Today I threw away my first major pre-Christ following effort at being a writer. It was an untitled piece of trash about a murderous college fraternity. It was a 100+ page handwritten manuscript filled with the vulgar, the profane, and everything carnal. In it were my ambitions to be "the next Stephen King." I laugh to think of those once being my most sincere aspirations. A quick read revealed that it also wasn't very well written. It only took me about 12 years, but I finally agree with Kelli that it was tripe.
even so, it was a little hard to say goodbye.
7/26/2003
a bad day at the office
following this link may lead to the most inspiring couple of minutes of your day.
and if that's the case, I officially pity you.
and if that's the case, I officially pity you.
7/25/2003
this is not a rhetorical question
should employees be disciplined for workplace gossip?
I decided to take the stairs today. no, the world didn't suddenly stop spinning on its axis. It's Friday, and I like to live life on the edge.
Upon entering the stairwell, I surprised two gals gossiping. I'm only assuming they were gossiping because they had that tharn look Richard Adams writes about, like they were caught in the headlights and couldn't escape the clutches of fear.
I caught 'em. in what, i don't know. I don't know who they were slandering, or why. But they both looked had the 'oh crap' look on their faces. So i smiled and marched on my way. From over my shoulder I heard, "do you think he heard us?" Now there is a possibility they were talking about me, but I highly doubt it being as new as I am. at times even I have to check my badge to make sure I'm an employee here. I dismissed the event as interesting, but that's about it.
but it later got me thinking.
and we know how dangerous that is.
These two would be fired if I had walked in and they had been smoochin on some guy who wasn't their husband (or if they were smoochin' on each other). They'd been disciplined if I caught them swiggin' from a flask, or snortin' a line. but maligning someone else goes unpunished, unnoticed.
not that I'm interested in reporting them to anyone (truth be told, i wouldn't be able to pick them out of an employee photo directory), but even if I were, i'd be laughed out of personnel and it would be my record that would be red-flagged.
I'm not advocating an even more graceless society than already exists. I just have freshly noticed that while we (meaning Christians) keep saying that all sin is bad, we don't really act that way.
do we really believe that gossip is bad?
I decided to take the stairs today. no, the world didn't suddenly stop spinning on its axis. It's Friday, and I like to live life on the edge.
Upon entering the stairwell, I surprised two gals gossiping. I'm only assuming they were gossiping because they had that tharn look Richard Adams writes about, like they were caught in the headlights and couldn't escape the clutches of fear.
I caught 'em. in what, i don't know. I don't know who they were slandering, or why. But they both looked had the 'oh crap' look on their faces. So i smiled and marched on my way. From over my shoulder I heard, "do you think he heard us?" Now there is a possibility they were talking about me, but I highly doubt it being as new as I am. at times even I have to check my badge to make sure I'm an employee here. I dismissed the event as interesting, but that's about it.
but it later got me thinking.
and we know how dangerous that is.
These two would be fired if I had walked in and they had been smoochin on some guy who wasn't their husband (or if they were smoochin' on each other). They'd been disciplined if I caught them swiggin' from a flask, or snortin' a line. but maligning someone else goes unpunished, unnoticed.
not that I'm interested in reporting them to anyone (truth be told, i wouldn't be able to pick them out of an employee photo directory), but even if I were, i'd be laughed out of personnel and it would be my record that would be red-flagged.
I'm not advocating an even more graceless society than already exists. I just have freshly noticed that while we (meaning Christians) keep saying that all sin is bad, we don't really act that way.
do we really believe that gossip is bad?
well why didn't they just say so
"Reality TV" is a term of irony.
now I get it.
until now, i thought they really meant it.
We have decided that they should make new, real, reality TV.
so, coming next fall:
on Fox, Are You Gonna Finish That? Spy cameras are placed in the wall units of the local Ruby Tuesday, and you watch as people dine. Listen in on conversations. Watch them try to shove an entire bread roll into their pieholes in one bite. See how they gripe about the catfish being too peppery.
on CBS Second Base. Despite sexual connotations, this show will really be quite tame. Two people (not of the same sex, afterall, this isn't NBC!) have camera crews follow each home after an initial "blind date." We watch as he walks around in his underwear eating a full bag of Fritos while watching Sportscenter, and while she picks her toes and belches noisily from indigestion. The best part of the program comes when each watches the post-date video of the other, and determines if they would ever see the other person again, now that all masks have been removed.
on ABC Road Rage . This is a simple program that simply taps into the metro city road cameras of major highway hubs, looking for accidents and breakdowns.
on NBC Third Rock From the Sun Seeking to capitalize on the popularity of the previously like-named sit-com, this program is simply a NASA feed of planet earth, broadcast from various satellite technology already meandering around the universe.
on WB ewwww a simple program of a single camera placed on the handle of a New York City subway. See what interesting stuff people apply to and leave behind in this captivating drama.
and on HBO ewwww...uncut the same program as on the WB, but this camera is in the door handle of a NYC public toilet.
now I get it.
until now, i thought they really meant it.
We have decided that they should make new, real, reality TV.
so, coming next fall:
on Fox, Are You Gonna Finish That? Spy cameras are placed in the wall units of the local Ruby Tuesday, and you watch as people dine. Listen in on conversations. Watch them try to shove an entire bread roll into their pieholes in one bite. See how they gripe about the catfish being too peppery.
on CBS Second Base. Despite sexual connotations, this show will really be quite tame. Two people (not of the same sex, afterall, this isn't NBC!) have camera crews follow each home after an initial "blind date." We watch as he walks around in his underwear eating a full bag of Fritos while watching Sportscenter, and while she picks her toes and belches noisily from indigestion. The best part of the program comes when each watches the post-date video of the other, and determines if they would ever see the other person again, now that all masks have been removed.
on ABC Road Rage . This is a simple program that simply taps into the metro city road cameras of major highway hubs, looking for accidents and breakdowns.
on NBC Third Rock From the Sun Seeking to capitalize on the popularity of the previously like-named sit-com, this program is simply a NASA feed of planet earth, broadcast from various satellite technology already meandering around the universe.
on WB ewwww a simple program of a single camera placed on the handle of a New York City subway. See what interesting stuff people apply to and leave behind in this captivating drama.
and on HBO ewwww...uncut the same program as on the WB, but this camera is in the door handle of a NYC public toilet.
correction
I've been having some problems with my links, and for some reason I duplicated the cox & forkum link in the last post. I think it was corrected.
not to be confused with "got yer nose"
ongoing Baathist sympathies liberal bleeding heart America-hating propaganda"reports" are attempting to insuate that we imperialist swine are being insensitive by not only considering to publicly display the hussein boys' carcasses, but by not releasing them until a family member comes forward.
I think this is a great ploy:
"Saddam. Come on in to get your kids. No, its no trap. You can trust us. Just give us a call to tell us your on your way. We're all caught up in this 'quagmire,' so you'll have to excuse the mess."
This is on the heels of another story that talked about how uday was emboldened by driving unrecognized by US Troops. The important lesson to be learned: in only takes 1 bad turn, or twenty missiles fired into a safehouse, to turn a clever getaway into a deadly fiasco that ends in your humiating death at the hands of justice-hungry libertymongers.
are you paying attention daddio?
I think this is a great ploy:
"Saddam. Come on in to get your kids. No, its no trap. You can trust us. Just give us a call to tell us your on your way. We're all caught up in this 'quagmire,' so you'll have to excuse the mess."
This is on the heels of another story that talked about how uday was emboldened by driving unrecognized by US Troops. The important lesson to be learned: in only takes 1 bad turn, or twenty missiles fired into a safehouse, to turn a clever getaway into a deadly fiasco that ends in your humiating death at the hands of justice-hungry libertymongers.
are you paying attention daddio?
head of nail, meet hammer
cox & forkum get it right again. And, as usual, they provide a lot of supporting links.
what do you do?
I have come to be annoyed by this simple little question.
not that there's anything wrong with it.
it just bugs me.
perhaps because I don't know how to answer it.
I was most recently asked this question on Monday when I was getting my haircut -- or tuesday, whenever it was.
I was getting along famously with my new haircutting friend. She was moving along expeditiously, and we discovered that her son shared my birthday (he turned one last Saturday). And then she dropped the bomb and asked me this loathesome interrogative.
now, in the gentle art of conversation-making, the general rule of thumb in regard to chitchat is that you only ask inconsequential questions that can be immediately turned around and have the same question asked of you. We had established this ground rule early and often, with queries like:
-how are you?
-got children?
-enjoying your day?
-what's your blood type?
-busy day at work?
this is where the problem was born. you see, the inevitible question for her after this question was to ask, "so, what do you do?" To her defense, she had painted herself into the proverbial corner, but she should have known better. While I was able to answer the question simply enough by saying, "I edit a magazine," I was trapped. I couldn't now turn around and say, "and you. What is it that YOU do?" because she.was. doing. it.
to.me.
I was tempted to ask, but caught myself. I so badly wanted to ask her, just as a reflex, and even thought maybe there would be a surprise answer if I did so. Something like, "I'm a clinical psychologist doing field study in an uncontrolled environment on the effects of communicability of higher-level primates when faced with a social conundrum."
(disclaimer: I don't believe we're higher level primates. but i would have been impressed if Sunnie had said that. [note: I don't know that her name is Sunnie. She just looked like that might be her name. And yes, she does spell it with an 'ie'])
But I didn't ask, risking looking foolish rather than speaking and proving myself to be.
This left our conversation at a standstill, and created a scenario similar to when four cars pull up simultaneously to an intesection with a four-way stop sign. For some reason, everyone forgets who has the right-of-way. Everyone waits an indeterminant period filled with akward silence, and then immediately and simultaneously proceeds into the intersection, causing a four-car fender bender, and every person blames the others for their incompetence.
we never really recovered from our own little verbal collision. We're still waiting for our insurance agents to contact each other, but I'm pretty sure she'll be found at fault.
this event has led me to wonder why we are so wrapped up in knowing what other people do. I don't like saying "magazine editor" for what I do because it's not really all I do. It's the most glamorous part, as far as the world is concerned, so how sad is it that I pander to that crowd? It's not the biggest part, nor is it the part that gives me the most fulfillment and satisfaction. But I have conformed to the worldly expectations when answering this question. And, yes, I am content to let people imagine that I edit a widely read publication, rather than the 16 page-wrap that has about 3000 subscriptions. If this has shattered your image of me...well, get over it, and start thinking about something more productive.
The expectations are simple and straightforward. When asked this question, you are allowed to give a two-part answer. Part one consists of the realm of your employment. Part two requires the divulgence of your specifcally general (or generally specific -- either way, it doesn't matter) tasks.
See:
magazine editor. realm -- magazine. task -- editor.
hair. cutter.
trapeze. artist.
automobile. repair.
you. understand.
occasionally people invert this presentation and it sometimes works and sometimes does not. I can get away with "I'm an editor of a magazine." But Sunnie sounds a little pretentious if she says, "well, I'm a cutter of hair." Well la ti da, aren't you fancy?
