not only for the letter of the law, but for its intent as well.
I am glad Vick is going to jail. And I hope they lock him away for a very long time. And if it should ever be proven that OJ killed his ex-wife, I will be happy to see him behind bars. And if Barry should ever be convicted of using steroids, he should go there as well. And the same thing with the members of the Duke LaCrosse Team. But we have a system of laws in the country that are founded on a basic principle of innocent until proven guilty. It is a system of law that we need to protect and preserve especially in light of situations like these. I don't care if you are the biggest scumbag on the planet, you ought to be proven guilty every time. I know that its something I'd want people to take seriously if I were ever accused of doing something that I'd not done, and I bet you'd want the same if it were to ever happen to you. If you are guilty, then you should do jail time... but only after we prove it.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Agony
It was cold there in the church pew as my hand hovered over my hip pocket. Up at the pulpit, I could see the Pastor doing the same. Our eyes locked. Somewhere in the distance, a clock ticked, a dog howled. A tumbleweed rolled between us. I used my tongue to move the cheroot from one side of my mouth to the other. I squinted. We stared. And then, in a blinding flash, I drew.
It was sweet agony.
I am not a rich person - not by any stretch of the imagination. I am owned more by giant money grubbing corporations than most people. I have never in my whole life owned anything close to even $10,000 (except debt... I've owned a LOT of debt) and that includes properties (though maybe at one time if I had sold my entire X-Men collection when the going was good... but even then I doubt it). As a result I know the value of every cent I have and can usually stretch it to go as far as I possibly can. I've lived on the edge of poverty for so long, I've forgotten that there is a rich center out there somewhere. If I were to ever win the lottery, I wouldn't know what to do with the money.
I had $40 in my wallet. Two $20's and nothing smaller. I needed that money. There were plenty of people in the congregation who had infinitely more than I did - let them put money in the collection plate. If I put a $20 bill in the collection plate, I might not eat this week.
Wave after wave of convictions hit me in the face. The sermon was about having faith. The anthem was about keeping a lamp lit for God. Again and again, I kept thinking about that old woman who only had one copper coin and she had more faith than all the fat cats of Jerusalem because it was her only coin. Surely that didn't apply to me? Surely the old woman had food back in her apartment? Wasn't the one copper coin the only money the old woman had left AFTER a day out at the hair dresser and the florist and a nice meal with her grandchildren? Yes. No. And No. Quit changing the subject.
It was Jesus who saw the woman's sacrifice. Nobody else even paid any attention to her. Yet, I imagined the look on the priest's faces when they collected that offering and saw the single copper coin. "Who threw that in there? They might as well not have even bothered! What are we going to do with one copper coin? We can't pay our electricity bill. We can't feed our priests. We can't even run a website with this coin. Some people have no respect for the Lord." It was Jesus who saw this woman's suffering, who knew what one measly copper coin meant to her, who could see that she would go hungry that night for lack of food, who could see that tomorrow she would be out working and hustling for more coins and that she would make the same sacrifice again and again and again because while she didn't have much, she loved God and she honored God and she returned to God what He had given her so that it might be used to help those even less fortunate than herself. Jesus saw this and He had to point it out to the disciples. Her sacrifice became one of His greatest lessons. And her faith was counted as righteousness.
I pictured the miners trapped in that mine. And I pictured those monsoon victims in India and Bangladesh. And I pictured homeless people on the streets without food or shelter. I could chance it. I could have faith that my sacrifice would not go in vain and that even if I suffered a little, my $20 might go a long way to helping those who suffered a lot.
In the end, though I agonized for half an hour, drawing the $20 from my wallet was easy. Placing it in the collection plate was almost a relief. And I quickly forgot about it.
Except...
I started agonizing about whether I should have put all $40 in the collection plate. I still have so long to go.
It was sweet agony.
I am not a rich person - not by any stretch of the imagination. I am owned more by giant money grubbing corporations than most people. I have never in my whole life owned anything close to even $10,000 (except debt... I've owned a LOT of debt) and that includes properties (though maybe at one time if I had sold my entire X-Men collection when the going was good... but even then I doubt it). As a result I know the value of every cent I have and can usually stretch it to go as far as I possibly can. I've lived on the edge of poverty for so long, I've forgotten that there is a rich center out there somewhere. If I were to ever win the lottery, I wouldn't know what to do with the money.
