close the window, it's cold in here!

The university I attended has a financial support group called Partners for Progress, whose main mission is to raise capital for different university projects. Aside from highlighting the typical endowments and ongoing unversity needs, they annually pick one specific way alumni can give back to help improve the school. Today I got a letter from them asking if I would like to purchase a window in a 5-building apartment complex on campus. The windows apparently have not been changed in over 50 years, and a serious draft manages to blow through the cracks/gaps each winter, raising both the energy costs and number of complaints from frozen students. Total cost of the project is $500,000, and for a gift of $500 (half a window), each donor will have a small brass thank you plate conveniently attached.

I must admit, the writeup was convincing. I would like to give a little something to help out my shivering college chums, especially at Christmastime. What charities/donations are you asked to give to? What interesting items (like a window, brick, children's sock, etc.) have you ever been asked to purchase?

times of decision

We are in the process of selecting songs for our wedding and reception. It's made me think of a fun quiz.

If you had to pick one of the following songs for your ceremony, which one would you choose?

1. Theme song from Beverly Hillbillies
2. Theme song from Bewitched
3. Theme song from the Flintstones
4. Theme song from Home Improvement
5. Theme song from Scooby Dooby Doo

If you had to serve one of the following drinks at your reception, which one would you choose?

1. YooHoo
2. Pacific Cooler Capri Sun
3. Tomato Soup (from a ladle)
4. Sam's Choice Strawberry Lime-Aide
5. Jolt

If you had to have one of the following officiate your wedding, who would you choose?

1. Wierd Al
2. Joey Tribbiani
3. Mimi (off the Drew Carey Show)
4. Foghorn Leghorn
5. Strom Thurmand

If you had to have one person head up catering, who would you choose?

1. Orville Redenbacher
2. Colonel Sanders
3. Ben & Jerry
4. Mr. Eggo
5. Mr. Planters

If you had to go one of these places for a week-long honeymoon, which would you choose?

1. Potomac cruise (on paddleboats)
2. Slippin' Sally's Motor Lodge
3. Greater Toledo Stamp Museum
4. Ocean Spray Cranberry Farm
5. Delaware

shel silverstein is so funny

Put another log on the fire.

Cook me up some bacon and some beans.

And go out to the car and change the tire.

Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.

Come on, baby.

You can fill my pipe, and then go fetch my slippers.

And boil me up another pot of tea.

Then put another log on the fire, babe

And come and tell me why you're leaving me.

Now don't I let you wash the car on Sunday?

Don't I warn you when you're gettin fat?

Ain't I a-gonna take you fishin' with me someday?

Well, a man can't love a woman more than that.

Ain't I always nice to your kid sister?

Don't I take her driving every night?

So, sit here at my feet

'cos I like you when you're sweet,

And you know it ain't feminine to fight.

So, put another log on the fire.

Cook me up some bacon and some beans.

Go out to the car and lift it up and change the tire.

Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.

Come on, baby,

You can fill my pipe,

And then go fetch my slippers.

And boil me up another pot of tea.

Then put another log on the fire, babe,

And come and tell me why you're leaving me.

un viaggio al cinematografo

I have a fondness for foreign films. There's something about watching a movie and needing to pay attention to every line, every word, to be able to have any clue what's going on. It's an entertaining challenge. I showed a foreign film to college students last year, and it struck me how quickly some of them lost interest. It was a good movie, but you miss one line .... you have no hope of recovering it. It's like to have to participate in the movie to experience it. It's a big market too, apparently. Blockbuster has entire sections devoted to foreign films, and there are websites that list the 100 greatest (http://www.foreignfilms.com/).

Here are some notable movies I've watched in other tongues:

Life is Beautiful (Italian)

Man on the Train (French)

Secret Ballot (Farsi)

Autumn Spring (Czech)

Passion of the Christ (Aramaic)

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Chinese)


What was a movie that you watched where if you missed one minute, you were pretty much lost for the rest of the movie?

saved by a fume

I tried to remember, but I don't think I've ever run out of gas in my car. We've had some close calls along the way (all those long trips home in South Dakota with no gas stations for 80 miles), but I always managed to make it to a pump before the last few drops of fuel found their way into my engine.

Well last night was a very close call. I've been busy and traveling all over the past few days, and I just didn't have a convenient time to stop at a station and fill up. My gas light was on for a while yesterday, and I kept thinking, "Man, I have to go somewhere and get gas or I'm going to be stranded." I was on the move though, so I didn't have time to stop until after 10pm last night. I pulled into the station, inserted my card, chose the 87-octane stuff and started filling up.

Now I have a 14 gallon tank. Until last night, I had never seen it fill up to more than 13.7 gallons.

Last night, when I was finished, the counter read: 13.966 gallons.

I was literally saved by a fume. Whew.

who says halloween has to be scary?

Halloween has come and gone. Last night I had the joy of hosting my third murder mystery dinner party, and we successfully managed to turn another nice, respectable individual into a slimy, lying criminal. He did a good job. I've already got an idea for writing a Christmas murder mystery which takes place at the North Pole. Was it an elf? Mrs. Claus? Morris, the disgruntled polar bear? Ha, I can't wait.

And this past Saturday, my church hosted an event for thousands of people called Octoberfest. We had tons of free food and music and games for kids, and there was a competition with automobiles called Trunk or Treat. Basically, you dressed up your vehicle in Halloweenish garb, and families would come walking past and interact with your display and ask for some candy. Then they would go vote for their favorite. It was fun. If your vehicle received the most votes, you won an iPod.

I managed to secure decorating rights on an old school bus from Gallaudet University, and we easily had the most unique display. Ours was interactive. Kids would line up outside the front door, and we would open the door and take them inside in groups of 3-5. The whole inside was totally blacked out, and we had covered the windows and crevices with black drapes so you couldn't see anything. Then we had fluorescent lanyards hanging off the ceiling in shades of green, purple, and blue, and we had streamers and Thanksgiving-colored garlands strung out across the bus from left to right. In each seat was a bowl or a treasure chest with some mysterious substance inside (crushed oreo cookies, gummi worms, eyeball ping pong balls, etc.), and there were random objects and stuffed animals scattered on the floor. We told them while still outside that their job was to "find the chicken," which in truth was actually Foghorn Leghorn, the rooster off of Looney Toons. While they were given 25 seconds to search, we sprayed them with silly string and threw candy at their clothes. When the time ran out, we kicked them out the back door and brought in another crew.

I was reminded at different moments this weekend why some people are rightfully cautious about engaging in certain Halloween activities, but I'm happy that there was a part of this holiday that I could still celebrate. There were innocent and fun opportunities to enjoy the company and silliness of other individuals, and despite the potential for some to delve into excesses and weirdness, there still was enough in this annual tradition to make me think it was worth it.

I don't like it when people mark a wholesale ban on something because one aspect of it could potentially be bad. I know people who dread the onset of the Christmas season each year because they think about all the individuals who give themselves to materialism and greed, and it kills their ability to enjoy what is good and right. That just strikes me as wrong. Yes, there are components of Christmas that I wish were different, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop celebrating it with a joyful heart and thank God for the thousands of things He has blessed me with.

