My Little Soccer Player

Just felt our little girl's kick for the first time. She's been tearing into Kelly's side like an Australian footballer. OK, maybe not that much, but it was enough that I was shocked when I felt it.

Maybe this is the event that will lead me to the fake name dubbing. I've been holding off because I find this to be a bigger decision than the actual naming of the girl. I need a fake, funny name by which to reference the baby.

I'm open to suggestions. After tonight, it might be "Becks."

A Little On The Trashy Side

And now, time to go back . . .

Yesterday morning a Rumpke garbage man was hit by a truckin Butler County while crossing the road on his route. The person who hit him, driving a red pick-up truck, fled the scene. Apparently he'll be O.K., but Rumpke released a press statement urging people to be careful as they pass garbage trucks. This story reminded me of an incident back in high school with my brother Tim [who, by the way, has recently figured out how to send me disgusting emails].

One summer we were up early to go to work for Carr Electric, who happen to drive a better deal. Tim was driving his 1989 Pontiac Grand Prix, that I would later own, up the "backroad" to the shop. Dogtrot Road ascends up a steep hill with a lot of blind curves. Already running a little late according to Ken Carr time, we got behind a Rumpke Recycling Truck that wasn't sure if it was stopping or going. After a minute or so of waiting behind this guy, Tim saw an opening and decided to pass. As we began to pull around, the truck suddenly stopped and the driver hopped out of the car . . . right onto the car. Yeah, I found myself staring straight into the eyes of the garbage man, who was now sprawled across Tim's hood.

We jumped out of the car to check on the guy, who was still a little stunned. Honestly, it wasn't Tim's fault; this guy was new on the job. After triple-checking to see if he was OK, we went on our way. A guy driving the other way stopped us to see if we wanted his information. He saw what happened and wanted to make sure we had a witness. Tim didn't think we needed it, but I said, "definitely, sir, we'll take your phone number." I didn't want to get arrested for us running over the Rumpke guy.

About a half an hour later, we saw the guy parked at the nearby UDF talking on a pay phone while rubbing his arm. I felt bad for the guy, but you have to look both ways before you cross the street.

To my knowledge, Tim has yet to hit another garbage man. Unless that was him up in Butler County yesterday morning. I mean, how many people drive red pickup trucks?

Calling It Quits

Call me a girl, but I died a little inside when I heard.

I thought about calling in sick to work, but I knew I had to press on.

I still haven't regained my appetite, so I'm force-feeding myself.

Yes friends, Nick and Jessica are calling it quits.

Just in case my daughter decides to read my blog ten years from now and wonders who Nick and Jessica are, that's Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson. They had a pretty good reign as the Hollywood "It-Couple." I'm sure no one saw it coming . . . well, except for anyone who's ever watched an episode of Newlyweds. You knew it was doomed from the start. The driving force behind the show's popularity wasn't the blonde's good-looks, but her knack of saying the most ridiculous things. Gimme a moment to share some of Jessica's gems:

"I have to go drop some kids in the pool."
"No thanks. I don't eat buffalo."
"Well 23 is old! It's almost 25, which is almost mid-twenties."
"'Platypus?' I thought it was pronounced, 'platymapus.' Has it always been 'platypus?'"

Brilliant.

Of all the Top Gun songs for Jessica to cover, it would've been more apropos for "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling." I blame her.

Call me a homer, but my heart is with the Cincinnati guy here. For those of you who didn't know, Lachey is from town here, attending the School For The Creative and Performing Arts. He's a huge UC fan [Losing to Dayton?!?! At Home?!?! I miss you, Huggins!], and claims that there's no place in the world like Cincy.

So considering this split-up, there's now the chance that Nick might leave L.A. and move back here to town, I'm sending this personal invitation out to Mr Lachey:

You are cordially invited to Echo Church. We meet in Walnut Hills on Sunday nights. If you come, we'll allow you to perform special music. Just no 98 Degrees songs, por favor. Maybe Via Dolorosa or something churchy like that.

Now that I've gotten this out, I'm feeling better. I think I'll survive this break-up. I feel like eating a turkey sandwich.

Holiday Hangover

Had a great extended weekend as we enjoyed Thanksgiving Day at my parents and the few days afterward down in Lexington. Stuffed a lot into those four days. Probably won't be able to remember everything that happened, but will give it a go. Will try to use pronouns at least a couple of times in this post. Updates from the weekend:

• Last Wednesday night was Brett Michaels concert at Annie's. Mullets galore, my friends. It was almost sad to see Michaels still pretending it was the 1980's, but not quite as sad as all the people who were cheering him on . . . um, of which I was one. Yes, every rose has it's thorn. Had a great time with Larry, Aaron and Scott. and I even learned a few things. I'll never listen to "Reelin' in the Years" the same again.