I had $40 in my wallet. Two $20's and nothing smaller. I needed that money. There were plenty of people in the congregation who had infinitely more than I did - let them put money in the collection plate. If I put a $20 bill in the collection plate, I might not eat this week.
Wave after wave of convictions hit me in the face. The sermon was about having faith. The anthem was about keeping a lamp lit for God. Again and again, I kept thinking about that old woman who only had one copper coin and she had more faith than all the fat cats of Jerusalem because it was her only coin. Surely that didn't apply to me? Surely the old woman had food back in her apartment? Wasn't the one copper coin the only money the old woman had left AFTER a day out at the hair dresser and the florist and a nice meal with her grandchildren? Yes. No. And No. Quit changing the subject.
It was Jesus who saw the woman's sacrifice. Nobody else even paid any attention to her. Yet, I imagined the look on the priest's faces when they collected that offering and saw the single copper coin. "Who threw that in there? They might as well not have even bothered! What are we going to do with one copper coin? We can't pay our electricity bill. We can't feed our priests. We can't even run a website with this coin. Some people have no respect for the Lord." It was Jesus who saw this woman's suffering, who knew what one measly copper coin meant to her, who could see that she would go hungry that night for lack of food, who could see that tomorrow she would be out working and hustling for more coins and that she would make the same sacrifice again and again and again because while she didn't have much, she loved God and she honored God and she returned to God what He had given her so that it might be used to help those even less fortunate than herself. Jesus saw this and He had to point it out to the disciples. Her sacrifice became one of His greatest lessons. And her faith was counted as righteousness.
I pictured the miners trapped in that mine. And I pictured those monsoon victims in India and Bangladesh. And I pictured homeless people on the streets without food or shelter. I could chance it. I could have faith that my sacrifice would not go in vain and that even if I suffered a little, my $20 might go a long way to helping those who suffered a lot.
In the end, though I agonized for half an hour, drawing the $20 from my wallet was easy. Placing it in the collection plate was almost a relief. And I quickly forgot about it.
Except...
I started agonizing about whether I should have put all $40 in the collection plate. I still have so long to go.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
A N N O U N C E M E N T ! ! !
I'm
(Scroll Down)
Pregnant
Pause...
(Scroll Down)
Expecting
You All
To visit my new website: WWW.HELPWILLTRAIN.ORG
(whenever it is finally finished... ;)
Over the next 12 months I have an ambitious plan to transform myself from overweight wallflower (to wallflowers what the ivy at Wrigley Field is to hanging plants) into studmuffin extraordinaire, Will T. Thrill (the last of the red hot louvers ;)
In order to accomplish this amazing feat - a task so monumental that tunneling under the English Channel looks easy by comparison - I will need a dedicated group of volunteers to help me train for this task. I will need physical trainers and weight training coaches and people to hike with me and people to kick me when I'm down and people to pray for me and people to not tempt me with ooozy thick pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, mushrooms, some of those spicy flakes that you pour on top with the parmesan cheese and... uh, where was I?
Anyway, that's where I need all of your help. You see, it occurred to me the other day that its more fun to be in agony with friends, family, and other assorted oddballs and so I thought it might be an interesting experiment to spread the wealth, so to speak. If I could, then, find a way to arrange it so that when I decide to go for a jog on a Friday evening, someone could join me and tell me I run like a girl (or guy, depending on the gender of this jogging companion), I thought I might actually tone up, tune in, and avoid take out a lot faster.
So, my trusty HELP WILL TRAIN webmaster and computer guru, Carl Tanner and I have been secretly developing the latest technology over the past, oh, six days or so, to create just such a website. This was all going to be explained to you in a fantastic film that I've been creating for the site, but, alas, I have run out of time. You'll just have to wait to see the film when the site goes active sometime tomorrow evening.
Anti-climactic, right? Would it help if I said I can prove that Global Warming is true? No, probably not, huh... I've dashed your expectations that I was a)Winning the lottery and would treat you all to a trip to Disney World, b)Meeting a man in Paris whose kind and wonderful and I'm getting married (Father of the Bride, in case you were wondering), or c)Discovered my long lost twin while at summer camp this year. Well, get over it. Compared to your deflated expectations, my problems are colossal!
And now... on with your lives...
(Scroll Down)
Pregnant
Pause...