So all that to say, you may not like Halloween and wish I wouldn't celebrate it. That's fine, but I hope in this season, whatever the season, you can find reason to be joyful and thankful and just as creative and silly as you would be any other time of the year. Life's too short to be a grump.

smile, you're on camera

Time to add something new to the list of things I've done for the first time: Today tiffkin and I got all prettified after church and had our engagement pictures taken. It was fun ... I liked it. We went to this private garden in a nearby town, and over the course of 1.5 hours, the photographer literally took 400 pictures. I'm not sure if he took that many because we are so unphotogenic, or if he was so enamoured with our striking poses that his camera kept begging him to take more. Either way (or something else entirely), I now have 400 pictures to sort through and send out to every friend, family member, and newspaper Style section I can think of. Whew ..... a joyful craziness.

One shot reminded me of a photo shoot in high school (one in particular, because I have so many to choose from :). We wanted to do a shot of us walking down a path while holding hands, and Matt (our photographer) stood way off in the distance and just clicked off picture after picture. We walked the long stretch to him and he said, "Okay, why don't you go back and try it again." So we walked back 100 yards and turned around.

This was similar to my senior pictures from high school, where in one photo I wanted to capture my love for running in a shot of me running down a long hill. I put on my high school track uniform and my bright purple/orange spikes, and with the photographer standing at the bottom of the hill, took off running. It being an action shot, the photographer (George) had little certainy about what he would find in my flailing arms and body rushing all to quickly down a grassy embankment. I came down to the bottom of the hill on many an occasion and he would simply look at me and say, "Okay good, let's do it again." All in all, I ran up and down that hill like 13 times. I don't know if we got a good shot, but I sure worked hard for the outcome. Think I can still look pretty if I have to do the same thing over and over and over?

Okay, the real question: When was a memorable time when you got all dressed up and had your picture taken?

a round of thanks

In response to my 'hush hush' post a couple weeks ago, I would like to say that most, if not all, of the so-called secrets have been let out of the bag. The mother load came this past week, as most of you know, with the complex and highly-involved proposal from me to tiffkin. I would like to give a round of thanks to the following for their involvement:

Frito-Lay & Co. (makers of cracker jacks)
Claire's Boutique
The Indian National Government
Spreadshirt, Inc. (for their wonderful tshirts)
Elmer's Superglue
US Postal Service
the floral department at Costco
Ghirardelli white chocolate
Masatomo Kuriya Tulip Cards
the Geico prize wheel
Sharpie
Charleston Alexander
the Courthouse Square grounds crew (except for those responsible for the extra shingles)
Mott's Natural Harvest, no sugar added applesauce
Rhapsody Music (and the many many musicians who gave me song ideas)
Billy Joel, Michael Bolton, Kenny Loggins, and Ed Cash
the thousands of volunteers at the Army Ten Miler
the five members of the SBDS (you know who you are)
tiffkin's flamingo floormat
the kind people at DSW (for the shoebox and bag)
Eastman Kodak Co.
P.F. Chang's Bistro
Washington Area Metro Transit Authority (although you certainly gave me the jitters)
Target's bumbling customer serivce department (for giving me 20-30 extra minutes)
the children of Todd McKeever
God for the beautiful weather and an unforgettable day

and most of all . . . .

thanks to tiffkin for playing along so well. you sure made things worth it.

you sunk my battleship!!

I help lead a group for international students on campus every Thursday, and next week we are going to further learn about American culture through the playing of board games. I think it'll be a lot of fun, as internationals are intrinsically drawn to the customs and mannerisms of Americans, and board games are certainly one of the places where we let our hair down and show our lighter side. And every cutlure has games, no matter how poor, so on some level everyone can instantly relate, even if they have trouble understanding the rules. They know it's okay to be fun and a little bit competitive, so they'll bring that attitude to the table and we'll enjoy ourselves.

We want games that are easy to understand and that internationals will want to play. Here are some we've suggested so far:

Yahtzee
Uno
Jenga
Chess
Pictionary
Guesstures

I think the game Balderdash would be hilarious, mainly because they'd have no clue what was going on, but their handwriting/grammer skills would give them away every time.

Question: If you were going to teach an international an American game (board/card game or otherwise) what would it be?

luau leftovers

I found today, through some searching, that I currently possess five coconuts. Any ideas what I should do with them?

letteth your speech be seasoned with salteth

I admit I was taken back yesterday when our pastor began speaking about his daughter's abdominal troubles, and he started correlating it with passages in the Bible that talk about "bowels of compassion." He said there was a possibility his daughter was having problems in her intestines because leaders in the world didn't have bowels of compassion, which was so amazing that I nearly laughed out loud on spot. Ah, what a lovely church world we live in . . . . always trying to throw something in that sounds biblical so people will think we have spiritual answers for everything that happens in our lives. I understand why we do it, but it sometimes gets so silly.

We have a powerpoint operator in church who struggles with this as well. While singing the song "Adonai," the screen repeatedly shows this line:

You are Lord over all thee Earth
You are Lord over all thee Earth
You are Lord over all thee Earth
You are Lord over all thee Earth

When asked why the word "thee" shouldn't be reduced to "the," the operator simply responded, "Oh, but 'thee' sounds so much more spiritual and holy. I like it." Well, maybe it does, but buddy, it means 'you.'

Do you have any favorite Christianese sayings/stories?

hush hush

I am a fan of secrets. That is no secret. If you get to know me for any length of time, you probably will find that I love doing things in hushed tones and then watching for a response. It's one of my favorite things.

The response is actually the most important part, because if your secret never comes to a place where people actually want to know what it is, then it ceases to be a worthwhile secret and wanders over into the realm of "things no one cares about," or "things that should stay hidden." I'm not a fan of hiding things without reason, but I am a fan of purposely flying under the radar from time to time while the world around goes on in its silly, uninformed, all-too curious state. There's magic and mystery in the things you don't know. There's a precious art in looking forward to the things you can't see. These aren't the things you don't know you don't know (as someone famous once said), these are the things you know you don't know, but you know for certain that you want to know them.

So with that said, I, at current count, am up in the neighborhood of 7 legitimate secrets that I am currently maintaining. No, there's nothing to be scared of. I just like to be sneaky. Time will reveal all things that are worth revealing, and that's what takes the fear away when I know my little kinivings have come and gone. I hope some day my hushed tones bring a smile to your face.

What was a time you kept a really good secret? (don't giveaway anything current, unless you feel so led)

delicacies

Realizing I have a unique and often complex sense of humor, I'm not sure this will strike others as funny as it did me, but I laughed so much when I heard this that I knew I had to write it down. We were at a party last Sunday (sorry for not blogging), and someone brought a Spam-equivalent to share with the group. It was so bizzare that I didn't know how to respond. What would you do if you went to someone's house and they served you this?

Libby's Potted Meat Food Product (because they have to tell you it's food)

Ingredients: mechanically separated chicken, pork skin, partially defatted cooked pork fatty tissue, partially defatted cooked beef fatty tissue, vinegar, less than 2% of: salt, spices, sugar, flavorings, sodium erythorbate, and sodium nitrate.

