need something new to stress you out?

then play kung fu chess, over at uproar.com

much fun, but wears you out quickly if you are a chess hack like me.

unintentional coincidence

surely I'm not the first to notice this but...

Bill the Butcher = Snidely Whiplash


UPDATE: I'm not

Jamie & Lissa have left the building

and today is a day of recovery!

we had such a great three days with them. We packed more into our short time with them. I'm sure I'll share it in bits and pieces as I progress through eventual blogging.

But for now, I'll just say the time we were together was too short, the distance between us is too far, and the next visit can't occur too soon.

quiz

finazzle

cleaning agent, or Snoop-Dog slang?

it's the name game!

Today at Kroger (local grocery store), Cotter trailed me, and began singing....

chuck chuck bo buck....

yep. made it all the way through.

and turned every head in aisle 13.

we had a long talk on the way home.

testing...

my page was blank.

why is that?

Clarity...at the movies

I, like many of you, occasionally blog about movies I've recently seen. This is one such time.

Lately, Kelli and I have been watching the "Project Greenlight" series on HBO, which chronicles the development of a Miramax-funded independent film, with a first time screenwriter and a first time director. Kyle & Ephram, this year's winning director (team) are a couple of passive/aggressive manipulators who I predict will have a long and illustrious directing career, if the definition of long and illustrious means one movie that is filled with anarchy, rebellion, and resentment against the novice directors. This project's producers are Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, but aren't in the series very often. And when Ben is, Jennie From the Block ^TM is alongside.

This is the second year that project Greenlight has been in existence. We decided to rent from Blockbuster last year's winner, The Stolen Summer. It is a feature of a Irish-Catholic boy's summer between 2nd & 3rd Grade, set in Chicago in 1976. All in all, it was a good flick, and was probably better than this year's offering will be. The real story of the movie is about the quest for salvation, and the different theologies between (Catholic) Christians and Jews.

What's really good about this movie, IMHO, is that it is one that inspires good spiritually-themed dialogue once the credits are rolling. The acting is pretty good, too.

As soon as the movie was over, we re-watched it with the commentary of the director, producer Chris Moore and 2nd producer Jeff Somebodyorother (both of whom are prominent in season 2). This commentary is one of the good ones that mixes a good measure of film production discussion (for those who appreciate this) and humor. They point out some of the "glitches" in the movie, like when a child actor's mother who was hiding in the back of a car tries to get out before the camera moves away, or when you can see some modern day cars passing by in the background of the (1976) shot. "Look, there's cars from the future!" Jeff says. And we laughed.

Other things of note from the movie:
1. Bonnie Hunt is one of my favorite actors, I've decided. She just exudes pleasantness. And she is the queen of improvisation.
2. The lead boy actor, Adi Dontknowhislastname, looks like my nephew Sam Cotter and shares mannerisms. It was unsettling.
3. Brian Dennehy is not a convincing priest.
4. Kevin Pollack was a convincing rabbi. Not that I'm qualified to make that assessment. But if I were Jewish, I'd want him to be my pretend spiritual leader.
5. America entered a "good taste vacuum" in the mid- to late-1970s. Evidence: the colors avocado, burnt orange, and mustard. Shag carpet and mutton chops are also proof.

So check it out. Because when The Battle of Shaker Heights comes out, I don't want your opinion to be negatively skewed from not seeing a better one.

Blogging itinerary

for the next couple days, blogging will likely be spartan, at best.

I'm about to head off on the trans-Atlanta drive to go pick up my bro and his lovely bride from Hartsfield Intl.' Airport.

We've three days to overwhelm them with everything about Atlanta & Georgia to convince them to re-locate. My parents want progeny from him. I just want proximity.