(Scroll Down)
Expecting
You All
To visit my new website: WWW.HELPWILLTRAIN.ORG
(whenever it is finally finished... ;)
Over the next 12 months I have an ambitious plan to transform myself from overweight wallflower (to wallflowers what the ivy at Wrigley Field is to hanging plants) into studmuffin extraordinaire, Will T. Thrill (the last of the red hot louvers ;)
In order to accomplish this amazing feat - a task so monumental that tunneling under the English Channel looks easy by comparison - I will need a dedicated group of volunteers to help me train for this task. I will need physical trainers and weight training coaches and people to hike with me and people to kick me when I'm down and people to pray for me and people to not tempt me with ooozy thick pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, mushrooms, some of those spicy flakes that you pour on top with the parmesan cheese and... uh, where was I?
Anyway, that's where I need all of your help. You see, it occurred to me the other day that its more fun to be in agony with friends, family, and other assorted oddballs and so I thought it might be an interesting experiment to spread the wealth, so to speak. If I could, then, find a way to arrange it so that when I decide to go for a jog on a Friday evening, someone could join me and tell me I run like a girl (or guy, depending on the gender of this jogging companion), I thought I might actually tone up, tune in, and avoid take out a lot faster.
So, my trusty HELP WILL TRAIN webmaster and computer guru, Carl Tanner and I have been secretly developing the latest technology over the past, oh, six days or so, to create just such a website. This was all going to be explained to you in a fantastic film that I've been creating for the site, but, alas, I have run out of time. You'll just have to wait to see the film when the site goes active sometime tomorrow evening.
Anti-climactic, right? Would it help if I said I can prove that Global Warming is true? No, probably not, huh... I've dashed your expectations that I was a)Winning the lottery and would treat you all to a trip to Disney World, b)Meeting a man in Paris whose kind and wonderful and I'm getting married (Father of the Bride, in case you were wondering), or c)Discovered my long lost twin while at summer camp this year. Well, get over it. Compared to your deflated expectations, my problems are colossal!
And now... on with your lives...
Is there room for a Hallelujah in your IPOD?
So before the announcement, a little update news:
I've been having computer problems here at work and as a result, some of the elements of the announcement have not yet materialized (despite working until 1am each of the last two nights). So some elements may be delayed. I had actually thought about delaying the announcement until tomorrow, but even more recent events made me realize that tomorrow might be optimistic as well.
You see, its my birthday today. And while I was dealing with computer problems, my cell phone suddenly burst into life chirping out an electronic muzac version of the Hallelujah Chorus. Just the sheer insanity of this little electronic Hallelujah already had me laughing, but then I saw who the phone call was from - my co-youth group leader at church (hence the Hallelujah chorus), Katie. I answered the phone.
Every year at this time, when I actually get around to start thinking about my birthday (38 is sooo bland!), a little tiny thought pops into my head - what would I really want for my birthday? These are the sorts of questions that usually don't get much play in my world. I just don't think about them all that often. But once a year, I entertain the thought out of a mere formality. Well, this year I had a ready answer. For several years now, I've been dying to see the Broadway Musical Avenue Q - the one with the muppets. Well, its finally arriving in San Francisco this week for a short stay and I was thinking that it'd be cool to go. But tickets are really expensive and well, quite frankly, I'm not worth it. Its only my 38th birthday - nothing special about that. And so, I let the thought die inside my mind - never aired, never mentioned, never even reconsidered.
So, Hallelujah Chorus, friend from church, my birthday... yes, you guessed it. "Hey Will, my co-worker has two tickets to tonight's Avenue Q at the Orpheum. Can you go?" God has a wicked sense of humor and timing. For the record, Katie had no idea it was my birthday.
So, that, in addition to everything else, is what is causing this delay in things for the Announcement - which I will make shortly after lunch.
See you soon.
I've been having computer problems here at work and as a result, some of the elements of the announcement have not yet materialized (despite working until 1am each of the last two nights). So some elements may be delayed. I had actually thought about delaying the announcement until tomorrow, but even more recent events made me realize that tomorrow might be optimistic as well.
You see, its my birthday today. And while I was dealing with computer problems, my cell phone suddenly burst into life chirping out an electronic muzac version of the Hallelujah Chorus. Just the sheer insanity of this little electronic Hallelujah already had me laughing, but then I saw who the phone call was from - my co-youth group leader at church (hence the Hallelujah chorus), Katie. I answered the phone.