• Love that Thanksgiving meal. Or meals. Two different families mean two days in a row of stuffing myself. Yes, Thanksgiving rocks. It has to be the best holiday of them all. All you do is eat and be thankful. Plus you get an extended weekend with the knowledge that the Christmas holiday is just around the corner. Can't wait till next year.

• Saw UK play basketball Friday night at Rupp Arena. Liberty University needed Jerry Falwell's prayers, as they didn't stand a chance against the Wildcats. Thanks to my in-laws' season tickets, I've had quite a few chances to see UK basketball in person. It's an absolutely amazing sight. Even during a holiday weekend, and playing a cruddy opponent, they sell-out the place. To see 24,000 people going crazy over a basketball game is amazing. And don't worry about Kelly not being able to see her team play; she's going to see them play North Carolina this weekend.

• Enjoyed four days-in-a-row of sleeping in. It was rough getting up this morning, but work wasn't too bad today as it was pretty slow. Everyone must still be reeling from a turkey overdose.

• The Bengals took care of business again. Next week is huge. Gotta beat Pittsburgh to guarantee a play-off berth. Who-dey!

• And finally, Sunday night we had a great Echo gathering. I'm loving our little church. Can't wait to see where God takes us in the years to come.

And now, with the feasting behind us, just four weeks until Christmas. Now, it officially 'tis the season . . .

It Starts With One

Tomorrow is more than just a national holiday reserved for turkey gouging and football watching. Tomorrow marks the anniversary of my beginning this social crazy social experiment called Beit Carr. Yes, I've been doing this for one full year. In my very first post I listed four roadblocks to me blogging successfully; I guess I overcame them if I'm still doing this more than a year later. I'm not sure how many more of these anniversaries I'll make but I think I can keep this up.

I like to think that I picked a good year to blog. A lot happened this year in my life: we lived in four different locations [1, 2, 3, 4], we traveled around the world, we found out we were having a baby girl, and we decided to start a new church.

I worked the spectrum this past year: I was funny, I was serious, I was right, I was wrong, I was hijacked, and I was funny again.

I hope you've enjoyed reading my blog. I promise I'll keep it coming.

Nothing But A Good Time

Not quite the post I thought would follow the "It's A Girl" announcement, but my life is disjointed like that . . .

Tomorrow night is going to rock [literally] because I'm going to see Brett Michaels in concert, whom you might remember better as the lead singer of a little band called Poison! Props to Larry Budde who works across the street from Annie's, the venue showing the concert, and scored the free tickets.

Yes, I'll bring a lighter with me, ready to burn strong during the singing of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." I swear, though, if he says the words, "And here's a song from my new album" more than three times, we're outta there. But reading this review of his solo tour, it sounds like it's going to be a little bit of nostalgia.

In keeping with this musical theme, tonight we watched parts of the American Music Awards. Random thoughts for you on what they showed:

• Gwen Stefani appeared with rapper Pharell so she could echo back to him twenty times, "You got it like that." No singing, just saying that line over and over again. She must have owed him one. Couldn't they have gotten Martha Stewart to rap that?

• Isn't Keith Urban from Canada? Can this really be considered country music? I mean, isn't it supposed to be our country? This stuff sounds more like Michael W. Smith anyway.

• Way to go Hillary Duff, joining the, "I'm-Giving-Up-My-Nice-Act-To-Dress-Like-A-Skank" Club. Couldn't you have held out?

• I really can't stand that Florida team and they way they try to use Christianity to feel both persecuted and superior to everyone else. What the . . . oh, we just flipped over to The Amazing Race. My bad. Still gotta root for the Linz's from Cincinnati.

• Yes! Cyndi Lauper singing "Time After Time." Thanks to producers for using a black and white grainy effect to make us feel like it looks old. I mean, she did originally sing it way back in the eighties . . .

• R Kelly wasn't there to accept his award. Still stuck in the closet, I guess [note: you know he needed a character in that song with the name Chuck in order to manufacture some well-thought rhymes].

• Congratulations trend-setter Ashlee Simpson! Lipsyncing is still alive and well . . . in awards shows.

As philosopher Shakira said tonight, "Music is a language all it's own."

Brilliant.

And our baby is . . .

. . . a girl!

I was right all along. I would've put money on it, but no one was taking bets.

