My Precious!

This should be the day that we put the "For Sale" sign out in the front of our house. It's taken a tad longer to get everything done that we wanted to, but God is good and I'm not worried about us selling it. Worst case scenario, we hang on to it and have to commute downtown, but I really don't think that'll happen. He's taken care of everything else to this point, why would He stop now?

Anyway, I know this post started out sounding profound, but I'm about ready to go junior high on y'all, so be prepared. Getting all these things ready forced me to run my body ragged. I have bruises and cuts all over, but nothing that really bothered me. Until Saturday, that is. There was a little black speck on the palm side of my ring finger that I couldn't identify. I thought it was splinter so I sorta dug at it but found nothing. I tried to ignore it, but it started swelling up and throbbing. Something was wrong.

Note to reader: I'm about to get a tad descriptive here, so if you're the queasy type, you might want to skip forward to the next paragraph. I realized that there was some kind of liquid in my finger that needed to be released, so I tried to squeeze the sucker out. It worked brilliantly. Kid you not, a stream of fine, clear liquid came out, squirting me in the eye. I had never seen anything like it before, but I was at church and couldn't tell anyone. Later, when Kelly and I were alone in the car I admitted it to her, but she wasn't buying the story. I then repeated the process and, sure enough, there was Old Faithful, jetting out of my finger. My wife became a believer. Also she was impressed at the trajectory I was able to produce. I was able to make it do that trick five times until it was done. Disgusting? Yes, but rather cool.

So when I woke up Sunday morning, my finger was swollen to the point that it was pressuring my wedding ring. While showering I used soap to lube it up and, quite painfully, took it off my finger. As I left for church I told Kelly I couldn't wear my ring and she muttered a barely understandable, "Dat's OK, baby." My finger is still swollen and I've not put it on since then. It's been over 24 hours now. So here I am, for the longest period of my married life, not wearing my wedding band.

When we were engaged, I wasn't looking forward to wearing a wedding band. I had never worn jewelry and wasn't sure I could get used to it. I remember the first few weeks after we were married I would stare at the ring, wondering if it would ever feel natural. And now, almost seven years later, I feel total naked without it. I love that ring. It's become a part of me. I'm actually looking to putting it back on. I now see what Gollum was talking about. Married life fits me like a glove . . . um, or a ring.

Nothing to worry about, Kelly. I haven't been hit on yet.

If I Must, I Must

For all of you familiar with the gaudy [and ugly] statue of Jesus on Interstate 75 in front of the Solid Rock church, you might enjoy this.

Never Another Like Him

This weekend Billy Graham will hold his last evangelistic crusade in New York City. The 86 year-old preacher has been the unofficial figure-head of American Christianity for almost sixty years; Graham has been a spiritual advisor for every US President since Eisenhowser. I was fortunate enough to get to see him preach just a few years ago when he brought a crusade to Cincinnati. Even in his old age, it was a surreal experience to get to listen to his preaching live. I know that years after he's gone I will claim to have had the privilege to listen to one of the greatest preachers who ever lived.

What a testimony his life has been! While many high-profile preachers have had life indiscrepancies exposed to the public, Graham did his best to lead a life of integrity [I read in his biography of his rule to never be in a room or car alone with a woman who is not his wife, and I've tried to copy that philosophy in my own life]. He even has the respect of those who aren't Christian. His humility and loving demeanor was observed and appreciated by people from all different walks of life. In fact, the people most critical of his ministry were followers of Jesus who held him to an unrealistic, Phariseutical standard that not even the Lord Himself could live up to.
It's sad to think that this man, whom many Christians view as their preacher, won't be out there preaching anymore. There will truly be a gaping hole left that no one will ever be able to fill. I guess that's the question that people will now try to answer: who will be the next Billy Graham? I've heard speculation from people that perhaps Rick Warren, TD Jakes, or even Franklin Graham would be able to step up and fill his father's shoes. I just don't think it's possible. I doubt we will ever see [in the United States anyway] the type of evangelistic crusades that Here are just a few thoughts as to why I think there will never be another Billy Graham.

First, I feel that the moment has passed. Post World War II, America was ripe for the harvest. Someone was needed to come and preach the Word in the way that Graham did; he contextualized the message of the gospel brilliantly. I could be mistaken, but I think Grahams crusades emphasized calling the lost sheep home. America was still a Christian society, but people had given up on practicing their faith and left the church. The crusades were perfect for that. It was like inviting people to come back what they knew to be true- to Jesus and to the Word of God.

Fifty years later we have evolved into a post-Christian society, where people have little to no familiarity with the church. I just don't think we'll ever see those types of crowds that Billy was able to call because there is no respect shown to the church and to the Bible. That's how Graham was able to draw in his crowd. Today's society would tend to view such crowds as cultish and would probably steer away from them. In that same vein, fewer people are coming to faith now a days because of the crowd mentality. One-on-one evangelism will be the trend of the future. And it's rather Biblical. Sure, we like to cite the crowds on the Day of Pentecost in Acts 2 that came forward, but read the rest of the book and you notice that crowds didn't work out to well[Acts 17 in Athens and Acts 19 in Ephesus]. I'm not saying that large evangelistic crusades won't work anymore, but the time has expired on that trend.