Recommendations: stir in chopped onion, salsa, or pickle relish for variety.

yummy. i can't wait!

progressive ideas

Not really sure how to introduce this material ... guess I'll just copy and paste:

I went into WalMart this afternoon and almost got myself in trouble. Since they are renovating our WalMart into a SuperWalMart they only have one set of bathrooms open. They are in the very back and usually the signs guide the Men to the Left and the Women to the Right. Well today the sign for the Women's restroom fell down. A bunch of 60 something men had gotten off a bus out front and decided they needed to use the facilities. They looked both ways and decided to go into the unmarked door. I was right behind them and started to head that way when it hit me they must have decided to switch the bathrooms. But I couldn't go in the other way because that was clearly marked, "Men's." I stood there staring until I saw a store clerk and ask her which was the Women's. She picked up the sign and put it back on the wall and said the one on the right. By now there was a long line of women behind me wanting to go. We told her that the bathroom was full of men. She was going to go in and tell them that they were in the wrong bathroom but she was young and too intimidated. I said, "Well, I'm not going to wait. I'm going in." I charged in with my eyes mostly down and hollered, "Guys, this is the Women's restroom." They said that it was too late now as they were already doing their business. Several of them hadn't bothered to close their stall doors as if they hadn't a care in the world. I told them that I was doing to go anyway and picked out an empty stall. Sad to say the man before me had peed on the seat. I had to mop it up. But yes, I still went. When I came out I saw that several other women had finally followed me in. As I was washing my hands next to a very puzzled man, I told him, "If they can do it in Germany, why not here." Then I gracefully exited the restroom. Man I'm glad those guys were from far away. I hope they get back on their bus and forget Gillette, Wyoming and the strange lady that was using the restroom with them.

Love, Angel Joey (I think!)

the young and the restless

We spent the past two days helping students move into dorm rooms for the upcoming school year, doing everything from box lifting to direction giving to drink supplying. Today we handed out 600 snowcones to students (the most popular flavors were cherry and imitation blue raspberry), and we came in contact with dozens of new people who wanted info about our ministry.

A funny thing happened though when I was preparing for this day of snowconic madness. In asking for volunteers, I was told that I had two 11 year-old girls who were totally enthusiastic about running a snowcone machine. They wanted to help. One even had her mom offer to drive her over to campus and agree to supervise her for the day.

Now I had no doubt that they could enthusiastically create and hand out snow cones to incoming freshman and fraternity studs, but I had questions in my mind about the wisdom of such a choice. Would that really be a good idea? What image would we be sending?

And in truth it reminded me of my morning's devotions. This morning I ran across this verse:

"Jehoiachin was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned three months and ten days in Jerusalem, and he did evil in the sight of the Lord." (II Chr. 36:9)

What would that be like? Your king is eight years old ... and he's bad. He's a bad kid king. What temper tantrum do you suppose he threw to be labeled as bad? I doubt he was having affairs with Egyptian girlfriends. I'm pretty sure he'd stand out like a sore thumb in a Babylonian night club. What did he do?

And that leads me to my question of the week: What would it be like if your boss/leader was eight years old? How would your world be different?

if

a random quiz . . . .

1. If you were in a burning building and you only had time to save one of the following, which would you choose? A. a cute, cuddily cat B. A cute, cuddily dog C. your favorite childhood toy D. your grandmother

2. If you had to listen to one of the following for 24 hours straight, which would you choose? A. Cyndi Lauper B. Kenny G C. Right Said Fred D. Aretha Franklin

3. If you could have one body part that the entire world found allluring, what would it be? A. ears B. hands C. clavicle D. feet E. uvula

4. If you could have one wealthy person donate to a charity of your choice, who would you choose? A. Donald Trump B. Bill Gates C. Martha Stewart D. Oprah Winfrey

5. If you could turn the entire food industry around with the revolution of one singular product, what would you choose? A. the granola bar B. the pork chop C. the bacon bit D. the potato cassarole E. the fruit salad

6. If you could be famous for one of the following, what would it be? A. making hand crafts for children out of dinosaur bones B. eating 10 saltine crackers in a minute without water C. writing a "one size fits all" ballad that works at weddings, funerals, going away parties, and baby showers D. setting the record for "world's longest nap while at work"

7. If you had a dance named after you, what would it be called? A. The Hick-Hopper B. The Southern Jigger C. The Lily Pad Stomp D. The Quaker Shaker E. The Malt-o-Meal Express

8. If you were to create a new pro sports team, which of the following would you choose as your mascot? A. gorilla B. hyena C. parakeet D. penguin E. dafodil

moving on up (to the top)

I traveled to the Windy City last week and had the privilege of making a dozen new friends. tiffkin introduced me to all her college pals, and after a couple days of careful observation, I believe I passed full inspection and was accepted into the family. I felt like I fit right in.

One of the things we seem to talk a lot about though was the places we’re headed, the future, the tomorrow that we’re working hard today to create. I don’t think there’s anything extraordinary about a 20-30 year old wondering what life will be like when they turn 40-50, but what struck me was how different it seemed from my parents’ generation.

We’d be driving through a particular area and someone would say, "Man, I can't wait 'til we live in some place like this," or "We're saving so we can move up a little nicer," or "I would move there in a heartbeat if the price were right." We talked about having fancy house decorations, advancing our resumes, furthering our education, preparing some day to have children, watching our friends to see if they will eventually get married, etc. I liked our conversations, but it was funny to me how much of it centered on things we want to happen, things down the road, or maybe not on the road at all.

The interesting thing is that this seems so counter-cultural to what may parents’ generation wanted (and especially their parents). My mom and dad have lived in the same town for 30 years and, as far as I know, have never had a real desire to leave. I know people who have worked in non-glamour jobs like the Post Office for 30-40 years and stayed faithful every week. “Moving on up” was not a big compulsion, and concern for the future wasn’t so much about the places they’d one day be as much as the people they became.

I struggle sometimes being so enamored with making my tomorrow bright that I forget how important today is. I wonder if there are others out there like me.

Let’s have a little survey: How much of your day do you spend thinking about where you some day will be? How much time do you devote to things that are somewhere far down the line?

Not to be a bully . . . I’d just like to know. Maybe I’m the only one.

life on the open road

This Wednesday, tiffkin and I will embark on a six day road trip to the Windy City. No, it does not usually take six days to get to Chicago and back, but we will be stopping in Michigan for a night, and hopefully meeting lots of friends and skyscrapers along the way. We've been planning this for a while, so obviously, we're excited to go.

I've been on a lot of road trips over the years, and we've always found ways to entertain ourselves when the miles dragged on. We had these car bingo games when I was young, and instead of letters and numbers you had to find objects outside the window, such as a tractor, a fire hydrant, a scarecrow, or a windmill. And instead of just getting one row of five, we played blackout, and the winner was the person who had the most covered spaces by the time we got to wherever we were going. I remember one time I spent over an hour looking for a tow-truck, and I found one just as we were coming into Denver. I was so happy ... I had won the game!

I've also listened to more books on tape and sermons than I can remember. If you get a good one, they can really make the miles pass quickly. Get a bad one and they'll put you to sleep.

Snacks are an important part, as stopping at a gas station every hour seems to make the trip last forever. Loading up at a grocery store beforehand is always preferable to scrounging up something along the way. I've also found that big-rig truck stops are easily twice as good as run of the mill gas stations when it comes to selection and customer service. The good ones make you happy to be taking a trip; the bad ones make you wish you'd stayed home.

I've detailed some bad open road habits in another post, but those all happened when I was by myself and in serious need of entertainment. Hopefully this week will be different with some company (and, I might say, a new car). No puppet shows, no Chinese food from a to-go box, no playing catch while driving.

Very happy to be going. Talk to everyone when I come home.

where seldom is heard a discouraging word

A year ago, I was at a family reunion near Vail, Colorado when I heard my grandfather say something most out of sorts. We were in a resort town way up in the mountains, and surprisingly, most of the workers at our hotel spoke Spanish. I tried to go check on the status of my room one day and come to find out, no one on the floor spoke English. They were all a group of young immigrant girls who were there to turn down rooms for a living, and for the most part, they had little reason to converse with guests.