If you attempt to override this format with a detailed explanation, it will be to no avail. this is what is so hard for me. I want to say something like, "I edit a men's ministry magazine, and get the opportunity to speak to men's groups about getting empowered to do ministry and lead their church to be on-mission for the Kingdom of God."
If I were to do that, what the other person would hear is:
"I edit (yawwwwwwwn) magazine and (ZZZZZZZZZ.........)"
so I relent.
I don't know why we as a culture find this question so vital to the information gathering process. It's not like we can sum up who a person is just by their two-word explanation of what they do. But we try.
For example, I know Jen works in the US Marshals office. So no matter how much she tries to claim otherwise, as far as I'm concerned, she is Tommy Lee Jones, and she is at this very moment tracking a man wanted for murdering his wife, who in turn is on the lam trying to locate a one-armed man who is the real perp. She tries to deny it. I'm not listening. She's said, or rather typed, US Marshal, and that's all I think, and I'm doubly impressed that she's able to blog with such regularity while on hot pursuit.
we all are guilty of mentally wrapping up our preconceived notions of a person based on their "what they do" title. To borrow a line from the incredibly deep and revelatory MTV program Diary: "You think you know....but you have no idea." people get stereotyped all the time. Just how guilty are you? what do you think of when you think of those with the titles of:
garbage collector
divorce attorney
IRS auditor
President of the USA
house wife
telephone marketer
church pastor
television evangelist
and the list goes on....
one of the finest, most servant-hearted deacons I've ever met was a garbage collector. And sadly, he was often "steamrolled" and looked down upon by other deacons because of his profession. It's not always that you think something bad...its just that we think a person is totally identifiable by their title.
only rarely can you really "peg someone" by their job title. and even in giving this noncomprehensive list, I'm allowing for the possibility that I can be wrong. Examples of this sort may include:
porn star
militia general
Baath Party Official
cult leader
neighborhood pimp
New York Times Editor
and the list goes on....
You know, it's always been this way. It used to be where your identity was not only wrapped up in your profession, but that stranglehold was even more compounded because it was a multigenerational slipknot. If you were a boy and your daddy was a no-good tax collector, then you were destined to be a no-good tax collector. This is what the "Bar" or "Ben" conjoiner in Hebrew names referenced. You were your father's son. Judah Ben Hur. Judah, son of Hur. What Hur was, Judah would be.
this is why John the Baptist was so scandalous, so gossip-worthy (aside: when people asked John what he did, do you think he said, "Duh. I'm the Baptizer. It's in my name. I baptize. Get it?"). His daddy was a good temple priest. He was expected to be as well. When instead, he hung out in the woods and ate bugs and honey, people thought he was a freak, a wierdo, a disappointment. And yeah, he was a little wierd. But he was no disappointment. People thought they had him figured out because they knew who his daddy was by what his daddy did, and they were all shook up when they couldn't keep him confined in their little box of preconceived perceptions. They thought they knew, but they had no idea.
The same thing is true about jesus. Why do you think the scribes and the Pharisees were so unimpressed when Jesus began his ministry? He stood up, read out of Isaiah, and said, "today this prophecy has been fulfilled." This is a big deal! this is significant. It should have led to the people falling on their faces and praising God. instead, what was the response?
< crickets chirping >... < /crickets chirping >
Lead Rabbi: Okaaay, thanks for that interpretation, jesus, son of Joseph. Joseph, THE CARPENTER. Next, on 'open mic' torah night, we've got...
They didn't receive what He had to say because they had already determined that nobody of merit could come from his stock of people, from his locale of birth. And they dismissed him out of hand without listening with ears of faith.
What's cool is that Jesus was never wrapped up in job titles. He knew who He was (is), and didn't get all anxiety-ridden by the squabbling that soon developed over giving Him the correct title. The Bible says that people fought over whether he was a prophet, or a priest, or a king, or even a re-incarnated Elijah. Jesus just strode along, keeping about the Father's Business.
You can't say that Jesus wasn't upset by the people's inability to "get it." He had tried to help them understand by teaching them, by telling them, by showing them through miracles. The whole thing reduced Him to tears before He made his final trip into Jerusalem, where soon people would be asking, "Just who is this guy and what does he do?"
How consumed were the people about trying to pigeon-hole Jesus? Even when He stood on trial in a kangaroo court, its all everyone wanted to know. The council asked, "are you the Christ?" Jesus said back, "it doesn't even matter how I answer, because your preconceived notions are so messed up and limited that any answer I give, you will use to prove your agenda." That was, by the way, the Bryan Non-literal Paraphrase Translation.
Not long after that little encounter, Pontius Pilate asks, "So come on, really, are you the Christ?" Now Jesus answers him straight up and says, "Yeah, I am." This is one of many reasons why I think we are often too quick to pigeon-hole Pontius Pilate just because he's just some bad PR in Scripture. I think a less prejudiced reading of his role in things shows a man who is trying to seek out clarity amidst all this chaos (notice how I did that? pretty good, yeah?). But that's a rant for another time.
It's not that Jesus was ashamed or even flippant about what He was doing. To the contrary. And at times, He even acquiesed and let people label Him (like when He asked Peter, "who do you say I am?"), knowing full well they couldn't even fathom the fullness of His job description as the Christ. Can you imagine the discussion that He would have had to repeatedly endure:
Haircutter: So what do you do?
Jesus: I'm the Messiah.
Haircutter: Messiah. So what does a 'messiah' do?
Jesus: I save people.
Haircutter: Like a lifeguard?
Jesus: Not really. I save people from hell.
Haircutter: So you are like a lifeguard. Only the pool is a lot deeper.
Jesus: Well, not really. I also reunite people back to the Father.
Haircutter: I saw something like that on Maury Povich. A guy hadn't seen his daughters for like 28 years, and.....
Jesus: yeah. not really the same thing.
haircutter: oh.
Jesus: As the Messiah, or "Christ" as I'm sometimes called I also...
Haircutter: You mean Christ isn't your last name?
Jesus: Nope. And my middle initial isn't H.
Haircutter: Hmm. Anyway, you were saying..
Jesus: Right...I was saying I'm also the High Priest.
Haircutter: Like the pope or something.
Jesus: No. nothing like the pope.
Haircutter: yeah...I'm not real religious.
Jesus: that's cool. I'm not real "religious" either. But I am Holy.
Haircutter: I hear that about you. so you are a priest, a re-uniter, a life-saver...is that all?
Jesus: No. I'm also the King of Eternity
Haircutter: I thought was Leonardo DiCaprio.
Jesus: Many people make that mistake.
Haircutter: What did you think of that movie?
Jesus: About an hour too long. But the sinking scene was well done.
Haircutter: That's pretty cool that you are King of Eternity. What else do you do?
Jesus: Well, I am also a prophet, the Son of God, the Son of Man, the Lion of Judah, the spotless sacrificial lamb, the Rock of Ages, the Balm of Gilead, the Almighty, the alpha and the omega, the Branch of David, the Bread of Life, the Living Water, the Avenger of Blood, the chief cornerstone....I am the Lord Your God.
Haircutter:...
Jesus: You thought you know....you have no idea.
not that there's anything wrong with it.
it just bugs me.
perhaps because I don't know how to answer it.
I was most recently asked this question on Monday when I was getting my haircut -- or tuesday, whenever it was.
I was getting along famously with my new haircutting friend. She was moving along expeditiously, and we discovered that her son shared my birthday (he turned one last Saturday). And then she dropped the bomb and asked me this loathesome interrogative.
now, in the gentle art of conversation-making, the general rule of thumb in regard to chitchat is that you only ask inconsequential questions that can be immediately turned around and have the same question asked of you. We had established this ground rule early and often, with queries like:
-how are you?
-got children?
-enjoying your day?
-what's your blood type?
-busy day at work?
this is where the problem was born. you see, the inevitible question for her after this question was to ask, "so, what do you do?" To her defense, she had painted herself into the proverbial corner, but she should have known better. While I was able to answer the question simply enough by saying, "I edit a magazine," I was trapped. I couldn't now turn around and say, "and you. What is it that YOU do?" because she.was. doing. it.
to.me.
I was tempted to ask, but caught myself. I so badly wanted to ask her, just as a reflex, and even thought maybe there would be a surprise answer if I did so. Something like, "I'm a clinical psychologist doing field study in an uncontrolled environment on the effects of communicability of higher-level primates when faced with a social conundrum."
(disclaimer: I don't believe we're higher level primates. but i would have been impressed if Sunnie had said that. [note: I don't know that her name is Sunnie. She just looked like that might be her name. And yes, she does spell it with an 'ie'])
But I didn't ask, risking looking foolish rather than speaking and proving myself to be.
This left our conversation at a standstill, and created a scenario similar to when four cars pull up simultaneously to an intesection with a four-way stop sign. For some reason, everyone forgets who has the right-of-way. Everyone waits an indeterminant period filled with akward silence, and then immediately and simultaneously proceeds into the intersection, causing a four-car fender bender, and every person blames the others for their incompetence.
we never really recovered from our own little verbal collision. We're still waiting for our insurance agents to contact each other, but I'm pretty sure she'll be found at fault.
this event has led me to wonder why we are so wrapped up in knowing what other people do. I don't like saying "magazine editor" for what I do because it's not really all I do. It's the most glamorous part, as far as the world is concerned, so how sad is it that I pander to that crowd? It's not the biggest part, nor is it the part that gives me the most fulfillment and satisfaction. But I have conformed to the worldly expectations when answering this question. And, yes, I am content to let people imagine that I edit a widely read publication, rather than the 16 page-wrap that has about 3000 subscriptions. If this has shattered your image of me...well, get over it, and start thinking about something more productive.
The expectations are simple and straightforward. When asked this question, you are allowed to give a two-part answer. Part one consists of the realm of your employment. Part two requires the divulgence of your specifcally general (or generally specific -- either way, it doesn't matter) tasks.
See:
magazine editor. realm -- magazine. task -- editor.
hair. cutter.
trapeze. artist.
automobile. repair.
you. understand.
occasionally people invert this presentation and it sometimes works and sometimes does not. I can get away with "I'm an editor of a magazine." But Sunnie sounds a little pretentious if she says, "well, I'm a cutter of hair." Well la ti da, aren't you fancy?
If you attempt to override this format with a detailed explanation, it will be to no avail. this is what is so hard for me. I want to say something like, "I edit a men's ministry magazine, and get the opportunity to speak to men's groups about getting empowered to do ministry and lead their church to be on-mission for the Kingdom of God."
If I were to do that, what the other person would hear is:
"I edit (yawwwwwwwn) magazine and (ZZZZZZZZZ.........)"
so I relent.
I don't know why we as a culture find this question so vital to the information gathering process. It's not like we can sum up who a person is just by their two-word explanation of what they do. But we try.