Also, [this is not meant to be a criticism, but an honest evaluation] the evangelistic crusades have been ineffective for years. Recently, Graham's campaigns have thrived more on his celebrity than on the actual mission to reach out to people. These crusades have become such a part of our psyche that when it comes to town, the Christians go. When we went to the crusade in Cincinnati a few years ago, I was amazed at the masses who went forward during the invitation time. I noticed, however, that the majority of people who descended to the stage area were counselors trained to meet with the people who came forward. I saw only a couple of people actually going forward to make a decision. I'm not saying that people didn't find Jesus there, but it's nowhere near the amounts of conversions that were seen at the crusades forty and fifty years ago. Personally, I went to the crusade for one thing: to be able to say that I've heard one of the greatest preachers of all time; I felt it was my obligation as a Christian to go. And I think that's why many have gone for years.

Finally, I think there'll never be another Billy Graham because it was a God thing. The Lord called him at a specific time for a specific purpose and did what he needed to do. Read Scripture and you'll see people who were successful because the mission was tailored to their talents and abilities. Switch the callings of Esther and Samson and how do they do in their different roles? Perhaps the question is, do we really need another Billy Graham now anyway? I would say that we don't need the next Billy Graham, but an army of them- disciples of Jesus who are passionate about reaching out to people with the message of God. So instead of us searching for a person to fill his shoes, we should get our own pair and do our best to walk like he walked or, even better, as Jesus walked.

There will never be another preacher as influential in America as Billy Graham has been. As a young preacher of the Word of God, I'm forever grateful that he heeded the call. Thanks Billy.

You're a Grand Old Flag

Warning: Discussion on politics ahead. Proceed at your own risk. Every time I write "politics" I think of the joke that said in order to find out about politicians you need to do a word study. "Politicians" is derived from the word "politics" which can be broken down even further. The first part of "politics" is "poly" meaning "many" and the second part is "tics" which is "a blood thirsty insect." Sorry, had to drop that in there.

What absolutely drives me crazy is that the older I become, the more I feel like a liberal. This is an almost out of body type feeling since I was raised during the Reagan Administration when conservatism ruled the land. There was good [Americans] verses evil [Russians]. All good Christian people voted Republican and . . . um, there was the other side. I was a true blue Elephant man, even voting for Bob Dole when he had no chance of winning the '96 election and, if he did, would probably have bored the economy into a depression. But now things are different. I really don't think that I changed as much as the Republican party has changed. Not that it's any of your business, but I actually voted for a guy named Michael Peroutka from the Constitution Party in the last election because his views matched mine closer than the current President. I mean, I don't jive with all their stuff, but related more to them than I did the Grand Old Party.

So this introduction brings me to this: he US Congress is trying to push through the flag burning amendment amendment. Apparently the last time they tried to enact legislation, the Supreme Court overruled it as a violation of free speech. So the only way to supersede that ruling would be to amend the constitution. They've tried to do it before unsuccessfully, but it now appears that they might actually have enough votes to get it passed. The amendment made its way through the House and is headed for the Senate.

I remember being in high school the last time this discussion came up and, then, I would have applauded such an amendment; who wants a bunch of hippies burning the flag that American soldiers fought and died for [I should say that they "fought and died under" but I believe some would say they actually died for the flag. Which is an incredibly sad thought: I hope they didn't give their lives for a flag]. Previous generations have a different view of the flag than we do. In the days of World War there was an importance attached to it. Here's an interesting note: while the majority of churches in America today have American flags on their stages, this wasn't commonplace until after World War 1. But during the years that followed, it became almost Biblical to hang a flag in the auditorium. I would bet that the display of the Christian Flag in churches resulted from American flags being present. Still, try to move an American flag from their prominent place in the church and see what happens [been there done that]. It's more egregious to touch the flag than mess with the communion table or the pulpit.

Flags don't carry the same symbolism as they used to. Two stories to prove it. 1) About six years ago my Mom gave me a towel that someone had given her that was printed as an American Flag. You could have strung this sucker up on a flag pole for the Fourth of July. For the longest time, I didn't know what to do with it. I could've taken it to the beach, but how respectful would it have been to lay out on the American flag? But I guess the people who mass manufactured them thought it wasn't disrespectful. And 2) just last Tuesday was Flag Day. For some strange reason, I decided to wear red, white, and blue [thanks Old Navy for your sporty polos] and observe how many people did the same. I swear, I didn't see anyone else remembering the day.