We're thrilled at the news; like I wrote yesterday, it's starting to feel even more real. Perhaps the coolest part of the ultrasound was seeing all the fingers on the little girl's hand. It's so amazing how God allows us humans to be created!

The ultrasound technician did say there was an 85% chance it was a girl, meaning there's a 15% percent chance she was wrong. These, however, are odds I'm willing to accept. This is the first grandchild in Kelly's family, the seventh in mine [the second girl on our side]. All the grandparents were excited about the news. And now there's four months to go until we get to see her face to face.

All day I've been thinking about "her." Isn't interesting what a pronoun can do? For the past four or five months we've been talking about this baby as an "it," not wanting to distinguish its sex. And now, "it" is a "she." It changes everything.

Every morning at Panera there's this guy in his mid-thirties that comes in with his two-and-a-half year old daughter. The little girl has a different toy every day that she likes to show me. She's absolutely adorable. The more I saw them, the more I thought how fun it would be to take my little girl on errands with me. And now I'll get my chance.

Yeah, it's starting to feel so real . . .

. . . and I can't wait.

Then we'll know . . .

. . . and nothing will ever be the same.

Tomorrow morning we'll discover whether we're having a boy or a girl. I really don't care which it is; I'd settle for healthy. Of course, there's always a chance that the ultrasound will be inconclusive, so all this anticipation could be for nothing.

Some people are puzzled that we would want to know and spoil the surprise. Are you kidding me? Life is full of surprises. I'm one of those people who would be O.K. opening Christmas presents on December 12th. I'll be just fine knowing this information now, thank you very much.

Kelly is starting to show a little more everyday, but it still hasn't seemed real that we're going to be parents. That's why I think everything will change when we know the baby's sex. We still haven't seriously talked about a name or decorating the nursery or anything like that. I think this will get me excited about that. You have no idea how excited I am.

And in case you're wondering, I predict we're having a girl. But if I'm wrong, then we're having a boy. I'll let you know here tomorrow.

The Trifecta?

Everything's going my way.

Ohio State comes back to beat Michigan in the last minute this afternoon. UC comes back to beat Murray State [don't laugh] in overtime this evening. Perhaps tomorrow the Bengals will come back to defeat the Colts.

Or maybe they won't need to come back at all.

It could happen . . .

Steve Secret Five

I only wear "tight collars."

I thought I'd end this week on a biggie for me. Everyone has certain parts of themselves that they're less excited about. For me, it's my neck. I've always felt like a giraffe. So I've tried for years to make it look shorter any way I could. Because plastic surgery is unappealing to me [do they even do neck reduction?], I chose to solve the problem through my wardrobe selection.

During my first year in junior high, I wore a turtleneck two or three times each week to school. I've reduced the number of turtlenecks I wore over the years, but I still prefer collared shirts. And regardless of what I'm wearing, I always wear a white t-shirt underneath. I think I own about fifteen white t-shirts. And the size of all of them are small.

You see, the reason I wear the t-shirt is so I can guarantee a tight neckline. And it has to be small because the larger your t-shirt size, the looser the neck hole. I find loose neck holes to be wretched. To explain this I looked all over the web for a picture of an Iraqi general who was captured in this war who was wearing a t-shirt with a neck hole the size of my waist. I couldn't find the picture, which is probably fortunate, because it makes me want to yak.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to not wear a tight-collared t-shirt. But why should I have to try?

So there you go, one week of my secrets. Hope they've been insightful, and that my honesty allowed you to understand me a little better.

Make fun of me if you like, but I enjoy being me.

Steve Secret Four

I talk to myself.

"So what?" you ask. "Everyone talks to themselves."

Yeah, but I do it all the time and get caught.

Every once in awhile, passing through Eden Park, I see this guy waiting at the bus stop yelling at the sky. Unfortunately, there's no one around him, so I assume that he's a little out of his mind. I make sure not to make eye contact with him as I drive by. Hey, if this guy yells at himself when no ones around, I don't want to see what happens when he gets an audience.

I'm not quite as bad as the bus stop guy, but I'm working on it. Just the other day I was at work and had to go to the bathroom [obviously]. As I walked in, I stepped toward the urinal [sorry if this is too much info] and began saying to myself, "Man, dude! You've been pushing it hard all day," at which time I heard a rustling in the stall next to me. Knowing that I had just been caught talking to myself, all I could do is start humming, finish as quickly as I could [I did wash my hands] and get out of there.

I know I should stop talking to myself, but I just do it naturally. My grandmother, who passed away nine years ago, used to tell me that I was destined to be a preacher because, even as a baby, I was always talking to myself. She might have nailed my career path, but perhaps she misdiagnosed my self-dialogue. I think it really means I'm loco.