Every year at this time, when I actually get around to start thinking about my birthday (38 is sooo bland!), a little tiny thought pops into my head - what would I really want for my birthday? These are the sorts of questions that usually don't get much play in my world. I just don't think about them all that often. But once a year, I entertain the thought out of a mere formality. Well, this year I had a ready answer. For several years now, I've been dying to see the Broadway Musical Avenue Q - the one with the muppets. Well, its finally arriving in San Francisco this week for a short stay and I was thinking that it'd be cool to go. But tickets are really expensive and well, quite frankly, I'm not worth it. Its only my 38th birthday - nothing special about that. And so, I let the thought die inside my mind - never aired, never mentioned, never even reconsidered.
So, Hallelujah Chorus, friend from church, my birthday... yes, you guessed it. "Hey Will, my co-worker has two tickets to tonight's Avenue Q at the Orpheum. Can you go?" God has a wicked sense of humor and timing. For the record, Katie had no idea it was my birthday.
So, that, in addition to everything else, is what is causing this delay in things for the Announcement - which I will make shortly after lunch.
See you soon.
Monday, August 06, 2007
The 37 Year, 11 Month, 360 Day Revirgin
I have finally succeeded in reacquiring my virgin status. And let me tell you that it was not easy. They don't just let anyone become a virgin again - they have to prove a committment to being a renewed virgin, a sign, a test of loyalty, a sacrifice of one's sexual status. Well, I have now made that sacrifice and have attained the certificate that shall hang proudly in my bedroom like a diploma. I have been revirginated.
You see, yesterday, in honor of my birthday I received this ultimate gift in the form of two packages - birthday presents. One was an authentic, never before used, still in collector's packaging, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest Comforter. The other was an authentic, never before used, still in collector's packaging, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest Linen Package consisting of one fitted sheet, one regular sheet, and one pillow case.
Now, unlike you married men out there who are probably drooling over the possibilities of such fine linen knowing that you will never convince your significant others of allowing you to put such cool things on your marriage bed, I don't have that problem. And seeing as how a) My secondary comforter has been completely shredded by the dogs who find it a nice warm place to snuggle up during the afternoon with their long sharp claws and b) I actually liked Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest, and c) I don't plan on having sex any time in the near future; I have absolutely no problems stripping my plain old linens from my bed and replacing them with such fine, and comfortable might I add, bed dressings.
So now, as the centerpiece of my extreme bedroom makeover, I have a bed that looks like a giant pirate treasure map complete with doubloons, compass points, and Dead Men Tell No Tales skull. That this would normally have an adverse effect on my sex life is not in doubt. That I have no sex life to worry about affecting is also not in doubt. I can easily give up that which I no longer need in order to claim the title of Revirgin.
That being said... this is not the big announcement that is coming on Thursday.
Other things that are NOT the big announcement coming on Thursday include:
1) I am not announcing my bid for the 2008 Presidential election.
2) I am not reenlisting in the Navy (they wouldn't let me keep my cool sheets).
3) I am not revealing my true identity as the long lost half sister of Sheila who has been hiding out after escaping a terrible fire at the orphanage and fighting off the advances of Monica who thinks that I am mild mannered Will.
4) I have not discovered the cure for Cancer.
5) I was not on the grassy knoll.
6) I have not discovered a hidden map on the back of the Magna Carta.
7) I do not have any evidence of Bond's steroid use.
8) I have not discovered the Grand Unification Theory of Everything.
9) I did not win the Pillsbury Bake Off.
And
10) ICON was not nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature.
As to what the true announcement on Thursday will be... you will just have to wait until then to find out.
Avoiding the plagues,
Will
You see, yesterday, in honor of my birthday I received this ultimate gift in the form of two packages - birthday presents. One was an authentic, never before used, still in collector's packaging, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest Comforter. The other was an authentic, never before used, still in collector's packaging, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest Linen Package consisting of one fitted sheet, one regular sheet, and one pillow case.
Now, unlike you married men out there who are probably drooling over the possibilities of such fine linen knowing that you will never convince your significant others of allowing you to put such cool things on your marriage bed, I don't have that problem. And seeing as how a) My secondary comforter has been completely shredded by the dogs who find it a nice warm place to snuggle up during the afternoon with their long sharp claws and b) I actually liked Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest, and c) I don't plan on having sex any time in the near future; I have absolutely no problems stripping my plain old linens from my bed and replacing them with such fine, and comfortable might I add, bed dressings.