So getting back to the issue, do people really care about the flag anymore? Maybe we've finally realized that it's a simple piece of cloth. And do people really care enough about the flag that we need Congress working on a constitutional amendment to ban people from burning it? How many flag burnings have you seen in America recently? This is pure politics, with Congressmen [and Congresswomen] vying to look the most patriotic. The irony is this: during this time of unconstitutional legislation like the Patriot Act, which limits people's individual freedoms, Republicans in Congress are more concerned about saving the flag which represents those freedoms that they're now trying to take away [I know that's a run-on sentence, but does that make sense?].

So now I'm a liberal. Great. Thanks to the Republican Party for sending me to the dark side of the force. Just do me this favor: while you're in the mood of passing legislation that has absolutely nothing to do with the life of Americans, pass a law making it illegal for Ashlee Simpson to sing in public.

Now that's an issue where conservatives and liberals can agree.

Steve Carr, you just finished your Diet Coke. What are you going to do now?

I'm going to Disney World!

You Can Quote Me On That

The American Film Institute keeps coming out with these top 100 movie lists. It started a few years back for the organization's 100th anniversary, but the ratings are so good that they keep bringing them back. Last night they did the top 100 all-time movie quotes. You can check out the entire list here [number one was Rhett Butler's "Frankly my dear" from Gone With The Wind], but I wanted to contribute a few of my favorites that didn't quite make the list.

"She was a thief, you got to believe, she stole my heart and my cat."
Charlie in So I Married An Axe Murderer

"You the man now, dog!"
Sean Connery's character in Finding Forrester

"It's only a flesh wound."
The Black Knight in The Search For the Holy Grail

"A gun rack? I don't even own a gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack." Wayne Campbell in Wayne's World

"Are you saying Jesus Christ can't hit a curve ball?"
Harris in Major League

"I'm your Huckleberry."
Doc Holliday in Tombstone

"I wanted to meet interesting and stimulating people of an ancient culture, and kill them."
Private Joker in Full Metal Jacket

"This town needs an enema!"
The Joker in Batman

"Luke, I am your father."
Darth Vader in The Empire Strikes Back

Feel free to leave your own in the comments area below.

Progress Report

Things are getting done on the house. Carol Carlile [shout-out] came by Monday night to help Kelly weed around the house. And there were a lot of weeds. She's coming back this weekend to help mulch. What a nice lady.

I rented this vacuum from Krogers yesterday to clean our carpets. It was one of those professional jobbers that uses water and then extracts it so you can see how dirty your carpets really were. We have this carpet in our living room that I was sure would need to be replaced, but the vacuum rocked it. No you can definitely tell that the carpet is pink. Too cool.

Just short related story about my lovely wife. We were working around the house late on Monday night, and only got about 5 hours of sleep. She came home yesterday after work exhausted, so she took a short nap. Sometimes she wakes up after short periods of sleep with a little disorientation. And yesterday was one of those times. She bounced up from her slumber and sorta swung at her nightstand, knocking over her cup full of Diet Coke. Yep, all over the carpet I had just vacuumed. You know, dork that I am, that I was a tad frustrated. But with all the hard work she's done over the past few weeks [um, and the past eight years of putting up with me] I couldn't be mad at her. The good thing is that the carpets were still a bit moist and the Diet Coke cleaned up in no time. Crisis averted. I love you Kel, even though you're sometimes spastic when you wake up.

So anyway, things are happening. We should have this place up for sale this weekend.

Happy Birthday Brian Coates!

His was the first blog I'd ever read. Way to turn a year older. My international tribute to you.

I Thought Sloth Was A Prehistoric Animal

I like to think I'm a hard working guy but I think, at my core, I'm just lazy. I suspect there are many of you like me who, when a tough job comes around, embrace it enthusiastically but then hit the point of "that's good enough" [or what used to be referred to as the "good enough for the girls I date" principle].

It was a good weekend for getting stuff finished around the house as Kelly's dad came up and did some outside house painting with us; the in-laws have come through huge with lending a hand during our fix-up-the-house period we're in. But as we're up on the roof, in an area that you know no one will ever see, you're faced with the decision of whether to do the best job you can or walk away. I sorta went halfway, glopping some paint down and easing off on ascetic brush strokes. The outside of the house looks stellar now, by the way [Kelly painted the garage door all by her lonesome and I now stare at it before hitting the garage door opener].

But back to my laziness, which was made evident to me in a totally unrelated incident. I wear contact lenses and use a saline solution called Quick Care. I go through a bottle about every month and a half. I'm not very good with contact care; I have monthly disposables, so I really never clean them the way I should. So when it comes to opening a new box to get the bottle and the lens case, I'm swift to get what I need and get out of there. Why waste time with contacts when there's Sports Center to be watched?

On every new bottle of Quick Care, there's one of those safety seals so you know that no one has tampered with the product. You don't have to take the seal off in order to get the lid off [think the little pull tab on the lid of a gallon of milk]. It's been five days now and I have yet to remove the piece of plastic wrap from the cap. Hence, I am lazy.

