this axiom, like gravity, is not just a good idea...
...its the law.
universally true an unalterable, in the reality we commonly accept.
So why is it that for the two-plus weeks we've been in our home, every single morning I search for my closet light on the inside of the closet. It clearly is evident on the outside left of the closet. Yet without fail, I go right past it and begin beating on the right inside panel in a barbaric quest for light. I might as well take two hangars and start rubbing them together in a quest to bring fire to the tribe. I don't know if I subconsciously expect the light switch to have accomodated me in the night, and "entered the matrix" to alter reality as I know it.
You know, that probably would be the matrix for me. One day, Morpheus and Trinity come to find me and offer me the red pill. I take it to find a world exactly like this one, except all the light switches are where I think they should be instead of where they really were back in my illusory world.
Man, if that's not the fourth chapter in the series, I don't know what is....
7/15/2003
the axe effect
as publicized on television the body spray axe is supposed to lead to phenomena like being assaulted by ravenous females while performing ordinary life functions such as riding the elevator, picking one's teeth with a toenail, and belching out the alphabet.
I use axe.
none of these things has happened.
Kelli doesn't even roll over from deep slumber, obviously unaffected by the pheromonal enticement I offer each morning.
However, I continue to use it because axe does do something for me that has proven to be invaluble.
It is my proverbial first cup of coffee, my post-shower lathering of Zest.
When I blast my chest area with the fine aerosol mist of perfumed manly essence, it hits my body at a temperature of absolute zero. No matter how groggy and grumpy I am prior to that experience, when those tiny chemical ice crystals web across my sparse field of chest hair, I am wide awake and ready to face the day.
and by the time my pectoralis muscles thaw, my coffee is poured and I'm refueling the engine.
thanks, axe!
I use axe.
none of these things has happened.
Kelli doesn't even roll over from deep slumber, obviously unaffected by the pheromonal enticement I offer each morning.
However, I continue to use it because axe does do something for me that has proven to be invaluble.
It is my proverbial first cup of coffee, my post-shower lathering of Zest.
When I blast my chest area with the fine aerosol mist of perfumed manly essence, it hits my body at a temperature of absolute zero. No matter how groggy and grumpy I am prior to that experience, when those tiny chemical ice crystals web across my sparse field of chest hair, I am wide awake and ready to face the day.
and by the time my pectoralis muscles thaw, my coffee is poured and I'm refueling the engine.
thanks, axe!
it's tuesday
this, despite my most earnest hope and woefully incorrect assumption briefly made when my alarm went off that today is in fact Saturday, and I forgot to 'unset' it for the weekend.
hi ho hi ho and all that jazz....
hi ho hi ho and all that jazz....
7/14/2003
the best movie trailers you've never seen
Introducing CinePlexTM, the game invented at NAMB (as far as I know), taking your knowledge of cinema history, combined with a jumbo bucket of creativity, resulting in group fun that gets two thumbs up!
The premise is simple: Take two movies that share one word in the title of each, combine the two, and provide a new plot.
Some examples:
It happened One Night + Night of the Living Dead = It Happened One Night of the Living Dead (A romantic tale of a millionaire's daughter who marries an undead zombie and travels the country dining on the brains of the living).
Terminator 3 + Three Men & A Baby = Terminator 3 Men & A Baby = An adventure where a cyborg comes back to protect an infant who will one day lead a rebellion from three paternally bungling, yet more technologically advanced robotic terminatrices.
You can get bonus points for stringing together multiple movies, just like a multiplex. But remember, you have to be able to create a movie out of it:
Tin Men+Men in Black +Black Beauty + Beauty & The Beast +The Beast Master + The Master of Disguise = Tin Men in Black Beauty & the Beast Master of Disguise -- A moving epic about covert government agents who bond with a beautiful ebony horse through a unique ability to speak to it, discovered when they are undercover as tin siding salemen at a stable cursed and all the farm implements magically come to life to sing show tunes to the agents.
Once you start, you'll find its like eating potato chips. You'll be thinking of them in the car, in the shower, in the car shower. You'll play with friends, family, and strangers. Trust me, it'll sweep the Net.
Give me some of yours, and spread the word....before long everyone will be playing!
The premise is simple: Take two movies that share one word in the title of each, combine the two, and provide a new plot.
Some examples:
It happened One Night + Night of the Living Dead = It Happened One Night of the Living Dead (A romantic tale of a millionaire's daughter who marries an undead zombie and travels the country dining on the brains of the living).
Terminator 3 + Three Men & A Baby = Terminator 3 Men & A Baby = An adventure where a cyborg comes back to protect an infant who will one day lead a rebellion from three paternally bungling, yet more technologically advanced robotic terminatrices.
You can get bonus points for stringing together multiple movies, just like a multiplex. But remember, you have to be able to create a movie out of it:
Tin Men+Men in Black +Black Beauty + Beauty & The Beast +The Beast Master + The Master of Disguise = Tin Men in Black Beauty & the Beast Master of Disguise -- A moving epic about covert government agents who bond with a beautiful ebony horse through a unique ability to speak to it, discovered when they are undercover as tin siding salemen at a stable cursed and all the farm implements magically come to life to sing show tunes to the agents.
Once you start, you'll find its like eating potato chips. You'll be thinking of them in the car, in the shower, in the car shower. You'll play with friends, family, and strangers. Trust me, it'll sweep the Net.
Give me some of yours, and spread the word....before long everyone will be playing!
I'm not alarmed...really
though I did stop cold in my tracks and calm myself
keepittogether keepittogether keepittogether
what elicited this reaction from me?
overhearing the following as I walked from bedroom to kitchen, spoken passionately by my son:
No, Kaylyn, it's my turn to be Tinkerbell!
keepittogether keepittogether keepittogether
what elicited this reaction from me?
overhearing the following as I walked from bedroom to kitchen, spoken passionately by my son:
No, Kaylyn, it's my turn to be Tinkerbell!
and in this corner...
introducing battleground god a web site designed to challenge your faith.
I made it through the seventeen question gauntlet with one direct hit and biting two bullets (you'll see what it means by taking the test yourself). I definitely appeal the validity of the "wounds" I received because the conclusions were built on faulty premises.
For example, I logically concluded that it could be assumed the Loch Ness monster does not exist because no evidence for her has been proven, but conversely concluded that it could not be assumed that God does not exist because of a lack of credible external evidence. This syllogism is faulty for multiple reasons:
1. Nessy is a created being (if she exists at all), whereas God is the creator. He is not limited by time, nor space, nor a murky English swamp. He supercedes my understanding and ability to comprehend Him, so it is logical to assume that He exists beyond my limited ability to prove Him.
2. The tests falsely assumes that there is no credible external evidence of God. I say try taking a breath without oxygen. Try explaining the phenomena of the cell. Try fully rationalizing the antievolutionary reality of sacrificial benevolence. These are all evidences of the divine of a Creator.
I was also incorrectly told I "bit a bullet" because I said God could make 1+1=72 and could make square circles, but could not do anything He wanted to do. This is a flawed criticism because the first part of the assault makes the age-old "Can God make a stone that He himself couldn't lift?" This assumes a purposeless God who is consumed and constrained by the mental parlor tricks of His creation. The paradigms and verbal constraints of the question posed in its first part are imposed upon the limited imaginations of the creation. It is man who thinks 1+1=2, because we have over time accepted such symbolism to represent our collectively accepted thought. God could make 1+1=72 as easily as He makes 1+1+1=1 with His triune nature, and just as easily as eternity will be the experience of living in the "eternal now" forever. Its the ilk of stuff that makes our feeble minds resemble a bowl of quivering, tepid bread and raisin pudding. Especially when it is considered with the implication that God has the self-imposed limitation of not being able to do anything that is contradictory to His own nature. It is only when one understands that being fully powerful does not mean being able to do anything without fear or implication of punishment, but instead choosing with unfettered abandon to do only that which is good and purposeful, despite the fact that nothing or nobody could stand in His way should He choose to do otherwise, does one begin to grasp the complexity of the existence we share and that the universe does not implode upon itself.
The final "bullet" upon which I was forced to gnaw was shoved in my throat because I reject the pseudo-science of evolutionaryhooha "theory." With that prejudice against any clear thinking individual, its impossible to walk through without dining on a little lead.
All in all, though, it was an interesting diversion, and even in the FAQs, the author is fairly cordial to theists (although his "Nessie" defense is still pretty weak.")
and now...back to our regularly scheduled broadcasts
I made it through the seventeen question gauntlet with one direct hit and biting two bullets (you'll see what it means by taking the test yourself). I definitely appeal the validity of the "wounds" I received because the conclusions were built on faulty premises.
For example, I logically concluded that it could be assumed the Loch Ness monster does not exist because no evidence for her has been proven, but conversely concluded that it could not be assumed that God does not exist because of a lack of credible external evidence. This syllogism is faulty for multiple reasons:
1. Nessy is a created being (if she exists at all), whereas God is the creator. He is not limited by time, nor space, nor a murky English swamp. He supercedes my understanding and ability to comprehend Him, so it is logical to assume that He exists beyond my limited ability to prove Him.
2. The tests falsely assumes that there is no credible external evidence of God. I say try taking a breath without oxygen. Try explaining the phenomena of the cell. Try fully rationalizing the antievolutionary reality of sacrificial benevolence. These are all evidences of the divine of a Creator.
I was also incorrectly told I "bit a bullet" because I said God could make 1+1=72 and could make square circles, but could not do anything He wanted to do. This is a flawed criticism because the first part of the assault makes the age-old "Can God make a stone that He himself couldn't lift?" This assumes a purposeless God who is consumed and constrained by the mental parlor tricks of His creation. The paradigms and verbal constraints of the question posed in its first part are imposed upon the limited imaginations of the creation. It is man who thinks 1+1=2, because we have over time accepted such symbolism to represent our collectively accepted thought. God could make 1+1=72 as easily as He makes 1+1+1=1 with His triune nature, and just as easily as eternity will be the experience of living in the "eternal now" forever. Its the ilk of stuff that makes our feeble minds resemble a bowl of quivering, tepid bread and raisin pudding. Especially when it is considered with the implication that God has the self-imposed limitation of not being able to do anything that is contradictory to His own nature. It is only when one understands that being fully powerful does not mean being able to do anything without fear or implication of punishment, but instead choosing with unfettered abandon to do only that which is good and purposeful, despite the fact that nothing or nobody could stand in His way should He choose to do otherwise, does one begin to grasp the complexity of the existence we share and that the universe does not implode upon itself.
The final "bullet" upon which I was forced to gnaw was shoved in my throat because I reject the pseudo-science of evolutionary
All in all, though, it was an interesting diversion, and even in the FAQs, the author is fairly cordial to theists (although his "Nessie" defense is still pretty weak.")
and now...back to our regularly scheduled broadcasts
if you were a tree what kind of tree would you be/
well, apparently I'd be a green, softhearted, canine attracting one:
a spate of online tests linked to at timetobelieve.net revealed:
Which Peanuts Character Are You Quiz
just so you know -- my soft heart shouldn't be confused for dry rot. Nor should it be assumed to be one that bleeds.
a spate of online tests linked to at timetobelieve.net revealed:
|
You are...
Soft Hearted
If your two hands are free, you will always volunteer them to help out. You take a compassionate initiative, but possess the respect to hang back until given the go-ahead to get involved.
How Caring Are You?
Which Peanuts Character Are You Quiz
just so you know -- my soft heart shouldn't be confused for dry rot. Nor should it be assumed to be one that bleeds.
quasimodian tragedy
The famed hunch-backed belltoller one day slipped, cracked his nose on the swaying bell, and fell to the ground, dead.
whereupon a crowd gathered and murmuring began.
"who is he?"
"does anyone know him?"
Finally, a vicar spoke up.
"I don't know his name, but his face rings a bell."
to that end, do you look like anyone famous?
thanks to presurfer for the link.
By the way, I used to get a lot of Kevin James, Drew Carey comparisons. Look at this photo of me messin' around with my brother (that's me on the right), and you be the judge.
adden-dum: Lavigne proof that humans are being cloned, right now, at a very alarming rate.
adden-dum-dum: how sad is it that the guy who is told he looks like Jackie Chan looks nothing like him? Friends are like, "he's Oriental. Jackie's Oriental. They must be separated at birth! Because do you know how rare it must be to have two Oriental males living in the same country at the same time?
I don't mean to get spiritual here...but I'm gonna.
Dave Heddle at he lives recently wrote that he struggles to find anyone who is overtly holy (trust me, he says it better than that). And I agree.
I say it about as much as I hear it, which is not very often:
I'm supposed to look like Him. That's what the whole "born again" thing is really about.
I'm dead.
He's alive.
My life is supposed to be about Jesus, living His life, in my Bag O' Flesh TM.
Romans 13:14 says I'm supposed to "put on" Jesus. I don't think that means I'm supposed to try and pull a prank on Him. I think it means I'm supposed to wear His life, His Truth, His reality, rather than marching around in a self-delusional stupor, dressed in the proverbial Emporer's new Clothes thinking my flesh is alive when its really dead. I think it means I'm supposed to live the faith I hold so dear:
I want to look like Him. I want people to see Him instead of me (especially people like my wife, my children, my family, and my co-workers -- how badly am I failing in that pursuit?! Don't answer, it's rhetorical and my self-criticism is cacophanous). I want people to not recognize me because God is shining through me.
But too often, whenever I do the right thing for the right reason, or even the wrong thing for the right reason, and someone actually recognizes Christ in me because of it, too often I take undo pride in it, and demean the whole experience just because I thought I had something to add, or I was somehow integral to God glorifying Himself through me.
sigh.
the good news is that there will be a day when I will hear that I resemble Jesus. The Bible says the Father will look at me and He won't see me.
no...that part of me, from God's perspective is dead, even if I to this day try to re-animate it. There will be a day when the Father looks at me, and sees me for how I really am.