Cotter, to Kelli:

"Mommy, your legs are growing whiskers!"

sung to the tune of nanny nanny boo boo

I'm on vacation
I'm on vacation

a picture of apparently the most pressing issue in my life

thanks WIT.

two words for the decaf crowd...

why bother?

this is the shoe...fitting

mikey sent this "hilarity" to my email last week. And I've been meaning to address it...but haven't. until now:

YOU KNOW YOU'RE FROM A SMALL TOWN IF... Part 1

~ You can name everyone you graduated with.
can't name everyone...but here goes....Kristie Anderson, Mike Stubblefield, Keith Engler, Matt Johns, Troy Rosencutter, Diane Earle, Jamie Graff, Angel Sexton, Chris LeFevre, Trevor Tipotsch, Cindy Gagliardi, Scott Reed, Montri Srianan, Ty Lewis, Greg Bowser, Gregg Kolbaba, Ed Winters, Wayne Pickert, Candy Cordell, Mona Hoth, Heather McDaniel, Lori Wisdom, Stacy Bell, Tracey Malburg, Malissa Knez, Angie Rose, Ronae Markham, Stephanie Spencer, Donny Jones, Ismael Gomez, Rob Hall, Cliff Schmedeke, Don Schmedeke, Shad Johnson, Tami Ekstrom, Bill Kerr, Carmen McIntyre, Brenda Pobirk, Brenda Mannion, Felicia Keith, Kevin Villard, Mike Garrett, Donna Boyle, Patricia Paulson, Wade Houck, Trisha Decker, Paul Hoefs, Amy Pankonin, Toni Irvin, Mendy Mack, Mardi Hume, (the previous were from memory 52 of 108 - not shabby - ...the rest were from looking at pictures from my 10th reunion) Todd Hughes, Jessie Stover, Melissa Johnson, Lori Krol, Dwayne Gonzalez, Tim Woodward, Laurel Gann, Nora Clements, Jill Accord, Julie Pomeroy, Monica Butler, Karen Nye, Chad Lawton, Shorae Boren, Bobbie Jo Ivers, Bobby Bryan, Dana Rivers, Clint Someone, Another guy named Scott, William Soandso, Shane with Health Problems, Short Guy with B.O., and the other thirty or so of you.

~ You ever went to parties at a pasture, barn, or in the middle of a dirt road.
we did this sort of thing. a lot.

~ You used to drag "Main."
not "main," but we did drive the loop every weekend night. Victory Way west, to the mall, U Turn, Down to 4th at the West Theater, U Turn. lather, rinse ,repeat.

~ You said a cuss word and your parents knew within the hour.
I still bear the indelible memory of my mother yelling at me in a basketball game my senior year, as I cussed coming off the basketball court, amidst total silence, "Bryan Eugene McAnally, I did NOT raise you to talk like that!"

~ You schedule parties around the schedule of different police officers, since you know which ones would bust you and which ones wouldn't (same goes with the game warden).
we never planned around them, but we knew who would bust us and who wouldn't. I was popular because my mom worked in the county clerk's office, so the sheriffs would usually cut us slack if I was around.

~ You ever went cow-tipping or snipe hunting.
never did either. Often talked about doing both.

~ School gets canceled for state events.
happened in '87 when football team went to state. They lost. Now, state's not as big of a deal, since re-classification.

~ You were ever in the Homecoming parade.
every year, on the football team float. I was never royalty though. The elections were rigged, I'm sure of it.

~ You have ever gone home for Homecoming.
never have gone home for it, but have been home coincidentally when it occurred. No really. It was a coincidence.

~ It was cool to date someone from the neighboring town.
we guys never did this, unless you were "dating someone from Canada." The girls did it a lot, which drove us nuts, made us feel like our gene pool was too murky for their liking.

~ You had senior skip day.
not 'skip day.' It was 'ditch day,' thank you very much.

~ The whole school went to the same party after graduation.
oh yeah. Out at Diane Earle's. I fell asleep in the bucket of a backloader. And matt johns got hurt trying to ride a steer bareback. good times.

~ You don't give directions by street names or directions by references (turn by Nelson's house, go two blocks east Anderson's, and it's four houses left of the track field).
I don't know that we did this. Whaddaya think I am, some kind of hick?

~ The golf course had only 9 holes.
It has eighteen. now. But I can remember when it had only nine.

~ You can't help but date a friend's ex-girlfriend.
this didn't happen much. dating my ex-girlfriend meant you wanted to have a fistfight with me. I had some control issues. I'm over them now. You can date any of my ex-girlfriends if you really want to.

~ Your car stays filthy because of the dirt roads, and you will never own a dark vehicle for this reason.
I grew up at the end of a dirt road seven miles long. My Durango is silver.

~ You think kids that ride skateboards are weird.
i do.