So my grandfather, recognizing this might be his last opportunity to seek the well-being of his relationally sluggish grandchild, decided to seize the moment and equip me to make a move. Now you have to understand that my grandpa is in his late 70’s and is a missionary to Mexico. He has always been a hardworking father of eight, and I have never heard anything even remotely inappropriate come out of his mouth.

You can imagine my surprise then later when he came up and started to outline the basics of picking up Spanish women. He told me how to say, “You are beautiful,” “I once visited Mexico,” and “Can you bring me another towel?”

My grandpa, my dear, sweet, never-harm-a-fly-in-his-life grandpa, was helping me put the moves on Spanish cleaning ladies. This dear, sweet, missionary-hearted man of God gave me a list of phrases in Spanish, and then he said, “And if that gets you to first base, come back and I’ll give you some more!”

Oh grandpa, I hope you’re doing well this time of year. Thanks for your concern of my singleness. Can’t say the phrases did me much good, but I’m still doing just fine.

To everyone else: Has someone you respect as tender-hearted ever really surprised you with something they said?

to have and to hold

tiffkin and I have been on a two week wedding spree recently, and with it has come a rehearsal dinner, two receptions, a first ever pink shirt/tie combo, and a peculiar recognition of several marriage musts . . . well, maybe more like marriage must-nots. I’ve noticed some taboos, lines not to be crossed when nuptiality is on the line. These are things that may fit at another party/celebration, but definitely do not fit in a wedding.

1. showing up in running shorts and yelling out, “Whew! It’s HOT out there!”

2. cutting in on the bride & groom during their first dance (especially if still wearing running shorts)

3. removing bride & groom’s meal at reception and replacing it with a Happy Meal

4. dipping any member of the wedding party . . . for any reason

5. running forward during the ceremony to tell the pastor/priest his zipper is down (or, in case of Levi’s 501 jeans, in need of buttoning)

6. signing false names into the guest registry (which, I’m sorry to say, I’ve done)

7. pouring dirt and/or other unwanted material onto the bride’s car (yep, did this one too)

8. to feed another person wedding cake while he feeds you back (oh man, I’ve done all these)

9. to do anything with the garter belt that even resembles taking it off with your teeth

10. to say to the groom when escorting his bride around the dinner, “I think her sister is prettier.”


Any wedding taboos you can think of?

hold the presses!

I have found a new niche market. Well, it's hardly new, but it's new to me, so I call it new.

The other day, I came home to find recently delivered copy of Men's Health on the table. I think it was a trial issue, as I don't recall having placed an order for such a magazine. These are usually the magazines I tend to avoid: ripped man on front, scantly-clad female at his side, cover littered with headlines such as "Lose that gut now!" and "Schwarzenegger's Secret Shake!" and "20 amazing ways to drive her wild!" I am not exactly for want of any of these hidden gems, so I usually avoid the magazine in whole.

But this time I looked inside, and I must admit, it was kinda cool. There was plenty of the aforementioned excesses, but there was something that caught me off guard. This is a man's magazine. It is not a magazine about men, per se, but a magazine for them. The difference may seem small, but I noticed it (aren't you proud?).

Everything about this magazine reeks of manhood. It is as random and varried yet wholly predictable as the average male mind. The articles are short and easy to read, and they even have the single main point of the article listed in color boldface in case you missed it. On one page, I can learn how to tune up my hot rod, train my body for a triathlon, cook salmon on a grill, hit out of a bunker, and keep my prostate healthy. All of this is on the same two pages! It would be impressive if they kept that chaos going for 10-20 more, but this magazine managed to do it for more than 140! That's impressive.

It's impressive to me because they've truly encapsulated the niche market. It's like, "Yes, someone actually understands a shallow man and can make a magazine for him." I don't know why, but it made me laugh. Most popular magazines have some clear agenda in the material they present: politics, stock prices, computer software, sporting events, clothing, etc. Those things are obviously all niche markets, but how many could boast such a wide array of options as this one? The possibilities are simple, yet surprisingly endless. And who would dare print the same stuff month after month, still hoping to keep their readers interested? Well they pull it off, and for that I salute them.

the real problem at NASA

Today I saw a news article entitled, "Crack Found in Foam on Shuttle Fuel Tank."
Who would have guessed?

strange but true

The following events have happened in the past two days:

I opened my car yesterday to find standing water (!) on the rear floorboards. By last night, the water had reached the front floorboards and had filled the car with a moldy, muddy stench. Sick. What do I do now?

My brother lit a firework off and hit a bird flying overhead. The poor bird crashed into the ground and died.

I was asked if I knew anything about "The Kissing Bandit of Fairfax," to which I responded by keeping my lips firmly shut (even puckered).

I painted half a room "Star-Command Blue," which was a Disney color used in Toy Story. I managed to come home with a large spot of said paint on my butt without knowing it.

After leading a worship set tonight, I was given a recording of my songs. When I put the cd into Musicmatch, it listed the artist as "Madonna," and began to play my first song.

whose marks do you wear?

It came to my attention yesterday that some scars are more proudly displayed than others. This is with good reason. Some scars show nobility, honor, sacrifice; some show stupidity, mischief, foolhardiness. A soldier who has just returned from combat might be proud of the bullet he took in his toosh, and he might even be proud enough to show it off to all his friends. A soldier who returns from the field after receiving a purple heart for "injuries sustained while hula-hooping" might be less enthusiastic about his mark(s).

This all came to light when I, a gentle but somewhat competitive soul, was hit in the forehead by an errant tennis racket. We were playing a friendly game at the home of a wealthy and important individual, when all of a sudden I felt a solid THUMP landing somewhere on my face. It didn't hurt that bad, and I was actually running out of the court to retrieve an overshot ball when I said to myself, "Man, I must be sweating a lot out here." I reached up above my left eye to swab a loose bead of sweat, and to my amazement, my hand came back red. I put my forearm up to my head – it came back even redder. By the time I made it to the house, my whole eyebrow and eye were covered in blood. I was a mess.

There was a nurse down by the garage and she took one look and sent me inside to get bandaged up. They led me through a $1,000,000 home to a much too fancy bathroom where I was scared to even use a Kleenex for fear of leaving the place hopelessly red. I kept apologizing to the master of the house, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make a mess.” The funniest (and best) part though is that this wealthy and important individual was actually the one to help clean my wound and spread antiseptic with his finger. Talk about humility!

So today I bear a scar: a ¾” gash above my left eye that kinda resembles a boxing injury. I don’t know how noble it is to say you were held down and beat with a tennis racket, but that’s the story I’m using. Wearing two band-aides on your head doesn’t seem like a good way to attract the ladies, but I suppose it works when you add the necessary, “you should see the other guy.”

chillin'

Bearing about the same common sense as a neanderthal chasing a wildebeest with a club, I decided to run 12 miles today in 91 degree heat. I know, I know. Shame, shame.

Believe it or not though, it allowed me to test my revolutionary method of cooling down after a hot run. I've never done this before, but today I decided to eat two ice-cold Jello pudding pops within 20 minutes of returning to my house. I usually don't have much of a stomach for food after running long in the heat (does anyone?), but for some reason, the pudding pops looked amazing and were so good I considered turning them into an entire meal.

Here's my question: Do you have any other cool (and I mean cool) ideas for cooling down after a run like today's?

yarns

I've never been good with yarn. Can't seem to knit scarves that anyone wants to wear, and my sweaters look more like a pair of overgrown siamese socks. Definitely not my specialty.