I mean, do you know how long it would take me to remove that plastic? No time at all. But I leave it there out of pure spite. Why should I waste even a couple seconds of my life when it won't effect my ability to use the solution? But, unfortunately, this isn't the only incident of laziness in my life that I can cite.

Every time I leave my shoes on the floor instead of putting them in the closet, every time I buy something new and leave the box lying around for three weeks, every time I leave the toilet seat up, every time I stack papers on my desk in a pile instead of going through them, I just prove my laziness. But I'm motivated to change! I will no longer let little things go, but will move headstrong into a world where I eliminate these distractions to move on to bigger and better things! But right now probably isn't the best time. I'm just gonna sit here in my chair and contemplate putting my new lifestyle into action.

Man, my contacts are bothering me right now.

Fore!

The US Open is awesome. It's the one tournament of the year where the hosts show no mercy to the golfers and make the course as difficult as possible. With the winning score usually over par, all of us hack golfers are actually the winners. You get the chance to see the best players in the world struggle to do anything out there. Golf is such a difficult game for schleps like me, that watching the pros play every week demolishing golf courses can be demoralizing. You want to know that you're not the only one that God has chosen to humble. Especially considering how poorly I played last week in our church's golf scramble, I needed a good US Open this week. Hurray Pinehurst Number 2!

Yep, misery sure does love company.

Would You Like To Take A Survey?

This just in: surveys are dumb.

I've been around long enough now to discover that asking people their opinions in surveys is totally pointless. What led me to post about this today was a recent Reuters article that claimed a survey proved that children prefer fruit to cookies. Yeah, like that's the truth. I've spent my week around elementary school kids who deal candy like dime bags at a Dead concert. This one fifth grader had some stuff I had never seen before called candy spray. It's a little binaca like sprayer with liquid candy that they squirt into their mouths. The kiddies love this stuff. I haven't seen the same reaction when it comes to fruit. I have yet this week to see a kid excitedly shout out to his friend, "Ya want a pear? Oh and don't tell but I have a kiwi in my pocket that I swiped from Kroger. Sure, I could've gotten caught, but it's a kiwi, dude! It rocks!"

They gathered this data by asking kids to chart down what they snacked on. What self-respecting kid is going to rat himself out about bad eating habits. Of course they were going to say fruit was what they wanted. I remember taking those surveys back when I was in school. The teacher would drop the line that "no one will know who filled this out" which was permission to let 'er ride. The older I got, the more ridiculous I found them and then started to put whatever I wanted down on the survey. Why do you think teen sex and drug use are at such high levels? It's because of people like me who never did that stuff but lived vicariously through my survey answers. Am I the only one who, when asked in a high school survey how many times you smoke pot in a week, answered every-stinkin' day? If I actually lived my survey life, I would have starred in the movie Half-Baked. I know, I know, this wasn't an honest answer and I should probably seek forgiveness for my past sins, but who was really honest on those things anyway? That's why these surveys are ridiculous: there's no way to force the truth out of people [without forgoing the warrant and using Chinese water torture, that is].

But now, as an adult, I'm seeing a whole different side of surveys. I'm the webmaster of our church's website. It hadn't been changed in the two years before I got onto staff, so I decided to take it over myself. As interest in the web has steadily increased, people began to investigate the usefulness of our site, so that now there's a committee of people from our church working on it. Sure enough, one of the first things we do is make a survey for people to tell us what we need to do with the site. Encourage people to fill out a survey so the can voice their opinions and they do not disappoint. The problem with surveys for adults is all adults are critics and they'll tell you exactly what's wrong with everything; even stuff you don't want to know. Some people used this website survey to tell about stuff they didn't like about our worship services. And a few of the opinions crossed over in to just plain rudeness. There was biting, unconstructive criticism that was in no way helpful. It effected me a little, because I wouldn't mind having a few words with the people who make such comments, but I've settled down and decided I don't give a rip. They have no idea how things happen, but desire to live the Burger King lifestyle where they can have everything their way.

Which all brings me back to the point that surveys are dumb. The anonymity allowed to people who take them are a detriment to getting at the truth. If you don't have accountability for your statements you'll throw whatever you want out there.

If you truly need to discover the problems plaguing your organization or society [whether bad dietary habits, useless website, or sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll], go out there and find out yourself. Be involved in people's lives in your communities and you'll find out more than a survey could ever tell you.

I'm not sure what all this has to do with fruit and cookies, but I wanted to get those thoughts out there. Just for my own sake, I'm going to take an informal survey this morning among the kiddies to find out what they really snack on.

And after that, I'll never be involved with another survey ever again.

Expand Our Vocabulary

It's interesting what you can learn out there on the world wide web. Allow me an opportunity to share what I've learned. Somehow through a link of a link, I discovered a few blogs dealing with different aspects of design and marketing. I never knew I could be interested in something like that but now, I might be in the early stages of addiction.

