Looks Like Somebody Found the Mistletoe

This is what is on top of a house in the TCU area....

Inconspicuously Reach Over and Lock the Door

As I pulled to a stop at the signal light, a middle aged black man was starting to cross the street in front of me. He had a dirty, grungy, not-quite-homeless look to him. He wasn't quite dressed in rags, but he was clearly lower-income. He didn't look thuggish or gangsta, but he did have a certain ‘ghetto’ quality to his appearance. I inconspicuously reached over and locked the door. I did it casually and non-chalet, after all, I didn't want him to notice my racism. And yes, I fully admit that this was a racist act. As I was locking the door that thought never cross my mind, rather my thinking was more along the lines of precautionary self preservation. But it was certainly racist.

There was a piece of PVC pipe laying in the intersection. About 3" in diameter and approximately two feet long, it lay directly in front of my truck. I could narrowly dodge the pipe if I hugged the curb as I pulled into the intersection, so I wasn't overly concerned with it. As the frightening black man crossed the street in front of me, he noticed the pipe. He looked down and the pipe and then up at me. He held his index finger up, indicating that I should wait a moment. He then readjusted his backpack and lean down to pick up the pipe. Pipe in hand, he continued on his path across the street. My first thought was he was homeless/poor and this piece of discarded pipe must have some value or purpose for him. But as he reached the sidewalk on the other side he tossed the pipe in the grass.

The, slightly-less-scary, black man was simply moving the pipe out of the road. He had no interest in the pipe, other than it lay in my way, nor did he have any interest in robbing me at gun point. In fact, the whole idea that I needed to lock the door for security from the man on foot is ludicrous. The truth of the matter is, I’m an asshole and got called on it. Rabbi Steven Leder once said, “If we look deep inside ourselves, way down deep, each of us will find a person who has, just a little bit of racism. But the thing is, if we look even deeper, while find a person who know it’s wrong. And therein, lays hope for change.” This was a perfect example of that small amount of racism that I have deep inside myself. It’s not like I would eve shout a racial slur, nor would I consciously treat him different based on ethnicity, but it is clear now, that I am not as completely non-discriminatory as I thought.

As the, not-so-scary-after-all, black man continued on his route down the sidewalk, we made eye contact. I waved and mouthed the word, “Thanks.” But I felt like I should have been mouthing an apology. However, as I look back on that now, “Thanks” was exactly the right response. Not only should I thank him for moving the pipe, but I should be thanking him for pointing out a flaw a desperately needed to see.

Happy Life Day

Apparently this actually happened. In 1978 there was a "made for TV movie" called The Star Wars Holiday special.



If you made it further than 1:48 in to that clip then you did better than me. Here is the summary for this fantastic holiday classic according to www.imdb.com:

It is Lifeday, a holiday that is celebrated on Chewbacca's home planet Kashyyyk. Chewie and Han Solo are trying to get to the planet where Chewie's family is waiting for him, but the empire is out searching for the rebels, giving everyone a hard time. While we are waiting we get a look at the everyday life of a wookie family. We meet all the familiar characters from Star Wars and we are introduced to Bobba Fett during a small cartoon. We also pay a visit to the Cantina and meet all the monsters again.

George Lucas once said, "If I had the time I would find every known copy of that and smash them with a sledge hammer."

Jon Stewart is Much More Than Just a Comedian...

Watch this video with Jon Stewart debating the merits of gay marriage with Mike Huckabee. I'm a big fan of Huckabee. I like his personality and I believe he is genuine and honest, however, I often disagree with his political views. Gay marriage is definitely one of those issue. In this brief debate Jon Stewart amply says a lot of the things I have thought for a while but haven't been able to articulate. It's moments like this that make me believe Stewart could some day be a creditable candidate for political office someday.

Chic-Fil-A: The Miracle Drug

I am coming off one of the worst weeks ever. It has really been a series of unfortunate events all week long. So Here's a bullet point list of my week....

• Sunday night - I began to get sick.
• Monday - I didn't work, which sucks because I need money.
• Monday night - Patrick beat me in ping pong. I know that trivial, but I still don't like to lose.
• Tuesday - I am continuing to get sicker, but I am determined to beat this with over-the-counter stuff and plenty of fluids.
  
• Tuesday night - Job interview. I deliver a less that stellar performance.
• Wednesday - I'm not getting any better and the fluids are just making me have to pee a lot.
• Wednesday afternoon - No word yet about whether or not I got the job. I shouldn't take more than a day to hear back unless they are still interviewing more candidates.
  
• Thursday - I begin to realize how far behind I am in the semester and it's a little depressing.
• Thursday night - I find out that I did not get the job. But I found out via facebook. I never got a call back or anything. That's kinda douchy and a poor display of business ethics.
  
• Friday morning - I feel the sickest I have all week long. I am suppose to be going to a movie with Amy tonight but I am really considering canceling because I feel so horrible. And obviously I really don't want to cancel.
• Friday morning - I go to the doctor and she says she thinks I just have a plain old cold, which would be viral, which means antibiotics wouldn't help. I respectfully disagree and suggest she prescribe a Z-pac.
• Friday morning - The Z-pac, in combination with some recommended over-the-counter drugs have done nothing but make my stomach hurt.
• Friday morning - I decide to fight through it, do some homework and prep a new resume to send out... and then my computer stops working. That's nice, perfect way to end a crappy week.
  
• Friday afternoon - I take my laptop in to Circuit City. It's no longer under their warranty but it is still under the manufacturer's warranty. They tell me I'll have to send it in to Hewlett Packard for servicing. I say, "well can't you send it in for me?" No. Circuit City doesn't do that. I know for a fact that Best Buy will do that as a free service to their customers. Why? Because Best Buy likes customers. No wonder those Circuit City bitches filled for bankruptcy.
  
• Friday afternoon - I'm feeling depressed and sick as ever. I'm going to go ahead and call Amy and cancel for tonight and then go home and wallow in my own misery and self pity. My stomach is growling but I have no appetite and thus, no interest in eating. But I decide that getting a little something to eat might help my energy level and make me feel a little better. Since Chic-fil-a is in the same parking lot as those Circuit City bitches, I decide to hit that up.
• Friday afternoon - Chic-fil-a sandwich (no pickle), side of waffle fries and a Dr. Pepper... I am instantly feeling 100% better. No joke. I feel great actually. My nose is still runny, I'm still coughing a little, but I feel way better. I have energy. My joints don't ache. My severe headache has disappeared. Why was I messing around with Claritin, musinex, advil, cough syrup and Z-pacs? All I needed was a little chic-fil-a[1].
  
• Friday afternoon - Starting to feel everything's gonna be alright. My comupter has even started working properly again. No wait, it was just giving me false hope. I'm still going to have to send it in.
• Friday late afternoon - I get an email telling me that I did not get the job.... thanks.
  

1. Or the comination of 5 different drugs I was taking had just started to kick in.

Jesus is a Friend of Mine

In case you didn't catch it[1], the lyrics in the middle of the song go something like this....

"Once I tried to run, I tried to run and hide,
But Jesus came and found me and he touched me down inside,
He is like a Mountie, he always gets his man,
And he'll zap you any way he can. ZAP."



1. Or if you couldn't take more than ten seconds of the song.

Playing by the Rules

According to the official rules of the USATT which are also valid under the ITTF...........

2.6 The Service
2.6.1 Service shall start with the ball resting freely on the open palm of the server's stationary free hand.
2.6.2 The server shall then project the ball near vertically upwards, without imparting spin, so that it rises at least 16cm after leaving the palm of the free hand and then falls without touching anything before being struck.
2.6.3 As the ball is falling the server shall strike it so that it touches first his court and then, after passing over or around the net assembly, touches directly the receiver's court; in doubles, the ball shall touch successively the right half court of server and receiver.
2.6.4 From the start of service until it is struck, the ball shall be above the level of the playing surface and behind the server's end line, and it shall not be hidden from the receiver by the server or his doubles partner and by anything they wear or carry.

2.7 The Return
2.7.1 The ball, having been served or returned, shall be struck so that it passes over or around the net assembly and touches the opponent's court, either directly or after touching the net assembly.