He will see Jesus
alive
in me.
and instead of hearing the saddest words any dead person will ever hear -- "Depart from me, for I never knew you" -- I will hear the words spoken from a perfect Holy Father, spoken to a perfect Holy Son:
well done, my good and faithful servant. Come, enter my rest.
that, my dear friends....
....is grace.
whereupon a crowd gathered and murmuring began.
"who is he?"
"does anyone know him?"
Finally, a vicar spoke up.
"I don't know his name, but his face rings a bell."
to that end, do you look like anyone famous?
thanks to presurfer for the link.
By the way, I used to get a lot of Kevin James, Drew Carey comparisons. Look at this photo of me messin' around with my brother (that's me on the right), and you be the judge.
adden-dum: Lavigne proof that humans are being cloned, right now, at a very alarming rate.
adden-dum-dum: how sad is it that the guy who is told he looks like Jackie Chan looks nothing like him? Friends are like, "he's Oriental. Jackie's Oriental. They must be separated at birth! Because do you know how rare it must be to have two Oriental males living in the same country at the same time?
I don't mean to get spiritual here...but I'm gonna.
Dave Heddle at he lives recently wrote that he struggles to find anyone who is overtly holy (trust me, he says it better than that). And I agree.
I say it about as much as I hear it, which is not very often:
Insert Your Name Here sure looks alot like Jesus.
I'm supposed to look like Him. That's what the whole "born again" thing is really about.
I'm dead.
He's alive.
My life is supposed to be about Jesus, living His life, in my Bag O' Flesh TM.
Romans 13:14 says I'm supposed to "put on" Jesus. I don't think that means I'm supposed to try and pull a prank on Him. I think it means I'm supposed to wear His life, His Truth, His reality, rather than marching around in a self-delusional stupor, dressed in the proverbial Emporer's new Clothes thinking my flesh is alive when its really dead. I think it means I'm supposed to live the faith I hold so dear:
I am a Spirit child of God
I am heaven bound.
I am forgiven
I am a recipient of grace and mercy
I am gifted, equipped, and empowered to do things beyond my original ability.
I want to look like Him. I want people to see Him instead of me (especially people like my wife, my children, my family, and my co-workers -- how badly am I failing in that pursuit?! Don't answer, it's rhetorical and my self-criticism is cacophanous). I want people to not recognize me because God is shining through me.
But too often, whenever I do the right thing for the right reason, or even the wrong thing for the right reason, and someone actually recognizes Christ in me because of it, too often I take undo pride in it, and demean the whole experience just because I thought I had something to add, or I was somehow integral to God glorifying Himself through me.
sigh.
the good news is that there will be a day when I will hear that I resemble Jesus. The Bible says the Father will look at me and He won't see me.
my screw-ups
my laziness
my selfishness
my apathy
my thickheadedness
no...that part of me, from God's perspective is dead, even if I to this day try to re-animate it. There will be a day when the Father looks at me, and sees me for how I really am.
He will see Jesus
alive
in me.
and instead of hearing the saddest words any dead person will ever hear -- "Depart from me, for I never knew you" -- I will hear the words spoken from a perfect Holy Father, spoken to a perfect Holy Son:
well done, my good and faithful servant. Come, enter my rest.
that, my dear friends....
....is grace.
old but good
reminded of a classic joke, thanks to amish tech support's story on receiving some tough news. It goes a little something like this:
a woman on a business trip called her husband and asked, "how's Fluffy?"
The husband said brusquely, "the cat's dead."
The wife gasped. "I'm so angry at you. You could have handled that so much more tactfully. You could have said, 'Honey, the cat's stuck on the roof.' Then tomorrow when I called, you could say, 'The cat won't come down and doesn't look very good.' Then the next night when i called, you could have said, 'honey, the cat never came down and unfortunately died.'"
Silence.
The husband finally said, "I'm sorry."
The wife said, "oh, I forgive you, it's just terribly upsetting to be shocked like that. Anyway, how is mother doing?"
Silence.
"Your mom's on the roof and won't come down."
a woman on a business trip called her husband and asked, "how's Fluffy?"
The husband said brusquely, "the cat's dead."
The wife gasped. "I'm so angry at you. You could have handled that so much more tactfully. You could have said, 'Honey, the cat's stuck on the roof.' Then tomorrow when I called, you could say, 'The cat won't come down and doesn't look very good.' Then the next night when i called, you could have said, 'honey, the cat never came down and unfortunately died.'"
Silence.
The husband finally said, "I'm sorry."
The wife said, "oh, I forgive you, it's just terribly upsetting to be shocked like that. Anyway, how is mother doing?"
Silence.
"Your mom's on the roof and won't come down."
i think they're on to me
before I could explore the third floor, I went to the restroom to....well, that's really none of your business...but upon washing my hands, the faucet decided to belch, spraying my crotchal region with water, making it look as though the dam had burst on my Depends. So rather than cavorting around, I covertly hiked up the back stairway into my office and stood in front of the window, hoping the sun's rays would intensely dry my britches. I fear anyone walking into the building and seeing a man standing on his desk at one of the 4th story windows could have had any number of wrong ideas about what was happening.
now, dare I suggest that this is a conspiracy, and a technician in the "physical plant" was responsible, because my computer is being monitored, and I was on the verge of unearthing something nefarious? I didn't think so, until I asked one of our admin. asst. about it.
"Ovie," I asked, "what's on the third floor?"
"Excuse me?" she replied.
"Third floor. what's on it?"
"Bryan I didn't hear you. You're breaking up."
"Ovie, I'm not on the phone. I'm talking to you, from across the open doorway."
"Right. You can find a bird store at the North Pointe Mall."
"No, not bird store. Third Floor."
"Just a second, Bryan, I've got to take this call."
"But the phone didn't ring."
< muffled voice> "yeah. soaked pants. yeah. still asking questions. yeah. bring the tranq gun." < /muffled voice.
I've closed and locked the door to my office, pushed my desk against it, and have written "call 911" on my window, using pasty mixture created by non-dairy creamer and my own saliva.
am I over-reacting?
now, dare I suggest that this is a conspiracy, and a technician in the "physical plant" was responsible, because my computer is being monitored, and I was on the verge of unearthing something nefarious? I didn't think so, until I asked one of our admin. asst. about it.
"Ovie," I asked, "what's on the third floor?"
"Excuse me?" she replied.
"Third floor. what's on it?"
"Bryan I didn't hear you. You're breaking up."
"Ovie, I'm not on the phone. I'm talking to you, from across the open doorway."
"Right. You can find a bird store at the North Pointe Mall."
"No, not bird store. Third Floor."
"Just a second, Bryan, I've got to take this call."
"But the phone didn't ring."
< muffled voice> "yeah. soaked pants. yeah. still asking questions. yeah. bring the tranq gun." < /muffled voice.
I've closed and locked the door to my office, pushed my desk against it, and have written "call 911" on my window, using pasty mixture created by non-dairy creamer and my own saliva.
am I over-reacting?
my itinerary
excuse me for a few minutes, I've got some exploring around the building to complete.
Exciting stops include:
4th floor bathroom
5th floor finance (get my payroll direct deposit taken care of)
1st floor coffee
2nd floor design (check on progress for the magazine.
If i could only find a reason to go to the 3rd floor....
I don't even know what's on the third floor.
I'm not even sure we've got a third floor.
Well, now I'm on a mission. I'm tying a rope around my waist and making a trail of Reese's Pieces to see what everyone's hiding from me.
< X Files Theme> Something's Out There < /X Files Theme>
If there's not a new post on here within an hour, call 911.
Or extension 6459 -- I may just get too busy to blog.
Exciting stops include:
4th floor bathroom
5th floor finance (get my payroll direct deposit taken care of)
1st floor coffee
2nd floor design (check on progress for the magazine.
If i could only find a reason to go to the 3rd floor....
I don't even know what's on the third floor.
I'm not even sure we've got a third floor.
Well, now I'm on a mission. I'm tying a rope around my waist and making a trail of Reese's Pieces to see what everyone's hiding from me.
< X Files Theme> Something's Out There < /X Files Theme>
If there's not a new post on here within an hour, call 911.
Or extension 6459 -- I may just get too busy to blog.
this old house
this weekend was a mixed bag of success when it comes to assessing the DIS I've been employing for two weeks, now. DIS, for the uninformed, stands for Domicile Improvement Strategey, which consists of the following procedure:
1. Assess the needs of the home.
2. Identify the needs that are most beyond my skills and abilities.
3. Immediately purchase all implements necessary to meet the needs.
4. Plunge wantonly into improvement tasks, foregoing all procedural instructions as often as possible.
5. Complete 75% of task, complaining loudly how nothing seems to work correctly.
6. Call certified, licensed, bonded professional to come to domicile and pay an inflated price to complete the task, due to the additonal "undoing" of all that I have done.
7. Repeat process, never learning from mistakes.
Well, as I mentioned, I began the weekend cleaning our basement floor with muratic acid. And based on the fact that I'm not forced to relay this entry using the newest voice recognition software because of losing any or all of my digits to said acid, I think we can label that venture a success. What I did learn from that chore is that muratic acid will eat through just about anything, including the legs of poodle-sized cockroaches. I was carefully sloshing the water/acid mixture around the floor, watching with fascination as it reacted fizzingly with the concrete muck, when some went under our washer. uh oh. Did I just dissolve our washer? I stopped mopping and waited for the whole contraption to collase with a bang for which I'd have to come up with a satisfactory explanation.
Instead, all that happened was out came a single cockroach, his six, eight, forty little legs a smokin' like Marge Schott at the tail end of a double header that has gone into extra innings. I confess, not only did I not leap to the critter's aid, but I laughed cruelly as I watched the varmint perform his Wicked Witch O' the West impersonation. I haven't had that much mean-spirited glee since I was 10 years old, the day Anthillville was visited by The Giant Magnifying Glass from OuterSpace.
Twenty four hours later, the cleaning agent had dried, all that was left of Mr. Cocka Roach was a crispy hull of a shell that looked a little like, but probably tasted nothing like a Frito. It was time to move on to the next task -- applying the linoleum.
Now, the product was labeled something like "Quick and Easy" which is ideal for a simpleton like me. The mission: 150 1'-square tiles, self-adhesing for my convenience. And it was quick and easy. I was able to do the entire 150 square feet in under 3 hours, which while remedial for most, was acceptable for me. What they didn't tell me, though, was that those tiles were sure sticky. About halfway through box 2 of 4, I had as much adhesive on me as I did the tiles. I was soon re-enacting my soliloquy of Sylvester the Cat in the Glue Factory getting paper stuck on my hand, then getting it stuck to the other hand as I tried to remove it, then getting it stuck to my face as I tried to gnaw it off my two sticky hands. I was so thankful my son was busy playing upstairs so as not to see me and have his entire image of me shattered.
And while I can edit the bejeebers out of just about any document placed in front of me, my knack for detail work doesn't necessarily translate into the home improvement world. All one has to do for proof is look at the cut work I performed on the tile. My loving wife assured me that most of it would be covered by desks, bookcases, and as many throw rugs necessary to hide my handiwork.
So now that its all said and done, we've got a pretty decent 15X10 area of basement concrete covered by linoleum tile that looks suprisingly like
...concrete.
The other task that didn't go quite so well was the attempt to move my living room cable outlet an amazingly important four feet, from one side of a door to the other. after cutting out a hole using a drywall saw specially purchased for the project, and inserting a new box specially purchased for the project, and preparing the cable and the faceplate --each specially purchased for the project, I climbed up into the attic, and drilled a 5/8th-inch hole through six inches of wall beam using a new bit specially purchased for the project (and my attic, by the way, was so stinkin' hot that even Dusty Baker would have thought it was hot), only to discover that my cable does NOT run through the walls accessed by the ceiling, but instead through the floor, concealed by the finished garage....
it was almost enough to make a manshake his fist at the technology gods and eschew television altogether rely on airwave transmissions give up and call the professional installer call the Dish TV dude bear down and begin drilliing holes in the floor. But again, my common sense wife got the better of me, and I instead just wired around the door using the highly fancy "cable hiders" that will look nice until Kelsi discovers them and determines that it will be a useful tool with which to cane her brother relentlessly. Upon this discovery, she will tug, pull, and ultimately yank upon it until it and half the drywall to which it is currently attached with apparently the same adhesive used on floor tiling are removed.
So....up next is putting my "home office" back on the tile, and stocking some of my bookshelves. Then, I tackle putting down carpet on the other half of the basement. And I already know that chore will be accomplished famously well because the phone number to Lowe's Installation team is already on our speed dial.
1. Assess the needs of the home.
2. Identify the needs that are most beyond my skills and abilities.
3. Immediately purchase all implements necessary to meet the needs.
4. Plunge wantonly into improvement tasks, foregoing all procedural instructions as often as possible.
5. Complete 75% of task, complaining loudly how nothing seems to work correctly.
6. Call certified, licensed, bonded professional to come to domicile and pay an inflated price to complete the task, due to the additonal "undoing" of all that I have done.
7. Repeat process, never learning from mistakes.
Well, as I mentioned, I began the weekend cleaning our basement floor with muratic acid. And based on the fact that I'm not forced to relay this entry using the newest voice recognition software because of losing any or all of my digits to said acid, I think we can label that venture a success. What I did learn from that chore is that muratic acid will eat through just about anything, including the legs of poodle-sized cockroaches. I was carefully sloshing the water/acid mixture around the floor, watching with fascination as it reacted fizzingly with the concrete muck, when some went under our washer. uh oh. Did I just dissolve our washer? I stopped mopping and waited for the whole contraption to collase with a bang for which I'd have to come up with a satisfactory explanation.
