steve-o
Introduction To The House of Carr
Introduction To The House of Carr

Change of Plans

I'm writing this post from Good Samaritan hospital. Yesterday afternoon Kelly called me from her doctor's appointment with some startling news: she had gone into labor. I rushed over [understatement] to meet her at the hospital. The lifesquad brought her here. So much has happened in the last twelve hours, let me give the details.

Kelly just hit thirty weeks at midnight. The little girl is healthy enough that, if born now, she'd most likely be OK. Still, she's better off inside Kelly as long as possible, to allow her lungs some time to develop. They have her on magnesium which makes her whole body limp, but it proved successful. She won't leave the hospital until the baby comes, so sometime in the next couple of weeks the baby will be here. Could be today, could be tomorrow, could be next week. We'll find out more later this morning as her doctors do some consultation.

Of course, this was all quite the surprise. We thought we had a couple more months [at least a few weeks] to prepare. Kelly started having contractions yesterday morning and thought it was a stomach ache. Her doctor said that if she hadn't had her appointment yesterday that I would have delivered her baby last night. There's a scary thought.

Quick blessings: Kelly is doing an awesome job. Apparently the doctors say she has a high threshold of pain [she married me, didn't she?].

Good Sam is one of the top prenatal hospitals in the world. The staff has been great; our nurse last night was wonderful. We even managed to sneak in some sleep here and there.

Kelly's parents were able to come up last night. It was a relief for Kelly to have them here, plus it gave me the chance to run home a pack the proverbial "baby suitcase."

I'll let you know how things are going. Prayers are definitely appreciated.

Where Were You?

Pearl Harbor and JFK's Assassination- two "generational moments" that touched America. Moments that cause people to remember exactly where they were or what they were doing when they first heard about them. Unfortunately, my generation has had two such moments. Obviously the terrorist attacks on America are unforgettable but the first moment was the space shuttle Challenger. This weekend marked twenty years since the Challenger disaster. On January 28, 1986 I was in Mrs Smith's fourth grade class at John Foster Dulles elementary school. We weren't among the students watching the launch on live TV because our lunch period occurred at that time. I remember someone coming up to our table saying that the shuttle had exploded, and we thinking it was a joke. I can remember exactly where I was sitting in the cafeteria. We spent the rest of the day glued to the television watching the disastrous news come in. For years I thought that would be our generation's moment in time.

Last night A&E had a special about on about the World Trade Center bombings. Whenever these 9/11 programs come on, I feel obligated to watch. On September 11, 2001 I was working at Cincinnati Bible College in the admissions office. Evan's wife called to tell us to turn on the television. We watched intently as the smoke bellowed from the north tower. But the moment the south tower suddenly burst into flames, and we all recognized that this wasn't an accident, everything changed. I remember how numb I felt in that moment. I was coach of the school's women's soccer team and I cancelled practice that day. I stayed up that night until 3am watching the news. I couldn't believe what had happened.

A crazy thing about being human: we can feel the pain of losing someone we've never met. I didn't personally know any of the people who perished in either of those accidents yet I felt [and still feel] this connection with them. Perhaps it's because we're forced to reflect on our own humanity. Churches in this country were never as full the weekend after September 11th; and everyone was praying. These moments make us realize how frail life is, that we're not invincible, and that we should cherish all the days we have on earth.

Maybe that's why I feel the need to watch every program about these disasters. I need to constantly be reminded of how precious and fleeting my own existence is. It gives me another piece of motivation to carpe diem and make a difference in this world. My mortality should affect the way I carry myself in life, and seeing the sudden deaths of others puts that into perspective.

I don't know if that's it or not, but I keep coming back to these moments in time. I am the only one, or do these moments stir you as well?

He Can't Handle The Truth

The heat was too much.

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about James Frey, whose non-fiction best-seller A Million Little Pieces was found to be full of lies. Book sales were jettisoned by being in Oprah's book club. For awhile the media queen denied that this was a big deal, but she finally came to terms and brought James Frey back on her show. [Correction: NY Times pulled the transcript, but their coverage is here.]