2.10 A Point
2.10.1 Unless the rally is a let, a player shall score a point
2.10.1.1 if his opponent fails to make a correct service;
2.10.1.2 if his opponent fails to make a correct return;
2.10.1.3 if, after he has made a service or a return, the ball touches anything other than the net assembly before being struck by his opponent;
2.10.1.4 if the ball passes over his court or beyond his end line without touching his court, after being struck by his opponent;
2.10.1.5 if his opponent obstructs the ball;
2.10.1.6 if his opponent strikes the ball twice successively;
2.10.1.7 if his opponent strikes the ball with a side of the racket blade whose surface does not comply with the requirements of 2.4.3, 2.4.4 and 2.4.5;
2.10.1.8 if his opponent, or anything his opponent wears or carries, moves the playing surface;
2.10.1.9 if his opponent, or anything his opponent wears or carries, touches the net assembly;
2.10.1.10 if his opponent's free hand touches the playing surface;

2.11 A Game
2.11.1 A game shall be won by the player or pair first scoring 11 points unless both players or pairs score 10 points, when the game shall be won by the first player or pair subsequently gaining a lead of 2 points.

Ranking the Coen Brothers

Joel and Ethan Coen have worked together to make 14 feature films. This blog to apply a ranking for those 14 films comes from The Judge's comment that their most recent, Burn After Reading, was their best work ever. I will also categorize them according to their quality and add a tag line for each. And without further ado, here we go....

THE VERY BEST
1. The Big Lebowski (1998)- Not a man, a way of life[1].
2. O' Brother Where Art Thou (2000)- Sometimes, you have to lose your way to get back home.

GREATNESS
3. No Country for Old Men (2007)- You can't stop what's coming.
4. Burn After Reading (2008)- Intelligence is relative.
5. Raising Arizona (1987)- Their lawless years are behind them. Their child-rearing years lay ahead...

REALLY GOOD
6. Fargo (1996)- A lot can happen in the middle of nowhere.
7. Miller's Crossing (1990)- Up is down, black is white, and nothing is what it seems.
8. The Hudsucker Proxy (1994)- They took him for a fall guy... but he threw them for a hoop.

AVERAGE
9. Intolerable Cruelty (2003)- Engage the enemy.

FAIRLY BOORING
10. The Man Who Wasn't There (2001)- The last thing on his mind is murder.
11. Barton Fink (1991)- Between Heaven and Hell There's Always Hollywood!

HAVE NOT YET SEEN
Crimewave[2] (1985)- Extermination is not just a business. It's a way of life.
Blood Simple (1984)- Dead in the heart of Texas.
The Lady Killers (2004)- The greatest criminal minds of all time have finally met their match.



1. This was the tag line for its release in Israel.
2. Crimewave was written by both Coen brothers but was directed by Sam Raimi.

"A Truck Full of Mexicans"

My mom got her car back today from the body shop. Before she went to pick it up she called out insurance agent to verify how much of a deposit she would have to pay, if any. We have a $500 deposit, but if we are hit by an uninsured motorist the deposit is only $250. However, according to our insurance agent, "there's a clause that kicks in when you get hit by a truck full of Mexicans."

What he meant to say is our insurance has a special policy if we are hit by someone who isn't a legal resident then we will get reimbursed for the deposit. The nationality of the driver[1], the vehicle[2], or the number of illegal residents in the vehicle[3], are actually irrelevant.


1. Mexican
2. Truck
3. Full of 'em

Vicious Battle Raps

Vibe Magazine held a contest for Best Rapper Alive and they gave the award to Eminem. I was unaware of the contest and thus, did not vote[1]. But had I voted then this is who I would have voted for.





1. Because I don't read stupid things like Vibe Magazine.

And this is an after thought, but some things are just too good not to post on your blog. Enjoy.

Since When Did the Pigeons Stop Giving a Shit?

A couple of days ago I went to Sam's Club to buy some groceries in bulk. I was fortunate enough to find a pretty close parking spot. But as I started to pull in a noticed a pigeon just sitting there in the middle of the parking space. Being the humane person I am, I didn't want to hurt the pigeon, so I pulled forward slowly assuming I would see the pigeon fly off any second. As I continue to pull forward, the sight of the pigeon now obscured by the front of my truck, I decided I had better angle to make sure I straddle the pigeon just in case he didn't fly away. I got out of the truck and looked underneath. The pigeon was still sitting there with my tire right next to it. My first thought was the pigeon must be dead, but oddly sitting in that normal way pigeons sit. But then, he rotated his head and looked at me. Obviously this freaked me out, so I jumped up and hurriedly entered the store. When I came back out I did not check to see if the pigeon was still there. but I backed out in such a way to avoid hitting the thing if it was still there. The pigeon was gone but the whole way home I had that creepy feeling that an ax murder[1] was hiding in my back seat, and I don't even have a back seat.

On an unrelated note, as I left for work at about 4:00am this morning, I opened my door to discover someone urinating in the parking lot just outside my apartment. Since when did people stop giving a shit?


1. Or ax murdering pigeon, as the case may be.

"She just proves that anybody can be Vice President"

The quote in the title, which clearly is referring to Sarah Palin, comes to me via The Judge, though I believe it was actually Mel who heard the quote first hand.

Sarah Palin's popularity gives me a grave concern. I know of at least two people who are going to vote for John McCain because Sarah Palin is a woman[1]. Never mind the fact that the VP hardly has any real power and therefore shouldn't hold much influence over a person's vote. The greater problem here is the blind ignorance of the voting populace. Even if Palin strongly supported every single women's rights issue (which she doesn't) that still shouldn't be enough to vote for a party which consistently does not support most women's rights issues.

However, I shouldn't make it seem as if only women voters have a tendency to bias ignorance. Obama is young and black, thus he will get votes from the young and black because he must, obviously support what they care about. But is that really true? Does Obama support the issues that are important to young people and black people? We don't know unless we ask. And I don't mean to ask the politician directly, but rather to take a look at his stance on the issues as well as his parties stance. As voters we have to realize we are never voting for just one man, but rather we are voting for a ideology.

It isn't necessary to study every move of a politician or spend hours researching their parties platform. But it is necessary to seek some information beyond just their appearance. And it is also necessary to put forth some element of logical thought[2] and (to at least try) to remain open minded as the election day nears.

But, I am too realistic (pessimistic) to every believe voters will do this. So all I can really do is pray that God will but in the right man in power[3].

1. It's this type of thought that make me think the movie Idiocracy may be more clairvoyant than we give it credit for.
2. By "logical thought", I mean not believing crap like this[4].
3. But God has let us down before.
4. Which can be disproven here[5].
5. Hyperlinks are fun!

Quote of the Day

"A little mango smoothie my handsome friend?"

context not necessary

It's about time...

they named a hurricane after me. Hurricane Kyle has formed in the Northern Atlantic Ocean and it looks like it may hit Nova Scotia. That sounds about right. If I were actually a hurricane I would want to attack Canada... or maybe Oklahoma[1].


1. It's like Canada for Texans.

Going on the 15 day DL

I'm definitely going to be out for a couple of weeks. I was just a simple dive for a grounder, I wouldn't expect this as the result. I hit the ground pretty hard, and apparently a little awkward too. When I got up, my shoulder felt a little stiff right away but it wasn't until after the game that a small amount of pain started to set in. And when I woke up this morning I couldn't move my left shoulder in any direction without extreme pain. So I called in to work and went to the doctor this morning.

The doctor said that I likely rip this lining that is in the shoulder joint. The lining helps the joint rotate with ease (kind of like grease on a ball bearing), and with is ripped there is now this grinding occurring. I'll give you a moment to image two bones grinding together. That's the pain I'm going through. The doc said this kind of thing heals on its own about 50% of the time. If I'm not feeling better in a couple of weeks I may need to go see a specialist and have to consider surgery. And of course, it would be season ending surgery... so that sucks even more.

Three Grand

My church council approved funds of $3000 to remodel our youth room. That's really exciting! It's also unprecedented. My budget for the youth for the entire year is $150[1], and we struggle every year to raise enough money for mission trip. Even though $3000 isn't that much to make over our youth room with, it's still pretty amazing considering how little money we usually have to work with.

We actually have two rooms. Both are the size of a normal class room. One of them we call the Youth Room and that is where we do Sunday School and meet on Wednesday evenings. The other is referred to as the "Recreation Room", and is currently occupied by a worn out pool table an uncomfortable couch and an ugly, lime green book shelf[2]. My thought, which is shared by everyone, is to get rid of everything in both rooms and start fresh.