So now, as the centerpiece of my extreme bedroom makeover, I have a bed that looks like a giant pirate treasure map complete with doubloons, compass points, and Dead Men Tell No Tales skull. That this would normally have an adverse effect on my sex life is not in doubt. That I have no sex life to worry about affecting is also not in doubt. I can easily give up that which I no longer need in order to claim the title of Revirgin.
That being said... this is not the big announcement that is coming on Thursday.
Other things that are NOT the big announcement coming on Thursday include:
1) I am not announcing my bid for the 2008 Presidential election.
2) I am not reenlisting in the Navy (they wouldn't let me keep my cool sheets).
3) I am not revealing my true identity as the long lost half sister of Sheila who has been hiding out after escaping a terrible fire at the orphanage and fighting off the advances of Monica who thinks that I am mild mannered Will.
4) I have not discovered the cure for Cancer.
5) I was not on the grassy knoll.
6) I have not discovered a hidden map on the back of the Magna Carta.
7) I do not have any evidence of Bond's steroid use.
8) I have not discovered the Grand Unification Theory of Everything.
9) I did not win the Pillsbury Bake Off.
And
10) ICON was not nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature.
As to what the true announcement on Thursday will be... you will just have to wait until then to find out.
Avoiding the plagues,
Will
Thursday, August 02, 2007
The Cream and The Clear and The Coffee...
So, it wasn't hives, after all, but a simple case of Static Dermatitis (I.E. It still itches like hell!). Oh, and I'm morbidly obese... but then we knew that last one.
Anyway, in light of the fact that I still itch and that I'm not supposed to scratch (apparently shredding my legs with my finger nails is not a good thing... but nothing compared with being morbidly obese), my doctor prescribed a topical cream that looks something like flax seed oil to rub on my legs in order to make the itching go away, temporarily, and cure the dermatitis.
Apparently, this cream has steroids in it. Steroids!? The bane of modern existence! I am no longer a pure athlete just competing for the love of the sport (and the money) now I have been tainted by steroids! Oh, will the suffering ever stop! And how come they don't have steroids to help you lose weight?! Darn it! Did I mention that I was morbidly obese?!
So I had this weird but powerful dream last night and I woke up this morning feeling refreshed and empowered - like I could manhandle linedrives from my shoe tops over four hundred feet into McCovey Cove. It got me to thinking about things and about how I could fix certain things.
Did you know that you could define morbid as having an obsession with death. Wow. Way to keep your prejudice out of a scientific term there skinny science boys - apparently, I am so fat that I have become obsessed with death. Say that to my face and I'll kill you! (Dang... 'roid rage is already kicking in!)
The long and the short of it (not that anything's shriveled... yet) is that if you check back at this blog in one week, there will be a major announcement. I think. If I haven't already got a shoe contract by then. So, once again, Major Announcement, One Week From Today!
And now I shut up tighter than Scholastic Books! So don't ask. No hints given.
Anyway, in light of the fact that I still itch and that I'm not supposed to scratch (apparently shredding my legs with my finger nails is not a good thing... but nothing compared with being morbidly obese), my doctor prescribed a topical cream that looks something like flax seed oil to rub on my legs in order to make the itching go away, temporarily, and cure the dermatitis.
Apparently, this cream has steroids in it. Steroids!? The bane of modern existence! I am no longer a pure athlete just competing for the love of the sport (and the money) now I have been tainted by steroids! Oh, will the suffering ever stop! And how come they don't have steroids to help you lose weight?! Darn it! Did I mention that I was morbidly obese?!
So I had this weird but powerful dream last night and I woke up this morning feeling refreshed and empowered - like I could manhandle linedrives from my shoe tops over four hundred feet into McCovey Cove. It got me to thinking about things and about how I could fix certain things.
Did you know that you could define morbid as having an obsession with death. Wow. Way to keep your prejudice out of a scientific term there skinny science boys - apparently, I am so fat that I have become obsessed with death. Say that to my face and I'll kill you! (Dang... 'roid rage is already kicking in!)
The long and the short of it (not that anything's shriveled... yet) is that if you check back at this blog in one week, there will be a major announcement. I think. If I haven't already got a shoe contract by then. So, once again, Major Announcement, One Week From Today!
And now I shut up tighter than Scholastic Books! So don't ask. No hints given.
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