So I found this site called Metacool that discusses that latest design terms and processes. One term new to me was "beausage." It's a combination of the words "beautiful" and "useage." It's the beauty that comes from something having been used. They site examples such as wrinkles on a grandfather's face, gouges and dents on the bed of a 1955 Chevy pickup, wear patterns on a boot tread, and Willie Nelson's guitar. I sorta like that term. Start looking around the world for examples of beausage.

The site also discussed a newer term called Jolie-Laide. It's supposed to be something that's beautifully/ugly. Now in my ignorance, I thought it was created as a result of Angelina Jolie. I mean, I could see it. Angelina can be a scary looking woman, but at times rather beautiful. I felt almost liberated that someone had nailed that term. But than I discovered that it's actually a French term. Webster's lists it as, "a good-looking ugly woman" or "a woman who is attractive though not conventionally pretty." So I guess it's just irony that Angelina has that last name.

I guess we're all a little smarter now, huh?

Californiaction

In case you've been hiding under a rock, the Michael Jackson verdict came in yesterday: not guilty on all counts. That's ten separate counts, with a few having lesser counts underneath them- so there were plenty of opportunities to nail him on something. They couldn't even get him guilty of jaywalking. Since I sat in my driveway yesterday afternoon listening to the verdict on the radio in my car, I guess you could say it effected my life and therefore is blog-worthy. The end of this trial leaves me with one simple question: What is up with prosecuting attorneys in California?

I found it fascinating that, on Good Morning America, one of the jurors sincerely thought Jackson was a child molester but couldn't vote guilty in this case because the prosecution failed to prove their point. Did these guys learn nothing from the O.J. Simpson trial? Prosecutors in that case presented DNA evidence PLACING O.J. AT THE SCENE OF THE CRIME and he still got off scott free. We all spent months back in 1995 watching that media circus. I remember sitting in my dorm room in utter amazement as the Juice was let loose. So if you're these guys trying to nail Michael Jackson, I think you'd be pretty sure you had an air tight case before you pulled the trigger on it; there was no room for error. And after years of the prosecutor searching for the right case to try Jackson on, they pick one where the family has a history of frivolous lawsuits. That's just wonderful. Somewhere the ghosts of Christopher Darden and Marcia Clark still cry out in vain, "Don't let him try on the gloves!" And Michael grabs his never-regions and yells in a falsetto, Thriller-esque voice, "Woo-Hoo!"

I'm not sure if Michael was actually guilty of the charge, but you have to admit that he's guilty of doing icky things. Do you think any other adult anywhere in America could share a bed with children and not do prison time? Great message sent with this verdict. But I don't think you can blame the jury on this one.

I have friends who are lawyers, so I want to apologize in advance if this comes across as offensive. If I hadn't entered the ministry I most likely would have gone to law school, so it needs to be understood that the following thoughts aren't directed at all lawyers, but to a select few. Those government lawyer out on the west coast must not be too bright. Therefore, if I ever have the desire to commit a crime, I'm definitely doing it in California. Apparently no one goes to prison there, because the prosecuting attorneys have no idea what they're doing. So if you see me on Fox News some afternoon, barreling down a California freeway because I just knocked-over a Seven-Eleven, fear not. I'll be out in a few months.

I mean, it's California for crying out loud. "Woo-Hoo!"

I'm just saying . . .

In reference to my Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes posting a few days ago, this news should come as no surprise: Katie is converting to Scientology. This is L. Ron Hubbard's wacky religion, of which Tom is an adherent, which was the cause for his break-up with former wife Nicole Kidman.

No wonder he's jumping on couches. He finally found a woman who's so excited to be with him that she'll become a Scientologist. Memo to Katie: give Nicole a call first. It gets crazier the deeper you get.

Mad About You

It's only the first morning and they're already driving me crazy.

Our church is hosting its MAD Camp this week. MAD Camp ["MAD" is an acronym for Music, Arts, and Drama] is for kids in the first through sixth grades to learn about these areas of the fine arts. I was asked to teach the drama portion of the camp for the third through sixth graders. Yes, it might seem a stretch for me to be teaching kids about drama, but I do have some theatrical experience. I mean, I was Jesus in our Easter Pageant a few years ago [have you ever seen a red-headed Savior?], so if I could handle playing the role of the most important person who ever lived, I think I could take care of teaching ten year-olds not to pick their noses on stage.

There are always some little demons among the children at these things and you have to figure out whether or not you can choke them. If their parents are members of our church, then most definitely can I beat those children; I defend it by Biblical authority in the area of church discipline. But if they don't attend our church, then I have to figure out how to be forceful with them without kicking them in the gut. These kids who act up force me to take more of their crap than I would ever want to, because we're wanting to make a good impression for the visitors. But those brats who are acting up better watch themselves. I'm a short-timer now and I'm not afraid of losing my job by going Zsa-Zsa Gabor on some snot-nosed punk.