But what do we do? Painting is an obvious answer, but I don't see us using up the $3000 in just paint. What else? Since the money is coming out of our some memorial funds, where I know there is more money to spare, I think I can negotiate up to another $1000[3]. So, I'm open to suggestions. If it were your youth room, how would you spend the money[4]?


1. Ridiculous.
2. This room sucks!
3. Wishful thinking.
4. 52" plasma and a blue ray player?

A Fun New Game for the Pool

As many of you may know, my sister, Denise, plays golf with the Special Olympics. No, she is not very good. In fact she's pretty lousy[1], but she has a lot of fun playing and isn't that what it's all about[2]? Yesterday she had golf practice and her partner had something come up at the last minute. Fortunatly I was free and able to fill in. However, Denise doesn't really like playing with me very much because she says I'm too serious when we play. She is probably right. Regardless, we joined up with another pair and set out at Meadowbrook Golf Course to play a round of nine.

If you've play Meadowbrook before then you are well aware of the 8th hole. It's a truely unique hole. About 220 yards off the tee you'll encounter a 90 degree dog-leg to the right. You'll then have to hit the ball anoth 150 yards up a very steep hill. The difficulty of this hole is rediculous. I drive an excellent tee shot here. The hit was a little off line from what I intended but the ball carries quite well off of a tree and I end up in a pretty good spot to try and hit up the hill. As our group is rounding the dog leg we here some noises coming from one of the houses that border the golf course. It's sounds like kids playing, possibly swimming. The trees are thick and we can't really see through, but the kids are loud and easily heard. It's sounds at first like they are playing the classic game of Marco Polo. But then we realize Marco Polo isn't the name they're chanting. We listen for a second and then we realize what they are saying... Barack Obama. They weren't playing Marco Polo at all they were playing Barack Obama[3].

I found it a little hard to concentrate after that, mainly from the laughing. Not that it would have mattered, Denise and I were getting beaten badly by the other pair playing with us. But that's okay, we had fun, and that what it's really all about[4].


1. But aren't we all.
2. Actually that's not what its about. The inventors of the sport never intended for it to be fun or enjoyable.
3. I wonder what you call instead of "fish out of water"?
4. see number [2].

Money to burn

I finally got my economic stimulus check in the mail and now I have $300 that I need to pump back in to the economy immediatly. But I'm torn on the best way to spend my free money. Thus I've created a new poll so that others can tell me how to spend it.

One Time Use Only

The idea for this came from a book I have on writing. The idea is you take some instructions off a commonly used item and you make that the title for your story. And then you write.


One Time Use Only

"One time use only," I read to myself off the back of a disposable camera. We live in a disposable society. Everything gets thrown away. Nothing is kept. This camera sits on top of a table donning a paper table cloth. I eat hors d'oeuvres off of a paper plate using a plastic fork. I dab my mouth with a paper napkin. I drink punch from a plastic cup. I can't help but wonder if the newly exchanged wedding vows are disposable too. Of course, the flowers are real but they too will become refuse once this day is done. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not supporting the use of fake flowers, rather I'm just pointing out that our lives are one disposable item after another. And don't think I am advocating change, God knows I adhere to a disposable diet as much as anyone.

I spot a tall brunette across the room. Her face is familiar, perhaps a second cousin, but why should that matter. She wore a spaghetti-strap green dress that hugged her tight around the curves. She had warm eyes and an inviting smile. I take my time because art requires patience. I try to position myself nearby, pretending to listen to some old hag go on and on about arthroscopic surgery, so I am able to overhear her order a drink.

"Cosmopolitan." she said delicately.

I mingled around, talking to this uncle or that. One wants some stock advice; I tell him I'm a doctor not a banker. Another has a question about a tight joint, "Sorry my friend. I'm a banker, not a doctor."

Timing is everything. She sips the last of her beverage. Her glance towards the bar tells me that another drink would make her current conversation more bearable. Then I show up like a knight in shining armor.

"Cosmopolitan?" I take her empty cup and replace it with the metaphorical equivalent of love potion.

"Yes, thank you." She gives me an inquisitive 'how-did-you-know' smile. "And what's that you're drinking?"

"A dirty martini." My wink causes her to giggle and blush. She’s completely flattered and caught off guard. It's a matter of minutes before we are outside in the back seat of my car.

She asks if I am coming back inside, but I'm not. She asks for my number and I pull a napkin out of my pocket. I jot down a string of numbers and I wonder whose phone it actually belongs to. A few years ago I would have felt bad about this sort of thing, but a person can become desensitized to anything if they try hard enough. I'm sure she'll feel sorry for herself in a few days. She'll probably feel like a piece of trash tossed aside, or a cigarette butt thrown out the car window. But she'll get over it. She may be more guarded around men as a result, but that doesn't concern me. She's just another 'one-time-use' girlfriend for me.

Since I'm already dressed up, and the night is still young, I decide to head to McFadden's Pub. I always have a billiard table there on reserve and it’s a nice place to unwind. The waitress flirted as she brought me a drink, but I'm not interested. My focus now is on the table. Billiards is, one of many talents that I pride myself on. My concentration is intruded upon by a tall, curvy blond. Waves of blond hair flowed over her shoulders and framed her face, which was highlighted by bright red lips. She wore a black halter-top dress with a built-in push-up bra. The bra had a big job to do. The dress stopped mid thigh, and her legs seemed to run on indefinitely. Our eyes meet, and in a moment I was seduced.

If I had tried to play my usual games I would have failed. I was too taken aback and keeping my focus would have proved impossible. But to my surprise she pursued me. Before I could offer to buy her a drink, she was there at my table, two martinis in hand. She had no intention of obscuring her motives. And within an hour she had me back at her place.

Once in her apartment, she offered to fix us both a drink. I was already pretty intoxicated, but I'm not one to turn down a beautiful woman. We sat on the couch for a few minutes, she asked what kind of work I was in. "Real estate," I told her. She seemed uninterested. She quickly finished her drink and motioned with her eyes that I should do the same. She took my hand and led me to the bedroom. My vision blurred a little as I got up. I stumbled behind her slightly. "What was in that last drink?" I said with a smile.

Handcuffs closed tightly around my wrist. "This girl is kinky, I like that." I said to myself. Then I was flipped over onto my stomach and my other wrist cuffed. I noticed it was morning already but it wasn't until I was thrown on the floor that I realized what was happening. Two gorilla-sized cops were wrestling me around. They had me handcuffed and pressed hard against the floor. I thought they were about to search me, then I realized I wasn't wearing any clothes. They picked me up and began to drag me out.

"Fucking pervert." Said gorilla-cop number one.

"Wait, let me at least put some clothes on first."

"What clothes? You don't have any, you fucking crack head." Said gorilla-cop number two as they dragged me past a sobbing elderly woman and out of the apartment.

It's possible I may have been drunk enough, that I wouldn't have noticed when she picked the lock to the apartment. And it's possible that I may have been horny enough not to notice that she slipped something into my drink. And so it's definitely possible I could have passed out while she took off with my clothes, my car, and my wallet full of cash. And it's also possible that I may have said "This girl is kinky," out loud when the gorilla-police brigade was cuffing me. But there’s no way I ever used a girl the way I got used by her.

Danny Downer

Now imagine a male version of Debbie Downer and then put him on your work team on mission trip. That's what I had. There were a number of instances were he would walk into a conversation and then say something to completely bring it down, but one in particular comes to mind. A group us of were sitting taking a break from the work and because the neighbor had a dog and two cats we got on the subject of pets. Each person was sharing stories of their pets and the cute things they do or the neat tricks they've taught them. I even got in on it, mentioning Mike the Cat's crooked tail. And then Danny Downer says in his nasally monotone voice, "Yeah, my dog is having surgery today. He has colon cancer. He's only six years old."

Complete silence...

How to Hijack a Worship Service

This is the third straight mission trip where worship was really lacking and needed to be fixed. And I have no problem hijacking a worship if needed. Going into the trip I was a little concerned because I was pretty certain that no one who was coming on the trip would be capable of leading worship. But I wasn't too worried because I was pretty sure that our host church had a praise band and it seemed reasonable that, on at least one or two nights, it could be arranged to have them play. My worst fears were confirmed on Sunday night worship when the CD started up and we began singing to a live version of a David Crowder song. Nothing against Crowder or his live versions, but "canned music" no way to conduct a worship. Not only was the lack of live music hindering the worship experience but the mood was completely wrong as well. Each night the atmosphere in the sanctuary was one of hyperness and mild chaos. Part of this was the fact that the kids came straight from their evening activity to worship, but a larger part was there was nothing being done to "create a mood". Through the first three nights of the trip, worship severely lacked any spiritual impact.

