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.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Friday, June 23, 2006
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.”
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.”
Sunday, June 18, 2006
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?
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?
Friday, June 16, 2006
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.
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)
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
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.
Friday, June 09, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, June 05, 2006
states I have not visited
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