It's hilarious that Frey's still trying to live in the false reality he's created. He said, "I mean, what was true is there was that person. Every one of the people in the book existed. I altered things about all of them." Plus, while I'm adding things, I finally saw some of the video on the news this morning and, "DANG!" That was one ticked-off billionaire! And Frey was just a deer in the headlights as Oprah tore him a new one. I wonder if he was even aware why Oprah asked him back on the show]

Oprah has withdrawn her support of Frey and his book.

La Pequena Chica

First off, El Rancho Grande is still the best restaurant ever.

Had to get that out of the way.

A trip to El Rancho was my treat for participating in the arduous task known as "registering for baby shower." We were an hour and a half at Babies 'R' Us this evening, neck deep in pastels [which even makes Kelly gag]. Don't worry; I made it out alive.

I remember eight years ago when we were registering for our wedding. Now that was a good time. I wielded that price gun like Doc Holiday on the streets of Tombstone ["I'm your Huckleberry"]. It was the same task today, with a different purpose. The estrogen levels were awfully high. All the men in the place, accompanying their pregnant partners looked like they were being held hostage with no ransom in sight.

Look, don't get me wrong. I'm so excited about the little girl. I can't wait 'till she gets here. I'm looking forward to all the things fatherhood has to offer. But I don't care what color her sheets are, or what kind of sippie cups she'll use. But I guess it's stuff other people are going to get us. So I'll shut up now. Because I'm an idiot.

Did I mention we ate at El Rancho Grande tonight?

God Bless Hooters!

Wait! Don't get all judgemental! I didn't say that. He did.

The head Catholic priest for the Greater Waco area blessed the new Hooters restaurant in town.

Monsignor Isidore Rozycki is quoted as saying, “Blessings are part of the Catholic tradition. You bless the building so it will be a safe haven, so that the families that enter will be blessed, so the employees will be blessed as they support their families."

OK then.

If this works, he should expect more calls.

"Monsignor, Larry Flint on line one."

Ten minutes to Wapner . . .

[Insert People's Court Music here. If typed out it looks like: DA! D'DUM! DUM!]

I've always been fascinated by the law; before my preaching desires kicked in, I always thought I would be a lawyer. It seemed such a cool profession, on LA Law and in the movies [My Cousin Vinnie, anyone?], why wouldn't I want to be a lawyer?

I became a friend with Kevin while on staff at Christ's Church. Kevin is a defense lawyer up in Lebanon who sometimes tries appeals cases before the United States Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals. He always offered to let me watch and we finally made it happen this afternoon.

First off, no one tried on a bloody glove and there was no opportunity for me to yell, "No Justice, No Peace!" After getting over that disappointment, it was an interesting time. The room in the Courthouse was gorgeous, cherry wood everywhere with a Gold Eagle carved above the judges' bench. There are three judges that cases are brought before, and lawyers. At this point in the appeals process, it's all about arguments over the laws themselves.

As a defense lawyer Kevin is forced to represent scum, but he'll only argue what he believes in. Today it was an argument concerning the way a judge sentenced a drug dealer. There was no denying the guilt of the defendent, but the judge took some leeway in how he came up with the sentence; he used hearsay evidence to come up with the sentence. Kevin argued to the appeals court that it was a violation of the sixth amendment [still not sure what women voting had to do with this]. The judges get a month or so to come up with a decision but, despite already winning one of his points, you could tell that his argument wasn't going to fly.

After listening to about an hour of legaleze, I went away with one thing on my mind:

I'm glad I didn't become a lawyer.

Sure it's exciting when you're before a judge, but with all the research you have to do just to get in court, it's like being stuck in term-paper hell. You research rulings and cases to come up with arguments so you can go back and research some more. That is unless you're an ambulance chaser and then . . . well, Duebber can fill in the blanks.

Mad props to all you hard-working law school grads, but I'll stick with the preaching gig, thank you very much. No one objects to my sermons . . . well, at least not while I'm giving them.

Can't you hear Doug Llewellyn wrapping up this post? He says something like this:

"This is Doug Llewellyn reminding you that when you're too lazy to actually go to law school, you have little ambition and think you can skate through life by going to Bible College and becoming a minister, don't take the law into your own hands- go to court . . . for an afternoon."