I suppose my overall frustration is derived from the uncertainty in my mind over how effective these types of programs are. In our Mason culture, we're just pretty much providing cheap babysitting for parents. We can't compete with all the non-church oriented programs that are available for kids in our area [a place where kids are worshipped]. Why, then, should we bother to try? Even though we get great numbers of young people [over 300 kids here today] I wonder if it's really accomplishing anything. You hope the kids get something out of the experience, but I'm not sure if it's worth all the time and energy that people sacrifice to the cause..

Anyway, it's time for a peak into my demented mind. This is the third summer Ithat 've been here for MAD Camp and, for some reason, whenever I hear someone say, "MAD Camp," I always think of this Saturday Night Live skit. It's about Alice in Wonderland with Steve Buscemi playing the Mad Hatter. It makes me laugh just thinking about it. Here's some of the dialogue from that skit that I found on the web:

Mad Hatter: Absurd? Of course it's absurd. That's because we're all mad, marvelously mad
Alice: You're all mad?
Rabbit: Well of course we're all mad. Why, I'm so mad I only sleep to get tired.
Rat: I'm so mad, I wear socks on my hands, and hats on my feet.
Mad Hatter: Hey, I'm so mad, I wash my hands 100 times a day because they smell like my mother.
Rabbit: What did you just say?
Mad Hatter: I said I'm mad, wonderfully wonderfully mad.

It progresses as the Mad Hatter says phrases like, "I sleep with my underwear in my mouth" and, "I build little race cars out of my poop." Come to find out, the Mad Hatter is actually this guy who escaped a mental institution. Yep, that's right up to par with my sense of humor, so I'll been replaying this sketch in my mind all week.

As I see it, that's what I'm going to be like when this week is over. Mad, wonderfully mad.

Did He Fire Six Shots or Only Five?

I've done dumber things but, fortunately, no one was around to see this one.

I shaved my head yesterday. The only way I could get it any shorter would be to take a Bic razor to the top of my head and go Mr Clean. I was a little scared at first, not knowing how aesthetically pleasing my skull would be to look at, but it's not too bad. There was this guy I went to college with who shaved his head and the back of his head looked like a package of hot dogs. Mine's not the bad. But I did notice that it makes your face more noticeable; i.e. if you have any blemishes, they seem to show up more.

Which brings me to the dumb thing I did.

So I get into the church this morning before anyone else [Kelly is down in Lexington, so there's really nothing else to do]. I go throughout the building unlocking doors, turning on lights and picking up any pieces of trash in order to make the place look better. Walking up the stairwell by our offices, I notice that there's a cockroach on the wall. And it isn't any run-of-the mill cockroach; this one has been 'roiding up. I think about ignoring him [notice how I automatically applied the masculine pronoun to this cockroach. Does that make me sexist?], but I just can't do it. He's positioned at the very top of the wall, over the landing, which puts him at 15 to 20 feet above the ground. The last thing I want on a Sunday morning is for people to have to look at a big old bug on the wall, so I decide that he must die.

I begin thinking of ways to get the cockroach down, and then it occurs to me: I could shoot him down with my Air Soft gun. For those of you who don't know, Air Soft guns shoot these plastic BB type projectiles that hurt very much when you're struck by them- not as bad as a pellet gun or a fifty-caliber bullet, but more than a love tap. Much could be said about our church's obsession with Air Soft, but I'll write about that some other time.

So since I'm the only person in the building, and I figure no one will know, I go to my office, load my gun and proceed back to the stairwell. The sights on these guns are never totally accurate, so I have to aim off a bit, but making sure to avoid the sprinkler head nearby. My first shot misses him by an inch, but he doesn't budge. My second shot was even closer, and still the insect doesn't move. But it's this shot that alerts me to the fact that shooting at a brick wall would cause the pellets to come back at me, and the pellet nicks my ear. Unfazed, I take another shot, way off the mark, that ricochets right back at my striking me in the forehead. "Suck!" I exclaim, reengaging the task with even more passion. It take 10 shots, and I finally nail him.

As I walk away victoriously, I begin to rub my head, which is throbbing. I go to the bathroom and, sure enough, I have a huge welt in the middle of my forehead. It looks just like a huge zit. Combined with my shaved head, it looks even more ridiculous. Oh, and I'm leading worship this morning. Brilliant Steve, brilliant.

Next time I'll let the church people hurl when they see a huge cockroach staring at them on a Sunday morning.

This Home Is Not A House

The definition of the American dream has fluctuated some over the past fifty or so years. The ideal of "a car in every driveway" has been supplanted by multiple cars [gas-guzzlers at that] with On-Star, GPS, and pimped out tv monitors in your dashboard and trunk. And among some people, the wish for "a chicken in every pot" has moved on to "smoking pot," but that's a completely different post. But I'm finding the ultimate aspect of the American dream, home ownership, to be more of a nightmare.