~ The town next to you is considered "trashy" or "snooty," but is actually just like your town.
Steamboat Springs is where the rich kids lived. We took unusual joy in beating them in every sport possible. 13 years later, I'm still proud we were undefeated against them my senior year. How sad and pathetic is that?

~ Getting paid minimum wage is considered a raise.
I always had good jobs. The one summer I worked for lower pay at a grocery store, it was a worthwhile trade-off because I had cute co-workers. I pretty much exhausted every 'paper or plastic?' joke that ever existed, though, and was thankful when I got my late-summer promotion to the seafood counter, where I'd sell my buddies jumbo prawns for whitefish prices.

Yes, I'm rural. Proud of it. And even now, doing my part to bring down the level of pretention and sophistication everywhere I can.

Thank you, Craig, America.

proverbs #111

false friendship is the ivy that decays and ruins the walls it embraces.

proverbs #110

the millionaires of eternity are the givers of time.

apt

from a small victory

bad sponsor ideas

Seen on my way to work today, on the Nassau Coliseum billboard:

Pop Tarts presents American Idol Live!

sung to the tune of this one's for you

just to prove how needy I truly am, I have hereby withdrawn my code for Wander-lust promotability, so as to accomodate Jen's occasional wont to bring up my site at work.

And if you helped generate as much new readership as has she, I'd do the same for you.

thanks for letting folks know I'm here, and for thinking I occasionally have something to contribute.

again...not a misprint

yes, I do wear $5 walmart shirts. they look good, and they were on sale.

clearly, I'm not a slave to fashion.

but I should have been a little worried when being checked through by the associate who I'm sure was Bob Hope's older brother said, "Heeeyyy, these shirts look goood. I think I better pick up a couple myself."

yep. me and eleventy year old Richie Hope. Hittin' the town in matching polos and khakis.

rowr!

the nation "mourns"

don't you just love the American way of capitalizing on death?

Its not a misprint.

2694 items (when I last checked)

I wonder how many it was on the day before Mr. Hope's demise....

God bless America.

my morning...in haiku

country fresh Raid mist
fills air; lethal aeresol
bug scurries no more

nine trips to and fro
today is garbage pickup
and I awoke late

Jamie and Lissa
will arrive tomorrow morn
one day to prepare

must pay creditors
welcome to georgia my friend
power is not free

roach spray fills my nose
ambience not "country fresh"
is toxic for me?

thumb v. allen wrench
painful slice into my flesh
I am such a wimp

Game Show Network lies
midnight Matchgame a letdown
no so "historic"

phone alarm failed me
internal clock rang at six
who set that dumb thing?

haiku time over
must prepare for mission board
deadlines still advance

commute is looming
traffic streamlines to the south
must cease the haiku

why can't I stop this
please call mr. Miagi
wax on, wax off...help!

ticktockticktock

The Presurfer links to a very cool clock. check it out, just because.

dum dum dee dum

Kyle has shared details of a pretty wild bachelor party

good times.

aaarrrrrrgghhh!

blooger!

did it again.

I don't know what your Bible says

but according to my son, the fifth book of the New Testament is named Max.

Please adjust your Bible tabs as necessary.

explain this

I had to drop off a proof this morning, and passed by a "young buck" in design. Even commenting on him as a "young buck" makes me feel like an "old fart." I'm mentally noting that I'm not as cool as him. His hair is fashionably messy. Mine is combed and gelled properly. He wears a pink and white striped button down, obviously two sizes too big and unbuttoned at the sleeve and collar. he looks as though junior has been playing in daddy's big boy clothes. But somehow, he makes it work. I'm wearing a $5 Walmart polo shirt that looks nice, but would never be confused for 'cool.' Especially because I have the tell-tale underarm deodorant smudge on the left side that convicts of being a dork.

I walk by him, and because he was turning away from me, no direct morning greeting was necessary. I proceeded to my task, mentally redirected by the fact that I didn't know which of the ladies now in front of me was the one to whom I needed to give the proof. So I dropped the proof off without talking to any of them, pretending to be polite and not interrupt their conversation, rather than to interrupt and reveal my total lack of social graces.

As I headed back to the elevator, Handsome Dan was still in the hallway. "Hey there," I said, further demonstrating the total depletion of any social skills I may have once possessed. I may as well have licked my finger, smoothed my eyebrow, and gave him the old "six-shooter" gesture.