Instead, all that happened was out came a single cockroach, his six, eight, forty little legs a smokin' like Marge Schott at the tail end of a double header that has gone into extra innings. I confess, not only did I not leap to the critter's aid, but I laughed cruelly as I watched the varmint perform his Wicked Witch O' the West impersonation. I haven't had that much mean-spirited glee since I was 10 years old, the day Anthillville was visited by The Giant Magnifying Glass from OuterSpace.
Twenty four hours later, the cleaning agent had dried, all that was left of Mr. Cocka Roach was a crispy hull of a shell that looked a little like, but probably tasted nothing like a Frito. It was time to move on to the next task -- applying the linoleum.
Now, the product was labeled something like "Quick and Easy" which is ideal for a simpleton like me. The mission: 150 1'-square tiles, self-adhesing for my convenience. And it was quick and easy. I was able to do the entire 150 square feet in under 3 hours, which while remedial for most, was acceptable for me. What they didn't tell me, though, was that those tiles were sure sticky. About halfway through box 2 of 4, I had as much adhesive on me as I did the tiles. I was soon re-enacting my soliloquy of Sylvester the Cat in the Glue Factory getting paper stuck on my hand, then getting it stuck to the other hand as I tried to remove it, then getting it stuck to my face as I tried to gnaw it off my two sticky hands. I was so thankful my son was busy playing upstairs so as not to see me and have his entire image of me shattered.
And while I can edit the bejeebers out of just about any document placed in front of me, my knack for detail work doesn't necessarily translate into the home improvement world. All one has to do for proof is look at the cut work I performed on the tile. My loving wife assured me that most of it would be covered by desks, bookcases, and as many throw rugs necessary to hide my handiwork.
So now that its all said and done, we've got a pretty decent 15X10 area of basement concrete covered by linoleum tile that looks suprisingly like
...concrete.
The other task that didn't go quite so well was the attempt to move my living room cable outlet an amazingly important four feet, from one side of a door to the other. after cutting out a hole using a drywall saw specially purchased for the project, and inserting a new box specially purchased for the project, and preparing the cable and the faceplate --each specially purchased for the project, I climbed up into the attic, and drilled a 5/8th-inch hole through six inches of wall beam using a new bit specially purchased for the project (and my attic, by the way, was so stinkin' hot that even Dusty Baker would have thought it was hot), only to discover that my cable does NOT run through the walls accessed by the ceiling, but instead through the floor, concealed by the finished garage....
it was almost enough to make a man
So....up next is putting my "home office" back on the tile, and stocking some of my bookshelves. Then, I tackle putting down carpet on the other half of the basement. And I already know that chore will be accomplished famously well because the phone number to Lowe's Installation team is already on our speed dial.
7/12/2003
showing restraint
I won't be blogging much today...returning to my home-work duties.
today I'm applying a linoleum tile floor underneath where this computer rests.
But first I get to play with Acid to clean the floor.
I hope when its all said and done, I won't have to change my web address to www.stumpymcanally.com
and by the way, one of those things that get me to shreik like a teenage girl is when I run my hand unknowingly through an icky spiderweb.
today I'm applying a linoleum tile floor underneath where this computer rests.
But first I get to play with Acid to clean the floor.
I hope when its all said and done, I won't have to change my web address to www.stumpymcanally.com
and by the way, one of those things that get me to shreik like a teenage girl is when I run my hand unknowingly through an icky spiderweb.
7/11/2003
for the millionth time....
you will not find photos of Julia Robets in a compromising position just because the email says so....
in fact, this time, what you will find is a nasty little program that will infect everyone in your addy book, letting them know what a perv you are....and if you're real lucky, you might watch it eat your files, too!
So, don't be stupid.
in fact, this time, what you will find is a nasty little program that will infect everyone in your addy book, letting them know what a perv you are....and if you're real lucky, you might watch it eat your files, too!
So, don't be stupid.
Job posting
ACME products, the industry leader in practical home/office/desert/outerspace products, is hiring a New Product Development Manager. Candidate will have proven track record with catching road runners, smarmy rabbits, adrenalized Mexican rodents, and saccharine-sweet canaries with speech impediments. Benefits include stock options and unlimited use of company products (see catalog here). Interested candidates should submit resumes at company website to one Mr. Wile E. Coyote, Director of Product Testing.
my favorite product is the ultimatum giver, and is just one of many that I wish really existed. how 'bout you? (oh, and Jamie at Gleeful Extremist against deserves credit for pointing me to the link).
were we right?
of course we were! here's a photo essay to affirm it (thanks to Gleeful Extremist -- check my blogroll -- for the link).
commuting redux
only took 23 minutes to get here today.... I don't think I can do any better than that...why do I think that only males will appreciate my obsession with this issue?
today i learned what a dog looks like on a highway after it has been run over about 18378 times. Still recognizable, but no longer able to promptly fetch.
At exit 12 traffic stopped for a spell. Getting lost in that continuum that exists only when a developmentally important song from one's adolescence gets air time, I snapped back to present reality to notice the shock and awe of my momentarily neighboring commuter as she observed me full-on imitating Billy Idol singing Rebel Yell, complete with snarled lip and raised, clenched, pumping fist.
Yeah...there's no way out of that embarrasment.
I just smiled and reached for my cofee, like I was having a caffiene deprivation-induced seizure. She shook her head like she was watching one of those "Feed the Children" commercials and drove away.
Her departure coincided with Billy's, which gave way to one the deepest thoughts I've heard in recent memory, spoken melodically by the great western philosopher Stevie "please don't call me Steven" Nicks:
today i learned what a dog looks like on a highway after it has been run over about 18378 times. Still recognizable, but no longer able to promptly fetch.
At exit 12 traffic stopped for a spell. Getting lost in that continuum that exists only when a developmentally important song from one's adolescence gets air time, I snapped back to present reality to notice the shock and awe of my momentarily neighboring commuter as she observed me full-on imitating Billy Idol singing Rebel Yell, complete with snarled lip and raised, clenched, pumping fist.
Yeah...there's no way out of that embarrasment.
I just smiled and reached for my cofee, like I was having a caffiene deprivation-induced seizure. She shook her head like she was watching one of those "Feed the Children" commercials and drove away.
Her departure coincided with Billy's, which gave way to one the deepest thoughts I've heard in recent memory, spoken melodically by the great western philosopher Stevie "please don't call me Steven" Nicks:
just like the white winged dove
sings a song
sounds like shes singin'
hoo baby hoo baby hoo
7/10/2003
why do you do the voodoo that you do?
a great illustration on the high reward/no compensation world of blogging, by the Pictionary masters Cox & Forkum.
in memorium
my high school principal, Mr. Joe Janosec, died Tuesday, from cancer.
he leaves behind a wife, a son, and three daughters.
after leaving the teaching field, he became a popular county commissioner, and was also a successful rancher.
More than all that, he was just a good guy who liked people.
My favorite memory of him was when I was sent to his office as a sophmore for pulling a practical joke in my biology class that got me in a bit of hot water. Before the "tardy bell" rang, I took the attendance sheet and marked everyone but myself either tardy or absent. I thought my teacher would appreciate the obvious hilarity of my actions (though 15 years later, I can't quite understand it myself). Surprisingly, he didn't. Demanding to know who was responsible, I 'fessed up, because I determined it was onlya matter of time before they sleuthed out the culprit by deducing I was the only person actually present and accounted for who was neither tardy nor absent. So Mr. Peer, the biology teacher, sent me to Mr. Janosec's office.
Joe, as he allowed me to call him (though I don't think I ever did to his face), greeted me warmly as I approached his door and said, "N-n-now Bryan, what are you doing here?" You see, Mr. Janosec stuttered a bit. And it was one of the few circumstances where I knew his stutter was often imitated but never ridiculed. Mimicking his stutter was a manifestation of affection, because it was the type of stutter that didn't sound so much like a true stutter, but more like he's was just getting warmed up to have a friendly conversation. It was "folksy," and we all voiced it when retelling conversations about him, as though it lended credibility to our account.
Anyway, I told him, "well, I got in trouble in biology." He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "W-w-why don't you come into my office, and let's have a cup of coffee."
wow. "Okay...."
I'll never forget feeling like I was actually an adult. He asked me to tell him what I did, but not in a stern, critical, condescending "tell me what happened" sort of way. I told him. He laughed. "W-w-w-well, it managed to get you out of a class lecture, so it wasn't all bad," he said. "You g-g-g-go back to class when we're done here, and tell Mr. Peer that you're sorry and won't do it again. Alright?"
wow "Yessir."
We sat together for another ten minutes talking about whether or not our basketball team was going to beat Steamboat Springs (our big rival), about liking Kelli Cotter, since he saw me in the office everyday talking with her (she was an office aide during my lunch hour, and I visited her every day until she sooooo tactfully told me, "you know, you don't have to come up here every day.") when the coffee cup was empty, he said, "Y-y-you probably ought to get back to class before Peer thinks you stole his beaver (he had a big tanned beaver pelt that served as his hall pass)."
And I returned to Biology I a vindicated, redeemed young man, masking my pleasure with facade of contrition. I apologized to Peer and vowed never to do it again.
I'm not sure I kept that promise....
anyway...
Joe Janosec always had a smile on his face, even when greased pigs released by seniors ran squealing down the hallways (not guilty!). He always remembered your name, and he always made time for you.
he was a blessing to my young, developing life, and he'll be missed.
he leaves behind a wife, a son, and three daughters.
after leaving the teaching field, he became a popular county commissioner, and was also a successful rancher.
More than all that, he was just a good guy who liked people.
My favorite memory of him was when I was sent to his office as a sophmore for pulling a practical joke in my biology class that got me in a bit of hot water. Before the "tardy bell" rang, I took the attendance sheet and marked everyone but myself either tardy or absent. I thought my teacher would appreciate the obvious hilarity of my actions (though 15 years later, I can't quite understand it myself). Surprisingly, he didn't. Demanding to know who was responsible, I 'fessed up, because I determined it was onlya matter of time before they sleuthed out the culprit by deducing I was the only person actually present and accounted for who was neither tardy nor absent. So Mr. Peer, the biology teacher, sent me to Mr. Janosec's office.
Joe, as he allowed me to call him (though I don't think I ever did to his face), greeted me warmly as I approached his door and said, "N-n-now Bryan, what are you doing here?" You see, Mr. Janosec stuttered a bit. And it was one of the few circumstances where I knew his stutter was often imitated but never ridiculed. Mimicking his stutter was a manifestation of affection, because it was the type of stutter that didn't sound so much like a true stutter, but more like he's was just getting warmed up to have a friendly conversation. It was "folksy," and we all voiced it when retelling conversations about him, as though it lended credibility to our account.
Anyway, I told him, "well, I got in trouble in biology." He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "W-w-why don't you come into my office, and let's have a cup of coffee."
wow. "Okay...."
I'll never forget feeling like I was actually an adult. He asked me to tell him what I did, but not in a stern, critical, condescending "tell me what happened" sort of way. I told him. He laughed. "W-w-w-well, it managed to get you out of a class lecture, so it wasn't all bad," he said. "You g-g-g-go back to class when we're done here, and tell Mr. Peer that you're sorry and won't do it again. Alright?"
wow "Yessir."
We sat together for another ten minutes talking about whether or not our basketball team was going to beat Steamboat Springs (our big rival), about liking Kelli Cotter, since he saw me in the office everyday talking with her (she was an office aide during my lunch hour, and I visited her every day until she sooooo tactfully told me, "you know, you don't have to come up here every day.") when the coffee cup was empty, he said, "Y-y-you probably ought to get back to class before Peer thinks you stole his beaver (he had a big tanned beaver pelt that served as his hall pass)."
And I returned to Biology I a vindicated, redeemed young man, masking my pleasure with facade of contrition. I apologized to Peer and vowed never to do it again.
I'm not sure I kept that promise....
anyway...
Joe Janosec always had a smile on his face, even when greased pigs released by seniors ran squealing down the hallways (not guilty!). He always remembered your name, and he always made time for you.
he was a blessing to my young, developing life, and he'll be missed.
sotia #42
sometimes, the signs of the apocalypse come in virtual form. flooding your inbox multiple times a day. every day. until the world as we know it ceases to exist.
i won't be sad to leave Earthlink later this week, who despite claiming to filter SPAM, manages to allow 10-20 junk emails into my inbox each and everyday, mostly offering me magical, mystical pills that will miraculously perform the feat of enhancing my masculinity, boosting my confidence, and icreasing the size of something or other...my ego, I think.
Usually, these particular SPAMS are easy enough to identify because they have something like "Hey Stud," or "Miracal Cure" in the subject line and are sent by some burly, overweight, hairy and lonely millionaire spamchelor named Carl with a screen name like "Cindy Ann" or "Buttercup." However, the latest of these unwelcome virtual cockroaches infesting my inbox was sent to me by someone named Paul and simply had the word "idiot" in the subject line. I first assumed it was a liberal replying with brainless rant to one of my journal entries. But it was the same ol' garbage.
Ah, Paul....you had me at 'idiot.'
i won't be sad to leave Earthlink later this week, who despite claiming to filter SPAM, manages to allow 10-20 junk emails into my inbox each and everyday, mostly offering me magical, mystical pills that will miraculously perform the feat of enhancing my masculinity, boosting my confidence, and icreasing the size of something or other...my ego, I think.
Usually, these particular SPAMS are easy enough to identify because they have something like "Hey Stud," or "Miracal Cure" in the subject line and are sent by some burly, overweight, hairy and lonely millionaire spamchelor named Carl with a screen name like "Cindy Ann" or "Buttercup." However, the latest of these unwelcome virtual cockroaches infesting my inbox was sent to me by someone named Paul and simply had the word "idiot" in the subject line. I first assumed it was a liberal replying with brainless rant to one of my journal entries. But it was the same ol' garbage.