As you know by now, we're getting ready to sell our house so we can move to the area where we're going to start the church. This means that we now have to fix up the things that we were apathetic about when the house was our alone. We've been painting, trashing, cleaning, and trimming all around our dwelling to make it look nice. I've been pretty motivated to get this stuff done, because I want to get the most out of our investment. But there are those times when I'm tempted to go Backdraft on the place and collect the insurance [see my post from two days ago for a better understanding]. Last night was one of those times.

Since I've been doing a lot of work on the outside of the house, I thought I'd spend last night inside getting a couple of tasks knocked out. When we moved in the exhaust fan in our master bathroom was broken and I swore I'd fix it. About six months ago I even bought a fan to replace it. Last night I opened up the hole leading to our attic and climbed up. I knew I should've started this task back in the days when it was 65 degrees because it was sweltering up there. Just being up there two minutes smothers you with sweat. And I never plan my jobs out well so, when I get up there, I've always forgotten something. So after five round trips up and down the ladder, I came to the conclusion that the cheap fan I bought wouldn't work without me running more wire to it- which I have no desire to do. Fortunately, this morning, I finally made use of my greatest asset: a family of electricians. I called my brother and asked him what to do and he told me how to finagle the fan so I can get it working.

I'll try to finish the job this weekend, but I'm paying the price for not knowing exactly what I needed to do. The insulation in our attic is loose, not that nice Owens Corning Pink Panther stuff. I got that stuff everywhere. I'm itching all over the place today and my contacts are all wacked out because I played around with that crap last night. But I was able to replace one of our faucets [though I did have to make a special trip to Lowe's], so the night wasn't a total loss.

I'm pretty sure that in the past two-and-a-half year of owning this house, I've lost my temper more than I have in any other two-and-a-half year period of my life. It's been a fun place to be, but as things have just arbitrarily broken here and there, I've lost it. I know things aren't supposed to run perfectly forever and maybe God is teaching me some big lesson about my own mortality or something like that, but this sucks. It's a time consuming relationship- between you and the house- that never seems to be finished. Why bother putting that kind of love and time into an inanimate object when people relationships take a similar commitment? Or maybe I'm just lazy.

That's why Kelly and I may get into a condo next. I think I'd rather pay the extra money and subtract some of the hassle than loose ten years off my life when my anger problem causes me to blow a heart valve. Don't get me wrong, it's been a great place to live and I do love the house, but the tiny shards of insulation prodding me this morning are a subtle reminder that an HOA fee might not be as bad as I once thought.

I'll keep on dreaming.

You Could Be My Wingman Anytime

And now for something completely different . . .

Not that I get in to celebrity gossip that much [not counting my subscriptions to People, Star, and the National Enquirer] but what about this whole Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes thing? I just saw Katie on Good Morning America and just listening to her talk about Tom Cruise weirded me out. I think Tom's 41 and Katie's 26- a fifteen year difference. Now I personally know some married people with that age difference and it's not that bad. What makes me go, "ewww" is thinking of how old Katie was while Tom Cruise was making some of his movies.

So according to my research, if Katie was born in 1979, here's where she was when his movies came out:

Taps- 2 years old
Risky Business- 4 years old
Top Gun and The Color of Money- 7 years old
Cock Tail and Rain Man- 9 years old
A Few Good Men- 13 years old

And now you see what I mean. Just think of some of those roles he played and enter Katie Holmes into the movie. For instance, you had Lieutenant Pete Mitchell, Maverick if you prefer, at flight school training with his buddy Goose. He wanders into a target-rich environment with the pre-ER Anthony Edwards, placing a bet to see if he can get himself a woman. Sure he had the opportunity to win over Kelly McGillis with his lady-magnet skills, but he could've skipped the over-the-hill blonde for an opportunity to woo a first-grader. Is it just me, or would the pitiful rendition of "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" come across a little icky with Katie sitting on a bar stool in pony-tails and a Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox? He could've switched songs, and beat Pulp Fiction to the punch, by going with, "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon."

But moving full circle here, note the Few Good Men connection. One of Tom's co-stars, Demi Moore has been playing Mrs Robinson [rest in peace Anne Bancroft (who, by the way, was in that movie with Dustin Hoffman who was in Rainman with Tom Cruise)]* with Ashton Kutcher Ironically, these two have the exact same age difference that Tom and Katie. But that one doesn't weird me out as much. I don't know why. Ashton and Demi have been playing it low key whole Tom is jumping on couches on Leno. Is this a mid-life crisis?

Or does Tom just feel the need . . . the need for speed?

* I know what I did up there with the brackets and parenthesis wasn't grammatically correct. But it was necessary for me to accomplish what I wanted. I've never actually done that before, but it felt pretty good. I might try it again sometime.