I am decent though at telling yarns, and have improved my ability so much over the years that often I have to give a disclaimer beforehand that states my yarn is, in fact, a yarn. I came to this conclusion after the frequent glares and peculiar eyebrows brought into question the sincerity of my heart. Sometimes you can tell a great lie, and no one knows it's a lie.

A couple of weeks ago, I put this to the test when I was preparing to go home to Wyoming. For the silliest of reasons, I told friends and relatives that I was heading back to pick up my newborn baby (named Amber), and was going to bring her back to Virginia so we could start a new life together. This started out as a small comment in a Facebook message, but it soon blossomed into a nationwide sweepstakes of questions and backdoor musings about what Amber in fact could be. For the sake of fun, and to let people know this wasn't seriously a baby (whew!), the name of my mystery child was changed to Annie. And the quest was on. What was Annie? Why was she coming back to Virginia? Why did I have to go to Wyoming to get her?

So I started by throwing out a few hints. Here are some of the more prominent ones:

1. Not a baby (whew! again)
2. She likes to sing
3. Doesn't get along with cats
4. Has a pearl ring
5. Needs a special rag to wipe her bottom
6. Like all babies in dry climates, sometimes needs a humidifier

I managed to stump my original contestant, but she used every lifeline on record to inquire of her much too intelligent friends. Here are some guesses that came in.

1. canary
2. sea monkey
3. lizard
4. iPod
5. new car
6. tattoo
7. beta fish named Lucy
8. new cell phone

In time, the correct answer came out. Congrats to the winner and thanks to all who played. You made my trip enjoyable.

(annie is, of course, a guitar)

redemption comes at 3:20

We went fishing yesterday with my cousins and uncle, and the fish managed to stay far away from my line until 3:20pm. I went clear until mid-afternoon before I even had a nibble, and it was no small bash to my manhood to see those around me bringing 'em in left and right.

(this is the beautiful lake we visited yesterday)

But my brother and I were undeterred, and at 3:20pm, while riding in a canoe, we had our first strike. We were so happy, we named the fish Andy.

It was another hour before I caught my next fish, and this one we named McNugget. It was a keeper.

if you ever land in wyoming

I got on a plane earlier this week; no one needed to tell me where it was headed. I could see Wyoming from first glance -- in faces, in hairstyles, in clothes, in dialect. It was so clear and recognizable.

For those of you not as attuned, let me help you out. Here are 10 certain signs you are in Wyoming.

1. Most of the trucks are 4x4, covered in dirt, and hoisting a buggy whip off the back end.
2. Men will freshen up after coming in from the corral by sliding a wet comb through their hair and washing their hands with orange goop.
3. You will drive 10 miles on the countryside and not see a single tree.
4. You will see coal dust pluming on the horizon as if a bomb just went off (actually, it did!).
5. There will be more antelope on the golf courses than people. If you hit an errant shot, the antelope will steal your ball.
6. There will be long lines for the Rec-Center waterslide, and even longer lines for the sno-cone and nacho shack.
7. On a run/walk, 85% of the drivers will wave as if they are your relatives (20% actually will be your relatives).
8. Your father in law will have a belt buckle that is larger than a dessert plate. He will have a story about a moose sighting or a bear mauling that will make your stories seem inadequate.
9. The wind will be plentiful, dry, and containing less oxygen than you are used to. You will not have to wonder why the grass is brown until June.
10. The towns will be very proud of their identity, and will display it in statues, paintings, and memorials everywhere you look. In a week's time, you will know more about Native American art than all your friends.

states I have not visited

Alaska
Hawaii
Oregon
Washington
Idaho
Nevada
Texas
Alabama
North Carolina
South Carolina
Maine
New Hampshire
Vermont
____________________________
37 states visited
13 still to go

a blessing from the Chinese

I was at a conference for Christian international students last week, and one of the things we were consistently given during meal/snack times was fortune cookies. I can recall eating at least four of them, which is more than I've ever had at any one time. I also had someone of immense spiritual maturity choose my fortunes for me, so I would definitely know I was hearing the voice of God. Many thanks to the Chinese as well for providing me with this hidden gem. Here was my best one:

life in the fast lane

My dad and I have this uncanny method of conversing every now and then which centers around things that we've just gotten to do or see for the first time. I didn't notice how much we do it until recently, but it's quite often. A typical conversation can go like this:

"Hey Alan, I got to do something today that I've never done before."
"Let me guess. You let a fireman use your wooden stepladder to climb up a burning building."
"No, actually I got to feed hardboiled Easter eggs to a flock of wild geese. They didn't seem to mind the coloring."

Well last night I realized that many of my extravagant/first time experiences center around things I've done while driving. I don't know why I do this. I think I'm safe driver, and I've never had a ticket. But for some reason I've managed to do some interesting things while speeding down the road. Such as:

--Composing a song, with pen, paper, and guitar chords, while on the interstate

--Eating Chinese out of a styrofoam dinner plate

--Making a puppet show where all the characters were members of a wacky town council (complete with different voices)

--Playing catch with a baseball and glove

--Sing an hour's worth of worship songs (some of which had me crying)

--Passing a McGruff Dare Cop with no lights on his car, and still getting pulled over

--Having a rhyming battle with a neighboring van via walkie-talkie

I guess sometimes people spend so much time on the road that they just snap. You reach a point where you have to do something creative and different or you'll go crazy. I don't know how people with long commutes handle it.

here are my (un)qualifications

When driving home today, I listened briefly to a replaying of a Supreme Court case from 1996. The hapless lawyer making his case had just about had enough, and the justices were barraging him with questions he couldn't answer. I felt bad for the guy. It wasn't his fault that his client didn't have a case.

It caused me to think though, "I could never do this job. Well, at least not any time soon." I kind of pride myself on being a fairly talented person, but, in a public display of humility, I will list the top 10 jobs I am most unqualified for. They are as follows:

1. African Braid Specialist
2. Brazilian Jiu-jitsu Instructor
3. Skywriter (i.e. plane w/smoke)
4. Supreme Court Justice
5. Fashion Consultant
6. Professional Beekeeper
7. Riverdance Enthusiast
8. Horse Jockey (sorry Barbaro)
9. WWF Personality
10. Terrorist

uncharted water

While on a visit this weekend to Virginia Beach, I came across three things I've never seen before. They are as follows (listed in order of importance):

Symmetrical black seashells (these are earrings, not actual seashells)









An entire school of dolphins jumping in the afternoon limelight

A trike formed from the rear portion of a VW Bug (impossible to find on Google, but here are a few capable substitutes)

all trees go to Heaven

While I don't admit to being the greenest person (politically) on this block, I must say that I was a bit concerned this past week when our neighbors managed to remove a large tree from our shared front yard. Earlier in the day, they had been out pruning and shearing a variety of foliage, but when I came home at night, there were three Latino men outside my door hooking ropes onto the tree. Now I have nothing against Latino men, but why, oh why, were they on call to remove a beautiful tree from a shared front yard at 9pm? If they hadn't had spot lighting, they would likely have pulled down a rain gutter. And why would you tear down our perfectly fine tree? Why would you do it at night? Is it so that no one else could see?

Well this isn't the first time the tree-removal people have visited our block. They were here two months ago to take down an even bigger and even lovelier tree that was ours, oh ours, whose chief transgression was to occasionally drop leaves on my car. I was the only one who parked under the tree, and I never, oh never, complained.