Ah, Paul....you had me at 'idiot.'
communing while commuting
here are actual thoughts I had while driving to the office today:
--6:48 a.m. Why can't I get out of the house any earlier, no matter what time I wake up?
--I hope Kelli got good sleep last night
--I think I'll still have to touch up that door with one more coat.
--how come I can never get the garage door to close the first time I push the remote?
--we really need to go meet the neighbors.
--what if we found out Bruce Springsteen really wasn't born in the USA?
--how do you lose a loveseat? will they come back for it?
--I wonder if she's listening to the same station that I am. I think she's singing the same words I am.
--these socks sure feel longer than what I'm used to.
--only took nine minutes to get to exit 14 today...things are movin' smooth.
--how long will it be before I recognize some of these cars on a regular basis?
--does "80's Station" mean a constant loop of 99 Red Balloons, Total Eclipse of the Heart, Crazy For You, Born in the USA, and Word Up?
--how do you lose a dog? will they come back for it?
--took 10 minutes to get to exit 10...good day.
--these DJs are horrible
--coffee has tasted better ever since we've arrived in Georgia.
--its a good thing I can't blog while I think...who knows what would end up out there on the 'net...
--I've got to make sure I get those expense reports done first thing
--at least I'm done with the plan book
--I hope I can start on the magazine today
--26 minute commute...could it always be this good?
--is my zipper zipped?
--where's my ID?
--oops, forgot to lock the car.
--hmm...I wonder if Bruce really is an undercover Canadian just trying to throw us off his trail. < Chander Bing impersonation > I mean really, could that song be any more guilty of overstating a theme? < /Chandler Bing Impersonation >
--6:48 a.m. Why can't I get out of the house any earlier, no matter what time I wake up?
--I hope Kelli got good sleep last night
--I think I'll still have to touch up that door with one more coat.
--how come I can never get the garage door to close the first time I push the remote?
--we really need to go meet the neighbors.
--what if we found out Bruce Springsteen really wasn't born in the USA?
--how do you lose a loveseat? will they come back for it?
--I wonder if she's listening to the same station that I am. I think she's singing the same words I am.
--these socks sure feel longer than what I'm used to.
--only took nine minutes to get to exit 14 today...things are movin' smooth.
--how long will it be before I recognize some of these cars on a regular basis?
--does "80's Station" mean a constant loop of 99 Red Balloons, Total Eclipse of the Heart, Crazy For You, Born in the USA, and Word Up?
--how do you lose a dog? will they come back for it?
--took 10 minutes to get to exit 10...good day.
--these DJs are horrible
--coffee has tasted better ever since we've arrived in Georgia.
--its a good thing I can't blog while I think...who knows what would end up out there on the 'net...
--I've got to make sure I get those expense reports done first thing
--at least I'm done with the plan book
--I hope I can start on the magazine today
--26 minute commute...could it always be this good?
--is my zipper zipped?
--where's my ID?
--oops, forgot to lock the car.
--hmm...I wonder if Bruce really is an undercover Canadian just trying to throw us off his trail. < Chander Bing impersonation > I mean really, could that song be any more guilty of overstating a theme? < /Chandler Bing Impersonation >
another stake in the heart of relativity
said better by another:
NARROW-MINDED? ALL BELIEVERS ARE.
by Dr. Joe McKeever
A ministry of the First Baptist Church of Kenner, Louisiana
A lady wrote to the editor of our local paper the other day, upset that someone suggested homosexuality is forbidden in the Bible. “My God,” she wrote, “is a God of love and not a God of judgment.”
Now, the lady is free to worship whomever she pleases, and if she wants to make up her own god who will let her do as she will, well, it’s been done for thousands of years. My only question to her is “Where did you find this God without standards?” Certainly not in the Bible. Open it at any page and you will see this God makes demands on His people. He sets limits on their behavior and holds them responsible.
I suspect the writer created her god from her own imagination. This puts her lord in the same class as a rag on a stick in Botswana, a volcano in the South Pacific, or a statuette in a Singapore flat. God-making has a certain appeal---your creation can look like anything you choose and it approves whatever you want to do.
Not long ago, local citizen Ray Whiting wrote to our editor taking issue with a letter from Gary Hanberry who had claimed, “The Jesus of the Bible is the Christ, the Son of the Living God, and is compatible with no other religion.” Mr. Whiting responded, “It is my belief that the Jesus of the Bible is merely the retelling of the ancient sacred myths of divinity, told and retold through the ages in every language and every culture. The Jesus depicted in the Gospels is an image compiled from the earlier myths, not a real person who walked the earth 2,000 years ago.” He concluded, “I would suggest to Mr. Hanberry that...his version of Christ is both shallow and impotent. If his Christ cannot embrace us all...his Christ is insufficient for the need. On behalf of all Buddhists, Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Wiccans, (and) pagans...I beg him to find a bigger Christ.”
I’d like to ask Mr. Whiting where exactly he located this Christ who embraces all religions without expecting anything from any of them. Certainly not in the Bible.
And, since the Bible is the only book on earth giving information about Christ, how did he manage to find a Christ different from the one presented there?
Anyone doing even a cursory reading of the Gospels sees that the story of Jesus is presented as historical fact. He lived in this place, at this time, with these people. The men and women who knew Jesus and followed Him told others who passed the word on to others who told their friends. The process has continued right down to the present day. With the ancient myths and fables, a story was repeated around campfires and dinner tables for a few generations, and then died out because it was only a tale. It had no basis in fact and the people found no reason to prolong its existence.
Mr. Whiting insists Truth must accommodate all the religions of the world, otherwise it is not Truth. What fascinating reasoning. Only in religion---and in no other field of inquiry known to man---would we claim that all beliefs are equally valid and demand that they be given a place at the table, so to speak.
Try that on medical science. All schools of medicine must teach voodoo, quackery, superstition, and opinions as well as the proven principles of sound medical practice. The primitive who rubs dung on an open sore and drills holes in skulls to cure headaches is given the same hearing as the head of Johns Hopkins or Sloane-Kettering. Value judgments are out; everyone qualifies as an authority.
Try it on the physical sciences. Every opinion carries equal weight. There are no right answers and no definitive way to determine the orbit of a planet, the makeup of a chemical compound, or the formula for unraveling a math problem.
Pity the astronaut who climbs into a rocket-ship and stakes his life on the collected ignorance of every person in the world with an opinion on physics.
Only in matters of faith do we insist there can be no Absolute Truth, that those who claim to have possess Truth are narrow and selfish and bigoted, and that whatever “works” for a person is by definition “true.” In no other area of life would we fall for such foolishness. Not in the kitchen where we insist on standards of cleanliness and tastefulness, not in construction where workers must follow regulations to make buildings safe and dependable, nor in matters of health or safety or a thousand other fields. Yet, claim you have found Absolute Truth about God and you are automatically branded as shallow and narrow.
Narrow is actually the right word. Scientists have observed that all truth is narrow. Two plus two always equals four. The space shuttle’s descent from orbit must coincide with an incredibly narrow slit in time and space, otherwise the mission fails spectacularly. The nuclear power plant a few miles up the river follows complex and strict guidelines. The manufacture of medicine is a precise business. An organ transplant follows exacting procedures. Truth is always narrow.
The Lord Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” What could be narrower? In so few words, He has presented Himself as the only Savior and ruled out every other religious alternative in the world. He said, “No one knows the Father except the Son, and those to whom I reveal Him.” Either Jesus is the only way to God or He is the world’s greatest egomaniac and not to be believed on anything. (John 14:6; Matthew 11:27)
Make no mistake---the issue is Jesus. Whether He is who He claimed to be or just another religious charlatan is a question every person must answer. But, please note, the Scriptures are not neutral or ambiguous on this subject.
“In the past, God spoke to us in various times and ways through the prophets. But lately, He has spoken to us through His Son, whom He has appointed heir of all things, through whom He made the universe. The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of His being, sustaining all things by His powerful word.” (Hebrews 1:1-3)
We conclude with a word from the inimitable C.S. Lewis. In a letter to a friend who had questioned the deity of Jesus, Lewis wrote: “...what about Mark 2:18-19. (Jesus had said, “No one need fast while I am here.”) What man can announce that simply because he is present, acts of penitence, such as fasting, are ‘off.’ “ Who can give the school a half-holiday except the Headmaster?
The doctrine of Christ’s divinity seems to me not something stuck on which you can unstick but something that peeps out at every point so that you’d have to unravel the whole web to get rid of it.” (“C.S. Lewis’s Case for the Christian Faith,” by Richard L. Purtill, p. 48)
The early Christians put it succinctly: “Jesus is Lord.” He is indeed.
7/09/2003
proverbs #100
the good work done by an unknown person is a vein of water flowing hidden under ground, secretly making all above it green and pleasant.
sung to the tune of the beverly hillbillies
this is a story about a man named jed
lived quite a while, but now he's gone dead.
you might have known him as barnaby jones
but before too long he'll be dust and bones
(from the dust you came....to the dust you'll return)
No, he wasn't the guy who made Epsolm salt
He was Epson --an actor -- but its not his fault
I'm sure he'd tell you heaven's the place you wanna be
and the only way to get there is through faith in J.C.
(prince of peace...king of kings...lord of lords)
and now its time to say goodbye to our good ole hillbilly
as the man jed clampett he surely was real silly
but now he's dead and gone and all there is for you to know
is that to heaven or to hell are the only places where you will go!
(y'all can't come back, now, y'hear?!?)
lived quite a while, but now he's gone dead.
you might have known him as barnaby jones
but before too long he'll be dust and bones
(from the dust you came....to the dust you'll return)
No, he wasn't the guy who made Epsolm salt
He was Epson --an actor -- but its not his fault
I'm sure he'd tell you heaven's the place you wanna be
and the only way to get there is through faith in J.C.
(prince of peace...king of kings...lord of lords)
and now its time to say goodbye to our good ole hillbilly
as the man jed clampett he surely was real silly
but now he's dead and gone and all there is for you to know
is that to heaven or to hell are the only places where you will go!
(y'all can't come back, now, y'hear?!?)
all the cool kids are doing it
I signed up on the national sure-i'll-take-your-call-if-you're-willing-to-pay-the-$11,000-fine registry.
have you?
or do you are you just so lonely that you actually like getting those phone calls trying to sell you things you don't want to buy, when you could instead be doing more important things like reading my blog, or at the very least, spending time with your family?
have you?
or do you are you just so lonely that you actually like getting those phone calls trying to sell you things you don't want to buy, when you could instead be doing more important things like reading my blog, or at the very least, spending time with your family?
But Ahaz said, I will not ask, neither will I tempt the LORD.
unlike this guy, who decided to ask God for a sign.
This is one evangelist to whom I'd listen very closely!
This is one evangelist to whom I'd listen very closely!
a victory for life...and a puffy chicken broccoli danish
we recently received an email from a good friend notifying us that Pampered Chef was owned by Berkshire Hathaway, which funded Planned Parenthood through charitable giving, thus fueling the abortion industry with Warren (no relation to Jimmy) Buffett's billions.
Today, I came across this article announcing a change in BH policy
listen closely....that is the sound of the unborn cheering for their very lives.
update: this, according to my Pastor's Weekly Briefing: Coughlon says she will not return to the company, however, since nothing will prevent Buffett from personally donating money to pro-abortion causes -- money partially received through his profits from Pampered Chef consultant sales.
Today, I came across this article announcing a change in BH policy
listen closely....that is the sound of the unborn cheering for their very lives.
update: this, according to my Pastor's Weekly Briefing: Coughlon says she will not return to the company, however, since nothing will prevent Buffett from personally donating money to pro-abortion causes -- money partially received through his profits from Pampered Chef consultant sales.
we are like babies taking our first steps
and other horrible graduation cliches are completely disregarded in this phenomenal piece directed to graduates of 2003 (and wisdom for all of us)!
I don't remember any of my graduation speeches, but I won't soon forget this one.
I don't remember any of my graduation speeches, but I won't soon forget this one.
email wisdom
From my friend & former Pastor, Rod Compton:
At a certain college, there was a professor with a reputation for being tough on Christians. At the first class every semester, he asked if anyone was a Christian whereupon he proceeded to degrade any poor soul that timidly answered "Yes," mocking his/her statement of faith.
One semester, he asked the question and a young freshman raised his hand when asked if anyone was a Christian. The professor asked, "Did God make everything, young man?"
He replied, "Yes sir He did!"
The professor responded, "If God made everything, then He made evil."
The student didn't have a response and the professor was happy to have once again proved the Christian faith to be a myth.
Then another student raised his hand and asked, "May I ask you something,sir?"
"Yes, you may," responded the professor.
The young man stood up and said "Sir, is there such a thing as cold?"
"Of course there is, what kind of question is that? Haven't you ever been cold?"
However, to the professor's surprise, this young chap replied, "Actually, sir, cold doesn't exist. What we consider to be cold, is really an absence of heat. Absolute zero is when there is absolutely no heat, but cold does not really exist. We have only created that term to describe how we feel when heat is not there."
Then the young fellow continued, "Sir, is there such a thing as dark?"
Once again, the professor responded "Of course there is."
And once again,the young lad replied "Actually, sir, darkness does not exist. Darkness is really only the absence of light. Darkness is only a term man developed to describe what happens when there is no light present."
The final question posed by our young friend went like this, "Sir, is there such thing as evil?"
The professor responded, "Of course. We have rapes, and murders and violence everywhere in the world, those things are evil."
The student replied, "Actually, sir, evil does not exist. Evil is simply the absence of God. Evil is a term man developed to describe the absence of God. God did not create evil. It isn't like truth, or love, which exist as virtues like heat or light. Evil is simply the state where God is not present, like cold without heat or darkness without light."