I mentioned to the program coordinator at the beginning of the week that I was willing to speak one night at worship if needed. She jumped at the chance as if having other people speak hadn't yet crossed her mind, and asked I would speak on Wednesday night. After worship on Monday[1], the center director and I had a discussion about how the trip was going so far and among my list of complaints/suggestions was worship. She agreed that worship was bad and needed a lot to turn it around. After yet another disappointing worship on Tuesday, she pulled me aside and asked what I could do to "save" worship. I was already on the case because I refuse to attach myself to something that is half-assed. If I'm going to speak on Wednesday night, I'm going to make sure the whole thing is good.

We needed a band. There was no way around it. I could dim the lights, add candles, speak softer, but nothing would be enough if I couldn't get a band. Getting someone to play would normally be an easy task. I know plenty of people who can play and could lead worship, the problem was every single one of them was on mission trip already. I did no one other guy. I wasn't sure how good he was since he primarily plays base, but I knew that he knew the songs. I made the call. I explained the situation to Nick, offered to buy him a tank of gas, and without a second thought Nick agreed to play. Not only that but he decided it was best to bring along his friend Barry to handle the guitar. They arrived in Canton about 8:30pm and things were underway. I tried to keep the program director in the loop at first, but as it got closer to show time I gradually made more and more executive decisions and changes without worrying about informing her.

As the kids entered the sanctuary Wednesday evening to the sound of Nick's soft piano playing[2] and lighting so dim you could barely see to write, there was an adult stationed at the door informing them to just sit on the floor between the first pew and the alter and to maintain an attitude of worship. Kids quietly filed in and all easy fit in the limited floor space. For the first time that week, no one spoke above a whisper and no one needed to be remained to take of their hat. They all sat quietly filling out their journals. Once it was time, Nick stopped playing the piano and him and Barry took their seats directly in front of the kids. We did two songs and then broke them off into "team time" to allow a debriefing of the week thus far. Team time turned fairly emotional for several which may be a direct result of the mood already created. After team time, two youth wanted to say a brief something about their client and offer up a prayer. Nick and Barry played one more song before Leslie read scripture and I gave the message.

The setting was very, very casual and intimate. This must have played on me as well because my message came off in a very causal, conversational way. I usually strive to deliver in a conversational way, but this was far more casual than I had ever been before. I was actually pretty under-prepared to speak because I was more focused on the other details of worship. But I ended up giving one of my longer sermons and I never felt like I began to ramble or repeat myself. It was very fluid and natural and I'm still a little amazed at how the whole night came out.

For me, worship that night was the most meaningful part of the trip. We needed a turn around and we needed it then. I certainly couldn't have engineered such a 360 on my own and I feel like God must have dabbled a little bit to help us out. It was amazing to watch things come together the way they did in such a short time frame. And of course a special thanks must go out to Nick and Barry who did us a huge favor[3].


1. It should be pointed out that the poor worship was of no fault of the speakers. It was the music and atmosphere that was the problem.
2. Which was pure improv. We made the decision to do this about two minutes before show time. Nick is pretty bad ass on the piano.
3. Barry got off work at 6:00pm and Nick had to go into work at 6:30am. Saginaw is about two hours from Canton. They willing sacrificed a good amount of sleep just to do me a solid.

Ooo that smell, don't cha smell that smell?

The trailers we load at FedEx can get pretty hot. In the heat of the day, in direct sunlight a closed trailer with no air circulation can get up to 150 degrees. Now imagine if, lets say a rat managed to get in to one of those trailers before it closed and died. And let’s say that trailer sat for three days over the weekend with the dead rat marinating in the hot, uncirculated summer air. And let’s say you were the one who open that trailer Tuesday morning at the Fort Worth hub. Can you imagine what that would smell like? Well I don't have to imagine.

I wasn't the one who opened the trailer but my area is close enough to the unload for the smell to easily and quickly drift over. I've never smelled anything like that. I can't really think of an adjective that adequately describes that scent. I feel most sorry for the guy who had to unload it (the packages still have to get delivered). But the odd thing was, when the trailer was finished unloading, no animal was to be found. We expect to find something, a rat or a squirrel... but there was nothing. But as the smell reached to the far corners of the building we began to become suspicious. One manager after another got on the radio to complain about the foul odors infiltrating their senses. As it turns out, a rat must have managed to get in to the trailer and made its way through the cardboard into a case of chocolate. It then must have proceeded to eat it's self to death (if it's bad for dogs then it stands to reason it would be harmful to rats as well). But then, since the rat was in a box and obscured from normal view, the package got unloaded and put into the system. The intricate system of conveyor belts transported the rat across the building and back again, launching an aromatic onslaught in every work area in its path. The animal was finally located and disposed of but not before every one's lungs had been contaminated by the pure stench of death.

The Obaminator

I had trouble deciding on a title for this post, I almost went with "Once You Go Barack You Never Go Back."

It looks like Barack Obama as pretty much sealed up the nomination and I am pretty excited about it. Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not actually giving away my political ideology[1], but rather I am excited about what this means for the civil rights movement. These primaries saw three first, first time a black and a woman have had a legitimate chance at the presidency and the oldest presidential nominee ever in McCain. But most exciting is Barack and the potential he brings. Barack resembles a third party candidate in many ways. Such as the way he is bringing some previously lower-key issues to the fore front, which is the only meaning purpose a third party has in our election system. However, the difference is Barack has a very real chance of winning the presidency. It will be very interesting to see the way this plays out and this election will no doubt result voting numbers like this country hasn't seen in many, many years[2]. I'm also interested to see who Obama gets as his VP candidate. I don't think it will be Hilary. I think John Edwards would be a good choice however.

I think I may start paying more attention now and write a political post on a semi-regular basis[3].




1. Flaming liberal
2. My mom is even going to vote and this will be the first time she's voted for president.
3. Honestly I wrote this post just so I could use the line, "Once You Go Barack You Never Go Back." I think that would make a fun t-shirt or bumper sticker logo. Or maybe a button!

Something to Lighten the Mood

Sad Day

Don't read this post. There's no jokes and nothing here is going to brighten your day, so just skip it all together.

About a year ago we noticed a small lump at the base of my dogs jaw bone, underneath his ear. The lump was gradually getting bigger. Finally we took Buddy in to see out family vet, Gordon[1]. Gordon ran some test, sent some stuff off to the lab and confirmed that it was in fact cancer. We scheduled a surgery to try and have the lump removed. We knew going in that there was no guarantee he could get all of the cancer, and likewise he wasn't sure how far it had spread into the rest of his body. Despite the racquetball sized lump on the side of his head, Buddy never showed any ill-effects. He seemed completely normal and healthy. This fact gave us hope that the cancer hadn't really spared and the surgery would be a success.

The surgery went fine but for a couple of weeks Buddy was a mess. He had stitches and this tube running through the womb to drain blood and puss and he had to wear one of those collars, not to mention he was in quite a bit of pain. He was completely miserable, where as before the surgery he felt fine. But once he healed up, everything was fine.

But then a couple of months ago we found the lump again. It was starting to grow back. About 1 month ago we noticed Buddy was starting to slow down some. He was getting tired easier and had trouble jumping on the furniture. A couple of weeks ago he began to emit a soft whimper as if he was really uncomfortable all the time. About 1 week ago we started Buddy on some pain pills and just like that we had our dog back. He was running and jumping and chasing squires. But about Friday we noticed the pain pills having a lessened effect and his back legs were starting to become difficult to use. By Sunday his rear legs were completely useless. He would scuttle around using his front paws only and his back hips would shift rapidly from side to side. He looked like a screwed up penguin[2]. We also haven't been able to get him to eat anything aside from some bacon[3] yesterday morning.

We talked and decided that we need to go ahead and have him put down today. When I woke up this morning he tried to scuttle to me but only made it a few feet before he gave up and waited for me to come to him. I sat down on the floor and petted him for a few minutes. I looked into his eyes and wondered if he knows anything is up. I wonder what he has thought was happening to him through all of this. I wonder how Mike the Cat is going to get lonely now. I'm sure my mom will be more lonely with only the cat around to cuddle with[4].