What once was a yard with random leafy flowers and shrubs, and two pleasant-to-the-eye trees, now contains two leafy shrubs and two awkwardly tilled patches of bare earth. Would it have been such a bad thing to leave the trees there? I'm afraid our yard is haphazardly naked, and I don't think a few seeds and some Miracle Grow will change things.

Hmmm . . . . this coming Arbor Day (whenever that is -- see, I told you I'm not Green), you think they'd notice if, during the middle of the night, I planted two huge cottonwoods and a whole herd of fat garden gnomes?

next stop: Mt. Pigsah

Maybe it's a lack of conscience, or maybe I just like stealing things, but here is yet another idea that orginated with someone else. I could start singing the classic hit from Chicago, "You're the Inspiration," but I think I'll hold off.

Here is a list of things I would love to do before I die:


take a scenic tour of every state (some states would be more scenic than others)
cook a meal for someone really important, then beam with delight when they ask for seconds
visit all 119 division I-A campuses (currently I've been to about 37)
earn a ph.d. in social psychology
take a missions trip to germany, france, romania, austria, spain
work at a job which requires use of a concealed weapon (phony id optional)
use all the German I've learned over the years
be the best father and husband I can be
win a marathon while dressed as a superhero
teach in a seminary or bible college in Europe
walk on the beach in St. Lucia
take my dad fishing on the Chesapeake

a turn south

I made myself laugh today when I thought of a joke involving Easter eggs.

It's not worth repeating.











Have a Happy Easter.

like an eagle, or at least a flying squirrel

Based on my parents' good fortune, I have question:

If you had a free round trip ticket to go anywhere in the continental US, where would you go?

the first last week

Well my parents have long since left, but I'm still thinking about all that happened last week. We must have walked a good 50 miles around the Mall, Arlington Cemetery, Pentagon City, and Georgetown. It seemed like we were always on our feet. On top of that, I ran the Cherry Blossom 10-mile race, and I ran 1.5 miles before the race started. I think if you pile that together, I could have easily circled the Beltway, and had energy left over to take a swim in the Potomac. I always love how active my folks are. We're such a mobile family.

Not to say that we didn't take in our fair share of calories during the week. We had such a random and voluminous concoction of foods that that I think we actually gained weight. My stomach is still trying to sort out all the flavors. It was like a gathering of the UN on my palette: Indian, Lebanese, Chinese, Mexican, Australian, Irish, Polish, Italian, and a wide assortment of American (barbeque, seafood, chicken pot pies, hot dogs, pizza, and many more). I guess we never really think about how much food we can take in during a week, and the wide swath of countries it can come from. Honestly, ever since college, I've been pretty much a Pasta Roni and Malt-O-Meal tycoon, which is a taste that's easy to satisfy.

On their way home though, something cool happened. They were scheduled to fly to Denver, and then on to Wyoming, but the second flight was overbooked. Sometimes airlines will just offer you a $100 voucher for future flights if that happens, but my parents got the royal treatment. They were sent on a shuttle to a Doubletree hotel, had their meals paid for, flown out the next morning, and then given two free round trip tickets to anywhere in the continental US. The only rule is that they have to use them within the next year. How cool is that?

Anyway, I enjoyed their time here, and I found that I can actually be a decent tour guide. This city presents itself so well . . . it needs very little explanation. Just take people downtown and let them go exploring. The big pointy thing is hard to miss.

surprises and excess (sometimes go hand in hand)

My parents are in town this week, come from afar to wish me their wellest. We are having just the bestest week. It's been the mostest funnest. The laughter and good food could be weighed in tonage. What a great week!

One fun story from tonight:

We were walking through a glitzy mall, and my mom was noticing every manequin in the store windows . . . the large, the small, the glamorous, the conservative, the business-like. She liked pointing out the wildest ones and making silly comments (I guess they don't wear flourescent orange capris and jean jackets in Wyoming). It was fun. She's very observant.

We went into Macy's though, and coming up an escalator I whispered, "Jo, Jo, look over there." "Where?" "Over there. Look at that." "What, him? No, I don't see it." "Off too the left."

Well she never did see what I wanted her to see, until she walked right up to it. It was a manequin in a stylish red outfit, on this low turntable in the middle of a crowded aisle. My mom went right up and looked at it . . . . . and then it moved. It changed positions. And she gasped, "Oh no!" and brought her hands up to her mouth. I thought she was going to pass out. And then the manequin, who wasn't so manequinesque after all, said, "No, no ma'am. It's all right. I'm real!" My mom turned away, laughing but in a semi state of shock. "I thought she was a dummy!"

surprises and smiles (sometimes go hand in hand)

I don't think it would be wise to share the specifics of what happened last night, but I'll just say how honored I was to see our XA group get a chance to lead 12 young children to Christ. It was a sacred moment, something I won't soon forget, and the worship that followed was holy and heartfelt. I may be bumbling and scraping my way through this school year (thanks stefa for being so patient), but God continues to use our group and satisfy the depth of our need for him.

Thank you, Lord, for being so surprisingly faithful.

ponderings

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald]
brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat,
and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmelade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: 'I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all'--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: 'That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.'

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled
streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that
trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns
on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
'That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.'

WE WON!!!

Just returned home after watching one of the most exciting sporting contests I've ever seen. George Mason, the little engine that could, knocked off one of the most talented and intimidating teams in the country. The last 10-15 minutes of the game were agonizing, as I was just sure Rudy Gay was going to come alive and start unleashing some UConn fury. Connecticut did play well, but in the end they came up short.
My vantage point for much of the second half was in between the arms, legs, and hot bodies of 31 college students who packed a house next to campus. I was sitting on a couch in the middle of the room, and any time anything happened, they would start cheering and gang tackling each other. I got plowed in the kidney once, but overall it was a lot of fun. As soon as it was over (really over, not just regulation), most of them ran outside and jumped into vehicles, loading far too many bright minds into the cabin of a minivan, taking off down the street to celebrate with the rest of Fairfax County. Fireworks were going off next door. Hundreds of people were out in their yards, cup in hand, toasting the good cheer of this unbelievable day.

I don't know how we won. There is not a single legitimate source that picked Mason to have a realistic chance. This is every bit as good as Rudy, Hoosiers, and Remember the Titans all in one. How can we not but remember this for a long time?

Well we already have plans for a big party next Saturday: showing the game on a large screen projector and serving tons of great food. Students, success, and food, all with the ever-present reminder that hope lives in the hearts of those who choose to see beyond circumstances --sounds like a place I want to be.

Congrats Mason. You make me proud that I didn't go to JMU.

therapy

Well it's taken a year, but I've officially hit the wall. SLAM, BANG!!! Straight into it. In the past seven days, I've had more junk thrown at me than I've been able to handle, and today I finally realized that it's taking a literal toll on my body. My head hurts. My stomach's sick. My bowels are irritable. My feet aren't covered. My loins . . . . well, things just aren't good. I feel like I'm sitting in a dust bowl, waiting for the rain to come and make things muddy, unsure of whether I'd rather have the dust or the mud. It's not very fun.

I am however, consulting my favorite childhood psychiatrist, and our first session was incredibly theraputic. Who knew the world could be so great at 5?

Life's too short not to smile, even if your teeth are crooked.

circle . . . slide . . . circle

Once upon a time I received a beautiful leather-bound journal as a birthday gift, and I remember spending the next couple of months trying to decide what to write in it. I have been a writer/journaler for the past several years, but for some reason, I just couldn't take the first step and start writing in this thing. It was too nice. I didn't want to smudge the pages. I didn't want to write something "almost workable" down, when what I really wanted was the finished product. I told my dad about it and said, "I would write poetry in here if i knew it was going to be good." To that he replied, "It will never be good if you don't write it somewhere."