For example, I know Jen works in the US Marshals office. So no matter how much she tries to claim otherwise, as far as I'm concerned, she is Tommy Lee Jones, and she is at this very moment tracking a man wanted for murdering his wife, who in turn is on the lam trying to locate a one-armed man who is the real perp. She tries to deny it. I'm not listening. She's said, or rather typed, US Marshal, and that's all I think, and I'm doubly impressed that she's able to blog with such regularity while on hot pursuit.
we all are guilty of mentally wrapping up our preconceived notions of a person based on their "what they do" title. To borrow a line from the incredibly deep and revelatory MTV program Diary: "You think you know....but you have no idea." people get stereotyped all the time. Just how guilty are you? what do you think of when you think of those with the titles of:
garbage collector
divorce attorney
IRS auditor
President of the USA
house wife
telephone marketer
church pastor
television evangelist
and the list goes on....
one of the finest, most servant-hearted deacons I've ever met was a garbage collector. And sadly, he was often "steamrolled" and looked down upon by other deacons because of his profession. It's not always that you think something bad...its just that we think a person is totally identifiable by their title.
only rarely can you really "peg someone" by their job title. and even in giving this noncomprehensive list, I'm allowing for the possibility that I can be wrong. Examples of this sort may include:
porn star
militia general
Baath Party Official
cult leader
neighborhood pimp
New York Times Editor
and the list goes on....
You know, it's always been this way. It used to be where your identity was not only wrapped up in your profession, but that stranglehold was even more compounded because it was a multigenerational slipknot. If you were a boy and your daddy was a no-good tax collector, then you were destined to be a no-good tax collector. This is what the "Bar" or "Ben" conjoiner in Hebrew names referenced. You were your father's son. Judah Ben Hur. Judah, son of Hur. What Hur was, Judah would be.
this is why John the Baptist was so scandalous, so gossip-worthy (aside: when people asked John what he did, do you think he said, "Duh. I'm the Baptizer. It's in my name. I baptize. Get it?"). His daddy was a good temple priest. He was expected to be as well. When instead, he hung out in the woods and ate bugs and honey, people thought he was a freak, a wierdo, a disappointment. And yeah, he was a little wierd. But he was no disappointment. People thought they had him figured out because they knew who his daddy was by what his daddy did, and they were all shook up when they couldn't keep him confined in their little box of preconceived perceptions. They thought they knew, but they had no idea.
The same thing is true about jesus. Why do you think the scribes and the Pharisees were so unimpressed when Jesus began his ministry? He stood up, read out of Isaiah, and said, "today this prophecy has been fulfilled." This is a big deal! this is significant. It should have led to the people falling on their faces and praising God. instead, what was the response?
< crickets chirping >... < /crickets chirping >
Lead Rabbi: Okaaay, thanks for that interpretation, jesus, son of Joseph. Joseph, THE CARPENTER. Next, on 'open mic' torah night, we've got...
They didn't receive what He had to say because they had already determined that nobody of merit could come from his stock of people, from his locale of birth. And they dismissed him out of hand without listening with ears of faith.
What's cool is that Jesus was never wrapped up in job titles. He knew who He was (is), and didn't get all anxiety-ridden by the squabbling that soon developed over giving Him the correct title. The Bible says that people fought over whether he was a prophet, or a priest, or a king, or even a re-incarnated Elijah. Jesus just strode along, keeping about the Father's Business.
You can't say that Jesus wasn't upset by the people's inability to "get it." He had tried to help them understand by teaching them, by telling them, by showing them through miracles. The whole thing reduced Him to tears before He made his final trip into Jerusalem, where soon people would be asking, "Just who is this guy and what does he do?"
How consumed were the people about trying to pigeon-hole Jesus? Even when He stood on trial in a kangaroo court, its all everyone wanted to know. The council asked, "are you the Christ?" Jesus said back, "it doesn't even matter how I answer, because your preconceived notions are so messed up and limited that any answer I give, you will use to prove your agenda." That was, by the way, the Bryan Non-literal Paraphrase Translation.
Not long after that little encounter, Pontius Pilate asks, "So come on, really, are you the Christ?" Now Jesus answers him straight up and says, "Yeah, I am." This is one of many reasons why I think we are often too quick to pigeon-hole Pontius Pilate just because he's just some bad PR in Scripture. I think a less prejudiced reading of his role in things shows a man who is trying to seek out clarity amidst all this chaos (notice how I did that? pretty good, yeah?). But that's a rant for another time.
It's not that Jesus was ashamed or even flippant about what He was doing. To the contrary. And at times, He even acquiesed and let people label Him (like when He asked Peter, "who do you say I am?"), knowing full well they couldn't even fathom the fullness of His job description as the Christ. Can you imagine the discussion that He would have had to repeatedly endure:
Haircutter: So what do you do?
Jesus: I'm the Messiah.
Haircutter: Messiah. So what does a 'messiah' do?
Jesus: I save people.
Haircutter: Like a lifeguard?
Jesus: Not really. I save people from hell.
Haircutter: So you are like a lifeguard. Only the pool is a lot deeper.
Jesus: Well, not really. I also reunite people back to the Father.
Haircutter: I saw something like that on Maury Povich. A guy hadn't seen his daughters for like 28 years, and.....
Jesus: yeah. not really the same thing.
haircutter: oh.
Jesus: As the Messiah, or "Christ" as I'm sometimes called I also...
Haircutter: You mean Christ isn't your last name?
Jesus: Nope. And my middle initial isn't H.
Haircutter: Hmm. Anyway, you were saying..
Jesus: Right...I was saying I'm also the High Priest.
Haircutter: Like the pope or something.
Jesus: No. nothing like the pope.
Haircutter: yeah...I'm not real religious.
Jesus: that's cool. I'm not real "religious" either. But I am Holy.
Haircutter: I hear that about you. so you are a priest, a re-uniter, a life-saver...is that all?
Jesus: No. I'm also the King of Eternity
Haircutter: I thought was Leonardo DiCaprio.
Jesus: Many people make that mistake.
Haircutter: What did you think of that movie?
Jesus: About an hour too long. But the sinking scene was well done.
Haircutter: That's pretty cool that you are King of Eternity. What else do you do?
Jesus: Well, I am also a prophet, the Son of God, the Son of Man, the Lion of Judah, the spotless sacrificial lamb, the Rock of Ages, the Balm of Gilead, the Almighty, the alpha and the omega, the Branch of David, the Bread of Life, the Living Water, the Avenger of Blood, the chief cornerstone....I am the Lord Your God.
Haircutter:...
Jesus: You thought you know....you have no idea.
counting cards. definitely counting cards.
There is only one "ace" still left in the draw pile.
and that card, too, will soon be turned.
y'all understand this, right?
and that card, too, will soon be turned.
y'all understand this, right?
fresh as a baby's bottom
my wife and I are engaged in a frisky little tango that consists of seeing who can be the one who has to get out of the shower to get a new bar of soap because the other bar is too thin to be used. This is not a conscienscious or malicious game, its just that we never remember to alert the other as the existing bar gets down to the thickness of rice paper. Trying to lather up with this fine wafer of lye is rarely affective because it tends to disintegrate as it is being used and you're left trying to move the thing around on your body holding it down with a single finger.
Kelli probably would have won because my, much to my early morning chagrin, I turned to "soap up" to find the bar of soap in a completely unusable form. I barely could make out its presence on the rack/holder thingie. It was so thin that it was bonding to the soapy residue which clung to the metallic surface. Any attempt to remove it would have resulted in its complete and utter destruction.
I was just about to conceded defeat and step out of the shower, drip all over the floor, and find a new bar. Then inspiration hit. A half-filled bottle of Johnson's Baby wash -- it would be my cleaner/de-odorizer.
That stuff doesn't lather up very well. I used practically the whole thing just trying to soap myself. And call it a hunch, but I don't think it was designed to mask the bovine-like odors that can eminate from an adult male when stress, heat, and perspiration are introduced to the daily experience. So we'll see how it goes. I may be working with my door closed today.
but for now, I smell like my little Kelsi.
its a scent that is cute on her....
not so much on me.
a little creepy, actually.
I think I'm going to go take a towel bath in my Old Spice "Fresh Scent" aftershave, and for at least one day be known on the fourth floor as that guy.
and if all goes well Friday will come and go, but come monday, the memory of this olfactory adventure, noted by maritime cologne essence will still onward linger.
Kelli probably would have won because my, much to my early morning chagrin, I turned to "soap up" to find the bar of soap in a completely unusable form. I barely could make out its presence on the rack/holder thingie. It was so thin that it was bonding to the soapy residue which clung to the metallic surface. Any attempt to remove it would have resulted in its complete and utter destruction.
I was just about to conceded defeat and step out of the shower, drip all over the floor, and find a new bar. Then inspiration hit. A half-filled bottle of Johnson's Baby wash -- it would be my cleaner/de-odorizer.
That stuff doesn't lather up very well. I used practically the whole thing just trying to soap myself. And call it a hunch, but I don't think it was designed to mask the bovine-like odors that can eminate from an adult male when stress, heat, and perspiration are introduced to the daily experience. So we'll see how it goes. I may be working with my door closed today.
but for now, I smell like my little Kelsi.
its a scent that is cute on her....
not so much on me.
a little creepy, actually.
I think I'm going to go take a towel bath in my Old Spice "Fresh Scent" aftershave, and for at least one day be known on the fourth floor as that guy.
and if all goes well Friday will come and go, but come monday, the memory of this olfactory adventure, noted by maritime cologne essence will still onward linger.
okay.whatever.
I took this little test this morning.
here's my results.
Your Brain Usage Profile
Auditory : 45%
Visual : 54%
Left : 47%
Right : 52%
Here's what the results mean:
here's my interpretation of these results:
here's my results.
Your Brain Usage Profile
Auditory : 45%
Visual : 54%
Left : 47%
Right : 52%
Here's what the results mean:
Bryan, you exhibit an even balance between left- and right- hemisphere dominance and a slight preference for visual over auditory processing. With a score this balanced, it is likely that you would have slightly different results each time you complete this self-assessment quiz.
You are a well-rounded person, distinctly individualistic and artistic, an active and multidimensional learner. At the same time, you are logical and disciplined, can operate well within an organization, and are sensitive towards others without losing objectivity. You are organized and goal-directed. Although a "thinking" individual, you "take in" entire situations readily and can act on intuition.
You sometimes tend to vacillate in your learning styles. Learning might take you longer than someone of equal intellect, but you will tend to be more thorough and retain the material longer than those other individuals. You will alternate between logic and impulse. This vacillation will not normally be intentional or deliberate, so you may experience anxiety in situations where you are not certain which aspect of yourself will be called on.
With a slight preference for visual processing, you tend to be encompassing in your perceptions, process along multidimensional paths and be active in your attacking of situations or learning.