[Insert ending People's Court theme here: DA! D'DUM! DUM! followed by the wicked drum solo.]

Delicates- Low Heat

Problem: I hate wrinkled clothes.

Additional Problem: I hate ironing.

Ultimate solution: the dryer.

Does it remind you of this Seinfeld episode:

Kramer: Feel this. Yeah! It's piquing hot. It's fresh out of the dryer. Hey Elaine you have to feel my pants . Elaine: I'll see you later. Kramer: Oh. All right. You don't know what your missing. I'm loving this, Jerry! I am never putting on another piece of clothing unless it's straight out of the dryer.

Hijinks ensue when Kramer gets the calzone place to put his pants in their oven.

I used to do this all the time when I was growing up. My room was in the basement, as was the laundry room, so it was easy access to the dryer. I don't think I ever ironed then. I had to go without in college [no way was I going to run down four flights of stairs and pay 75 cents]. Same thing in our apartment days. I started using the dryer again in our last house, but only sparingly.

My in-laws have one of those steamers that they let me use when we were there over the holidays. In my first attempt using it I burned my hand. That's all I needed to know. I've never been burned by my trusty, reliable dryer.

Today was the first time I reinstituted the time-honored tradition at the condo. I had absolutely no desire to iron so I threw my jeans and sweater in the dryer. One has to be careful not to leave the clothes in too long, lest they end up shrinking. About four minutes gets the job done. I nailed the timing on it. And then I was able to enjoy a few extra minutes of added warmth. Friends, can life get any better than this?

We have really bad static in the house, so a dryer sheet is a must. My jeans felt like plastic-wrap on my legs for a few minutes.

Like Cosmo, I might never put on another piece of clothing unless it's straight out of the dryer.

A Whale of A Time

I don't know much, but the little I do know could've prove helpful to people in London yesterday.

People in England sprang to action as a bottlenose whale was swimming in the Thames River, a body of water not known for it's whale population. They dispatched help to try to get the whale back to the ocean. Unfortunately, the whale didn't survive the trip and died. Shocker.

Growing up with animals, I understood that they didn't like to hang around the house to die. Both cats and dogs alike would wander off into the woods, returning to the wild to meet their end. As Kelly and I watched the scene unfold we asked the same question: does anyone think it went down-river to die?

Hmmmm, I guess we were right. Whale dies. Thousands of dollars wasted.

BTW, forget about the Thames or Moby Dick, this is still the best whale story ever.

What time is it?

Just flipping through channels, we came across the new VH1 reality show featuring Public Enemy Rapper Flavor Flav; Flavor [as his friends call him] is famous for two things: 1) saying "YEEE-AH BOYZ!!!!" and 2) wearing large clocks around his neck. This reality show is a Bachelor-like dating show where he picks from a large group of girls to find his love match.

But instead of giving the girls roses, what does he give to the ladies? Oh yes: large clocks to wear around their neck. How is this not the greatest show on television?

Bring the noise. Fight the power.

Bad Boys . . .

Another post title, another song.

As I was wrapping up that last post I heard some banging outside. There were three punk kids throwing stuff at the front door of the business across the street. They were younger kids [ages 12-14] but you never know who's packing around here so I called 911. They said they'd send someone right away. The kids kept pounding the glass door with a bar until it finally shattered. Instead of running far away, they half ran through the parking lot and hung out. The waited around for about fifteen minutes after my call and then walked up the street. A squad car pulled up half an hour later.

I know the police can't be everywhere but, with all the cop cars that fly up our street, you think they might have had someone come sooner. When the officer arrived I crossed the street to show him the damage. One glass door was slightly damaged, and the other was shattered. There's no way I could ID those kids, so I guess the business will have to make an insurance claim on the door.

Life in the city. You can't get much better than this.

If I were a carpenter . . .

So today was our day at Christ Hospital for our birthing class. Oh happy day! Describing this eight-hour experience is a daunting task, but I have to try.