Make fun of me if you like, but I have some pretty good conversations with myself.

Steve Secret Three

I pee a lot.

I don't mean to alarm you: it's not that I have a health problem or anything. It's the result of my drinking a lot of caffeinated fluids and having a small bladder.

As I've admitted before, I drink Diet Coke like it's . . . well, water. Yes, I've had to fall back on drinking Diet Pepsi or Mountain Dew during the day because Panera is a Pepsi store. It's not that I need the caffeine to stay away from headaches or wake me up, I just don't like the taste of decaffeinated drinks.

But once I start hitting the beverages, I need a restroom trip in a half an hour. Yep, I've got a tiny tank. I even find myself waking up at night having to tinkle [yeah, I said "tinkle." How many other synonyms can I use? No one wants to keep reading "pee" and "urinate" is too formal]. Whenever I'm driving on a long trip or in a seminar or something like that, I monitor my liquid intake so I don't have to hit the bathroom as frequently. But if I know I'm near a bathroom, I'll drink all day. Even as I write this I'm toking a 32-ounce fountain drink. Guess where I'll be in half an hour?

Make fun of me if you like, but there's a bathroom down the hall.

Steve Secret Two

I have a higher-toned voice that has been mistaken for that of a woman.

Just last Saturday Kelly and I were at the Sam's Club in Oakley looking for a mantle for our fireplace. As we were walking down an aisle I saw this long haired lady struggling to get something into her cart. As I walked up to her, trying to be helpful I asked, "Can I help you, ma'am?" It was then that "she" turned around and I saw it was a man. I swear it looked like a woman from behind. Embarrassed, I sorta said sorry and told Kelly that was time to leave.

It's always difficult when you mistake someone for the opposite sex. You don't know how to make up for it. Even worse is when you are the one being mistaken for.

I don't have a deep voice. I sing tenor and, in my falsetto voice, can hit notes higher than some women. Occasionally, about once every couple of months, I have an experience that reminds me that I'm no Barry White. I'll go through a drive-thru to pick up some food, firmly place my order and then have the voice in the box tell me:

"That'll be $9.86 at the first window ma'am."

Ma'am? I should reach through that box and beat the crap out of you.

That's why now, when I order a Quarter-Pounder, I tend to put some bass in my voice. I think it helps if I talk more manly. But regardless of my voice, it still doesn't matter at Frisch's. It's impossible to remain masculine while ordering a "Big Boy" or a "Brawny Lad."

Make fun of me if you like, but at least I don't have to listen to my own voice.

Steve Secret One

I like Usher's music.

I'm into a lot of different kinds of music. From rap to rock, classical to country, I'm a connoisseur of different tunes. But here's one guy whose music I can't get enough of. Yes friends, A-town in the house.

*I had to search for the following information on the web so even though I'm coming out as liking Usher, don't think I have this knowledge memorized; I'm not that crazy.

Usher [or as Ludacris would refer to him, "Ooo-shure"], who just celebrated his 27th birthday a few weeks ago, was discovered when he was a contestant on Star Search. He has catchy songs, is an agile dancer and even has a new movie out next week. What can't this guy do?

I think the song that got me hooked on young Usher Raymond's music was U Got It Bad. These are some of the lyrics from that song:

"All my people who know what's going on
Look at your mate, help me sing my song
Tell her, 'I'm your man, you're my girl.
I'm gonna tell it to the whole wide world.'
Ladies say, 'I'm your girl, you're my man
Promise to love you the best I can.'"

Dang! Now that's poetry. I'll be reflecting on those words all night. He's definitely da' bomb.

I have yet to buy an Usher CD, but once he gets a greatest hits album out, I'll get it.

Make fun of me if you like, but I don't care. I'm Caught Up.

The Week O' Secrets

Next week will complete for me one year blogging. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. Few habits have I been able to maintain like House of Carr [Beit Carr for the Hebrew speaking crowd], but somehow I stuck with it.

Even though I like to think of this as a somewhat spiritual exercise, I'm not sure that blogging is akin to journaling. Since this forum is out on the world wide web for all to see [thanks, Al Gore] I might not be as forthcoming as I would if this was a written diary. Yep, I've held some embarrassing stuff back from you, things I couldn't get myself to share. But I think now's the perfect time to get some of my deep, dark secrets out there.

So in recognition of my blogging anniversary I've decided that I'm going to commit this week's postings to total honesty. I'm gonna be talking about stuff that only Kelly knows.