Overall, you should feel content with your life and yourself. You are, perhaps, a little too critical of yourself -- and of others -- while maintaining an "openness" which tempers that tendency. Indecisiveness is a problem and your creativity may not be in keeping with your potential. Being a pragmatist, you downplay this aspect of yourself and focus on the more immediate, obvious and the more functional
here's my interpretation of these results:
hm. how 'bout that? I wonder if my coffee is ready?
7/24/2003
wisdom
sent to me from a dear friend:
Humility is to the Christian what ballast is to the ship; it keeps him in his proper position and regulates all his thoughts and feelings.
--Archibald Alexander
from christianquote
--Archibald Alexander
from christianquote
a day of blessing
today was a great day. In the office for a little over an hour, and then spending the next several playing frisbee in Lake Lanier. Sometimes you really have to suffer for the Kingdom.
Nineteen kids, aged between 5 and 12. I knew it was going to be a rough day when one called another an F-head crackbaby.
But then it got easy, and fun.
I was so blessed to be invited to this. The kids were great and I even met one fine young boy named Leviticus. I wanted to name my children Zebediah and Zedediah, but Kelli reminded me that we birthed a girl first, and that she didn't want it to sound like we were always stuttering. Zed and Zeb. Oh well. Maybe someday if we ever get dogs.
The gal who leads this ministry is a tough-as-nails sweetheart. Totally in control, she hollered at one boy who was throwing food, "I'm done with this conversation! If it happens again I'm gonna go crazy all over your head!"
this caused me to wet my pants.
no telling what he did.
although he consumed the rest of his food, rather than using it for a projectile. So I guess you can't argue with the results.
I came home a little early, so I will be going in a little early to make it up.
i thank God for this day.
Nineteen kids, aged between 5 and 12. I knew it was going to be a rough day when one called another an F-head crackbaby.
But then it got easy, and fun.
I was so blessed to be invited to this. The kids were great and I even met one fine young boy named Leviticus. I wanted to name my children Zebediah and Zedediah, but Kelli reminded me that we birthed a girl first, and that she didn't want it to sound like we were always stuttering. Zed and Zeb. Oh well. Maybe someday if we ever get dogs.
The gal who leads this ministry is a tough-as-nails sweetheart. Totally in control, she hollered at one boy who was throwing food, "I'm done with this conversation! If it happens again I'm gonna go crazy all over your head!"
this caused me to wet my pants.
no telling what he did.
although he consumed the rest of his food, rather than using it for a projectile. So I guess you can't argue with the results.
I came home a little early, so I will be going in a little early to make it up.
i thank God for this day.
the perils of lead overdose
i just recently saw the photos of the Brutha's Hussein.
They're looking a little pale and sickly.
if they don't get to a doctor soon, I fear for their long-term outlook.
They're looking a little pale and sickly.
if they don't get to a doctor soon, I fear for their long-term outlook.
word of the day
democrisy -- n. -- a compound of the words democrat and hypocrisy, capturing the heart of the deceptive strategy to create a 'phantom menace' of controversy where none exists, despite failing to exercise the same standard of criticism in a similar, but much more egregious prior situation when the object of such behavior was a political ally instead of a political foe. Example (found in The Federalist):
The drumbeat of Democrisy pounds on: "In his State of the Union address, George W. Bush told us of an imminent threat. ...America took him at his word. ...A year earlier, that claim was proven false. The CIA knew it. The State Department knew it. The White House knew it. But he told us anyway." --Democratic National Committee ad to be run in Wisconsin **Memo to the DNC: President Bush warned of a "grave and gathering" danger -- and with the Brits defending their intel assessment -- developed independent of other, falsified documents -- Saddam's African uranium quest has not been "proven false."
and that's one to grow on
"As long as I hold this office, I will never risk the lives of American citizens by assuming the good will of dangerous enemies."
--President George W. Bush
--President George W. Bush
bryan mcanally....man for hire
today is a little unusual of a ministry day for me. Rather than my normal focus on men's ministry, I (along with two other men from my group) will be joining four ladies from our group who are in the middle of what is called their "ministry week." NAMB has the policy that every employee must take one (paid) week each year and do ministry somewhere. A lot of people call it their personal mission vacation. And you really can do just about anything for it -- from going to another state and being a volunteer in a big conference to teaching VBS in a local church or being a counselor in a kid's camp, they don't care. NAMB just wants people to have time set aside to practice what is being preached. which I think is pretty cool.
These four ladies have been volunteering in a children's home all week, and apparently, its a pretty tough crowd. Today, they're taking the kids to Lake Lanier for some swimming. I've basically been recruited to be "muscle." There have been lots of fights, arguments, and needs for separation.
and the kids haven't been very good either.
okay that was a joke. the ladies have all said that its been tough, but very good. So they asked for the three of us to come and help out. I've been practicing my scowl all morning. It's cocked and loaded, but I sure hope I won't have to use it.
and don't think I haven't thought about how exciting its going to be for me to get into my swimming suit in front of my colleagues. I bet they'll all be quite impressed by my banana-yellow speedo thong.
ugh. even typing that down makes me shudder. I can't imagine how they'd react, were it true.
so -- in all seriousness -- please pray for these children, that they may receive the ministry, not of us, but of the Holy Spirit and they would respond by faith.
thanks!
These four ladies have been volunteering in a children's home all week, and apparently, its a pretty tough crowd. Today, they're taking the kids to Lake Lanier for some swimming. I've basically been recruited to be "muscle." There have been lots of fights, arguments, and needs for separation.
and the kids haven't been very good either.
okay that was a joke. the ladies have all said that its been tough, but very good. So they asked for the three of us to come and help out. I've been practicing my scowl all morning. It's cocked and loaded, but I sure hope I won't have to use it.
and don't think I haven't thought about how exciting its going to be for me to get into my swimming suit in front of my colleagues. I bet they'll all be quite impressed by my banana-yellow speedo thong.
ugh. even typing that down makes me shudder. I can't imagine how they'd react, were it true.
so -- in all seriousness -- please pray for these children, that they may receive the ministry, not of us, but of the Holy Spirit and they would respond by faith.
thanks!
7/23/2003
just so its in the notes
I peeked behind the picture and once again, there is no spiderweb nor spider.
I'll keep you updated.
I'll keep you updated.
oh...this can't be good
a new time waster, introduced to me by kyle is acrophobia, which can be played here.
you have to come up with words for acronyms given.
word dorks like me, rejoice! your mothership has landed!
you have to come up with words for acronyms given.
word dorks like me, rejoice! your mothership has landed!
inspired by jaboobie
who was recently bitten by his rat.
there are some words that just fit what they describe, completely unlike the term "Rick Astley".
one such apt term is rodent. A rodent often looks exactly like you would assume any creature with such a name should.
other aptly named items are:
pontiff
vermin
lilly
panda
Alan Combs
Keds
shrubbery
lightning
stencil
Butterbean
there are some words that just fit what they describe, completely unlike the term "Rick Astley".
one such apt term is rodent. A rodent often looks exactly like you would assume any creature with such a name should.
other aptly named items are:
pontiff
vermin
lilly
panda
Alan Combs
Keds
shrubbery
lightning
stencil
Butterbean
does anyone mourn their deaths
I was surprised to hear of the deaths of those rowdy Hussein boys yesterday. I was even more surprised that I was a little saddened by the news.
I'm not joking.
and I'm not going crazy.
I'm not sad that they're gone. I'm not sad that they've been found guilty, judged, and punished in an open-and-shut case prosecuted to perfection by the US military.
what made me sad was that these two men chose this lifestyle that ended so violently. The horror and devastation that they inflicted upon so many is a tragedy that has become their legacies. I'm relieved their tyranny has come to a sudden and total stop. I find it sad and tragic that two lives turned out so deplorable. I really believe that when its all said and done, these two, along with their father, will be ranked in the upper eschelon of murderous, genocidal lunatics who have plagued human history. Its sad and pathetic that this would be the choice for any person's pathetic facsimile of immortality.
In many ways, I liken Saddam and his boys to old King Saul and his (Jonathan excluded). As previous precedent shows, the evil may enjoy prosperity for a season, but those who oppose God will be dishonored. Uday and Qusay learned the most difficult lesson the most difficult way, and their dad will, too, someday soon.
I hope the world understands the lessons that can be taught by their shame-filled lives. I hope others will see that true power is not being able to do whatever you want, but in choosing wisely in what to refrain from doing. True leadership is not gained by tyranny, oppression, and evil; such behavior leads to rebellion, conspiracy, and overthrow. And I hope people will see the ironic ignominy defined in the lives of two would live like barbaric, nihilistic kings, only to die cowards' death, cornered like the rats they turned out to be.
by the way, Jen reports on Charlie Rengel's blathering, trying to dismiss the significance the event, as liberty marches onward in Iraq. How did this guy get elected?
I'm not joking.
and I'm not going crazy.
I'm not sad that they're gone. I'm not sad that they've been found guilty, judged, and punished in an open-and-shut case prosecuted to perfection by the US military.
what made me sad was that these two men chose this lifestyle that ended so violently. The horror and devastation that they inflicted upon so many is a tragedy that has become their legacies. I'm relieved their tyranny has come to a sudden and total stop. I find it sad and tragic that two lives turned out so deplorable. I really believe that when its all said and done, these two, along with their father, will be ranked in the upper eschelon of murderous, genocidal lunatics who have plagued human history. Its sad and pathetic that this would be the choice for any person's pathetic facsimile of immortality.
In many ways, I liken Saddam and his boys to old King Saul and his (Jonathan excluded). As previous precedent shows, the evil may enjoy prosperity for a season, but those who oppose God will be dishonored. Uday and Qusay learned the most difficult lesson the most difficult way, and their dad will, too, someday soon.
I hope the world understands the lessons that can be taught by their shame-filled lives. I hope others will see that true power is not being able to do whatever you want, but in choosing wisely in what to refrain from doing. True leadership is not gained by tyranny, oppression, and evil; such behavior leads to rebellion, conspiracy, and overthrow. And I hope people will see the ironic ignominy defined in the lives of two would live like barbaric, nihilistic kings, only to die cowards' death, cornered like the rats they turned out to be.
by the way, Jen reports on Charlie Rengel's blathering, trying to dismiss the significance the event, as liberty marches onward in Iraq. How did this guy get elected?
is this what 'liberal politics' means
From the WSJ best of the web, this headline:
N.C. Rep. Proposes to Mate on House Floor
a closer reading of the report clears up any confusion that this headline may have caused.
N.C. Rep. Proposes to Mate on House Floor
a closer reading of the report clears up any confusion that this headline may have caused.
a prayer request
for those of you who are pray-ers, please remember my mother-in-law in your intercession, for health concerns.
my sincere thanks.
my sincere thanks.
doing things a little differently
I've downloaded Netscape 7 for my Mac, and am blogging from it right now.
does it feel different for you?
does it feel different for you?
ahhhh....clever!
being a relative re-newbie to the mac world, I thought this was pretty clever. Seen on a Mac Desktop picture website:
in a world without boundaries, who needs gates or windows?
counting the ways
what sound greeted my ears as I exited the shower this morning?