We showed up with the prerequisite pillows in hand and met our instructor Irene. She's been a delivery room nurse for twenty years and was well qualified to teach the class. I headed immediately to the back row, still understanding that if you're going to screw around you need to be in the back. We sat next to this guy named Dave and his wife Holly. Dave was my kind of people, possessing his own arsenal of smart-aleck remarks that we were able to unleash with military-like precision. Ironically Dave is on staff at the Crossroads Community Church, working in their children's ministry. We were even able to talk about the hilarious Real Old Testament. There were a bunch of cool people in the class that made the experience more enjoyable.

After we introduced ourselves it was straight to the diagrams. It feel like Biology all over again [note to reader: the only "D" I ever received was my last semester at Bible College in Biology. Why does a minister need to know Biology?]. Suffice to say, I now understand why men fifty years ago never went into the delivery room. There are some things that happen in there that men could survive without knowing. But trust me, I learned them today. I saw video . . . after video . . . after video. Tell me, dear friends, what possesses a woman expecting a child to say, "Hey, the baby's coming. Let's allow a film crew into the delivery room, film me in the least flattering view possible, and get full view of my "hoo-ha" so thousands of future parents can watch for years to come"??? This is why the Cleavers slept in separate beds [maybe Wally and the Beav' were adopted].

So after lunch we ended up on the floor to work on breathing/massage junk. It was a good . . . for the ladies who got free massages. But after seeing all the diagrams/video footage about the birth, I'm ready to give Kelly anything she wants. The craziest thing that Irene had us do all day was to spoon while lying down on the floor as she read some visualization about walking on the beach [seriously]. I would've laughed but I was trying to fall asleep. In the moment, I wondered what effect a nuclear blast would do to us. Years later, when archaeologists discovered our bodies, they would've had a heck of time figuring out what was going on there.

All in all, it was a good day. I'm glad we took this class in one day instead of spreading it out over weeks. And I think we'll be ready to bring home baby.

I need to take a shower.

This Used To Be My Playground

I ask forgiveness for using a Madonna song as the title to this post, but it was what came to me. I am what I am, so what else can I be?

I had some errands to run this morning and was excited at the opportunity to get out and about. Working the first five-day week at "the home office" was good, but it's a little too quiet around there. I like to be around people. So my plan was to finish the errands and get some work done at Panera.

Yes, the Panera where I used to work.

It's a strange feeling walking into the place your old place of employment; you see everything from a different perspective, and aren't quite sure how to act. Right when I walked in the store phone rang and I felt the impulse to answer it. It was nice to know that it wasn't my problem. There are a few new employees but still quite a people I know. They were excited to see me and wanted to catch up on life. Actually, they told me they wished I was still working there as some of the new hires weren't working out.

I got a couple bagels and went to sit down and employees came up wanting to talk to me. After awhile I pulled the laptop out, hoping to send a message but the message failed. I ended up talking the whole time I was there. Not exactly what I planned, but it was a good time. It always feels good to be missed. I'm not quite sure what God was doing during my time at Panera, but maybe it was to reach out to the people I worked with. Hopefully I'll figure it out someday.

I really love people. I'd prefer to be around people I dislike than no people at all. That's why ministry is the perfect profession for me. God cares about people and needs someone to relay the message. Who better than a schlep like me? Sure, I have a lot I'm still working on with myself, but I like people.

I know I've quoted this before, but the late sportswriter Dick Schaap said, “often I am asked what my favorite sport is, and I always say ‘people.’ I collect people.” Good answer.

So I'm making sure that I don't hide at the home office but get out and about to meet people.

*Madonna is a person. Does that justify the title?

Convicts verses Catholics

This is the one night of the year I root against Xavier.

I'm not one of those University of Cincinnati fans that's intimidated by the crosstown rival. I like Xavier, but UC is my team. I just mapped the distance between our condo and both schools and they're equidistant; we're 2.5 from both UC and XU. I know I'm a dork for just looking that up, but I was curious.

The good thing about this UC season is I'm not as anxious as I usually get. They're basically playing with the five starters. With the loss of Huggins and all the players [the Kirkland loss was a killer] I'm just glad if they do anything. A NCAA tournament birth would be a huge victory. Through thick and thin, they're still my team no matter what President Zimpher does to try to wreck it.