We tried to feed him but we haven't been able to get him to eat anything the last couple of days but some bacon[4]. We've also gradually tripled his dosage on pain pills but a whimper still persist. We are getting ready to leave in a few minutes to take Buddy in. We're all a little sad; Buddy was a really good dog... but now he just smells.

1. We have a family vet but not a family doctor. Shows you where are priorities are.

2. This would have been hilarious to watch if it wasn't so sad.

3. Mike may be my favorite pet ever, but he can really be a butthole sometimes. I think he does stuff just to see if he can get a reaction.

4. He's dying, he's not stupid.

an excerpt from The Memoirs of Stanley Cooke

This is my selected writing for this month. But first here's a bit of background information. I wrote a narrative poem several years back, and though I don't want to go in to detail about the poem, I will say that I used the poem for the basis to a story. I as began writing the story I realized that it would end up being quite long. So rather than post the entire story (which is good because it's not finished yet) I pick just an excerpt to post. The basic premise of the story, and there for this selection, is it's an old man reminiscing about various things in his past.



excerpt from The Memoirs[1] of Stanley Cooke

My brothers and I waited in line for over an hour. When we finally did get up there we were given only a handful of seconds to spit out what we wanted for Christmas. Many wouldn’t make it. The elves, who at times acted like Santa’s jolly guards, would scoop us up quickly and send us down the steps returning us to our parents if we hesitated too long on what we wanted. Troy was the youngest and, per our parent’s instructions, we were to let him go first. But as is the case with many first timers, he started crying before he even made it to Santa’s lap. Jesse and I were going to make fun of him later but the truth is, the same thing also happened to both of us on our first time. At least Troy didn’t pee his pants like I did three years ago. When Jesse got up there he, for some reason, went numb and just stared blankly at Santa. After a few seconds he too was escorted by one of the elves in the direction of our waiting parents. I was a little worried of a similar fate for myself so I prepared ahead of time. As I was placed onto Santa’s lap I pulled a wrinkled piece of paper out of my pocket and began reciting the notes I had prepared. I described in great detail the fighter jet replica I wanted, which came with a cock pit hatch that opened up and pilot that could be removed. It also had an optional parachute you could attach to the pilot which made for a completely separate toy on its own.

I could tell Santa was pleased with my preparedness and when I got back to my parents I was beaming. Disappointment adorned the faces of both of my brothers and their misfortunes pleased me that much more. “It’s okay” I told them, “you can always send Santa a letter, the mail still runs on Christmas Eve.” Ha ha! This was an argument of consolation that my mother had used on me previously. Though I was young, I was old enough to have lost some faith in our postal system. I knew there was no way they could get a letter all the way to the North Pole in just one day. My mom tried to tell us that they used military planes to make sure they got there in time but even at my young age I was skeptical. I continued to give my condolences to my bothers as we made our way to the exit and the irony of my words consumed me with joy.

With our goal accomplished for the evening we made our way through the crowds toward the parking lot. We always parked near the entrance that leads to the toy section. The idea was we could take one last look at things before we went to Santa to tell him what we wanted. In reality it was so they could see what we wanted and then they would go back and purchase those items while we waited in line for an hour to see a fictional character. It was really a pretty ingenious setup. When leaving the store we always made the longer walk to leave through the exit near men’s suits. My parents didn’t want to take us back through the toy section because there would inevitably be something we missed the first time that we really wanted more. I’ll give my parents credit, they had developed a good system. However, this year, Montgomery Ward was really pushing their new line of bicycles and had built a display in the middle of the men’s suit section. My family was out the door and half way to the car before they realized I wasn’t with them. They clamored back in calling my name and found me in a trance, practically drooling over the Schwinn ‘Victory 400’ bicycle. “I need it.” I said faintly. Dad grabbed my arm and jerked me toward the door and at that exact moment I conjured, from somewhere deep inside, some sort of super human strength. I jerked back with all my might and, catching dad off guard, I nearly pulled him to the floor. “I got to go back,” I shouted, “I got to go see Santa. He’s gonna bring the wrong thing!”

I put up an enormous fight, but it was all in vain. My parents wouldn’t budge on their position. Dad was instantly furious, “You had your chance, you’ll just have to wait until next year.” My mom tried to be more consoling, “You can always try and mail him a letter. The mail still runs on Christmas Eve you know.” I got home and immediately wrote out a letter. I explained to Santa how I had made a mistake at the department store and the bicycle was what I really wanted. When we said our bed time prayers that night the only thing I prayed for was the planes and pilots taking our letters to Santa. My mom had to remind me to pray for our family and Aunt Martha who was driving to see us after Christmas and all the other meaningless dribble we were suppose to pray for. That night I had a dream that I was piloting one of the army planes flying letters to the North Pole. The Germans were firing at us from below and all of my men were scared. “Be brave men, there’s no turning back now. These letters have got to get to Santa,” I said in a commanding voice.

We got a fresh snow on Christmas Eve morning but I couldn’t enjoy it because I was worried about those pilots getting my letter safely to Santa. My brothers played all day in the snow but I just sat on the porch and moped, thinking about that stupid fighter jet replica. What was I thinking asking for that toy? I mean, I’m almost seven years old, way too old for a kids toy like that. I’d get bored with it within a few weeks if I didn’t break it before then. I was so stupid. On Christmas morning our parent’s always made us wait in our room until they called us down. The suspense was horrific. Finally they yelled upstairs and we all sprinted ferociously down the stairs. I shoved my brothers aside so I could beat them to the den. Even though there was no point for me to hurry this year I still felt that it was my rightful place as oldest brother to be the first one down. I rounded the corner into the den and setting right there in front of the fireplace was a bright blue, shiny rimmed Schwinn ‘Victory 400’ bicycle. My parents made me wait until the afternoon to ride it so that dad could help me learn “how to handle a hog like that.”

At dinner that night I volunteered to pray. I gave thanks to God for the military and especially the pilots. The next day I crashed the bike into a curb, was thrown, and broke my arm. By the time I was willing to get on a bike again I was old enough to know that Santa wasn’t real and that my parent’s loved me more than I would ever give them credit for.


1. Am I allowed to call this a memoir if its about a fictional character? I don't want Opera on my back.

Sexual Harasment

At FedEx there is a position call a "pick off". There is a conveyor belt which moves along in front of each loading area. This belt moves packages that are too big, or long, wierd shaped to go through the system in the normal fashion. The role of a pick off is to stand at this belt, scan the packages and "pick them off" and set them in front of the appropriate trailer to be loaded. Because this is a lower impact, less physically demanding job the position is typically filled by women. Now I'm not saying that women are too inferior to do other jobs, and there are several women who do a great job loading, unloading, etc. But most women that get hired don't have the strength to be able to do the more physically demanding jobs for an extended period of time. In fact, it too physically demanding for a lot of guys too.

Anyways, I have a pick off that works for me. Her name is Candice, she's around 24 years old I guess, and as far as I can tell is a really nice, sweet girl. At the end of work this morning a guy from another area who was on his way out called me over. I was in the middle of working but I thought it might be important so I dropped what I was doing and walked over there.

"I never noticed this before but your pick off has some really nice tits."

Now what the hell am I suppose to say here? His comment actually made me feel awkward and offended. If Candice was a trashy girl then I probably wouldn't have felt as offended, but she's not. Now every time I see that guy I'm going to feel a little awkward even though I'm not the one who was sexually harassed.

Hot Pockets

I ate one of these tasty little deliciously delighting treats[1] today.





1. pure sarcasm

Updating a Previous Story

Actually I'm updating the last blog I wrote. So after you read that, then read this:


"C"


Hell Yeah!

How to Be a Good Student

My history final was this past Thursday and it's a test I was a little worried about. The exam was two part. The first was a word-bank quiz; what I mean by that is there were 20 fill-in-the-blank questions and at the top of the page there were 30 key words to pick from. This sounds pretty easy but can be difficult if one doesn't study well enough. From the lectures and the text book[1] there are well over a hundred people, places and terms that we covered in the last segment of class and we have no idea which 20 he will choose. All of the previous test were the same format but he chooses a wide range of questions, so there's a lot to try and memorize.