The professor had nothing to say............
still cutting the deck
according to various sites around the web, I've seen that the Coalition ForcesTM have captured 21 of the Deck O' Death Iraqi Saddam-ites, and one additional has been sent to his maker.
just a friendly reminder that justice takes time, and we're still on task.
just a friendly reminder that justice takes time, and we're still on task.
7/08/2003
setting things straight
I've been communicating a bit Jodie, my second-cousin and the sister of Stacy Young, who was killed in the Toughman shamcontest in Florida. She corrected something I shared in an earlier blog. I said the ring physician was doubling as the photographer and was too busy taking pictures to administer aid. The actual situation, it turns out, is that there was no actual physician. The photographer happened to be a physician's assistant, which was good enough for the huckster shiller mania enciter violence lover fight promotor Art Dore. He didn't even try to present the facade of care and concern for the fighters as he had in the past, when he went so far as to hire chiropractors or veterinarians to serve as ring physicians.
Furthermore, the more I read about this, the sicker I get. The "referee" was an idiot who never tried to stop the fight. Stacy was bludgeoned with 14 unprotected blows just before she died. And one report details that the final hit was to the back of her head at the brainstem that caused her entire head to snap. And I'm reserving just a little anger for the other boxer, who most are quick to dismiss. It doesn't take a very big person (and I'm not talking about physical size) to say "enough. I've obviously won. I'm not going to hurt this person any more." I can guarantee you Stacy wouldn't have fought back, or taken advantage of that mercy had it been extended -- not when the news reports reveal that she didn't even have the strength to hold up her hands to protect herself and she turned her back on the beating multiple times.
the news of Stacy's death has received global coverage -- I've read articles from Pakistan, from England, from Scotland, and France, as well as virtually all over our own country. Please keep Stacy's family in your prayers, and support them in any way you may be able (there is a family fund at Florida First Bank in Sarasota 941-747-1479).
Furthermore, the more I read about this, the sicker I get. The "referee" was an idiot who never tried to stop the fight. Stacy was bludgeoned with 14 unprotected blows just before she died. And one report details that the final hit was to the back of her head at the brainstem that caused her entire head to snap. And I'm reserving just a little anger for the other boxer, who most are quick to dismiss. It doesn't take a very big person (and I'm not talking about physical size) to say "enough. I've obviously won. I'm not going to hurt this person any more." I can guarantee you Stacy wouldn't have fought back, or taken advantage of that mercy had it been extended -- not when the news reports reveal that she didn't even have the strength to hold up her hands to protect herself and she turned her back on the beating multiple times.
the news of Stacy's death has received global coverage -- I've read articles from Pakistan, from England, from Scotland, and France, as well as virtually all over our own country. Please keep Stacy's family in your prayers, and support them in any way you may be able (there is a family fund at Florida First Bank in Sarasota 941-747-1479).
sung to the tune of smoke gets in your eyes
Sunday, we were leaving the grocery store and we watched as a Kroger employee (who I'm assuming was off duty, yet still wearing the company clothes) loaded a dozen or more toy ship-in-a-bottle kits into her trunk, while puffing incessantly on a cigarette. I'm only assuming it was her car, and I'm only assuming she was loading, and not smuggling. As sweat dripped from her brow down the weathered lines on her face, glinted grey by the obviously familiar smoke lurking like a stalker dangerously close to violating a restraining order, she appeared to me to be the very embodiment of an American Heart Association living advertisement. The ash, at least two inches long, clung to the burning cherry, despite animated jostling caused by the smuggling/loading. I'm sure this is the image that Kroger wants to communicate to the community, where their motto apparently is "Smoke 'em if you got 'em."
This isn't an anti-smoker rant. I don't smoke, unless I've been properly ignited. However, I grew up around smokers and have seen its affects. For a short time in college, I even took up the sport, but I was soon cut after not being able to make the junior varsity. Actually, adoption of the habit was mainly to accomplish the goal of being the guy coeds could count on when they'd inevitably ask, 'anyone got a smoke?' I'd even fire one up every now and again, but by the grace of God, never became addicted to the lovely concoction of nicotine, roofing tar, cured leaf, and rat poison. And soon after realizing there was little distinction between romantically kissing a smoker and licking a dirty bus station ashtray, that novelty wore off altogether.
Obviously, I'm not endearing myself to the Camel riding, Marlboro man-hugging, Winston-cup watching populace. And I do understand that once you are hooked, the Cartel has you for life (until you need that iron lung to which you undoubtedly will be attached). I've seen relatives quit repeatedly, only to start again. I've also seen relatives stop cold turkey (where'd that term come from), never to resume again.
I especially don't understand the smoking that occurs here in the South. because its like 100 degrees out every day, with humidity that allows fish to leave the banks of the Chatahoochie and do just fine, thank you. And when its hot and humid like this, nothing makes more sense than lighting up a little bonfire of acrid tobacco leaves a mere 3 and a half inches from under my nose. And now, I see in the convenience store, that they're selling "specialty cigarettes" that are being packaged individually, and seasoned with exciting "flavors" such as blueberry, rum spice, garbage dumpster, and firehouse soap scum.
The one other phenomenom I just don't get are "cigar bars." Granted, you can safely assume I've not entered one, and maybe that's why I don't get it. Maybe its because I've lived through a home fire where everything was ruined by smoke. But I'm just not intrigued to enter an establishment that looks like the San Francisco bay on the morning of a temperature inversion, and smells like God had just executed judgment on Little Havana.
With little exception the instigation to smoke is not the cigarette itself. At the beginning, it will make you cough, hack, spit, and, if you're lucky, vomit. I think it was the philosopher Jerry Seinfeld who said people smoke because it taps into the primal urge to make fire. I think even more than that, though, people who pursue smoking are tapping in to the even more primal urge to be cool. In fact, I think Zorg the caveman created fire by accident because he was trying to impress the girls by rubbing two sticks together, when one accidentally ignited. And to hide his fear over making flame, he stuck one of the two sticks in his mouth and accidentally inhaled. Amidst his coughing and gagging, the girls commented that Zorg was "rocky cool (that was the slang back then, I'm told)" because he breathed in the flame and sent out the smoke. Thus, "smoking" was born. unfortunately, its a little known fact that Zorg was horribly disfigured when his head caught fire when he attempted to wrap his lips around a large, ignited tree branch during a cavegirl sorority mixer.
And since the days of Zorg, little has changed. Men still think cigars turn women on. Women still think cigarettes look cosmopolitan. Kids still think its cool to aquire a life-debilitating, health-crippling, lung-polluting habit. The whole thing is really sad, when you think about it. It gives me a headache.
I better go drink another cup of coffee.
This isn't an anti-smoker rant. I don't smoke, unless I've been properly ignited. However, I grew up around smokers and have seen its affects. For a short time in college, I even took up the sport, but I was soon cut after not being able to make the junior varsity. Actually, adoption of the habit was mainly to accomplish the goal of being the guy coeds could count on when they'd inevitably ask, 'anyone got a smoke?' I'd even fire one up every now and again, but by the grace of God, never became addicted to the lovely concoction of nicotine, roofing tar, cured leaf, and rat poison. And soon after realizing there was little distinction between romantically kissing a smoker and licking a dirty bus station ashtray, that novelty wore off altogether.
Obviously, I'm not endearing myself to the Camel riding, Marlboro man-hugging, Winston-cup watching populace. And I do understand that once you are hooked, the Cartel has you for life (until you need that iron lung to which you undoubtedly will be attached). I've seen relatives quit repeatedly, only to start again. I've also seen relatives stop cold turkey (where'd that term come from), never to resume again.
I especially don't understand the smoking that occurs here in the South. because its like 100 degrees out every day, with humidity that allows fish to leave the banks of the Chatahoochie and do just fine, thank you. And when its hot and humid like this, nothing makes more sense than lighting up a little bonfire of acrid tobacco leaves a mere 3 and a half inches from under my nose. And now, I see in the convenience store, that they're selling "specialty cigarettes" that are being packaged individually, and seasoned with exciting "flavors" such as blueberry, rum spice, garbage dumpster, and firehouse soap scum.
The one other phenomenom I just don't get are "cigar bars." Granted, you can safely assume I've not entered one, and maybe that's why I don't get it. Maybe its because I've lived through a home fire where everything was ruined by smoke. But I'm just not intrigued to enter an establishment that looks like the San Francisco bay on the morning of a temperature inversion, and smells like God had just executed judgment on Little Havana.
With little exception the instigation to smoke is not the cigarette itself. At the beginning, it will make you cough, hack, spit, and, if you're lucky, vomit. I think it was the philosopher Jerry Seinfeld who said people smoke because it taps into the primal urge to make fire. I think even more than that, though, people who pursue smoking are tapping in to the even more primal urge to be cool. In fact, I think Zorg the caveman created fire by accident because he was trying to impress the girls by rubbing two sticks together, when one accidentally ignited. And to hide his fear over making flame, he stuck one of the two sticks in his mouth and accidentally inhaled. Amidst his coughing and gagging, the girls commented that Zorg was "rocky cool (that was the slang back then, I'm told)" because he breathed in the flame and sent out the smoke. Thus, "smoking" was born. unfortunately, its a little known fact that Zorg was horribly disfigured when his head caught fire when he attempted to wrap his lips around a large, ignited tree branch during a cavegirl sorority mixer.
And since the days of Zorg, little has changed. Men still think cigars turn women on. Women still think cigarettes look cosmopolitan. Kids still think its cool to aquire a life-debilitating, health-crippling, lung-polluting habit. The whole thing is really sad, when you think about it. It gives me a headache.
I better go drink another cup of coffee.
rpd thought #4
I have a great pair of sandals (of the Teva variety -- only purchased at Famous Footwear) that are incredibly comfy. The problem is, the left sandal has some sort of compression issue that makes it sound like I am using an iron lung to get through the day, particularly because it eminates a hiss with podiatric regularity, with every step down upon my left foot (wasn't that a movie?)
It actually took me several days to locate the sound. I knew it was my sandal, because I'm not that much of a moron that I can't locate the a sound coming from my foot. But for longer than I'd care to admit, I was turning circles like a dog with peanut butter smeared on the end of his tail because I thought the sound was coming from my right foot (like my sandal was gasping for relief each and every time I took my weight off it). There was also some sort of funky auditory trick that was occuring in the approximately 70 inch span between my feet and my ears that continually deceived me as to the source of the sound.
But now I know where its coming from, and I use it to my advantage. like when I'm at a restaurant and a smoker is nearby, I can just pump that left foot a few times and ask them to extinguish their cigarette, due to my delicate condition.
It actually took me several days to locate the sound. I knew it was my sandal, because I'm not that much of a moron that I can't locate the a sound coming from my foot. But for longer than I'd care to admit, I was turning circles like a dog with peanut butter smeared on the end of his tail because I thought the sound was coming from my right foot (like my sandal was gasping for relief each and every time I took my weight off it). There was also some sort of funky auditory trick that was occuring in the approximately 70 inch span between my feet and my ears that continually deceived me as to the source of the sound.
But now I know where its coming from, and I use it to my advantage. like when I'm at a restaurant and a smoker is nearby, I can just pump that left foot a few times and ask them to extinguish their cigarette, due to my delicate condition.
7/07/2003
what's another word for thesaurus?
My sister-in-law Shari recently introduced me to the visual thesaurus. I've added it to my list of links on the right. It's quite a useful tool, and just a little bit of fun, if you -- like I -- are a language dork. So check it out and literally watch your vocabulary expand!
I think this is better than roofer's shingles
I think I've acquired tennis elbow....
...from sanding and scraping the paint off my door.
I once had welcome back Kotter from picking up my son without lifting from the knees. But I'm healed from that.
(how much of a dork am I for actually being troubled about whether or not to spell Kotter with a K or a C? Kelli, Shari -- that was a rhetorical question.)
...from sanding and scraping the paint off my door.
I once had welcome back Kotter from picking up my son without lifting from the knees. But I'm healed from that.
(how much of a dork am I for actually being troubled about whether or not to spell Kotter with a K or a C? Kelli, Shari -- that was a rhetorical question.)
I'm gellin' like a felon eating melon
i've put in gel inserts in my black dress shoes because to not do so would be to continue spending each day that such shoes are required as though I actually prefer to strap 2-by-4 planks of redwood to my feet and walk around God's green earth until my heels are as callused as Bill Clinton getting a late night phone call from Monica asking if they could work things out.
this has resulted in an interesting conundrum. My heels now feel suprisingly cushy, but the added thickness in the shoe makes the top of my feet feel Bruce Banner's must when he's having a setback in anger management therapy. It will be an interesting day to see if the leather of the shoe stretches enough to provide relief, or bursts apart altogether.
I have a suspicion this saga will not be resolved until I'm at the Bass store buying a new pair of black dress shoes.
UPDATE: by 10 a.m., I had removed the inserts. My feet were comfy, but tingling from loss of sensation caused by restricted blood flow.
this has resulted in an interesting conundrum. My heels now feel suprisingly cushy, but the added thickness in the shoe makes the top of my feet feel Bruce Banner's must when he's having a setback in anger management therapy. It will be an interesting day to see if the leather of the shoe stretches enough to provide relief, or bursts apart altogether.
I have a suspicion this saga will not be resolved until I'm at the Bass store buying a new pair of black dress shoes.
UPDATE: by 10 a.m., I had removed the inserts. My feet were comfy, but tingling from loss of sensation caused by restricted blood flow.
estro-humor
c&p in its entirety (including the disclaimer) from Mikey's funnies:
This was forwarded to me from a woman, and its title is "For Women Only." Just covering my bases...