"I locked myself out of my office," he said. "I'm just waiting."

This was an odd confession to make as a form of OIC greeting, but okay.

It was also my opportunity to say something clever.

"I've been there," was all I was able to come up with. I kept walking, but couldn't deny the compelling need to trail off with at repetitious "been there...." like I was sadly sympathetic. Instead, I came across as only sadly pathetic.

This ranks up there with the time I closed out an interview for employment with the following gem:

"Alrighty. I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon."

Alrighty?

Who says that any more, other than Jim Carrey fan club presidents?

Needless to say, I didn't hear from them.

How in the world did I become so uncool?

engaging in a new discipline

I'm undertaking Scripture memorization.

not for any other reason than that God has said that I'm to hide His word in my heart.

So I'm starting with 1 Corinthians.

This is work. I love God's Word and I'm often surprised by the recall His Spirit provides. But its still not natural for me.

What's natural for me is to know the words to an Eminem, Elton John, or even N'Sync Song after limited listenings (or inadvertant hearings) of a song. It's natural to remember parts of a chorus of any popular song, whether you deliberately do so or not. It is so natural, in fact, that I wasn't terribly shocked when I heard Cotter boasting musically the other day:

I'm slim shady
the real slim shady
...please stand up. please stand up

and it's not like we're playing eminem for him nightly at bed time. He's heard limited snippets of the song, a minimal number of times. But its got a good beat and you can dance to it. well, I can't. but you probably can.

its ear candy, so naturally, we give it a special little segment of our brain.

God's Word isn't always recognized as such, but oh, it really is ear candy, too. Even more so, because "chewing on it" is a sweetener for the heart, mind, soul, and body.

for the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God.
-- 1 Cor. 1:18

a repeated line from a song, playing an incessant loop in your brain can drive you crazy. a repeated verse of Scripture repeated continually by the Spirit can encourage, embolden, convict, and compel. Which would you rather experience?

while eminem may lay down a funky bassline, the word of God replenishes my spirit and strengthens me for the journey.

please stand up please stand up

why is it

that every time I attempt to type the word blogger, I instead type 'blooger?'

a point of order

a couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I had coffee in my hands.

even though I often sound desperate enough to be scooping and slurping coffee from the pot like a parched man at the oasis bank, I actually had poured the java into the travel cup, which is what was actually in my hands.

i apologize for the confusion this may have caused.

a step toward compromise

after reading this, inspired by linking through the ville, I've decided I will join PETA.

As soon as I read/hear a confirmed report of a camper saved from a mauling by the vigilant advocacy of BETH (Bears for the Ethical Treatment of Humans). I'd even settle for news of ursine legislation introduced to halt the human experimentation perpetuated wantonly, testing the effects of satiation by the introduction of homo sapien into the diet of Grizzly. Either of these actions will prove to me the moral equivalency argument proposed by PETA, justifying their radical lunacy agenda.

Until then....

Beef...its what's for dinner.
Pork....the other white meat.
Chicken....small flightless birds that have the bad luck of a universally appealing flavor.
Venison....Bambi had it comin'.
Fish....the ocean's full of 'em.
Dog & Cats & Other Domestics....you're safe....for now.

top it off

the normal recipe for coffee brewing in our home is 2 scoops of grounds for 8 cups of water. This always left about 4 cups in the pot that would brew to the consistency of overcooked road tar for Kelli when she woke up and was ready for it.

Oddly, she suggested that I not make so much.

So I, being logical, thought I should use one scoop for 4 cups. That would preserve the integrity of the coffee-brewing ratios, and provide me with the right components to the right amount of classic roast.

its funny how things don't always work out like you expect, just because its logical.

the continuing saga of the perfect cup of coffee

last night I was at my husband best when at midnight, Kelli said, "Oh, I forgot to get your coffee ready," and I said quite magnanimously, "don't worry about it." (coincidentally, I was at my husband worse when at 2:30 a.m. Cotter cried out in the night and I sat up in bed and said, "Kelli, that's Cotter," and fell back down, looking over at the clock and being glad that I still had a couple more hours to sleep).