The friendly percolation of a coffee cooker set by my lovely bride last night for a 5:00 a.m. launch.
this, dear friends and total strangers, is another example of love in action.
The friendly percolation of a coffee cooker set by my lovely bride last night for a 5:00 a.m. launch.
this, dear friends and total strangers, is another example of love in action.
lookin' at the world through fly's eyes
and you can just buzz off.
though freshly showered, I for some reason am attracting the company of a single fly.
His presence is not welcome.
If I've learned one thing about flies, its that they tend not to be very respectful of one's personal space.
though freshly showered, I for some reason am attracting the company of a single fly.
His presence is not welcome.
If I've learned one thing about flies, its that they tend not to be very respectful of one's personal space.
is the rule "i before e, except after p?"
Chris at What in Tarnation has a challenging quiz about urinal etiquite in his blog.
This may not only help some of you poorly trained gentlemen who show poor form by shouldering up to another guy & using the adjacent urinal, when a whole bank of empty ones are available, but it also sheds light on the only mystery that exists in the men's bathroom, as compared to the myriad of mystery clouding the ladies' room.
few things creep me out more than a guy who wants to make eye contact when you're standing there going about your business. This is neither the time, nor the place to make a new buddy. It's not like we're going to be shaking hands or exchanging recipes.
And I just want to give a great big "THANK YOU" to the person who invented the auto flush feature. my fear of germs (verminophobia, for those who are curious) is forever indebted to you.
btw, perhaps my only truly irrational fear is that of being attacked from behind or robbed while using a public urinal. While there's no real name for that phobia (I checked), its a very real one nonetheless.
This may not only help some of you poorly trained gentlemen who show poor form by shouldering up to another guy & using the adjacent urinal, when a whole bank of empty ones are available, but it also sheds light on the only mystery that exists in the men's bathroom, as compared to the myriad of mystery clouding the ladies' room.
few things creep me out more than a guy who wants to make eye contact when you're standing there going about your business. This is neither the time, nor the place to make a new buddy. It's not like we're going to be shaking hands or exchanging recipes.
And I just want to give a great big "THANK YOU" to the person who invented the auto flush feature. my fear of germs (verminophobia, for those who are curious) is forever indebted to you.
btw, perhaps my only truly irrational fear is that of being attacked from behind or robbed while using a public urinal. While there's no real name for that phobia (I checked), its a very real one nonetheless.
horror film theology
I take full responsibility for renting the movie ghost ship this past weekend. I picked it up on the heels of the words of a friend, who was of the opinion that it wasn't your run of the mill horror slasher flick.
and for the most part, he was right.
Don't get me wrong -- incredibly graphic with a couple scenes that were waaaaay over the top on the gag-o-meter. I was surprised to see though that the film had Joel Silver (The Matrix) and Bob Zemekis (Back to the Future) attached to it. Industrial adhesive remover should work to resolve this problem, but the key is that you have to let it soak.
but I digress.
the movie truly is as it was billed to me: a morality tale about the perils of greed, and following the temptation of the Deceiver.
The theology gets pretty shaky at the end, in regard to the innocence of souls, so don't go building the First Church of Ghost Ship after viewing it, but still feel free to discuss that which provokes your thoughts.
BTW -- I saw a movie sleeve for Ghost Rig at the Blockbuster. I can only assume this was the unfortunate Direct-to-Video sequel. Can anyone inform me if this is sadly the case?
and for the most part, he was right.
Don't get me wrong -- incredibly graphic with a couple scenes that were waaaaay over the top on the gag-o-meter. I was surprised to see though that the film had Joel Silver (The Matrix) and Bob Zemekis (Back to the Future) attached to it. Industrial adhesive remover should work to resolve this problem, but the key is that you have to let it soak.
but I digress.
the movie truly is as it was billed to me: a morality tale about the perils of greed, and following the temptation of the Deceiver.
The theology gets pretty shaky at the end, in regard to the innocence of souls, so don't go building the First Church of Ghost Ship after viewing it, but still feel free to discuss that which provokes your thoughts.
BTW -- I saw a movie sleeve for Ghost Rig at the Blockbuster. I can only assume this was the unfortunate Direct-to-Video sequel. Can anyone inform me if this is sadly the case?
7/22/2003
a hairy issue
irene has recently wrote about her body hair. I can't comment on that. she's on the other side of the globe, and I'm not an authority on her hair.
but I am an authority on my own hair. Specifically that which currently resides on atop my head. I've taken matters of the hairline quite seriously for quite some time, ever since I was six and noticed that my dad, his two brothers, and their dad all had the exact same hair style. I think the term back then was called....bald. Prodigy that I was, i was able to make a connection and my days ever since have been filled with dread.
Late teenage years were spent inspecting hairlines and growing out my locks, certain that one day, they'd be forever lost. But here I am on the other side of thirty and my hairline is still holding brave. My main fear was not just that I'd lose my hair, but that it would retreat in a panicked run and seek sanctuary upon my back and shoulders. For the most part, that hasn't happened, and I have no conscientious memory of having traded my soul to the enemy in exchange for a full head of hair.
But as pleased as I am to have hair, I have a bit of an ironic relationship with it, because now I really dislike having hair that is longer than my tolerance for liberal politics (which, as you may know, is quite short). So every few weeks, I require an appointment to be groomed.
Just such an appointment is required of me today. A couple of weeks ago, I had that casual thought hmmm...I probably ought to get a haircut. I should just schedule it when that thought arrives. But I never do. And then just a few days later --Holy Alberto VO5! -- I find myself shocked when I finish styling my mane and think that John Davidson from That's Incredible! is looking back at me from the other side of the mirror.
As an aside, for the past two days I've been using Suave's styling gel, after an extended relationship with Suave's sculpting gel. I meant to relate this important development sooner, but we were waiting for a few days to make an assessment. Preliminary results are encouraging, though.
So, on my way home tonight, i will go to a well-trained stylist employed by a Salon meeting the following high and stringent criteria:
a. No clever business names, like "Curl Up & Dye."
b. Be a mass-haircutting chain -- practice makes perfect.
c. no long wait -- time is money, people.
d. Under $12 -- I've got a full head of hair, but it's not like I'm Rapunzel.
e. be close to my home.
Once a locale meets these parameters, I'll sit down and let the clipping begin. Unless, of course, my helmet-hair won't fit through the doorway, which means they'll have to find an extension cord for their clippers and shave me down out in the parking lot.
i once went to a sports cut salon, but didn't return because kelli thought I was going to the equivalent of "hooters." And even though its not, its main attraction is that you can watch sports while you get your hair cut. I have to have my glasses removed to get my hair cut, which precludes being able to see anything beyond the end of my nose.
So I'll go get a $12 haircut, and if the job is done right, I'll tip $3. And because I'll be seeking to establish a new relationship with a haircutter, I'll have to give my hair order like I'm in line at Burger King.
I think its important to have a relationship with your haircutter, rather than constantly changing. It builds trust between client and professional. And it makes it harder to get real upset when she accidentally lops the top of your ear from laughing too hard at one of your jokes.
And I'm not being sexist with my "her" references. Men can be haircutters. They call them barbers. I just prefer a woman to cut my hair. A woman tells me virtually every day what shirt to wear with what pants. The same woman tells me when to throw away hole-y underwear, or when I've got a orangutan swingin' from the nosehair o' doom. Now, I don't trust this woman to cut my hair, but she has led me to place my trust in other professionally-trained women to make me look my best.
It does seem, though, that I'm constantly having to remind the cutter to use the shears at the end. The thinning shears, while necessary to me, appear to have become passe', gone by way of the straight razor. Nonetheless, for some reason, my hair must be thinned. Ironic, I know, but I liken it to pruning the grapevine, which as any vinedresser knows, is essential for plump grape growth. but I digress. I find that if I don't thin my hair, within two weeks, I feel like my head is a 12-pound bowling bowl draped in an Alpaca sweater, cooking on the beach of Tahiti under the noonday sun. so I often have to ask again for the shears, and I always feel like a critical jerk for doing so. "Could you please do the shears now?" I ask as nicely as possible. I find that this exchange goes much more pleasantly when I refrain from adding the word "idiot" to the end of my request.
A couple of other things:
--you shouldn't have to pay $3.95 for a shampooing. We're talking about a quarter sized glob of hair soap and conditioner. And even if you are a shampooing legalist and insist on repeating the lathering and rinsing, you're still not investing more than a buck, at most. And the shampooing is not so labor-intensive that it should be a premium expense. so I opt out on this elective.
--styling gel at the conclusion of a cutting is the most unnecessary procedure since the benediction at the last Athiest Club meeting. You're going home to wash away all the renegade clippings and to unstyle the stylist's styling's anyway, so don't waste everyone's time.
--few things gross me out more than having to use an apron that was just used by the guy before me. he could be the national spokesman for Paul Mitchell and I'll still assume he's the poster boy for head lice awareness. Spare me, okay, and splurge by taking out a clean apron.
--the astringent used to disenfect combs, while carrying a medicinal odor, is not a beneficial product for good intestinal health. keep that in mind the next time you feel like wrapping your lips on the brim and tossing down a quart of it.
--there is such a thing as "too cheap" of a hair cut. Accordingly, don't allow your head to be a crash test dummy for beauty school dropouts (thanks Franky Avalon for that literary and musical gem), and never, I repeat never, exchange a hair cut for a bag of stale potato chips. You'll come out a two-time loser on that bargain every single time.
but I am an authority on my own hair. Specifically that which currently resides on atop my head. I've taken matters of the hairline quite seriously for quite some time, ever since I was six and noticed that my dad, his two brothers, and their dad all had the exact same hair style. I think the term back then was called....bald. Prodigy that I was, i was able to make a connection and my days ever since have been filled with dread.
Late teenage years were spent inspecting hairlines and growing out my locks, certain that one day, they'd be forever lost. But here I am on the other side of thirty and my hairline is still holding brave. My main fear was not just that I'd lose my hair, but that it would retreat in a panicked run and seek sanctuary upon my back and shoulders. For the most part, that hasn't happened, and I have no conscientious memory of having traded my soul to the enemy in exchange for a full head of hair.
But as pleased as I am to have hair, I have a bit of an ironic relationship with it, because now I really dislike having hair that is longer than my tolerance for liberal politics (which, as you may know, is quite short). So every few weeks, I require an appointment to be groomed.
Just such an appointment is required of me today. A couple of weeks ago, I had that casual thought hmmm...I probably ought to get a haircut. I should just schedule it when that thought arrives. But I never do. And then just a few days later --Holy Alberto VO5! -- I find myself shocked when I finish styling my mane and think that John Davidson from That's Incredible! is looking back at me from the other side of the mirror.
As an aside, for the past two days I've been using Suave's styling gel, after an extended relationship with Suave's sculpting gel. I meant to relate this important development sooner, but we were waiting for a few days to make an assessment. Preliminary results are encouraging, though.