It Only Takes A Spark

We're in the process of fixing up our house so we can put it on the market. It's funny that, the more stuff we're getting accomplished, the longer the to-do list gets. Last Saturday morning I trimmed some of the tree limbs that were overhanging the house. Tree trimming is a maddening task because it's rewarding to actually cut the branches and see the difference it makes, but you then have to clean up the mess you made which isn't fulfilling and rather time consuming. You have to drag limbs away, break them down into smaller pieces and dispose of them properly. But ah, the disposing- now there's a treat. In my world there's only one proper way to dispose of the branches: burn them.

"Hello, my name is Steve and I'm a pyromaniac." [insert united support group response: "We love you, Steve." here]. I'm sure I'm not the only one, because most red-blooded American males have a certain fascination with burning things. Perhaps it's the pure power of the flame that makes it so attractive. Wielding a power capable of annihilating wood, plastics, and children's toys is rather seductive. I was able to cultivate my skills during my years as a Boy Scout. I bet if I took one of those career placement tests, the kind that tells you what job you'd be best suited for, mine would be an arsonist. You'd think I'd grow out of it by now, but I never have. I resonate with a quote from the early nineties philosopher Beavis who proclaimed, "Fire! Fire! Fire!"

Last summer I bought a burn barrel to use in the backyard. Growing up in rural/suburban area, we could just burn stuff out in the open and not worry about anyone saying anything. In my area of well-manicured lawns and Home Owners Associations, however, I'm not even sure if burning my branches in the burn barrel is legal. Fortunately, I have cool neighbors who aren't rats so I haven't been visited by the police lately. We'll see how long that lasts.

So Sunday and Monday evenings I burned some of the branches I cut down. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to get my clothes smelling like camping. It was wonderful. Yesterday as I was working in the backyard, the wonderful smell still permeated the air, a reminder of the previous nights work. I went over to the barrel only to discover there was still heat emanating from it; the fire was still going. I guess I should've found it alarming that I left the fire burning in my backyard overnight [and through the early afternoon]. But I was sort of proud of my little fire. It had the guts to keep going throughout the night and produce heat on a ninety degree day.

I took a moment, then I got back to work.

I've got lots of stuff left to burn, so I'll be back soon to my fire barrel. Until then, I'll be hearing these lyrics in my head:

"Close your eyes, give me your hand, do you feel my heart beating?
Do you understand?
Do you feel the same?
Am I only dreaming?
Or is this burning an eternal flame?"

"Tell Me, Can You Feel It . . . "

I think it's summer. I'm not sure what the signs of the change in season are for you, but two of mine were reached for me yesterday: 1) We left the windows open last night because it was so warm and 2) I turned on the air conditioning in my car yesterday. I'd like to focus on that second one because this is a little early for me to hit the AC in the Explorer. I usually can last until the end of June or early July. But I do declare that yesterday[this statement is for my Hispanic readers out there] I was en fuego.

Yesterday was our church picnic. I'm still at the point where I bore easily at those type of events. I spent a almost an hour talking to people, but then I need something to do [maybe I do suffer from Adult Attention deficit Disorder]. So I got some middle schoolers and high schoolers together and we played some ultimate frisbee.

While you're reviewing the list of things I'm horrible at, add frisbee throwing to it. I suck at it. Interesting enough, my frisbee throws resemble the golf balls I hit- everything hooks to the left. Every once in a while I can get a good throw in there, but I have to look like a dork to accomplish it. I perform this hop-skip type maneuver, in order to get my body square and my hips to turn properly, so I can get the disc to go straight. I know it's difficult to visualize what I just described, so just picture me hurdling over a huge pile of cow dung, attempting to land with clean Nikes. I don't know if that does it for you, but that's how I see it my head. Regardless, I still suck at throwing a frisbee.

So getting back to the story, I went out there and owned those kids. True, it might be pathetic to talk about being superior to a bunch of fifteen year-olds, but I showed them who was the man. It's difficult for me to refrain from being competitive; even at a church picnic pick-up ultimate frisbee game, I give it 110%. True, I probably shouldn't have talked about that one kids mother and her penchant for pastries after he dropped the frisbee and kicking that little girl in the shin was maybe a tad out of line, but I had to establish supremacy. Now when they see me walking the halls of the church, they'll pay homage. They'll know the young adults minister is a bad mothah.

So about the heat: after forty-five minutes of playing I was sucking wind. This camp, where the picnic was held, is situated in a valley surrounded by trees and the combination of the heat and humidity was stifling. And I still had a softball game to get to after the picnic. So upon leaving the camp, I turned on the air conditioning in my car. I had to cool down to play the game. So the AC was flowing, and summer is here.

I really don't think there was a point to this post, but it's supposed to hit the upper 80's throughout the week, so drink plenty of liquids if you're out and about. And, as my wife constantly reminds me, wear sun screen. And go start a pick-up basketball game with some eight year olds to help your self esteem. It always works for me.