I tried to do a theme week once before and it failed miserably. But I think my transparency here will make for a little more compelling read.

So starting tomorrow, here comes my secrets. Tell your friends.

Can you smell . . .

I'm expanding my skills at Panera, working in the cafe sandwich line. It was rough at first, but I'm now getting the hang of it. The one drawback is that I leave work smelling like food. I could escape it when I was working as a cashier or in the bakery. I now have to immediately change my clothes and shower when I get home. I'm pretty rank right now.

I was thinking of my newly acquired scent the other night during our prayer meeting; we gather every Wednesday night to lift up Echo Church and this neighborhood in prayer. As I was praying, I was asking God that the people in this area might see Jesus alive in us and I went on to say, "And Father, as I leave work with the smell of Panera all over me, let all whom we encounter smell Jesus emanating from us."

At the time I might have thought I was being profound, but later I remembered that it was a thought that I stole it from the apostle Paul. He wrote in 2 Corinthians 2,

"For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task?"

Hmmm, maybe Paul frequented the Panera in Rome. Good thoughts

* Yes, if you know me very well you know that, with the title of this post, I'm quoting the most electrifying man in sports entertainment today. Brilliant.

Drop It Like Its Hot

If I was still me, but I had Snoop Dogg's vocabulary, this is how Beit Carr would read. You gots'ta check this out, yo.

Thanks for the direction, Bob.

*Warning Note: After posting this, I discovered that there were some curse words on the translated onto the gizzogle site. I decided to leave it up here because I still find it somewhat humorous, but if you're offended by crude language, you might want to skip this one.

Jerry! Jerry!

The following is a true story . . . well, according to Mr. Albert it is.

Mr Albert is the fifty year old dish guy at Panera. This afternoon he told me that Jerry Springer came into the Hyde Park Kroger last night; Mr Albert also works a second job in the meat department there. He said that Jerry was trying to do a little grocery shopping but people mobbed him. Springer was so frustrated that he walked out of the store without getting anything.

For those of you uninformed, Jerry was once the mayor of Cincinnati. He got into some political trouble in the 1970's because of a check he wrote. In the 1980's he was a local television anchor which led him to hosting a talk show. The rest is history.

Interestingly enough, I saw him out in public a few years ago. I was in Sarasota, Florida with Aaron and Brad Budde. Jerry winters there, and he was at a single-A baseball game we were at. There were only a few hundred people there, so you noticed when Jerry arrived. Kids went up to him asking for autographs. As he left the game early, Brad yelled out to him, "See ya, Jerry!" And Jerry waved.

But back to Mr Albert's story, I find it hilarious. I'm sure Jerry expected a different response when he went into the Hyde Park Kroger. Hyde Park is a more "refined" Cincinnati neighborhood; a white-collar area where you'd think few people would be interested in The Springer Show. Jerry probably thought he could walk in, do some shopping and be left alone. He was wrong. Even in Hyde Park people slow down for car accidents.

It's a little pathetic that, despite the fact that Springer is a very intelligent guy, he will always be a cartoon character. Sure, he made a ton of money, but he sacrificed respectability to get there.

There might be a lesson in there somewhere but I'm afraid of a beat down at the hand of Jerry's bouncers, so I'll refrain.

Doing God's Work

Had a providential encounter with Russell Smith today at work. Russell [ blogs here] and I have emailed each other a couple times, but this was the first time I've met him in person. He pastors the Covenant First Presbyterian Church in downtown Cincinnati. Covenant is a congregation over 200 years old. They have deep roots and would have the tendency to be very inwardly focused, but Russell's doing his best to lead them into the future.

I have a lot of respect for what Russell is doing. Working with an established church, especially one with two-hundred years of history, is like steering an oil-tanker. But they're still trying to be innovative, even hosting a Star Wars Bible Study.

It's Bible believing/teaching churches like Covenant [and hopefully Echo] that will really change the city of Cincinnati.

Too Close To Home

Earlier this week Kelly and I were reminiscing about our wonderful trip to Jordan, Israel, and France. And just this morning I was telling a customer how safe we felt when we were in Jordan. Should've kept my mouth shut.

A few hours ago there were multiple bombings in Amman, Jordan hitting three hotels at which Americans frequently stay. We didn't stay in any of those places, but I'm sure we drove past a couple of them. Authorities think al-Qaida is to blame.

It's unfortunate because we felt really safe in Jordan. Late one night in Amman, we walked down the street to a local store and had [almost] no fear. Jordan is a beautiful country. Too bad Americans won't feel safe traveling there again. I'm glad we saw it when we did.