And I say all that to illuminate a certain reticence I feel in trying to explain the unexplainable whirlwind of emotion and activity I've found myself in through the past weeks. I want to write it, I want to get it all out in front of me. But I'm scared it won't look like it needs to be, like it really was. I'm afraid to sit down and write for an hour and still not be at the place where I can say, "Yes, I have it. It's all right here. I understand it and I see how it fits in the big picture of God's design." In fact, I think such a proposition is just plain silly, and it's asking too much from my mind and fingers in the short breath since everything ended. In my mind, it hasn't ended at all. It's still going, and will continue to go indefinitely. I don't know where it's headed or what I will be when it finally arrives.

But I need to write. I need to form words and expressions. I need to open the trunk and hang the clothes out in the summer sun so they can one day be wearable. I know it will look like madness at times, and there might even be a smudge or two, but how can we see the beautiful if we're always looking for the ugly? Why bother fall in love with the rose if we're afraid of the thorn? My dad was right: it will never be good if it isn' at least something.

Mind swimming in circles tonight. A little slide to the left or right, then another circle. Maybe tomorrow I'll have something new to say. Hmmmm . . . . . where did I put that journal anyway?

Go Mason!!!

Just want to send best wishes to George Mason's basketball team as they head to the Sweet 16. I don't know how far they'll make it, but taking down Michigan State and North Carolina in the same weekend is a pretty big feat. I think they'll win vs. Wichita State and either lose to Connecticut or win vs. Washington. They have a home court advantage and it seems like their defense is hard to figure out. They will have a lot of momentum heading into Friday night, but who knows how all these newcomers will handle the big stage.

Whatever happens, Congrats Mason. You make me proud to be a fan.

stuck in the middle

Well last night was a bit disasterous, as I was continually reminded how random and unpredictable life can be, especially when you need it to be otherwise. I could spend this post venting about the 12 things that did not go how I needed them to go, but I will save you the fury and just say it was a tough day.

Part of it centered around what happened during rush hour. There are more than 1,000,000 people who live in this county, and yesterday two of them decided to crash their cars into each other in one of the busiest intersections around. Cars were backed up for miles in all directions, and the city was virtually gridlocked. I was stuck on the left of a three lane road, in between a Mercury and a median, and I sat there for a LONG time, wondering what would happen if I just simply didn't go to the place I needed to be.

Now I'm sure the drivers in the accident felt horrible about all of this (I would), and I'm sure the other disgruntled commuters could equally measure out some level of empathy. But it's amazing how little you think about those things when you're going through them. Honestly, I didn't care how much damage had been done (to the cars or their passengers), and I wasn't too concerned about the needs of countless people around me (all who obviously needed to be somewhere). I was so driven and focused on my need to do something, that it anesthetized me to those who were just as bummed and bored as I was, even lifting in me a compulsion to offer better radio programming for those stuck in traffic. I would have given anything to be like Jim Carey as Bruce Nolan, parting my hands and splitting the sea of cars so I could drive unreasonably fast and go where I had set out to go. But alas, my hands are normal, and (in the tradition of Once Upon a Potty) we sat, and sat, and sat some more, and the sun fell lower in the sky, and our destinations stayed far away.

I don't know if we will get to drive in Heaven. Conventional wisdom says that golden streets are not entirely appropriate for drag racing. I honestly wouldn't even care if they gave me a second-class form of transportation (cart and buggy or three-humped camel). The thing I would truly love though, the thing that would mean the most to me, would be to see the horizon and always be able to go there, to see the next destination and be unhindered in my approach. We wouldn't have to go fast, and we could enjoy every step of the journey. Oh, but to keep moving . . . onward, forward, ahead, closer . . . ever reaching, straining, dreaming for the day ahead. Maybe there's something to be said for the traffic jams in this life, and the patience they engender, and the humility they require, but I can't say I won't miss them if one day they're gone. There's just too much ahead to stay where I've been.

some like it hot

In light of recent attempts to raise Christian dating from the pits of modern society (matchmaking sites, personality tests, IM, etc.), I was awakened today to the reality that my church has an amusing alternative. After service today, all the single people in the church were invited to a chili cook-off in the fellowship hall, and were told it would be a time of meeting and greeting other young adults. Initially my students were skeptical, as they wondered what such an interaction, formed by the hands of an obviously crafty gray-haired pastor, would entail. But they were even more skeptical when they found out that they had to bring their own chili and offer it to everyone else. Some thought this was just too strange. For starters, with the timing of the lunch, you couldn't just go out and buy some beans and beef after service. You had to bring it with you in the morning beforehand, and how many 20-something single guys own a crock-pot?

Well despite a few noticeable boycotts, we had a decent turnout, and the chili was all very good. I must say though, it was more than a little odd when they made everyone in the room stand and say something about themselves (these are my hobbies, etc.). I think it might have even been weirder if they would have had each dainty, pretty girl stand around the outside with her pride in a pot, and have the guys come around saying: "Hey baby, can I try some of yours? Spicy? That's okay. I like 'em hot!"

I was asked to get up and talk for a couple of minutes (either because I'm single and still know how to smile, or because I work with people who are), and I honestly just told them about our upcoming missions trip and our Chi Alpha group. If they wanted anything moral or insightful about living as a Christian single, I seriously bombed. And if they wanted me to say, "Let's have all the guys on this side of the room, all the ladies over there. Okay, now we're going to blindfold you, and we want you to take your pot and your spoon, and we want you to see if you can get your chili into another person's mouth across the room. If you do, you're in super luck, because you win a nice dinner for two at Lupo's on Main Street. Ready? GO!" Yep, I really bombed.

conundrums, and other things nuns play

Okay, enough with the funny side. Tonight is the night for us to dig down deep. We're talking major seriousness. Life and death could hang in the balance. You have to make a big decision for me. I'm counting on you!

So let's say I was going to choose one of three options (remember this is heavy).

A.

B.

C.

Which one should I pick? Which one would you pick? I'm in need of some help.

PS I really don't like C. Please don't pick that one.

if some answers in life are buried, aren't muddy ones easier to find?

Here is the answer to my Hillbilly Hangman riddle.



For another look, click here.

And here.

so if I was a real boy . . . . (Pinnochio)

Okay, so I stole this idea from Courtney (the second time I've done that for a post). It's a Johari Window, and you use it to map the personality profile of another person. See if you can pick me out. Use whatever adjectives you think fit.

Click here.

confessions of a hillbilly

This past weekend I had the privilege of helping plan a large party for college students in West Virginia. It was a lot of work, but the benefits were many, and the joys plentiful. One such benefit was being in charge of a game called Hillbilly Hangman, which, to the dismay of certain moonshiner traditionalists, didn't actually involve hanging anyone. We simply used the childhood game to express and explore a variety of mountain man traditions. Here were some of my favorite words:

little brown jug
tractor pull
Everthung's A Doler Store
"skinny little feller"
cars on blocks
Moonshine Market
"you've been pitsnoggled!!"