Bearcats have a seven point halftime lead. If they come out strong the first few minutes of the second half, I give 'em the "W."

We shall see . . .

Skyline Time!

Ate at Skyline tonight. Now that's living.

As a baby, I think I was transitioned from bottled milk straight to Skyline Chili. Living in the Cincinnati, keys to survival are oxygen, water, and Skyline. For those of you not from the area, Skyline Chili isn't like regular chili. It's a thinner consistency, having a hint of chocolate and cinnamon, and it's definitely an acquired taste. It's unique to the 'Nati, as Kelly's Elvis even asked about it. By the way, eating Gold Star feels like committing adultery.

I try to eat Skyline once a week, though I'm off that schedule since moving downtown. I've eaten in most of the restaurants in the greater Cincinnati area. My favorite location is the original in Price Hill [although they tore down the old building and moved the place down the street]. The one who serves the best chili is the Mason franchise; they never skimp on the portions.

So how can you make the Skyline experience even better? Habanero Cheese, baby! Sure it sets your mouth on fire, but it's well worth it. It's only for a limited time, so you gotta get it while it lasts.

And if you're from out of town and have never tried Skyline, it's well worth the trip our city. Fly into CVG and there's one in nearby Florence, Kentucky.

Can't wait to sneak some Skyline into the baby girl's bottle.

When The Truth Isn't The Truth

We really need to be honest about this . . .

. . . about a writer who wasn't really honest.

By now you've heard the embarrassing tale of one James Frey, whose literary career was boosted into hyper-drive when his book, A Million Little Pieces, became the first non-fiction book in Oprah's book club. The book is a memoir detailing James' life of drug and alcohol abuse that led to prison time; somehow he was able to overcome all this and reclaim his life. Pieces became a best-seller despite the fact that the book is full of fabrications by Frey. This wouldn't be such a big deal but the book was presented as nonfiction. "Nonfiction," for those unfamiliar with the term, means "literature that is not fictional." And, going further, "fiction" is "something invented by the imagination." So since parts of the book were invented by Frey's imagination, that would disqualify it as nonfiction.

But many people are giving Frey a free pass. They say that the fabrications aren't hurting anyone and, since the story is so inspirational, we should let it slide. Oprah herself said that since "hundreds of thousands of people whose lives have been changed by this book" it was no big deal. She also said Frey "stepped out of that history to be the man that he is today, and to take that message to save other people and allow them to save themselves."

Oprah has spoken. The issue should be settled. But we will press on.

This is a case of people underestimating the seriousness of the subject. Even Frey himself doesn't seem to get it. On Larry King the other night he said the following:

"The book is 432 pages long. The total page count of disputed events is 18, which is less than five percent of the total book."

Eighteen pages. No big deal. I might be able to go with that, but it wasn't as if he messed with minor events. He added years of prison to his life. That goes beyond a little stretching the truth. The manipulated material that Frey injected into the story gave the tale its power. This is indeed a big deal. If James Cameron's love story version of Titanic were actually true I might've cried at the end. Instead I laughed.

I'm not naive enough to think that Frey is the first person to ever fabricate the truth in a memoir. But the high-profile nature of this case cannot be ignored. If we turn our eyes to this we are giving permission for future writers looking for a payday to make up stories of inspiration and pawn it off as reality.

Laura Vanderkam in USA Today summed up the issue well,

"A newspaper story of a kid with a learning disability who overcomes rough odds to go to college inspires us to try harder in our lives in a way that fiction‚— where we can manipulate the outcomes to make success certain‚— can't. The outcome is never certain in non-fiction. Stories in this genre show we can be the architects of our existence. The good Frey might do for addicts with his books is outweighed by the damage he has done to future authors' abilities to convince readers of stories that will change their lives."

Everyone thinks it's about holding Frey to an unreasonable standard. We can't think too small here. It has nothing to do with him. It's actually about all those people whose lives were changed by his book. A book based on lies.

We need to hold people accountible to tell the truth. If you own the book, I'd suggest trying to return it for a refund. That would be a statement.