The second part of the final is an in class essay. In class essays kind of suck. It means you really have to know what you're writing about because there's no chance to look up any facts or even re-write some things. The professor, who's name is Dr. Kyle[2], gave us a handout a couple of weeks ago with five essay questions. On the final he chose two of those five and then we chose one of those two to write about in a 'blue book', which I purchased ahead of time from the book store. So out of the five questions, I can choose four to study really well and omit the one I feel less comfortable with and I'll be safe because I'll know at least one of the questions is on the final.

So based on this, I formulated my study strategy. Since part of the final is the word-bank quiz I adjust my note taking to cater to that. Basically I used a "key-word" system of note taking. When ever the prof mentioned a person or event or place, etc, I jotted it down and why that thing is significant. So to study I just had a list of key words to try and memorize. I read through the essay questions and two of them I really didn't feel good about, so I decided not to prepare for those. I know this is dangerous and ill-advised, but I like living life on the edge[3]. So I study pretty well for three of the essay questions by writing out a really good outline for each and I hope that one of them is on the final. And I know that your thinking I screwed myself, but as it turned out, the question I felt strongest on was one of the two on the final.

I had a full week from the last class until the final and I decided that I would commit a good two hours a day working on this until I felt comfortable enough to take the final. To my surprise I was done by Monday. I already felt really comfortable with everything I thought I needed to know. This was well ahead of schedule but after my study session Monday evening I was feeling pretty good about things. But, I'm so naive that I think that is good enough. Monday to Thursday is plenty of time to forget everything. But I'm committed to doing well so I make a plan to show up to class an hour before the test and I'll look everything over again and get refreshed on my key words and my essay outlines. That way everything is readily available in my short term memory bank for immediate and total recall. I was so stoked about my chances as I walked into school that morning.

Though I had planned to be there an hour early, there was some parking issues and I ended getting there at 11:15 instead. But that's cool, 45 minutes is plenty of time. As I sit down outside of class I notice there's another class in our room. That's odd because I thought the class before us would have taken their final on Tuesday, but I didn't see anyone I recognized so whatever. But now I've got to thinking, "what if I had the times wrong? Ha, that would suck." To be safe I go ahead and pull out the handout with the essay questions to double check the start time of the test, and..................oh shit. HOLY CRAP, THE TEST STARTED AT 11:00! HOLY CRAP! I'm now in a complete panic. I've lost all of the study time I had planned for and I'm not sure I can remember everything. And what if he won't let me take the final because I'm so late.

I pack everything back up so I can go in. Only the door is locked and I have to knock and cause a distraction so the professor can let me in. I apologize for being late and he simply hands me the exam. I sat and started looking things over, and immediately double my panic level. NOTHING looks familiar. Did we cover this stuff? I don't remember anything. It's question 11 before I find an answer I know and I ended up guessing on about half of the word bank questions. This is not good. I flip over the exam and look at the essay questions. I just know he's going to have the two I didn't prepare for (I would have looked at the essay questions as soon as I got the exam but I was so afraid I put it off as look as I could). I'm so relieved to see the one I felt strongest about. This is good, maybe I can make something out of this test anyways. So I reach into my back pack to pull out my blue book.... um, I reach into my back pack to pull out my blue book.... um.... damn it. I can see the blue book still sitting on the dash board of my truck. Oh my god this day sucks!

I can't ask anyone around me because they're in the middle of the test so lurch myself up to the front and tell the professor that I left the blue book in my car, and ask what I should do. "Don't worry I brought some extra, I knew there would be some of you." Some of you? He thinks I'm one of them. So, this is my reply: "Also, my pen is messing up, do you have happen to have an extra?" His eyes roll as he hands me a pen.

All things considered I can say the day was a wash. On the one hand I completely failed the final but on the other hand I'm done with school for the semester. So all in all, not a bad day. Seriously though, I had such a good plan. I was going to be so prepared. I was being such a good student, perhaps even the best I've ever tried to be. And on a simple misunderstanding[4] I became a horrible student. I became one of those students.


1. Did not open.
2. On the first day of class he called roll. When he called out my name he said, "with that name I expect big things from you." I let that man down.
3. To be truthful, my risk-taking often stems from laziness.
4. Maybe it was my fault, maybe not. Let's not split hairs here.

The Grownup

I came across this recipe for a drink called "The Grownup":

Pour 1-1/2 oz. tequila, 1/2 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. lime juice, and ice into blender, chop until slushy. Then dump that glorified Slurpee into the toilet and drink something befitting an adult, like a single-malt Scotch.

Waiting on the Roof

In the past week or so I've managed to write a couple of short stories, re-write an old one and start on a poem. That's not bad. I think I would have done more if it wasn't for a lack of time (or commitment). So here's a story for your enjoyment and any criticism is appreciated.



Waiting on the Roof

There is this story I heard a pastor tell once, it’s about a man in a flood. As the water is rising a neighbor comes and says to the man, “Come with me, I’ll help you get to higher land.” The man declines, chooses to stay with his house, and says, “No, if God wants me to survive this then he’ll provide for me.” The waters rise even higher and the man is forced to climb onto his roof. A boat comes by and the man in the boat says, “Come with me, I’ll take you to safety.” The man declines saying, “No, if God wants me to live then he’ll provide for me.” A while later, a helicopter comes and one of the rescue crew descends on a rope. Again the man on the roof declines saying, “No, if God wants me to live then he’ll provide for me.” Of course the waters rise and the man is consumed. He gets to heaven and he meets God and says, "What happened God, how come you didn’t provide a way for me to survive?” God says, “You idiot, I sent you the neighbor, the guy in the boat, and a helicopter.”

This story went through my mind as I received a latte from the barista at the Starbucks near my house. She flirted with me as she always did when I stopped in after work. She had one of those names that really seemed to suit her. “Thanks Leela,” rolled off my tongue as the image of her smile once again burned into my mind. I sat down in my favorite lounge chair; it was at an angle where I could watch her work all the way from the drive-thru window to the pastries counter. And I checked her out casually as I pulled out my lap top and again as I pretended to browse something online. I made sure to be subtle and never too obvious; the last thing I would want is to make her think I was creepy. Every now and then our eyes would meet from across the room and she would smile. Not the polite smile you give when you meet eyes with a stranger in the supermarket, but a heartwarming smile as if she was genuinely pleased to see me.
She wore the standard Starbucks uniform: black shirt with green apron, and she wore the optional green visor as well. Her wavy dark hair was up in a loose, messy bun on top of her head. The bun looked as if she must have put her hair up while driving, changing the radio, doing her make-up, and sending a text message all at the same time. It was sexy in its messiness. She smiled all the time and she would laugh at even the corniest of my jokes. She was charming and flirty and always left me wondering if she was interested in something more than just a customer/barista relationship.

I thought about the story of the man on his roof in the flood because I wondered if this would be another in a long list of women I was too afraid to ask out. Though she was well out of my league and a few years younger I was certain she wasn’t flirting just because she wanted a little extra tip. I thought about Lindsey in high school who was also out of my league. Even after having her crush on me confirmed by a mutual friend, I was still too shy to ask her out. And then a few years ago there was Robin. Robin and I worked together, got along great and even hung out socially from time to time. But I never had the guts to take it to the next level. And last year there was Janie. She was friends with a girl I was dating but was far more beautiful and far more interesting. I always felt like a more competent man would have went after what he wanted instead of settling for something second best. Most people set a minimum standard for who they’ll date but I seem to set a maximum standard. If the girl seems the least bit too good for me then I dismiss any notion of being with her.

I had started to feel like this opportunity was slowly slipping away from me as well. I watched as she flirted with a younger, more attractive guy ordering a cinnamon roll and a vanilla latte. How could I even think she would be interested in a poor, average looking underachiever like me? The only reason she flirts with me is because I am a sucker. I happily over tip the girls at Hooters when they causally touch me on my back, or shoulder or knee as they take my order. She senses that and works me over to get that extra dollar in her tip jar. I can’t blame her, God gave her looks and personality and she’s making use of her gifts, just like God gave me the ability to truly appreciate the beautiful things he’s put in this world. I just wish he’d made me a little less naïve and a little more confident. Even though I would get shot down, at least I would know she wasn’t interested, instead of spending fifteen dollars a week wondering.

She caught me staring directly at her. I wasn’t staring exactly but I was fixed in her direction as I pondered God’s greater plans. “Hey… Hey!” she has to shout to break me out of my trance. “How’s that cinnamon latte?”