So, on my way home tonight, i will go to a well-trained stylist employed by a Salon meeting the following high and stringent criteria:
a. No clever business names, like "Curl Up & Dye."
b. Be a mass-haircutting chain -- practice makes perfect.
c. no long wait -- time is money, people.
d. Under $12 -- I've got a full head of hair, but it's not like I'm Rapunzel.
e. be close to my home.
Once a locale meets these parameters, I'll sit down and let the clipping begin. Unless, of course, my helmet-hair won't fit through the doorway, which means they'll have to find an extension cord for their clippers and shave me down out in the parking lot.
i once went to a sports cut salon, but didn't return because kelli thought I was going to the equivalent of "hooters." And even though its not, its main attraction is that you can watch sports while you get your hair cut. I have to have my glasses removed to get my hair cut, which precludes being able to see anything beyond the end of my nose.
So I'll go get a $12 haircut, and if the job is done right, I'll tip $3. And because I'll be seeking to establish a new relationship with a haircutter, I'll have to give my hair order like I'm in line at Burger King.
#2 clippers on the side and back. blended with the top. as short as you can get it and still have it lay down. thinning shears before you're done. and double pickles hold the mayo
I think its important to have a relationship with your haircutter, rather than constantly changing. It builds trust between client and professional. And it makes it harder to get real upset when she accidentally lops the top of your ear from laughing too hard at one of your jokes.
And I'm not being sexist with my "her" references. Men can be haircutters. They call them barbers. I just prefer a woman to cut my hair. A woman tells me virtually every day what shirt to wear with what pants. The same woman tells me when to throw away hole-y underwear, or when I've got a orangutan swingin' from the nosehair o' doom. Now, I don't trust this woman to cut my hair, but she has led me to place my trust in other professionally-trained women to make me look my best.
It does seem, though, that I'm constantly having to remind the cutter to use the shears at the end. The thinning shears, while necessary to me, appear to have become passe', gone by way of the straight razor. Nonetheless, for some reason, my hair must be thinned. Ironic, I know, but I liken it to pruning the grapevine, which as any vinedresser knows, is essential for plump grape growth. but I digress. I find that if I don't thin my hair, within two weeks, I feel like my head is a 12-pound bowling bowl draped in an Alpaca sweater, cooking on the beach of Tahiti under the noonday sun. so I often have to ask again for the shears, and I always feel like a critical jerk for doing so. "Could you please do the shears now?" I ask as nicely as possible. I find that this exchange goes much more pleasantly when I refrain from adding the word "idiot" to the end of my request.
A couple of other things:
--you shouldn't have to pay $3.95 for a shampooing. We're talking about a quarter sized glob of hair soap and conditioner. And even if you are a shampooing legalist and insist on repeating the lathering and rinsing, you're still not investing more than a buck, at most. And the shampooing is not so labor-intensive that it should be a premium expense. so I opt out on this elective.
--styling gel at the conclusion of a cutting is the most unnecessary procedure since the benediction at the last Athiest Club meeting. You're going home to wash away all the renegade clippings and to unstyle the stylist's styling's anyway, so don't waste everyone's time.
--few things gross me out more than having to use an apron that was just used by the guy before me. he could be the national spokesman for Paul Mitchell and I'll still assume he's the poster boy for head lice awareness. Spare me, okay, and splurge by taking out a clean apron.
--the astringent used to disenfect combs, while carrying a medicinal odor, is not a beneficial product for good intestinal health. keep that in mind the next time you feel like wrapping your lips on the brim and tossing down a quart of it.
--there is such a thing as "too cheap" of a hair cut. Accordingly, don't allow your head to be a crash test dummy for beauty school dropouts (thanks Franky Avalon for that literary and musical gem), and never, I repeat never, exchange a hair cut for a bag of stale potato chips. You'll come out a two-time loser on that bargain every single time.
not cool
lightning just zapped a very important post, that was probably the most brilliant, insightful piece ever to flow from my fingertips to the keyboard.
crud.
crud.
sung to the tune of purple rain
okay...it's really just regular rain, but it sure is coming down heavily. And the clouds are swooping by quite rapidly.
georgia weather is so exciting!
georgia weather is so exciting!
starting things off with a bang
my colleague and --dare I say-- friend Kyle Brogdon has just given birth to a brand new baby blog. Kyle does what I do, professionally speaking, for the teenaged boys of the Southern Baptist ilk (whereas my focus is on everyone from 18 and beyond). His first entry was a bit like when the first Israelite carrying the Ark of the Covenant stuck his big toe in the Jordan River to test the waters. But he is hip deep in blogolalia by entry #2.
even if you don't visit his site, you need to say it repeatedly because to do so is to enjoy just a little snack of verbal candy.
brogblog
brogblog@blogspot.com
brogblog. brogblog brogblog brogblog.
it must be time to take a break.
even if you don't visit his site, you need to say it repeatedly because to do so is to enjoy just a little snack of verbal candy.
brogblog
brogblog@blogspot.com
brogblog. brogblog brogblog brogblog.
it must be time to take a break.
i don't feel well
occasionally accused of being hypochondriacal (is that a word?), I reluctantly divulge that my guts hurt.
< wince > lower left abdominal < /wince >
I think I'll pass on the lunchtime rugby match.
< wince > lower left abdominal < /wince >
I think I'll pass on the lunchtime rugby match.
beaten to the punch
I was planning on opining eloquently on the subject, but The Ville exposits profoundly on all the justifcation I need to defend the US action in Iraq. And because he states it so well, I'll just let you read what he said.
ode to a highway shoe
from afar i saw you
crumpled, mangled in the road
i barely knew you highway shoe
never heard the story you told
how you got there I do not know
brown, abandoned, and laceless
a speedbump in the traffic flow
commuters can be so graceless
is your mate covering a foot
while you lay on the road in state
once a proud strong leather boot
unknowing your inevitable, unfortunate fate
who did you know while you trod on the earth
Doctors Scholl and Martin, or maybe Buster Brown?
your Easy Spirit making room for extra wide girth
cushioning the heel as you strode around town?
your owner searches for you in his room
hopping around with one foot unshod
perhaps unaware of your horrific doom
eventually giving up with a discouraged nod
how many miles did you travel to and fro
what did you step in that needed a cleaning
what adventurous places did you reluctantly go
have you discovered your sole's deeper meaning
you are now just a speck in my rearview mirror
you'll be saved by a highwayman, part of a crew
picked up and set apart - you've nothing to fear
I will sorely miss you, lone brown highway shoe
crumpled, mangled in the road
i barely knew you highway shoe
never heard the story you told
how you got there I do not know
brown, abandoned, and laceless
a speedbump in the traffic flow
commuters can be so graceless
is your mate covering a foot
while you lay on the road in state
once a proud strong leather boot
unknowing your inevitable, unfortunate fate
who did you know while you trod on the earth
Doctors Scholl and Martin, or maybe Buster Brown?
your Easy Spirit making room for extra wide girth
cushioning the heel as you strode around town?
your owner searches for you in his room
hopping around with one foot unshod
perhaps unaware of your horrific doom
eventually giving up with a discouraged nod
how many miles did you travel to and fro
what did you step in that needed a cleaning
what adventurous places did you reluctantly go
have you discovered your sole's deeper meaning
you are now just a speck in my rearview mirror
you'll be saved by a highwayman, part of a crew
picked up and set apart - you've nothing to fear
I will sorely miss you, lone brown highway shoe
I should be earning hazard pay
one of the challenges of my job is that I work on a Mac. I'm not one of those people who has a preference for one platform over another. At home I have a PC, and at work I have a Mac. Both work. I'm happy.
but what doesn't work is my continuing struggle to remember which platform I am using at any given moment. While on my Mac, I will attempt a PC shortcut 2 or 3 or 47 times before I realize that I need to use the "apple key" rather than the "control" key. Conversely, I will double click on the title bar a dozen times on my PC, and it will respond exactly as it should on a PC -- rather than minimizing a window (which the equivalent of what I want to do by double clicking on the title bar), it will move a nearly indistinguishable sixteenth of an inch. While impressive, this function is not very practical. Someone needs to create an easily downloadable little utility that recognizes PC shortcut attempts while on a Mac and anytime one is attempted, a little wav file politely declares, "you're on a Mac, PCboy."
that would be very helpful.
but what doesn't work is my continuing struggle to remember which platform I am using at any given moment. While on my Mac, I will attempt a PC shortcut 2 or 3 or 47 times before I realize that I need to use the "apple key" rather than the "control" key. Conversely, I will double click on the title bar a dozen times on my PC, and it will respond exactly as it should on a PC -- rather than minimizing a window (which the equivalent of what I want to do by double clicking on the title bar), it will move a nearly indistinguishable sixteenth of an inch. While impressive, this function is not very practical. Someone needs to create an easily downloadable little utility that recognizes PC shortcut attempts while on a Mac and anytime one is attempted, a little wav file politely declares, "you're on a Mac, PCboy."
that would be very helpful.
the best part of waking up...
is Folger's all over the floor.
I don't know why I can't even make coffee.
You wouldn't think it's a task beyond my ability.
Simple process right?
1. Fill pot with water
2. empty water into reservoir
3. Place clean filter in maker.
4. place two scoops of unused coffee grounds into filter
5. close filter holder
6. press 'on' button.
I followed this process. I even read the manual to make sure I wasn't missing anything.
went downstairs. Ironed my clothes, read comments and visited a couple blogs.
came back upstairs for a hot cup of caffienated yumminess.
there it was.
My Gevalia coffee maker was belching, hissing and spewing like a sorority girl at the morning after the final day of Spring Break. Approximately three drops of java brewed in the pot. The rest flowed like lava down the face of Mt. Kich-n-cubberd. I refrained from the strong temptation to lick the coffee from the lineoleum, and instead wiped it off the floor.
Upon closer examination, I discovered that I shouldn't even be allowed to try to boil water. I didn't put the pot into the receiving area/hot plate exactly as I was supposed to. I may be a little defensive here, but I think it is a flaw in design if you are expecting the consumer to have pinpoint accuracy down to the micrometer without -- ironically -- first having a cup of coffee.
Compounding the irony, I thought, I could really use some coffee to better deal with this.
Soooo....
no coffee on the way to work.
Instead, i double-fisted my mountain dew, growing increasingly irritated at the radio stations.
c'mon....less talk and more rock!
My ride took four minutes longer than usual because I hit every red light possible. I think I even hit one of them twice. Because I didn't have coffee, I dozed off at one and awoke only when the symphony of horns behind me awoke me from my pleasant dream that I was the grand marshal of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.
I went straight to the cafeteria and filled two cups of coffee. I'm not only filling one cup and then taking the time it takes to go four floors for the inevitable trip that would soon be necessary. This is why I have the handy little warmer that I occasionally leave on and later inadvertantly use as a leverage device for standing up, thus branding myself on a repeated basis.