Then I woke up, realizing that I had to make my own coffee, and that is my personal minefield where even Navy SEALS fear to tread.

So I stumble in to make the coffee, and place in the filter, the water, and the coffee. Then I push the "on" button. The machine didn't comply. I went through the checklist, wondering what I had done to tick off Mr. Coffee this time, and would have even appreciated a visit from the ghost of Joe DiMaggio if he would have told me what I was doing wrong.

THen I remembered we have these lovely electrical outlets with safety resets. THis is a great feature to keep your house from burning down, but not for making much-needed coffee first thing in the morning. I discovered it wasn't the one in the kitchen that needed resetting, but instead, the one in my bathroom. So I stomped through the house to reset every outlet I could find, grumbling the entire time "this is sure a lot of work for one cup of coffee. this is sure a lot of work for one cup of coffee." I said it as many times as it takes to emphasise each word in the sentence, augmenting my belief that I was engaged in martyr's labor.

this grumbling continued until I had the coffee in my hands, its brewed heat eminating through my travel mug, bringing me warmth and the hope for a caffiene jolt on a chilly, sluggish low 70-degree North Georgia morning. Then I took a sip and thought, "a lot of work...but worth it."

calling the dream doctor

there's a guy on one of our radio stations who calls himself the dream doctor, although I think he's nationally syndicated. He takes calls where people share their latest midnight-pizza-and-jelly-donut induced nighttime psychosis, and he explains how the person is really seeking to heal the broken bond with his/her mother/father or cat/dog. We've never heard but snippets of the program because I put him on the same level as the pet psychic and the 'crossing over' dude.

but i'm thinking about giving him a call after last night's magical mystery mind tour.

I was in Saturday Night Live as the guest host and Jamie Fallon was trying to fool everyone that he was Will Farrell (which apparently, in my dream, was quite scandalous), and the big musical skit was me playing Ewan McGregor doing the opening scene from Moulin Rouge. My cohorts in the ensemble piece were Wilford Brimley and Tina Yothers. and by the end, we were up to our necks in pink and brown reconstituted cereal mix that had corn kernals mixed about in it. And I woke when Kaylyn was suddenly present saying, "Ew. I don't like corn in my cereal."

And that's what happens when you have a sixpack of Mountain Dew in one day.

identifying the stars with less-than-perfect hearing.

my children are watching Babe, the movie about the pre-cooked bacon product that has the uniqe ability to speak.

I'm not watching, but I can hear it. Is that Dudley Moore narrating? after a quick check, I have my answer.

No. He is not.

somehow, this has raised my estimation of Mr. Moore, God rest his soul.

UPDATE: The movie was not Babe. It was Milo & Otis. I'm not crazy after all. Just inattentive.

and it was Dudley Moore after all. His stock has again fallen. And my apologies to Idris Abraham, the narrator of Babe.

a year has passed

since Rick Ferguson, my first pastor and mentor, died in a car accident.

please continue to pray for his family and his church.

reason for this post

From Kelsi's diaper eminated a sound resembling Jabba the Hutt with indigestion. I fled in panic. I'm down here until the air clears.

literally.

I'm a coward.

Kelli, I'm sorry.

yikes

everything was going well -- a nice quiet, comfortable Sunday with the family.

until the Brinks Home Security commercial came on and scared the bejeebers out of me.

now I'm afraid to go to bed tonight.

you're mocking me, aren't you

a fly and I are engaged in a slow, dangerous waltz.

I type, it buzzes by my ear.

I stop. it lights atop my left nostril.

I wave. It lilts away.

I return to typing. It returns to my knuckles, probably looking for a place to lay eggs or spread disease.

I pick up the swatter. It scurries, frightened by the visible remains of distant relatives.

the dance continues....

plumbin' the depths

of Cotter.

Today's been filled with extensive Cotter/Daddy action, due to Kelli & Kaylyn having a "girls day."

Best Cotterism so far:

(Said in a 88 degree, high humidity day): It sure is sweaty out here. Is Georgia always like this?

keep 'em coming'

four down...and to the fridge for another

quality of a good neighbor

this link, found because of blogosferics is a similar statement to one recently spoken in our own home.

we have a neighbor who is meticulous about his lawn, not unlike puddings (note: she uses language that may offend some of y'all). His name is Earl. And to me, Earl is a gift from God.