“Oh… uh, great.” Crap, now I feel incredibly awkward.

“Did you notice anything different with it?”

I took a sip, “Umm, no. Is there something different?”

“Yeah, I did something different this time. I’ve been experimenting lately with some different flavors. I wanted to see of you noticed that I snuck something in on you.”

“What did you put in it?”

She didn’t answer right away. She turned to walk away. She grabbed a rag and came out from around the counter to wipe some tables. I took another sip as she approached and began wiping a table near me.

“I put in three drops of a love potion I got from a gypsy… nah, I’m kidding, I put in a little nutmeg.”

I took another sip, “Oh yeah, I taste it now… yeah that’s pretty good. I like it.” I couldn’t taste anything. It’s the exact same as it always is.

“I really like nutmeg and yesterday I tried mixing it into the cinnamon latte for myself. Pretty good huh?”

“Yeah, I’ve never been very good at mixing flavors around. When I cook I just use salt and pepper but everything comes out bland anyways.” This is not true, I’m a really good cook and I love to experiment with a variety of spices and flavors. I don’t know why I’m lying.

“Oh I love experimenting with food. Ginger is my favorite right now.”

“Really? Ginger?”

“Yeah, you should try some. When you leave here you should go by the store and pick some up. Then pan fry some chicken in olive oil and sprinkle the ginger on it. You’ll love it.”

“Huh, I’ll have to give that a try.” I like ginger but I find it goes much better with some citrus flavor. Usually I marinate the chicken with a blend of lime, lemon and orange juice. I put some garlic with it as well. But I go on playing dumb.

“Try it tonight, and then come in tomorrow to let me know how you like it.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that… Actually, I could use some help with the taste testing, to make sure I did it right.” Holy crap! Did I just say that? Is this actually happening?

“Yeah?”

“You could come by my place after work and help me cook if you wanted.” This is happening! These words are actually coming out of my mouth!

“Okay, I get off about 5:00.”

I sit there completely stunned at what has just happened. She walks away and back behind the counter to help a customer. My heart rate has quadrupled and beads of sweat have formed along my brow. I try to play it off by casually by taking a sip of coffee but my hands tremble slightly as I lift the cup. I pray that she doesn’t notice my nervousness. When she finishes helping the customer she comes back over. I feel a horrible anxiety consuming me. I know she's going to give me some excuse as to why she can’t tonight. I start trying to think of a little joke I can say to play it off and make us both more comfortable with the situation. She walks directly in front of me, hands me a pen with her right hand, and extends her left hand to me.

“Here, write down your number and I’ll call you when I get off.” I look up at her and she smiles, moving her left hand closer to me, gesturing that I should just write directly on her palm.

“You’re offering me your hand? I think we should get to know each other a little better before we tie the knot.”

She pauses and I freeze. She looks at me confused, obviously not getting my joke. I begin to check the exits to see how quickly I can get out of here. Then I see the light bulb go off as the pun sinks in. She smiles and then giggles saying, “Yeah right, you wish.” I slowly write down my number on her palm, making sure that each digit is legible. She returns to help more customers and I finish my drink. She's overwhelmed with caffeine craving teenagers as I leave so I simply wave to her as not to bother her work.

“Bye Steve, see you tonight.” She calls out across the store with a smile. Walking across the parking lot to my car I wonder whether it would be easier to correct her and tell her my name is Gary or if I should just drive down to the Justice of the Peace and have my name legally changed.

Congratulate Me

I've just been informed that I've won the United Nations Humanitarian Award. I just received an email[1] notifying me that I've been selected as the winner for the month of April 2008[2]. Obviously I am way excited about finally getting recognized for my efforts. There is also a cash reward that goes with this award, 245,000 GBP. That's a lot of money. 245,000 pounds is roughly[3] 483,457.87 US dollars. All I have to do to collect my reward and money is email fiduciary agent in Liverpool a bunch of personal information and he'll send it right to me[4].

I can't wait until I get the money; I've been trying to decide what to do with it. I've always wanted to become a big game hunter, or maybe I could poach elephants, there's a lot of money to be made in ivory these days. Maybe I could invest in the logging industry, there is tons of rain forest left. Or if I could just find a way to use the money to suppress a third world country, that would be ideal. At any rate, once I get the award and become famous I'll completely forget about all of my current friends and I'll start dating a hot ex-playboy centerfold (and the sex will be amazing)[5].

All that's left now is for me to email this guy all of my personal information and I should receive the award very soon.


1. It makes sense that email would be the preferred way of notification for the United Nations Humanitarian Award.
2. Apparently they do this monthly, I can't believe this the first I've heard of this award.
3. I say roughly because the market fluctuates.
4. With a word like fiduciary it must be legit.
5. Clearly they've given the Humanitarian Award to the right person.

I Hate Stupid People

At last night's softball game we were short a player and we had to pick one up from another team that played on a different field the game before ours. The guy we got was... well... he was a complete moron. He was telling us this story before the game about what happened to him in the previous game[1].

"When I got up to bat in the last inning I wanted to try and intimidate the pitcher so I crowded the plate. And you know what the pitcher did? He hit me... on propose. He hit me right in my knee. Can you believe that?"

I can't even begin to describe how utterly stupid that is. And I actually happen to see the at bat he was refering to. The ball did in fact hit his knee and when it did he jumped around and hobbled as if he had been hit by a 90 mph fastball[2].


1. Keep in mind this is slow pitch softball.
2. But it was really a slow pitch softball.

Setting Goals

Partially inspired by Roper's successful song writing attempts and also because I think I should be doing more with my life currently, I've decided to start writing some stuff of my own. My long term goal would be to write a book of short stories but in the mean time I am going to try and write one with the intent of earnestly trying to get it published. I feel this is completely in my wheel house if I stay focused and don't try not to shoot too high. A secondary goal I have is to write 12 respectable[1] pieces of work (short story, poem or even a one act play) over the course of the next year. That's one a month if you're doing the math. But as it sometimes goes, I'm getting off to a slow start[2]. I'll need to get the writing book back from Roper that I loaned him and I think rereading some of that book will get my creative juices flowing again. I would like to be able to crank out something to post by the end of the month, but early next month seems more likely. Wish me luck and I'll have something posted soon for your criticism and enjoyment[3].


1. Something that I would feel comfortable posting for others to read.
2. This blog is the only thing I've written since making my goals.
3. Or maybe just criticism.

A Fat Lady Hitting a Kid

Here's a Quote from Leave It to Beaver.

Ward Cleaver - "Why, when I was young I could find all kinds of things to keep me entertained at the train station... Sometimes I would just sit and watch a fat lady hitting a kid. I haven't seen a train station yet where there wasn't a fat lady hitting a kid."

No Bitch Ass Ness

Out at a restaurant last night with some of the gang we saw an African-American fellow enter wearing a solid black shirt with bold white lettering that said:

NO
BITCH
ASS
NESS

We were all a little confused as to the meaning of this shirt, perhaps because we are white or perhaps because it made no sense. Fortunately I was able to find a legitimate source[1] to explain this unique t-shirt a little more.



1. I'm being facetious here[2].
2. I don't understand how someone who comes off as such an idiot can be a successful business man[3].
3. He's charging $30 for a shirt I could make for $5 with supplies from Garden Ridge.

The Un-Top 10

For some reason I was thinking about this earlier today, the movies I really like but would never make it into my top movies list. These aren't necessarily good movies but movies that are really enjoyable for whatever reason.

10. The Police Academy series - "The old zoo, not the new zoo, but the old zoo."
9. The Naked Gun series - "It's a topsy-turvy world, and maybe the problems of two people don't amount to a hill of beans. But this is our hill. And these are our beans!"
8. Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid - "I hadn't seen a body put together like that since I solved the case of the Murdered Girl with the Big Tits."
7. The Lethal Weapon series - "I'm getting too old for this s***."
6. Major League 1&2 (but not 3) - "Strike this motherf***er out."
5. The Die Hard series - "Yippie-kay-yay, motherf***er."
4. Airplane - "Have you ever seen a grown man naked?"
3. White Men Can't Jump - "Yo mamma's an astronaut."
2. The Princess Bride - "I'm with the Brut Squad." "You are the brut squad."
1. Blazing Saddles - "Nobody move or the N***** gets it."