I resent, by the way, any isinuations that I may depend on caffiene. I'm just a social drinker. One or two cups, just to be friendly. Just to loosen up. But I can quit any time I want to.
really.
I don't know why I can't even make coffee.
You wouldn't think it's a task beyond my ability.
Simple process right?
1. Fill pot with water
2. empty water into reservoir
3. Place clean filter in maker.
4. place two scoops of unused coffee grounds into filter
5. close filter holder
6. press 'on' button.
I followed this process. I even read the manual to make sure I wasn't missing anything.
went downstairs. Ironed my clothes, read comments and visited a couple blogs.
came back upstairs for a hot cup of caffienated yumminess.
there it was.
My Gevalia coffee maker was belching, hissing and spewing like a sorority girl at the morning after the final day of Spring Break. Approximately three drops of java brewed in the pot. The rest flowed like lava down the face of Mt. Kich-n-cubberd. I refrained from the strong temptation to lick the coffee from the lineoleum, and instead wiped it off the floor.
Upon closer examination, I discovered that I shouldn't even be allowed to try to boil water. I didn't put the pot into the receiving area/hot plate exactly as I was supposed to. I may be a little defensive here, but I think it is a flaw in design if you are expecting the consumer to have pinpoint accuracy down to the micrometer without -- ironically -- first having a cup of coffee.
Compounding the irony, I thought, I could really use some coffee to better deal with this.
Soooo....
no coffee on the way to work.
Instead, i double-fisted my mountain dew, growing increasingly irritated at the radio stations.
c'mon....less talk and more rock!
My ride took four minutes longer than usual because I hit every red light possible. I think I even hit one of them twice. Because I didn't have coffee, I dozed off at one and awoke only when the symphony of horns behind me awoke me from my pleasant dream that I was the grand marshal of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.
I went straight to the cafeteria and filled two cups of coffee. I'm not only filling one cup and then taking the time it takes to go four floors for the inevitable trip that would soon be necessary. This is why I have the handy little warmer that I occasionally leave on and later inadvertantly use as a leverage device for standing up, thus branding myself on a repeated basis.
I resent, by the way, any isinuations that I may depend on caffiene. I'm just a social drinker. One or two cups, just to be friendly. Just to loosen up. But I can quit any time I want to.
really.
7/21/2003
latebreaking news
Gephardt to legally Change Name
by Hugh G. Lection, BSPI Reporter
Washington, DC (BSPI) -- Dick Gephardt, Democratic candidate for the 2004 presidency has shocked supporters by announcing plans to change his name for the upcoming election. His name, once legally altered will be Unnamed Democrat.
Despite denials from his campaign, most pundits reason that Gephardt's decision is fueled by recent polls that suggest an unnamed Democrat will fare well in the upcoming election against incumbent President George Bush.
"I'm surprised none of the other candidates hadn't thought of this sooner," Gephardt is reported to have said when mulling the idea. "You can't buy this kind of name recognition, and it doesn't carry any of the baggage associated with my current name."
When asked about Gephardt's new plan, President Bush offered the following official statement: "It doesn't matter what his new strategery is. You can call him Dick Gephardt, Unnamed Democrat, or even Sally Jesse Raphael. His monica (sic) will always be identificated with big government and liberal ideas. He's leadin' in a place that America just ain't goin'. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times, don't mess with Texas."
by Hugh G. Lection, BSPI Reporter
Washington, DC (BSPI) -- Dick Gephardt, Democratic candidate for the 2004 presidency has shocked supporters by announcing plans to change his name for the upcoming election. His name, once legally altered will be Unnamed Democrat.
Despite denials from his campaign, most pundits reason that Gephardt's decision is fueled by recent polls that suggest an unnamed Democrat will fare well in the upcoming election against incumbent President George Bush.
"I'm surprised none of the other candidates hadn't thought of this sooner," Gephardt is reported to have said when mulling the idea. "You can't buy this kind of name recognition, and it doesn't carry any of the baggage associated with my current name."
When asked about Gephardt's new plan, President Bush offered the following official statement: "It doesn't matter what his new strategery is. You can call him Dick Gephardt, Unnamed Democrat, or even Sally Jesse Raphael. His monica (sic) will always be identificated with big government and liberal ideas. He's leadin' in a place that America just ain't goin'. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times, don't mess with Texas."
sung to the tune of you give love a bad name
a protester ran out into the racetrack at a Formula 1 competition over the weekend.
His placard read something like "How's my protesting? Call 1-800-WACKJOB"
Actually, it declared, "Read the Bible -- the Bible is always right!"
I'm not sure, but I think there's a proverb in there that says a fool who runs onto a Formula One Race Track during a competition will likely become a hood ornament.
On the other hand, if you saw the protest recast on television, you received a very good practical biblical lesson on grace, since every driver conscientiously swerved to avoid him.
I'm not certain where they sell Insano-pills TM, but this guy had obviously bought a whole case and had overdosed. I can only imagine the internal dialogue that must have occured. And believe me, it had to be a dialogue, because he certainly had voices talkin' back to him:
now there's a better than even chance I'll see this guy one day in eternity. And I can only hope when I run in to him and ask "what in the world were you thinking?" he'll reply, "yeah, I still feel a little silly about that. It was a rough time in my life. My girl had just left me. My dog died. didn't get a raise I was expecting. Went just a little off the deepend. But remember, Bryan, back in the early 1980s you were a mullet-styled, parachute pants-wearing hip hop redneck in training who listened to Michael Jackson and Bobby Brown and thought he could breakdance."
touche'
His placard read something like "How's my protesting? Call 1-800-WACKJOB"
Actually, it declared, "Read the Bible -- the Bible is always right!"
I'm not sure, but I think there's a proverb in there that says a fool who runs onto a Formula One Race Track during a competition will likely become a hood ornament.
On the other hand, if you saw the protest recast on television, you received a very good practical biblical lesson on grace, since every driver conscientiously swerved to avoid him.
I'm not certain where they sell Insano-pills TM, but this guy had obviously bought a whole case and had overdosed. I can only imagine the internal dialogue that must have occured. And believe me, it had to be a dialogue, because he certainly had voices talkin' back to him:
there are so many people living in deception
it doesn't seem like anybody knows the truth anymore
if people would just read the Bible
the Bible is always right
you know what?
what?
that would make a great poster!
what would?
read the Bible -- The Bible is always right!
yeah, that is a great poster!
But where will we hang it?
Well, we could always hang it on the window of our flat.
But our window faces the alleyway
probably not many people would see it.
no, probably not....
hey...I've got an idea!
well, share it!
How about if we walk around in public?
yeah..that is a good idea.
but if we do that, we need to draw attention to ourselves
hmmm....you're right....how can we do that?
well...do we still have that kilt in the closet?
yeah, I think so.
maybe if we wear that
but what should we wear under it?
well, you know what they say....
no! the Bible says we need to be modest
well, how about our lime green bikini skivvies?
Oh, that's great! And they match our lime green knee-high socks!
we'll be certain to draw a lot of attention!
that only leaves...
where to march!
how about the local mall?
no way...too many freaks and wierdos.
you're probably right.
how about the F1 track...I hear there's a race there today.
Well, okay, but only if we can run into oncoming traffic.
duhh! it's the only way the drivers will be able to read our sign!
Self...you're a genius!
Thanks, self! You're pretty smart, too!
I wonder how many people will pick up a Bible because of how we'll be able to inspire them...
me, too...probably too many to count.
well, we better quit daydreaming
I'll iron the kilt while you find the magic markers!
now there's a better than even chance I'll see this guy one day in eternity. And I can only hope when I run in to him and ask "what in the world were you thinking?" he'll reply, "yeah, I still feel a little silly about that. It was a rough time in my life. My girl had just left me. My dog died. didn't get a raise I was expecting. Went just a little off the deepend. But remember, Bryan, back in the early 1980s you were a mullet-styled, parachute pants-wearing hip hop redneck in training who listened to Michael Jackson and Bobby Brown and thought he could breakdance."
touche'
a voce of sanity in a world going mad
"The lies being spun by the far Left are weapons of mass deception. The hysterical Left opposed the war against Iraq, predicting tens of thousand of U.S. casualties. They were wrong then; why should we believe them now?" --Charles R. Smith
26 words that are fun to say
anesthesiologist
booger
chihuahua
deciduous
emu
fiduciary
Gavin McCloud
hashish
ire
juxtapose
kumquat
licentious
molybdenum
novacaine
plumb bob
quagmire
retaliatory
Scorsese
tardy
umbilical
vex
wiley
xenophobe
yam
zenith
booger
chihuahua
deciduous
emu
fiduciary
Gavin McCloud
hashish
ire
juxtapose
kumquat
licentious
molybdenum
novacaine
plumb bob
quagmire
retaliatory
Scorsese
tardy
umbilical
vex
wiley
xenophobe
yam
zenith
how hard could it be?
Following our dining joy at the Smith House, we went to the Amicalola Falls just west of Dahlonega. It was truly a beautiful sight. We drove to the top of the falls, and looked over the crest waters. One really gets a fascinating view of the Georgia landscape. As we headed back to the car, we noticed a set of stairs that lead to the base of the falls.
The sign declares quite plainly:
strenuous
425 stairs
in one of my moments that could never be described as "brilliant," I instead read this sign as
strenuous
425 stairs
Bryan McAnally Come On Down!
...and bring your small children!
said, "Kelli, why don't you and Kelsi drive to the base, and Kayln, Cotter, and I will walk down these stairs and meet you at the bottom."
I don't know why, but Kelli agreed. I'm pretty sure this is why she had me add "for smarter or stupider" to our wedding vows.
now, in case you live in wyoming, where the tallest building is the University of Wyoming dormitory (10 stories tall), I will let you know that 425 stairs is the equivalent of 42 and-a-half stories of a building. And this building happened to be a winding cascade down the North Georgia Mountainside.
I re-learned in a practical way what strenuous means.
and not because it was hard going down 425 stairs. It really wouldn't have been tough if I was just zooming down the stairs on my own. I had two travel-mates that added a whole dimension of difficulty that can't be measured.
Cotter freaked out about thirty-three steps into the journey because he discovered suddenly that you can see through the stairway, down to the rocky earth about forty feet below. He decided the best way to cope with this alarming sight was to freeze rigidly and scream wildly.
About 70 stairs down, Kaylyn simply said, "my legs are getting tired." To their credit, neither asked to be carried. I would have hated to have left either of them there, which would have had to have been a serious consideration had this request been made. They trouped on, but I was relagated to follow them, rather than lead them. This restrained pace considerably taxed my quadriceps, because now I was fighting gravity and momentum and all those elements of the physical world that just won't take "no" for an answer.
We finally reached a level area that looked up at from where we had just come. I imagined it would have been a majestic sight of God's creation, but I too busy looking for the parking lot to notice.