My favorite word though, and the one I used most often (when new people came up), was the following word:

M _ D _ O _ _ I N ' (this is after the letters they would usually guess)

Now a certain young man from the hills of Virginia took one look at that phrase and declared the answer with such volicious certainty that I was taken aback. I couldn't believe he got it so quickly, mainly because no one else had. At one point, a group of over-educated students from a top-rated university were in such a feverish debate over the possibilities of this word, that they resorted to mathematical equations and Old English grammar books. The debate kept going on and on, and they couldn't decide what to pick. One would suggest something and another would say, "No, that's not possible. According to the laws of . . . ." It was hilarious, especially when their poor cowboy got hung, and they still were missing three letters.

So, let's see if you're smarter than they are. Any ideas?
Think hillbilly and it shouldn't be too hard.

just me and cupid

To all well-wishers of fabled charm:

May your Februaries to come be filled with enchantment and romance. May your Christmases be white, your Valentine's red, and may you always take extreme caution with where you point that bow.

and so, with a little practice

On Wednesday night, I had a group of guys at my house for a class investigating the finer elements of investment banking. We had a fun time and I want to share a question with you.

If you could lead ANY organization or group in the world, what would you lead?

And here are some random answers (kudos to stacy for picking me out on the first try):


President of the NFL
Director of Operation Smile
Chancellor of Duke University
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court
President of Japan
Owner of Honda
Secretery General of the United Nations
Owner/President of Cingular Wireless


Sooo, if you could lead ANY organization in the world, what would you lead?

a thought for my memiors

I'm always amazed at how creative and wishful people can be when given the opportunity. Part of my job as an investment banker is to get my clients to see life from another angle, from a bigger, god-like perspective. So we talk about things that are here and real and prima-facie, and we also talk about things that might be and could be, and even things that aren't but we want to be. And I'm surprised at how well, with a little prodding, people move between the two, and how easy it is, as a leader, to instill a measure of balance with a simple allusion to the other side. Often my job is to pull a person from the stern and calculated into the vast, unsearchable wonder of God, and to pull another who is dreamy-eyed and fanatically irrelevant back in unision with day-to-day life.

We are so prone to view ourselves and life's happenings through one of these lenses. What a joy to appreciate both.

a superstar, down to my toes

This might surprise you, but growing up with the likes of Encyclopedia Brown and the Boxcar Children, I am often drawn to look at my day through the lens of some character I used to know. It's not like I sit in a corner and say, "what would Jane Moncure have done today?" (kind of a born-out-of-my-decade WWJM?), or how would Encyclopedia get out of this one? I realize there are people like that, who vicariously and sympathetically (emphasis on pathetically) live in someone else's world, but I live with my feet firmly on the ground. My experiences are my own. I simply happen to make observations like, "Well, I remember the time when Alexander was having his horrible, no good, really bad day, and he ended up calling Amelia Bedilia to draw him some curtains and bake a pie. Frankly my thumb is in a plum on this one."

Which brings me to the event that happened yesterday in my kitchen. It was curiously representative of my childhood sister Ramona Quimby, who was the adorable character in Beverly Cleary's novels about children who frequently ask more questions than their parents can possibly answer. One such novel (which was later made famous when it became a library-only movie) had a classic chapter entitled "Ramona's Bad Day." Now I'll spare the details for those of you currently reading the book (don't want to blow the ending), but in the chapter, Ramona has to deal with the fact that she has egg yoke in her hair, and the other kids in school are making fun of her. She, in turn, has to go to the nurse (who seems to be the standard catch-all receptacle for children in need of things other than medical attention), whose job then it is to tell Ramona that egg is actually very good for your hair, and that celebrities and movie stars use it all the time to bring out the shine.

Now I say all this, because these are the things that were running through my mind yesterday while preparing to eat a tuna-on-wheat sandwich. I had poured the tuna into a bowl, chopped pickles, and was mixing in a generous portion of Miracle Whip. And I stirred, and everything was looking wonderful, and I went over to the sink to throw in my dirty spoon, when I felt something cold and unnaturally gooey on my bare foot. (Yes, I was cooking in shorts and had no shoes or socks on. What can you say, it's Barbados!)

I look down, and to my horror, there sits the largest blob of thick salad dressing I've ever seen. And my foot is right in the middle of it. And I pick it up and the whole blob comes with me. And I grab a paper towel to wipe it off. And the grease and the shine just cling to my skin. And I think, "yucky. that's sick. what am I going to do now?"

And so I do what any other vicariously opposed yet sympathically inclined follower of youthfully inquisitive literature about girls with egg in their hair would do: I said, "well, at least my feet will be shiny."

a night in the Middle East

This is my friend Andrew, the fastest man I know ever to be discouraged from running track. He and I went to college together in Minnesota, and I was a leader on his dorm floor. He came all the way to Barbados this week for what is perhaps the easiest intern assignment in all of school: 5 days. He is doing some research with his congressional Barbadoan tribal leader, and in the span of 5 days he is earning two college credits. Man, my internship was 10 months.

Tonight we decided to try Lebanese food for his special visit, and I believe he had a difficult time shifting cultures. He just sat at the table for the first 10 minutes, reading and re-reading the menu, trying to find something in English that he recognized and was willing to try. It was funny. He looked so lost. In the end, I ordered salmon meshwi and makdous, which is advertised as "spicy baby eggplant filled with the chef's own creation of crushed pine nuts, garlic, herbs, lemon, olive oil, and pomegranate seeds." Andrew chose the shifa, which was described as "open pie topped with ground beef and lamb mixed with pine nuts, onions and herbs, served with yogurt sauce." It looked like a pizza.

Our conversation ran the gamut of masculinity: cars, women, football, pink suit jackets, building construction, politics, flirting, entertainment systems that are way too expensive yet still somehow enticing, earning respect, the Civil War, old men who bypass the traditional "sir" for the greeting "saint," higher education, Jumanji, our life calling, etc. It was a solid chat.

Everyone needs a friend they can talk to, especially people who are disconnected from our situations (so we don't have to worry about what they think). I'm thankful that God has blessed me with restaurants that serve salmon meshwi and solid guys who I can connect with whatever the day.

dixie, and other things people whistle

I had the most bizzare dream last night:

When I was younger, I used to referee soccer and basketball games through a local rec center. I did this for years, and it gave me some extra money while I was going to school.

Last night I dreamt that I was walking into the old rec center, and they were getting ready to have a basketball tournament. A game was just getting underway, and they needed an official to run up and down the floor. They picked me to go into the game, but I (for some strange reason) was wearing these large brown hiking boots, and couldn't run very well. So, to improvise, they found me some zebra-striped flip flops which were apparently standard issue for referees. Then I ran out onto the floor, and the game was underway.

The only problem was that I didn't have a whistle. If a ref needs anything, he needs a whistle. How can you keep the game under control if no one can hear you? So I was running up and down the court, trying to remember my hand motions from all those years ago, and trying to think of how I could whistle if I needed to. Well, it happened. A player ran out of bounds and I had to make some kind of noise, so I whistled. I puckered my lips into position and I blew loudly. Surprisingly, everyone stopped. They looked at me, and the game went on as normal.

Now I am not usually a loud sleeper. I don't snore and I don't really move a lot. But I have no doubt that I was whistling out loud last night for all the world to hear. I've been told in the past that I talk and even sing while sleeping, and I'm sure this time that something unwanted came out. I was trying too hard to whistle in my sleep to not have broken the dead of night with a piercing tone.

I sincerely apologize to all who were bothered by this disturbance.

finding my face in this world

Courtney found a cool website and shared it with me. It's called MyHeritage.com and it gives you a list of famous celebrities who you look like. You upload a picture, it scans your face, then gives you results. To try it for yourself, click here.

Here are my results (all of these were at least 55%):

I look most like . . . .