Having My Cake and Eating it Too

The weeks following a break-up can be a weird time. You feel a range of emotions pulling you in a variety of directions. There’s part of you that feels heart broken but that’s the part you never want to think about, and so I won’t. There’s part of you that feels a new, almost foreign feeling of freedom. Like you’ve just been released from prison(1) and you have no where to go and nothing to do. You could do anything you wanted but ultimately you just want to do the same stuff that got you in prison to begin with. And there’s also a feeling of loss. This feeling of loss is different from the feeling of heart break, which we will not talk about. The feeling of loss comes when you are reminded of her. But more specifically when you are reminded of the way the two of you used to be together. When something happens and you are reminded of the cutesy little vocabulary the two of you shared that no one else knew about. And you are left to wonder if you’ll ever find another person you can be that cute with. What new words or phrases will there be with this new girl and will they be as cute as ours? And how long will it take you to become that way with someone else? It happened so fast with her, will it happen that quickly again? Is it even possible to be like that with someone else? Would they even get it? Maybe it’s not possible? Maybe she was the one? Maybe I should call her?

You’re also left with a million questions as well.


But then you think about your new freedom and you get distracted from the questions. You feel a little like a kid in a candy shop, everything looks delicious and you want to sample it all, but you only have 30 cents(2) and you have to figure out what’s going to be the best value for your money. Do you want something that’s more filling and will stick with you longer, or do you go for something that’s amazing but will only last about a bite and a half. To stretch this food analogy even farther, imagine if you were only allowed to eat carrot cake(3). For a year and a half you’ve had nothing but carrot cake. That’s not so bad because you love carrot cake, it’s probably you favorite cake, so you can live with carrot cake. But then suddenly you are told you can have any cake you want. Suddenly every cake seems delicious. And not just cake, but any pastry is up for grabs. Even though you love carrot cake it certainly not as sexy as a chocolate torte or tiramisu. But you’re so excited about you freedom you’ll even snack on some stale Wal-Mart purchased baklava just because you can. But that’s when you realize that too much freedom is a bad thing and you should probably go ahead and choose a cake that suits you a little better. The tiramisu is delicious, but it’s also expensive and you know you would get tired of it after a while. There’s pound cake that’s cheap and readily available but who want to show off pound cake to their friends. “Hey guy, look what I brought, pound cake!” No, you can never get excited about pound cake. And then you start to realize that the carrot cake was really pretty good. You were content with carrot cake, carrot cake makes you happy. Carrot cake may not be perfect but it was pretty good. So you think, “Maybe I should just stick with the carrot cake”. But then out of nowhere, some angel food cake comes along, and you’re confused all over again.


1. I don't mean this as insulting as it sounds.
2. Literally in this case.
3. I'm actually referring to my mom's carrot cake here, which we all know is pretty bad ass.

Co-ed Naked Softball

I recently joined another softball team and our first game was Friday night. I found this team while looking around craigslist.com1. I saw an ad for a co-ed team needing a pitcher, and I said to myself, "I'm a pitcher, that's me." So I replied to the ad and the guy managing the team, let's call him Brian2, said that they had a pitcher already but could I play shortstop. I said, "I'm a shortstop, that's me." And thus, I'm the shortstop for the Fireballs of North Richland Hills.

I wanted to join a co-ed team, not for the competition and level of play as you might expect, but rather I thought this could be a way to meet ladies. There are two types of women that play co-ed softball: 1. The unattractive type who have played softball all of their lives, and 2. hot ladies who have no talent3. I was hopeful that this team would be the latter. I was the second to arrive at the field which gave me a chance to scout out the "talent" of our team as they arrived. The first two ladies to arrive were obviously good players4. But I was okay with that because every team need a couple of those so that we can compete. But as the rest of the team arrived I was reminded about the third category of ladies playing co-ed softball, they type that is neither good nor attractive. And when I looked across the field at the our opposing team I realized I was on the wrong side5.

A few notes from our first game.
-- We won 8-5, winning feels good.
-- Only in co-ed softball is it possible to hit a lead off triple and not score6. I sat on third and watch, in succession, a strikeout, an infield pop-up, and a grounder to the pitcher.
-- There was one cute girl who may or may not have flirted with me and may or may not have a boyfriend.
-- I genuinely had fun playing because this seems to be a pretty nice bunch of people.
-- The guys on this team are all pretty talented7.


1) I love craigslist. I look at it almost daily for one thing or another.
2) Because that's his name.
3) I mean no softball talent, I'm sure they are talented in other ways.
4) You know what I mean.
5) They didn't look like a good team because they were a good looking team.
6) And possibly the Rangers.
7) At softball.

No Country for Old Resturants

Another great "mom and pop" style diner has been forced to close it's doors. Eastside Fort Worth burger joint, Boogie Burger has closed down and yet another of my favorite places to eat is no more. I am reminded of The Trellis Rose, a small diner on E. Lancaster that closed down a few years ago. We frequented the Trellis Rose every Sunday after church and occasionally a few times during the week as well. We went there so often that our usual waitress began to remember what we each ordered. We all always got the same thing: chicken fried steak. We each got a different combination of side but the main course was always the same. I had heard that some of their other menu items were good, but nothing came close to the deliciousness of their chicken fried steak. I consider myself to be a bit of a connoisseur of the dish and I have tried a vast variety in my time. I've been to places known for their chicken fried steak and I've had it at mainstream chain restaurants as well. Of all of the various chicken fried steaks I've partaken of, including homemade ones, none of them came close to the perfection that was the Trellis Rose chicken fried steak.

I feel much the same out Boogie Burger. It was, simply put, a delcious burger. And now it's gone. This is what's wrong with this country. Great little family owed places can generate enough buisness to keep going despite their amazing cooking, yet places like Denny's are allowed to remain open.

Sports Center is at times genius

As you may know football has a two week break from now until the Super Bowl.

I was watching Sports Center this morning and the let off the show with this story about Tom Brady. Apparently he was caught by the paparazzi taking flowers to his super model girlfriend. This story is, of course, of no significance to anyone ever. However this is the story Sports Center was leading off with. The two host were debating what kind of flowers it was and whether or not that was the best choice of flowers. the even went to split screen to bring in another commentator's opinion. Apparently starting with this and debating the flowers was all staged (as in they understood the ridiculousness of it). Because after a good 90 seconds of this they cut away to someone else who says, "And this is the story we are going to be going with the next few days until we are able to talk about football again." Hilarious.

White men can't jump....

... but they can jump better than midgets.

At UTA the offer a basketball class as an athletic credit. You learn drills and plays and fundamentals and such. There is a midget in my class. He's about 4 feet tall or so and has a head the size of a basketball. He can't possibly be good. I'm going to feel bad every time I block his shot. It's like defending against a retarded person. But for some reason he has the notion that he can play basketball. So that may lead you to wonder if he is an exceptionally athletic or coordinated midget. Well maybe, but that doesn't matter when you have arms like a tyrannosaurus rex.

Conversation of the Day

I went to 7-11 early this morning, about 3:30ish, in need of some Gatorade. There's an old woman who works there that time of morning. By old I mean about 70 or so. Now you have to assume that a 70 year old woman working the grave yard shift at 7-11 must be a bit crazy to begin with. I grab my Gatorade and approach the counter where she is there to check me out. On a side note she talks pretty slow, or she talks on an average pace for a 70 year old lady.

old lady - How are you today?

me - I'm fine, how are you?

old lady - I'm doing good. Do you know much about history?

me - Huh?

old lady - Do you know much about history?

me - Huh? Um... I know a bit. Why?

old lady - Let me ask you... Can you tell me the most important historical event ever in the history of Utah?

me - Huh? Utah? ... Yeah okay. I would probably say when Brigham Young led the Mormons from Pennsylvania.

old lady - nope.

*awkward pause*

me - okay, um, what is it then.

old lady - well is that all you got?

Keep in mind I would like to just pay for my stuff and leave now and not have to answer random obscure state trivia. And I really can't think of anything more important to a state than when a mass of people came to found it.

me - yeah, that's all I got.

old lady - It's the "Golden Spike". You know, the railroads. East meets west.

I know what she talking about, when the connected the first transcontinental railroad. And right now, at this point in my life, while I'm just trying to buy some Gatorade, there is nothing less significant than when they connect the first transcontinental railroad.

old lady - Of course the spike isn't still there anymore, they got it in a museum now.