Alas, there was no parking lot....
for we were only half-way down.
Actually, slightly more than half-way because the sign said
175 stair to base of falls
I gotta tell you, it was hard to keep going with those children of mine.
a few tears fell
statements of "I can't do it," "it's too hard," and "won't mommy come get us?"
but then Kaylyn consoled me and I continued on.
we got to the bottom to discover Kelli and Kelsi at the shore of the pond that pools at the base of the falls, sitting serenely on a swinging bench.
we three looked like we had just survived hurrican opal (which was noted to have caused extensive damage to the falls back in '96).
we stayed a bit longer and got our feet wet in the stream. Kaylyn screamed like Jamie Lee Curtis in a Halloween Movie Marathon, upon discovering a crawdad under a rock. I gently poked the little river crustacean, trying to get him to clasp a stick with a pincer, and then told the kids they could try to do the same. Cotter couldn't keep up with it, try as he might. Kaylyn thought I meant to say, "sure, bash it and pulverize it into the earth." When I clarified myself, she lost interest.
So we headed back to the car and continued my birthday journey.
The sign declares quite plainly:
strenuous
425 stairs
in one of my moments that could never be described as "brilliant," I instead read this sign as
strenuous
425 stairs
Bryan McAnally Come On Down!
...and bring your small children!
said, "Kelli, why don't you and Kelsi drive to the base, and Kayln, Cotter, and I will walk down these stairs and meet you at the bottom."
I don't know why, but Kelli agreed. I'm pretty sure this is why she had me add "for smarter or stupider" to our wedding vows.
now, in case you live in wyoming, where the tallest building is the University of Wyoming dormitory (10 stories tall), I will let you know that 425 stairs is the equivalent of 42 and-a-half stories of a building. And this building happened to be a winding cascade down the North Georgia Mountainside.
I re-learned in a practical way what strenuous means.
and not because it was hard going down 425 stairs. It really wouldn't have been tough if I was just zooming down the stairs on my own. I had two travel-mates that added a whole dimension of difficulty that can't be measured.
Cotter freaked out about thirty-three steps into the journey because he discovered suddenly that you can see through the stairway, down to the rocky earth about forty feet below. He decided the best way to cope with this alarming sight was to freeze rigidly and scream wildly.
About 70 stairs down, Kaylyn simply said, "my legs are getting tired." To their credit, neither asked to be carried. I would have hated to have left either of them there, which would have had to have been a serious consideration had this request been made. They trouped on, but I was relagated to follow them, rather than lead them. This restrained pace considerably taxed my quadriceps, because now I was fighting gravity and momentum and all those elements of the physical world that just won't take "no" for an answer.
We finally reached a level area that looked up at from where we had just come. I imagined it would have been a majestic sight of God's creation, but I too busy looking for the parking lot to notice.
Alas, there was no parking lot....
for we were only half-way down.
Actually, slightly more than half-way because the sign said
175 stair to base of falls
I gotta tell you, it was hard to keep going with those children of mine.
a few tears fell
statements of "I can't do it," "it's too hard," and "won't mommy come get us?"
but then Kaylyn consoled me and I continued on.
we got to the bottom to discover Kelli and Kelsi at the shore of the pond that pools at the base of the falls, sitting serenely on a swinging bench.
we three looked like we had just survived hurrican opal (which was noted to have caused extensive damage to the falls back in '96).
we stayed a bit longer and got our feet wet in the stream. Kaylyn screamed like Jamie Lee Curtis in a Halloween Movie Marathon, upon discovering a crawdad under a rock. I gently poked the little river crustacean, trying to get him to clasp a stick with a pincer, and then told the kids they could try to do the same. Cotter couldn't keep up with it, try as he might. Kaylyn thought I meant to say, "sure, bash it and pulverize it into the earth." When I clarified myself, she lost interest.
So we headed back to the car and continued my birthday journey.
doing the math
my loving bride just bought me four cases of Live Wire Mountain Dew because it was on sale for $2 per. That means I now have 48 12-ounce cans of orange syrupy carbonated goodness to consume.
There are 46 grams of sugar in each can.
That's 2208 grams of sugar. There are approximately 225 grams in a cup of granulated sugar. That means I'll eventually be consuming nearly 10 cups of granulated sugar.
one can down.... 2162 grams to go.
I better find a dentist.
There are 46 grams of sugar in each can.
That's 2208 grams of sugar. There are approximately 225 grams in a cup of granulated sugar. That means I'll eventually be consuming nearly 10 cups of granulated sugar.
one can down.... 2162 grams to go.
I better find a dentist.
mr. smith goes to bryan's belly
if you ever find yourself in North Georgia, make the time to detour to Dahlonega and eat at the Smith House.
Here, you are seated at a table of eight, and its not long before complete strangers are seated next to you. Shortly thereafter, heaping bowls of food are brought to your table and you get to rassle with those folks for some of the best cookin' you've ever had the pleasure to devour. Our menu included:
southern fried chicken
pot roast and gravy
jerked pork
sweet potatoes
baked potatoes
cream corn
spinach
black-eyed peas
fried okra
broccoli casserole
cole slaw
rolls
corn bread biscuits
cinnamon rolls
and for desert, strawberry short cake and ice cream.
there was one moment that was a little odd when I had to ask Barry from East Tennessee to quit licking the service spoon in the cream corn because we all might want a little more.
oh...and one another when he had to ask me to quit licking the bowl of the okra because I was embarrassing the whole table.
The real challenge to the dining experience is outwaiting all the table mates, being the last to leave so you get to take home all the left-overs.
you leave wanting only to take a nap because you ate so much.
Here, you are seated at a table of eight, and its not long before complete strangers are seated next to you. Shortly thereafter, heaping bowls of food are brought to your table and you get to rassle with those folks for some of the best cookin' you've ever had the pleasure to devour. Our menu included:
southern fried chicken
pot roast and gravy
jerked pork
sweet potatoes
baked potatoes
cream corn
spinach
black-eyed peas
fried okra
broccoli casserole
cole slaw
rolls
corn bread biscuits
cinnamon rolls
and for desert, strawberry short cake and ice cream.
there was one moment that was a little odd when I had to ask Barry from East Tennessee to quit licking the service spoon in the cream corn because we all might want a little more.
oh...and one another when he had to ask me to quit licking the bowl of the okra because I was embarrassing the whole table.
The real challenge to the dining experience is outwaiting all the table mates, being the last to leave so you get to take home all the left-overs.
you leave wanting only to take a nap because you ate so much.
the gospel according to the matrix
This really is not going to a post that seeks to plumb the depths of the theological possibilities of the blockbuster movie, created by a pair of brothers (one of whom is a cross-dresser, and neither of whom outwardly claims the Christ as Savior) compelled by studio magnates who themselves are compelled by the pursuit of the big green beast also known as the mighty dollar.
For my birthday (and there's only 365 days until my 32nd -- you get a bonus day because of leap year -- so start planning now on what you want to get me), my lovely bride gave me an amazing framed print that is a portrait of the Christ, and the entire image is composed out of the text of the gospel of John. It took the artist eleven years to complete.
It's one of those pieces of art that I especially appreciate because looking at it causes me to meditate upon His Word. And initially, it does strike me with a whole "matrix" type of feel, in the sense that movie's perceived reality is shaped by the steady progression of computer code that only Neo can truly discern. Conversely, the Bible says "in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was made flesh and determined to dwell amongst men." It also says elsewhere in the Bible that in Him (meaning Jesus) was everything made, and there was not made anything that in Him was not made.
So, if I understand this correctly, then Jesus does shape reality, Jesus alone is reality. Everything, and I mean everything must be viewed in the context of Jesus as creator, if I am to truly understand the truth of reality. To fail to do so is to determine to live a life of self-deceiving illusion. In this regard, then, our true reality is the opposite of the cinematic presentation of reality defined in "the Matrix." We, as in the movie, can only understand reality when we understand the "language of the Programmer." However, where they seek to understand it in order to be able to flee its restraints, we seek to understand it to be able to pursue it and enter its Truth.
again, to quote my theologian Mr. Reeves...
whoa
The Bible also says that in eternity, we will stand upon the word of God forever. Everything else will pass away and our eternal reality will be understood and realized only by the defining reality that is Jesus Christ. There will be no other possibilities. No disagreeing potentialities. What can only be seen right now with eyes of faith will be fully and multidimentionally experienced when the need for faith has passed.
whoa, indeed....
whoa indeed
For my birthday (and there's only 365 days until my 32nd -- you get a bonus day because of leap year -- so start planning now on what you want to get me), my lovely bride gave me an amazing framed print that is a portrait of the Christ, and the entire image is composed out of the text of the gospel of John. It took the artist eleven years to complete.
It's one of those pieces of art that I especially appreciate because looking at it causes me to meditate upon His Word. And initially, it does strike me with a whole "matrix" type of feel, in the sense that movie's perceived reality is shaped by the steady progression of computer code that only Neo can truly discern. Conversely, the Bible says "in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was made flesh and determined to dwell amongst men." It also says elsewhere in the Bible that in Him (meaning Jesus) was everything made, and there was not made anything that in Him was not made.
So, if I understand this correctly, then Jesus does shape reality, Jesus alone is reality. Everything, and I mean everything must be viewed in the context of Jesus as creator, if I am to truly understand the truth of reality. To fail to do so is to determine to live a life of self-deceiving illusion. In this regard, then, our true reality is the opposite of the cinematic presentation of reality defined in "the Matrix." We, as in the movie, can only understand reality when we understand the "language of the Programmer." However, where they seek to understand it in order to be able to flee its restraints, we seek to understand it to be able to pursue it and enter its Truth.
again, to quote my theologian Mr. Reeves...
whoa
The Bible also says that in eternity, we will stand upon the word of God forever. Everything else will pass away and our eternal reality will be understood and realized only by the defining reality that is Jesus Christ. There will be no other possibilities. No disagreeing potentialities. What can only be seen right now with eyes of faith will be fully and multidimentionally experienced when the need for faith has passed.
whoa, indeed....
whoa indeed
7/20/2003
the little guy's growing up right before my eyes
Cotter on the way to church:
"Dad, I think its time I started shaving."
"Dad, I think its time I started shaving."
all the news thats fit to misprint
Snopes has revealed that the lawsuit by Metallica is bogus.
Okay, I'm sorry for assuming the worst. But its only because you (yes, I'm writing as though Metallica actually visits my blog regularly) have so voraciously attacked the cyberfans who have downloaded your music only to receive threats of litigation for their silly devotion.
Please forgive me.
And buy my new single available on the internet for 99 cents. Its an original work called Master of Puppets.
Okay, I'm sorry for assuming the worst. But its only because you (yes, I'm writing as though Metallica actually visits my blog regularly) have so voraciously attacked the cyberfans who have downloaded your music only to receive threats of litigation for their silly devotion.
Please forgive me.
And buy my new single available on the internet for 99 cents. Its an original work called Master of Puppets.
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