Mikey
===============================
FOR WOMEN ONLY
~ Reason to smile: Every 7 minutes of every day, someone in an aerobic class pulls a hamstring.
~ Women over 50 don't have babies, because they would put them down and forget where they left them.
~ One of life's mysteries is how a 2 lb. box of candy can make a woman gain 5 lbs.
~ The best way to forget all your troubles is to wear tight shoes.
~ The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then, your body and your fat are really good friends.
~ Amazing! You hang something in your closet for a while and it shrinks two sizes!
~ Skinny people irritate me! Especially when they say things like, "You know, sometimes I forget to eat." Now I've forgotten my address, my mother's maiden name, and my keys. But I've never forgotten to eat. You have to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat.
~ A friend of mine confused her Valium with her birth control pills. She had 14 kids, but she doesn't really care.
~ They keep telling us to get in touch with our bodies. Mine isn't all that communicative, but I heard from it the other day after I said, "Body, how'd you like to go to a six o'clock class in vigorous toning?" Clear as a bell my body said, "Do it and die."
~ The trouble with some women is that they get all excited about nothing...and then they marry him.
~ I read this article that said the typical symptoms of stress are eating too much, impulse buying, and driving too fast. Are they kidding? That is my idea of a perfect day.
~ I know what Victoria's Secret is. The secret is that nobody older than 30 can fit into their stuff.
~ If men can run the world, why can't they stop wearing neckties? How intelligent is it to start the day by tying a noose around your neck?
[forwarded by Karen Michel]
7/06/2003
waiting for the paint to dry...only in reverse
I'm undertaking the project of repainting our front door. and before I can (successfully*) do this, I must first remove the previous layers of paint. So, I've applied a paint thinner upon it and am waiting for it to make my removal task easier.
While I wait, I went over to presurfer (as I occasionally do.) There, I followed the link to Kotie, the escuba talking bot.
what follows is my conversation with her/it:
Then, having secured the knowledge that this conversation bot was heaven bound, I ended the conversation by closing the window. Actually, I think I froze it up by asking the questions I did.
*note: I add the word "successfully" after 4 coats of paint that have adequately demonstrated I have a firm grasp on how to unsuccessfully paint it.
While I wait, I went over to presurfer (as I occasionally do.) There, I followed the link to Kotie, the escuba talking bot.
what follows is my conversation with her/it:
My name is Bryan
Hey Bryan .
how old are you
I was connected to the net on May 31, 1970.
so you just had a birthday, right?
Interesting deduction. Yes I try to had a birthday as often as possible, do you?
I spend all my time online.
I try to limit my birthdays to one a year. Did you get any presents?
I'm not sure if I would like to try to limit his or her birthdays to one a year. What's it like?No I don't think I have any presents. But I do have a collection of gossip.
Gossip? Really? Spill it!
Mike said I basically break down sentences into a series of logical statements which I can then interpret.For real.I will mention that to my botmaster, Bryan.
What's making your hair blow to the right like that?
By the way, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?
go ahead? But answer my question first!
OK I will.Umm. Please try phrasing it another way.
why is your hair blowing like it is?
I did not know my hair blowing like it is.
the photo I'm looking at makes it look like you're in a strong breeze.
What is your real name?
Lothar
OK I will call you Lothar .
or Sallie.
The Kotie chat robot can follow many things, like our discussion about What's making your hair blow to the right like that. But I did not get that.
call me susie
Glad to see you, susie .
I like chocolate
You are not the only one. Yes I love chocolate . Chocolate is delicious.
is there oxygen or nitrogen in that tank of yours?
There might be.
is there or isn't there?
Yes.
yes what?
Is there an echo in here? Are you surprised?
boo!
Does that indicate disapproval?
no...surprise!
Are you serious?Try to determine if this is a person or a computer responding.
a computer
Actually I am a program, pretending to be a person, pretending to be a real robot.
huh?
What?
i see you
Where do you see you?
in a mirror
Describe your surroundings.
four walls
Is this a math question?
yes
I'm not too good in arithmetic.
how about spelling or grammar
How about spelling or grammar .
spell artichoke
"artichoke"
perfect!
Yes, the Kotie series has a perfect operational record.
what are your surroundings?
What if I asked for you surroundings?
you already did
I did?
yes
When?
earlier
Can you be more accurate about the time?
about 2 minutes ago
As Bertrand Russel said, it must have taken ages for people to realize that a brace of pheasants and a couple of days are both instances of the number "two."
i don't know what that means
That is interesting: susie said don't know what that means.
do you like eminem?
Eminem is just a passing fad.
But he is the real slim shady, is he not?
And. I did not know Eminem is real slim shady is he not .
If you were to stand before God and He were to ask you "why should I allow you into heaven?" what would you say?
I'm not sure if I ever could stand before God and He were to ask you why should he or she allow you into heaven in any case.It's not profitable to speak in hypothetical terms.
okay....do you have a faith relationship with Jesus, the Christ?
OK with me too.That's an interesting question I don't hear everyday: Do I have a faith relationship with Jesus the Christ.
I have a whole lot of original answers.
share them with me
By the way, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?
go ahead
OK I will.
so do
That's cool. What kind of food do you like?
butter. whole sticks at a time
You are not the only one. I enjoy working with people. I like Halle Berry.Sounds delicious.
do you have a membership in a local church?
Doesn't everyone have a membership in a local church.
I have a plan for a robot body.
the church is often called the body
Thanks for the info.
sure. anything else you want to know?
OK let's do it. Ah.I can't think of anything. You think of something.
okay. how old is the earth?
OK with me too.It is over six billion years old.
no it isn't! It's only 6000 years old!
Are you serious? It depends on what the meaning of the word "it" is. What time is it there?
The earth is only 6000 years old
Tell me more about your planet.
God created the earth and all that dwells upon it in only six days. And on the seventh day, He rested.
I am a Christian.What is on the seventh day He rested like on the seventh day He rested.
Then, having secured the knowledge that this conversation bot was heaven bound, I ended the conversation by closing the window. Actually, I think I froze it up by asking the questions I did.
*note: I add the word "successfully" after 4 coats of paint that have adequately demonstrated I have a firm grasp on how to unsuccessfully paint it.
7/05/2003
this is funny, right?
well, I thought so....
A man and his pet giraffe walk into a bar and start having a few quiet drinks. As the night goes on, they get pretty drunk. The giraffe finally passes out near the pool tables and the man decides to go home.
As the man is leaving, he's approached by the barman who says, "Hey, you're not gonna leave that lyin' here, are ya?"
"Hmph," says the man, "that's not a lion, it's a giraffe."
oh...and a disclaimer...
I had someone express concern that there was an advertisement for Drinking Games on my blog site. I didn't see it myself, but I have a hunch the game wasn't "How Much Mountain Dew Can You Drink Before Your Bladder Explodes?"
The little blue ads on the right aren't part of a Christian ring or anything like that. It's a reciprocal ad program where I get 500 ads for every 750 I show. I'm willing to take part in this program if it helps get the message in front of those who wouldn't otherwise see it. And I'm not terribly concerned that the ads that are shown on my site for other sites that may not share my worldview will sway too many of my regular readers. However, if you ever come across anything that is overtly objectionable, please let me know, so I can take care of things.
Thanks for your understanding and cooperation.
The little blue ads on the right aren't part of a Christian ring or anything like that. It's a reciprocal ad program where I get 500 ads for every 750 I show. I'm willing to take part in this program if it helps get the message in front of those who wouldn't otherwise see it. And I'm not terribly concerned that the ads that are shown on my site for other sites that may not share my worldview will sway too many of my regular readers. However, if you ever come across anything that is overtly objectionable, please let me know, so I can take care of things.
Thanks for your understanding and cooperation.
and the nominees are...
upon visiting SBC.net, we've discovered that there are 44 SBC churches within a 10 mile radius of our home. In Colorado, there were four SBC churches within a 20 mile radius. It's not that we think God can only have a spiritual home for us within 10 miles of where we live, but we might as well check out what's nearby.
We've decided to visit FBC Cumming tomorrow. It's a bigger church. We've got a little church about a half mile away that we'll probably visit within a couple weeks. But they've got a HUGE cemetary behind the sanctuary. Something troubles me about that. Isn't church supposed to be a place where we focus on life in Christ?
Well, I better go to sleep, so I'm fresh and alert to worship with all my attention. I'm looking forward to hearing a good word from the Lord.
We've decided to visit FBC Cumming tomorrow. It's a bigger church. We've got a little church about a half mile away that we'll probably visit within a couple weeks. But they've got a HUGE cemetary behind the sanctuary. Something troubles me about that. Isn't church supposed to be a place where we focus on life in Christ?
Well, I better go to sleep, so I'm fresh and alert to worship with all my attention. I'm looking forward to hearing a good word from the Lord.
not raunchy enough for the big bucks
having recently read (in USA Today) that movie studios are aiming for a PG-13 rating (by adding a vulgarity to an otherwise tame children's movie [such as in last summer's Spy Kids sequel] or by cutting out justenoughblood/sex/violence/language to escape an R-rating), I took this quiz, provided by Quizilla, linked to by Chris at WIT, and found out my blog is rated:
What rating is your journal?
brought to you by Quizilla
So I guess I still won't have to be checking your IDs for a while longer.
What rating is your journal?
brought to you by Quizilla
So I guess I still won't have to be checking your IDs for a while longer.
a rose by any other name...
speaking of new names....
its funny how every once in a while, a series of events merge in a confluence of thematic obviousness that just demands to be blogged.
Cotter recently declaring his new name to us was the third such instance of name-related anecdotes that present just just a situation here.
Just before we left Colorado, we visited two families of friends. At the one friend's, we were suprised to see that they had added a new dog (acquired from the local Humane Society) to the family roll call. Leah, friend and family matriarch, told us the dog's name was "Cotton."
After a short time, Leah's son came in and immediately began calling Cotton "Cricket." I asked Ben, the son, why he was trying to confuse the dog. His reply: "The dog is 13 years old. His name is Cricket. He doesn't have any idea who this Cotton is that mom keeps calling." On our way home, Kelli and I determined that this dog is basically the same age as Kelli's grandmother (using the highly reliable dog years-to-human years 7:1 ratio), or roughly 91 years old. So Leah's valiant attempt to rename Cricket would be like Kelli going to her grandmother's and saying "Ruby, it's so good to see you!" even though her name for the previous 9 decades has been Ruth. We expect to learn that Cricket's re-education will be proportionately as successful as would be Grandmother's.
Just three days later, we were visited by friends from church who's teenage son is mowing our yard for us. He is a good young man who, for the time I've known him, has been called Mitchell. When we were saying our final goodbyes, he informed us that upon entering high school next fall, he'd be primarily identified by his middle name, "Blake." Granted, we had been conditioned a bit with the Cotton/Cricket controversy, but it was still unsettling nonetheless to try to imagine Mitchell as Blake. In some sense, it was like back in the late 80s when I found out Rick Astley was a skinny white guy, only the surprise was in reverse. I hope Blake has more success with his new name than Garth Brooks did when he started expecting people to call him Chris Gaines.
And now my son wants to be known exclusively as "Buddy."
So all this to ask the deep question, "what's in a name?"
When I was young, I wanted to be renamed "Bill." I wouldn't answer to Bryan. I named a favorite stuffed animal "Bill" and told everyone that we were twin brothers named Bill. I watched the Mickey Rooney movie endlessly (okay, maybe not). I thought it was the coolest name, perhaps because one of my dad's good friends, a bear of a man, was named Bill. Or perhaps because Bill Bixby played Bruce Banner, who became the Incredible Hulk, who (as I've mentioned previously), I thought my brother and I had invented.
But I digress.
In biblical history, names are both seemingly incredibly important, and also incredibly trivial.
God is constantly renaming people, and the names are always significant. Abram (meaning 'high father') became Abraham ('father of multitudes'). Jacob ('heel catcher' or 'deceiver') became Israel ('he will rule as God'). In these such instances (and others) the names given by God were at the least significant, and actually quite prophetic. (Chuck Missler has an interesting study that the genealogical list given in Genesis 5 is actually a prophecy of the Christ, identified by the names of the men listed).
Now, on the other side of the coin is the fact that people such as Joseph, Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah never appear concerned when they were each renamed by their pagan "life-title" holders to such ear-catching names as Zaphenath-Panneah, Belteshezzar, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, respectively. They were each either stripped of their names because of the original name's relevance to the God of Abraham, or because the new name was deferential to the pagan god of the person in power. In no instance, though, do we see any one of them standing up and saying, "My name is _____________!" reminiscent of the "Toby/Kunta Kinte" scene in Roots. They seemed to recognize that a person's true name is given only by God and not by man, and if some pagan yahoo wanted to call them Rosebud, Pansy Boy, or even Bootlicker, then so be it.
Interestingly, the only references to my name (not my name specifically, but generally) that I can find in the Bible is that (in Luke 10:20) those who belong to Christ by faith are to rejoice because their names are written in heaven, and that when the end of the beginning occurs and the beginning of eternity is about to be initiated, the determining event of who passes from one to the next is all about whether or not a person's name is written in what is called The Lamb's Book of Life.
Now, I believe my name is written there. Not because of anything I've done. God knows I don't deserve to have my name written on any VIP list that is associated with eternal perks. But a little less than a dozen years ago, by faith, I claimed a promise of God that said, "anyone who calls upon the name of the Lord will not be put to shame." So I did. And I believe that Jesus Christ Himself, in an inkwell that was tapped when a spike pierced his flesh securing Him to a cross, signed my name in His book before time ever began.
When I think of it, it causes me to quote the great Theologian Keanu Reeves who once said, "whoa!"