Earl can be found loading and unloading his riding lawnmower from his pickup on any given day of the week. Earl likes to mow lawns. Truth be told, they have two rider mowers, in case one goes down I suppose. And Earl, a retiree, will quite clearly inform you that this is not a job for him.

Earl and I don't have much in common.

Except for the fact that we both love that he loves to mow lawns.

The other day, a gentlestrangerman knocked on our door and informed us that he'd maintain our yard at the cost of $40 per week. I asked him why didn't he just come out and tell me I'd have to take care of the yard myself. I haven't mowed a yard in over two years now, and I was looking at the daunting prospect of confronting the unchartered rainforest that is my back yard when inspiration struck and I determined it was time to meet the neighbors.

I went over and introduced myself and after a few moments of small talk, I casually mentioned, "It sure looks like you mow a lot."

Earl: It's a good way to pass the time.

Okay, whatever you say there Earl. But then again, Earl has a rider mower. I do not. I've got a push mower with oversized rear tires, which is as helpful as extra butter on your deck shoes as the Titanic is sinking.

Me: Well, what would you charge to have my yard done?

Earl stepped out of his doorway, looked over my shoulder and estimated the expense. I'm sure he was using some complex formula considering grass height, gasoline consumption, wear on tractor tire tread, and temperature forcasted in weeks ahead.

Earl: $15, every two weeks.

Yes, this is where you can cue the heavenly choir singing the "Allelujah" chorus.

Earl and I secured a friendship that day, bonded by the prompt payment of three five dollar bills for a job recently very well & expeditiously done.

And he trimmed out the lawn, too.

Earl will be my lawn guy until I can no longer afford him, or until I decide its better to have a swimming pool in my back yard and a basketball court/paved pay parking lot in my front. Until then, he's my man.

I'll even buy his gas, if he wants.

up for the challenge

how many Dews can one man go through in the course of a day?

I've cruised past two on my way to three and the day is still quite young.

well that makes perfect sense....now

yeah, as it turns out, when it comes to constructing things, I am the intellectual inferior to Sean Penn in I am Sam.

Upon further review, I discovered that each of the arm chairs is branded with an L & and an R. L, for those like me who didn't know, represents "left" and "r" is for "right." I had them backward.

I remember thinking when I was putting them on (the first time) and noticed that they were scrunching up against the seat upholstry, "well, that's sure poor design engineering." I have a feeling that's what the engineers would say about me if they were a fly on the wall watching me being bested by an allen bolt.

I'm just pleased I managed to keep from putting them on upside down.

Well, twenty minutes and a second effort later, things are fixed and proper, and I have room to sit comfortably like a slacker whilst on the 'Net.

flying coach with a heart for business class

we just bought a new chair for the home office.

upon the construction of it, I'm generally pleased (although I felt a bit like Mel Gibson in the opening scene of The Patriot, when I sat upon it for its maiden voyage).

My only gripe is that it is too narrow.

Now I'm a big guy, but would never be considered a "wide load." And the arms of new chair are narrow enough to continually remind me of their presence. I may have to tinker with this a bit. Put in some washers to give me a bit of space.

But the back tilt works, which is why we had to make the new purchase.

I'm sure this made for some terribly interesting reading for you.

hey...its Sunday. Even the Lord rests one day a week.

my son the carpenter

he definitely has my carpentry genes.

He was walking around with my measuring tape today, charting various items in our home.

At each one he'd stop, measure, and proudly announce:

This one is.....11 (or 8 or 18, but never anything else)....pounds long."

I tell you, it's tricky converting from standard to metric. I still haven't got it figured out, and obviously, there's little hope for him.

a geographical phenomenom

we've recently discovered that dirty diapers ferment much more rapidly and radically in the humid north georgia environs than do they in the arid climate of the Colorado landscape.

adjust your trash receptacles accordingly.

we've determined that we can best control the odor of ours by placing it discreetly in our neighbor's back porch.

i stand corrected

flare.

a while back, I referenced Office Space, the movie, and said we were looking for "pizzazz."

It's not "pizzazz." Its "flare."

This occurred to me at 1:00 a.m. the other night, and I've been troubled that I hadn't shared the revelation with you until now.

i'm sorry.