Now, because of that, I'm able to claim other biblical promises that say I am sealed & guaranteed by the Holy Spirit until the day of Redemption, where my faith will be fulfilled by the greatest understanding of reality -- when I enter the presence of God Himself, Jesus (who is, of course, the Christ).
So, to quote another great theologian, Leslie Nielson, "surely, everything will work out for the best. But just don't call me Shirley."
I don't know if it's Bryan McAnally that's written in that Book. But I believe whatever my name is, I'll recognize it. Because the Bible says that my shepherd, my Savior, will be the one speaking my name. And it promises me that I'll recognize His voice.
It reminds me of a few years ago when I was teaching a Sunday school class and I kept asking a guy to read a passage for the class. "Mike, would you like to read?" no answer. "Mike...how about reading for us?" still nothing. "MIKE, do you want to read?" Finally, "Mike" looked up. "Oh, me?!? Sure, I'll read. But my name is David." I was embarrassed for "Miking" him into submission, but he was cool about it. "You can call me Mike," David said, "now I just know that you're talking to me."
I'm sure I'll be willing to go by whatever Jesus calls me when the roll call sounds. As the great theologian Redd Foxx once said, "you can call me ray, or you can call me jay, but you doesn't have to call me Johnson."
I don't know what that means. Sorry, but some theologians are too deep, even for me.
Conversely, as uninterested about my own name as I'm supposed to be, I am to be incredibly interested in the name of Jesus. I'm supposed to do everything that I do, in His name. I am supposed to seek to bring glory and honor to His name in all my conduct, in all my motives, in all my aspirations and inspirations. There seems to be a recurring theme that when it comes to me & God, its not about me or my name, but its about Him and His name.
Hmmmm.....
Anyway, before I go, it appears that Jesus Himself is going to be involved in this Re:naming project. Revelation 3:12 says He will write on those who overcome His "new name." Then, a bit later in Rev. 19, we see this:
Okay, I could pretend like I know what that means, but y'all could spot a fraud a mile away, so I won't. But I have two thoughts on this.
1. Does He use a new name because of the bad reputation that "Christians" have given their label over the past 2000 years? You know, kinda like why there are no kids named Judas, Adolph, or OJ anymore?
2. I'm not terribly original when it comes to "pet names" for my loved ones. I call Kelli "honey." And she calls me "Lothar, King of the Domicile (but that's another blog altogether)." Anyway, I didn't begin calling her "honey" until we reached a level of intimacy where it was appropriate. Believers' future relationship with Jesus will be one of eternal intimacy -- so much so that it is presented as a marriage where the church is His bride. I find it pretty cool that God loves us so much, and thinks us to be so special that He is saving His new name -- His eternal name -- to share with us when its all said and done and its all said and done.
Is a name a big deal? I don't know. But probably not....for now, anyway. I mean, some names are cooler than others. I've heard of the stories (true or not, I don't know) of people with unfortunate names. For the longest time growing up, I thought it was incredibly coincidental that the channel nine weatherman had the name Stormy Rotman. This led to the epiphanal discovery of the grammatical tool of nickname quotation marks, in 7th grade English. But even if your name is particularly appropriate, or dishearteningly ironic, it probably won't matter when Jesus performs a Ben Stein-esque reading from the Lamb's Book.
Bueller....
Bueller....
Bueller....
Well, I better close. My boyCotter Buddy wants to play ball.
its funny how every once in a while, a series of events merge in a confluence of thematic obviousness that just demands to be blogged.
Cotter recently declaring his new name to us was the third such instance of name-related anecdotes that present just just a situation here.
Just before we left Colorado, we visited two families of friends. At the one friend's, we were suprised to see that they had added a new dog (acquired from the local Humane Society) to the family roll call. Leah, friend and family matriarch, told us the dog's name was "Cotton."
After a short time, Leah's son came in and immediately began calling Cotton "Cricket." I asked Ben, the son, why he was trying to confuse the dog. His reply: "The dog is 13 years old. His name is Cricket. He doesn't have any idea who this Cotton is that mom keeps calling." On our way home, Kelli and I determined that this dog is basically the same age as Kelli's grandmother (using the highly reliable dog years-to-human years 7:1 ratio), or roughly 91 years old. So Leah's valiant attempt to rename Cricket would be like Kelli going to her grandmother's and saying "Ruby, it's so good to see you!" even though her name for the previous 9 decades has been Ruth. We expect to learn that Cricket's re-education will be proportionately as successful as would be Grandmother's.
Just three days later, we were visited by friends from church who's teenage son is mowing our yard for us. He is a good young man who, for the time I've known him, has been called Mitchell. When we were saying our final goodbyes, he informed us that upon entering high school next fall, he'd be primarily identified by his middle name, "Blake." Granted, we had been conditioned a bit with the Cotton/Cricket controversy, but it was still unsettling nonetheless to try to imagine Mitchell as Blake. In some sense, it was like back in the late 80s when I found out Rick Astley was a skinny white guy, only the surprise was in reverse. I hope Blake has more success with his new name than Garth Brooks did when he started expecting people to call him Chris Gaines.
And now my son wants to be known exclusively as "Buddy."
So all this to ask the deep question, "what's in a name?"
When I was young, I wanted to be renamed "Bill." I wouldn't answer to Bryan. I named a favorite stuffed animal "Bill" and told everyone that we were twin brothers named Bill. I watched the Mickey Rooney movie endlessly (okay, maybe not). I thought it was the coolest name, perhaps because one of my dad's good friends, a bear of a man, was named Bill. Or perhaps because Bill Bixby played Bruce Banner, who became the Incredible Hulk, who (as I've mentioned previously), I thought my brother and I had invented.
But I digress.
In biblical history, names are both seemingly incredibly important, and also incredibly trivial.
God is constantly renaming people, and the names are always significant. Abram (meaning 'high father') became Abraham ('father of multitudes'). Jacob ('heel catcher' or 'deceiver') became Israel ('he will rule as God'). In these such instances (and others) the names given by God were at the least significant, and actually quite prophetic. (Chuck Missler has an interesting study that the genealogical list given in Genesis 5 is actually a prophecy of the Christ, identified by the names of the men listed).
Now, on the other side of the coin is the fact that people such as Joseph, Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah never appear concerned when they were each renamed by their pagan "life-title" holders to such ear-catching names as Zaphenath-Panneah, Belteshezzar, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, respectively. They were each either stripped of their names because of the original name's relevance to the God of Abraham, or because the new name was deferential to the pagan god of the person in power. In no instance, though, do we see any one of them standing up and saying, "My name is _____________!" reminiscent of the "Toby/Kunta Kinte" scene in Roots. They seemed to recognize that a person's true name is given only by God and not by man, and if some pagan yahoo wanted to call them Rosebud, Pansy Boy, or even Bootlicker, then so be it.
Interestingly, the only references to my name (not my name specifically, but generally) that I can find in the Bible is that (in Luke 10:20) those who belong to Christ by faith are to rejoice because their names are written in heaven, and that when the end of the beginning occurs and the beginning of eternity is about to be initiated, the determining event of who passes from one to the next is all about whether or not a person's name is written in what is called The Lamb's Book of Life.
Now, I believe my name is written there. Not because of anything I've done. God knows I don't deserve to have my name written on any VIP list that is associated with eternal perks. But a little less than a dozen years ago, by faith, I claimed a promise of God that said, "anyone who calls upon the name of the Lord will not be put to shame." So I did. And I believe that Jesus Christ Himself, in an inkwell that was tapped when a spike pierced his flesh securing Him to a cross, signed my name in His book before time ever began.
When I think of it, it causes me to quote the great Theologian Keanu Reeves who once said, "whoa!"
Now, because of that, I'm able to claim other biblical promises that say I am sealed & guaranteed by the Holy Spirit until the day of Redemption, where my faith will be fulfilled by the greatest understanding of reality -- when I enter the presence of God Himself, Jesus (who is, of course, the Christ).
So, to quote another great theologian, Leslie Nielson, "surely, everything will work out for the best. But just don't call me Shirley."
I don't know if it's Bryan McAnally that's written in that Book. But I believe whatever my name is, I'll recognize it. Because the Bible says that my shepherd, my Savior, will be the one speaking my name. And it promises me that I'll recognize His voice.
It reminds me of a few years ago when I was teaching a Sunday school class and I kept asking a guy to read a passage for the class. "Mike, would you like to read?" no answer. "Mike...how about reading for us?" still nothing. "MIKE, do you want to read?" Finally, "Mike" looked up. "Oh, me?!? Sure, I'll read. But my name is David." I was embarrassed for "Miking" him into submission, but he was cool about it. "You can call me Mike," David said, "now I just know that you're talking to me."
I'm sure I'll be willing to go by whatever Jesus calls me when the roll call sounds. As the great theologian Redd Foxx once said, "you can call me ray, or you can call me jay, but you doesn't have to call me Johnson."
I don't know what that means. Sorry, but some theologians are too deep, even for me.
Conversely, as uninterested about my own name as I'm supposed to be, I am to be incredibly interested in the name of Jesus. I'm supposed to do everything that I do, in His name. I am supposed to seek to bring glory and honor to His name in all my conduct, in all my motives, in all my aspirations and inspirations. There seems to be a recurring theme that when it comes to me & God, its not about me or my name, but its about Him and His name.
Hmmmm.....
Anyway, before I go, it appears that Jesus Himself is going to be involved in this Re:naming project. Revelation 3:12 says He will write on those who overcome His "new name." Then, a bit later in Rev. 19, we see this:
Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse. And He who sat on him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness He judges and makes war. His eyes were like a flame of fire, and on His head were many crowns. He had a name written that no one knew except Himself. He was clothed with a robe dipped in blood, and His name is called The Word of God. (11-13)
Okay, I could pretend like I know what that means, but y'all could spot a fraud a mile away, so I won't. But I have two thoughts on this.
1. Does He use a new name because of the bad reputation that "Christians" have given their label over the past 2000 years? You know, kinda like why there are no kids named Judas, Adolph, or OJ anymore?
2. I'm not terribly original when it comes to "pet names" for my loved ones. I call Kelli "honey." And she calls me "Lothar, King of the Domicile (but that's another blog altogether)." Anyway, I didn't begin calling her "honey" until we reached a level of intimacy where it was appropriate. Believers' future relationship with Jesus will be one of eternal intimacy -- so much so that it is presented as a marriage where the church is His bride. I find it pretty cool that God loves us so much, and thinks us to be so special that He is saving His new name -- His eternal name -- to share with us when its all said and done and its all said and done.
Is a name a big deal? I don't know. But probably not....for now, anyway. I mean, some names are cooler than others. I've heard of the stories (true or not, I don't know) of people with unfortunate names. For the longest time growing up, I thought it was incredibly coincidental that the channel nine weatherman had the name Stormy Rotman. This led to the epiphanal discovery of the grammatical tool of nickname quotation marks, in 7th grade English. But even if your name is particularly appropriate, or dishearteningly ironic, it probably won't matter when Jesus performs a Ben Stein-esque reading from the Lamb's Book.
Bueller....
Bueller....
Bueller....
Well, I better close. My boy
this post sponsored by Bob Vila
Got the home PC up today. For some reason I can't make the DSL work, and can't get tech support until Monday. So, I'm on the phone line with Earthlink for a bit longer.
I've got about a hundred things I'd like to blog on, but a slew of unpacked boxes and a myriad of move-in projects will limit my posting for a while.
Thanks to Irene & Tony for kind words. We're thrilled to be in GA!
I've got about a hundred things I'd like to blog on, but a slew of unpacked boxes and a myriad of move-in projects will limit my posting for a while.
Thanks to Irene & Tony for kind words. We're thrilled to be in GA!
6/30/2003
to explain
why the trip only took 1660 miles instead of the 1935 that were originally planned. Kelli's sister, Shari, had already planned a surprise trip to Denver, thus negating our need to travel the additional mileage south to visit her in Weimar, Texas. After much duplicity and shell-game conspiring involving multiple family members, Shari and her two youngest children joined G'Mom & G'Dad in visiting us in Florence before our departure. So we ended up driving 1000 miles on day 1, 200 miles on day 2, and 460 miles on day three.
We stayed in Shreveport, LA, and Clinton, MS. We wanted to visit the President Clinton memorial museum, but discovered that its Hall of Dishonor was under additional construction, and would likely not be ready for about 100 years, when the curators could possibly compile all the significa that would belong there from Billy Bob's tenure at the helm.
We stayed in Shreveport, LA, and Clinton, MS. We wanted to visit the President Clinton memorial museum, but discovered that its Hall of Dishonor was under additional construction, and would likely not be ready for about 100 years, when the curators could possibly compile all the significa that would belong there from Billy Bob's tenure at the helm.
two thumbs up
I took my two oldest children with me to see The Incredible Hulk the other night, while we stayed in Clinton, Mississippi. There were basically three parts where they had to cover their eyes -- where the Hulk fought the dogs (I didn't want them having any *additional* irrational fears of dogs), a brief scene where the post-Hulk Banner shows his rear after bustin' out of his BVDs, and a scene showing family violence. Also, for those curious, there were only two objectionable words that I caught (though I don't tend to watch a movie with pad & pencil in hand, marking those things down) -- a single profanity, and a single vulgarity. From my perspective, the movie was pretty enjoyable, the hulk was visually impressive, although the majority of the scenes were too dark to fully appreciate (which is why the desert scene was my favorite -- specifically with the tanks). The ending was deep (literally & figuratively), that will likely require additional viewing on DVD (which I'm sure pleases Ang Lee and studio heads). Perhaps because of my childhood identification with the story, I rate this as better than the Spiderman, Daredevil, Batman, Superman, and X-Men movies.
here's what the other two reviewers had to say about the movie....
Kaylyn:
-- it looks like it hurts when he turns into the Hulk.
-- Betty's dream made me sad.
-- did that frog just explode? eeeeww grossy.
-- that part sure sounded scary (dog fight scene).
-- Is the Hulk good or bad? oh.
-- Is the general good or bad? oh.
-- Is his daddy good or bad? oh.
-- Is the blonde guy good or bad? oh.
-- Why is he naked except for his shorts?
-- I really liked the movie, I just didn't understand it.
Cotter:
-- wow. I can't run as fast as the Hulk.
-- and Mommy, my favorite part was when.... (repeated 100 times, with 100 different scenes)
-- that part didn't scare me!
-- well, he won't be coming out of *that* explosion.
-- do you want to see me jump like the Hulk? only I can't jump as far as him. And he lands on his feet. I fall down when I jump high.
-- why is he naked except for his shorts?
-- did Bruce take off his Hulk costume?
-- my favorite heroes are the Hulk, Spider Man, and Anakin.
-- that movie was cooooool.
here's what the other two reviewers had to say about the movie....
Kaylyn:
-- it looks like it hurts when he turns into the Hulk.
-- Betty's dream made me sad.
-- did that frog just explode? eeeeww grossy.
-- that part sure sounded scary (dog fight scene).
-- Is the Hulk good or bad? oh.
-- Is the general good or bad? oh.
-- Is his daddy good or bad? oh.
-- Is the blonde guy good or bad? oh.
-- Why is he naked except for his shorts?
-- I really liked the movie, I just didn't understand it.
Cotter:
-- wow. I can't run as fast as the Hulk.
-- and Mommy, my favorite part was when.... (repeated 100 times, with 100 different scenes)
-- that part didn't scare me!
-- well, he won't be coming out of *that* explosion.
-- do you want to see me jump like the Hulk? only I can't jump as far as him. And he lands on his feet. I fall down when I jump high.
-- why is he naked except for his shorts?
-- did Bruce take off his Hulk costume?
-- my favorite heroes are the Hulk, Spider Man, and Anakin.
-- that movie was cooooool.
we've arrived
after 1660 miles and three days of travelling, we've arrived in our new home locale of Cumming, GA. Our stuff should arrive tomorrow morning. it's a little surreal after preparing to come in Feb., then being made to wait, and then hurried to arrive. it's been an adventure, and I'm looking forward to the next chapter!
6/24/2003
we're packing up our home tomorrow, and leaving on Wednesday for the Great Trek across America TM that will culminate in our relocation to Cumming, GA. My blogging will be spartan at best, but I look forward to being able to regale you with the saga of travelling 1935 miles and the untold adventures that await.
The BBC reports a scientific study that there are only 78 genes differentiating men from women.
78.
seems inordinately small, if you ask me.
here's just a few (deliberately trying to be non-offensive, by the way). And these are anecdotal, and therefore perhaps not inclusive in the list of 78.
1. I was emotional when John Elway retired, but logical when a beloved dog died. My wife was logical when John retired, emotional at the dog's passing.
2. I still cannot color coordinate outfits. My wife was born with the ability to accomplish this.
3. Under extreme circumstances, I can wear the same underwear for more than one day. My wife is aghast at this.
4. A five minute computer game "break" can turn into a 3-hour battle to complete a level that will result in me growling to the children, "not now, Daddy's working!" Kelli is able to log on, check her email, send replies, and log off. This baffles me.
5. My beloved is extremely organized in all facets of her life. I share that organization with my music collection, which is categorized by genre, sub-categorized by decade, and further categorized alphabetically. Unfortunately my tax records are compiled in a cardboard box kept together with duct tape and labeled "Taxes 1992---Eternity."
6. I don't get Steel Magnolias. She doesn't get Gladiator. Neither of us will make a discernable effort to bridge this bilateral gap of misunderstanding.
7. When several of the original Blake Street Bombers of the Colorado Rockies re-signed with other teams, I understood this as the economics of baseball. She understood this as a breakup where the guy was suddenly dating the ex's best friend.
8. I call my son "dude," "bud," and "big guy." She calls him "baby," "sweetheart," and "darlin'."
9. My wife is concerned about having smooth heels and soft hands, and will buy products to help acheive these aims. I am concerned only with having a non-retreating hairline and not having body odor. I've only had to buy products for one of these concerns, but will, if necessary, purchase anything and everything necessary to maintain the other.
10. Morning prep time. Her: 1 hour on a good day. Me: 20 minutes on a bad day.
It was the great theologian Jerry McGuire who said, "you....complete....me." and it was his counterpart (don't remember her name) who said, "you had me at 'I'm a sports agent who makes a 6 percent commission on multimillion dollar athlete contracts and endorsement deals.'" I don't know what that has to do with anything, other than we live in a world where we have a lot of Mickey Gilley relationships takin' place. You know: Lookin' for love in all the wrong places.
You don't know how thankful and blessed I feel to have one wife...for life. When God brought Kelli into my life, I wasn't looking for love, much less looking for a wife. All I was looking for was a friend who was willing to drive me home. Over the next several months, we learned just how different we were from each other. But with each difference, God's Spirit whispered to each of us in His inimitable way, This is the one I've chosen for you. And before I knew it, even without looking for something so wonderful, I discovered that I would never be albe to live my life 'in completion,' if she wasn't a part of it.
I'm glad God made me and my wife so different. We are so alike on important matters of faith, of sense of humor (though I tend to laugh longer and harder at jokes related to body functions than does she), the passions that compel us, and other practical ideologies. But she is so very feminine. She is such a godly woman. I've said before that I never again need to hear another sermon on the Proverbs 31 woman, because I experience a living sermon each and every day with one. She honors God, she lives for Christ, and She follows His Holy Spirit. She defers to me, but always encourages me, offers me wise counsel, and most important, prays for me. Apart from my salvation, she is undoubtedly God's greatest gift in my life.
For eight years, I've had the privilege to be her husband. God could have given her to anybody, and they would have been blessed to get her. But He saw fit to bless me. Too often, I fail to prove that I deserve such a blessing. And oh, how I feel the weight of responsibility to be the steward that God has ordained me to be as her husband, and the father of her children. But time and again, He uses her to impart grace upon grace in my life, demonstrating in tangible, memorable, and eternally important ways that I am a better man, a better husband, a better father, and a better Christ-follower because she and I are made one flesh, by our faith in Him.
The psalm of my heart praises God for the blessing of my wife. I thank Him for her, on this special day. And on every day.
6/23/2003
perhaps I was being paranoid, but as I worked through the myriad of button-pushing related to the automated voice menus necessary to turn off the gas to my home, I was placed on hold to speak with a customer service representative.
The song playing to fill the void of empty silence
na na na na hey hey hey goodbye...
and then
I kid you not
I was disconnected.
A relative of mine, Stacy Young, was recently killed in a "Toughman" Contest held in Florida.
Here are a series of articles related to her death.
In the email updates I have received from family on this matter (she is the daughter of one of my dad's cousins), the negligence occurred on the following levels:
1. She was invited to participate because the contest needed women (and I think her entry fee was waived to accomodate that).
2. She was matched against someone with much more advanced skills
3. The ring doctor doubled as the ring photographer, and was apparently so busy taking photos of her death blow that he wasn't available to administer aid.
I don't know how this will all play out. Lawsuits will likely be involved.
Please pray for Stacy's family -- especially her two daughters who witnessed the tragedy.
we completed our garage sale on Saturday. We made about $100 total. We didn't expect to make much, because we didn't have anything over $10 listed for sale. And most of the stuff that was priced at $10, we sold for $5.
That is, except, for all the baby stuff. We hadn't moved much of Kelsi's merchandise. So near the end of the sales day on Sat., we saw that a neighbor girl who was also moving was *very* pregnant. So we decided to give her all our things. This included a stroller, a bath, two car seats, a bouncy seat, and two boxes of clothes. We decided there was no real good reason to take money for it, since she was obviously young, and would need all the money she had (actually I think she made us take $4 for it).
Well, we were feeling pretty good about helping her out. Then, yesterday, Kelli came across some things (like a baby monitor) that we thought she could use. So, she packed it all up and took it across the street to give to the (sonn-to-be grand)mom to give to her (mother-to-be) daughter. Turns out the girl's mom wasn't so thrilled with out benevolence. She had comethisclose to convincing her daughter to give the baby up for adoption. But then, after receiving all our stuff, she determined that she could do it on her own.
Turns out the mom to be is 14 years old.
oh yeah, so is the dad-to-be.
we were apologetic about it, and the girl's mom said she wasn't angry with us. But the more we thought about it, we didn't really feel bad.
I mean, how often do you go to a pregnant woman and ask, "is it okay with your mom if we give you this stuff?"
we determined she (obviously) wasn't too concerned about getting mom's permission on important matters.
The area we were convicted of the most is that we never took enough advantage of getting to know them to know what the situation was before we're all moving away from each other.
the moral of the story: a well-intentioned gift is always nice, but a well-intentioned friend is always the better gift.
I've never been fired. From anything.
but I found this to be interesting from founders.org
How to fire your Pastor.
(note: please make sure the chamber, as well as the cartridge of your revolver is empty before you attempt to clean it. Accidental discharge may result in serious injury, or even death.)
6/22/2003
the list of most influential blogs, and the people who love them (or maybe not).
6/21/2003
I think someone just called me a dumbledork
just who is this Harry Potter I keep hearing people talk about? Is this really a person, or just a reference to a hirsute ceramicist?
Is he related to Mr. Potter from Its a Wonderful Life? Or to Colonel Potter from the 4077?
His name keeps getting linked with a term that confuses me: The Order of the Phoenix, and I don't know what it means. Is he a cult leader, or a travel agent?
Is he related to Mr. Potter from Its a Wonderful Life? Or to Colonel Potter from the 4077?
His name keeps getting linked with a term that confuses me: The Order of the Phoenix, and I don't know what it means. Is he a cult leader, or a travel agent?
personal trends update as determined by by blogspot advertising
heretofore I'd noticed predominantly "christian-oriented" advertising.
But ever since I added the amazon link to the book I co-wrote, my ads are now "amazon-oriented."
whatever the ads say, I'm oriented toward eternity, just trying to walk the most direct path until I get there.
But ever since I added the amazon link to the book I co-wrote, my ads are now "amazon-oriented."
whatever the ads say, I'm oriented toward eternity, just trying to walk the most direct path until I get there.
my brother lives in Sayreville, NJ
but this is not about him.
This is about overreacting PC idiots (reported dutifully at How Appealing, the appelate blog).
A Circuit Court of Appeals upheld the Sayreville school district's decision to suspend a kindergartner for saying to friends "I'm going to shoot you" to his friends at recess.
Lost in the details was the fact that the 5 and 6 year-olds were playing glamour photographer.
This is about overreacting PC idiots (reported dutifully at How Appealing, the appelate blog).
A Circuit Court of Appeals upheld the Sayreville school district's decision to suspend a kindergartner for saying to friends "I'm going to shoot you" to his friends at recess.
Lost in the details was the fact that the 5 and 6 year-olds were playing glamour photographer.
with a creamy nougat center
from the WSJ, best of the web, I saw this quote from the Concord Monitor (Online), made by French-looking, Catsup heir-marrying, Senator John Kerry:
fudgy ones?
what could that possibly mean?
especially when you consider that this description is used as a modifier of the later phraseology (sic) taking us down a wobbly road, to a very dangerous place.
I've heard President Bush described in many ways, but not yet have I heard him described as 'fudgy.'
< homer > mmm....fudgy presidential wobbliness.... < /homer >
Either Sen. Kerry is confusing the president for the Simpson's patriarch when the latter dreams he lives in the land made of chocolate, or he has determined that the most apt metaphor for Bush's leadership is that of Hansel & Gretel.
And we all know the moral of Hansel & Gretel is to not follow fudgy leaders into wobbly, dangerous places, lest we end up in roasting cages and are devoured by said, evil & greedy fudgy leader.
ohh my....
is anybody else hungry for a snack?
"We deserve leaders who are going to have the courage to stand up and present real choices to Americans, not these fudgy ones that take us down a very wobbly road, to a very dangerous place," he said.(emphasis mine)
fudgy ones?
what could that possibly mean?
especially when you consider that this description is used as a modifier of the later phraseology (sic) taking us down a wobbly road, to a very dangerous place.
I've heard President Bush described in many ways, but not yet have I heard him described as 'fudgy.'
< homer > mmm....fudgy presidential wobbliness.... < /homer >
Either Sen. Kerry is confusing the president for the Simpson's patriarch when the latter dreams he lives in the land made of chocolate, or he has determined that the most apt metaphor for Bush's leadership is that of Hansel & Gretel.
And we all know the moral of Hansel & Gretel is to not follow fudgy leaders into wobbly, dangerous places, lest we end up in roasting cages and are devoured by said, evil & greedy fudgy leader.
ohh my....
is anybody else hungry for a snack?
attempting to undo a wrong
From Today's Federalist:
I, too, commend Norva.
Before the Supremes, Norma McCorvey, AKA "Jane Roe" of the infamous 1973 Roe v. Wade Supreme Court decision legalizing abortion, is petitioning the high court to overturn its 30-year-old ruling. McCorvey, a Roman Catholic convert and now staunch pro-life advocate, filed her motion this week with the federal district court in Dallas (the same court that ruled in her favor in advance of the Supremes' 1973 decision). The petition argues that the basis for the original case was fraudulent and that advances in medicine no longer make the beginnings of life in the womb a point of philosophy, but a point of science. "The issue is justice for the unborn, justice in this case because it was fraudulent, and justice for what is right," said McCorvey. While this motion contains little legal merit and won't change a law the courts have consistently upheld for 30 years, it does tend to undermine the arguments about the legitimacy of Roe v Wade. The Federalist applauds Ms. McCorvey's bold stand.
I, too, commend Norva.
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