Idle thoughts...you have been warned.

Not much time to write, but I thought I'd mention a few things I scribbled down in moments of deep thought, read: not very deep at all.

1. If you scramble the letters in the word "FRAT" you get "FART"...I was in one, this is not a coincidence.

2.  Read this quote a few days ago by David Brancaccio (host for PBS's NOW),"The bigger TV you have, the dumber you are.  Smart people have TV's often, - but not very big ones."   The good news is that we have a small TV.  The bad news is that I would have a big TV if my wife would let me. Since I am probably in the vast majority of men in this, that is more proof that our wives make us smarter. [Dang It!] Probably another thing I should keep to myself. (Someone please make me stop!!)

3.  A few bad metaphors (or similes...I forget the difference)

       - "She clung to him like the wax paper thingy in the deli meat package"

       - "He punched holes in his argument like a clown on an ice pick pogo stick"

4.  I just went to a motivational seminar for my day job (my kids no longer believe I'm Spider-Man so Now I need motivation apparently), so it reminded me of a few of my favorite de-motivational posters.  Enjoy.

  

My Parents Are Aliens: A Valentines Day Horror Story

For every teenager your life up to a certain point is fairly predictable - you will go to school, you will have homework, you will get acne, you will argue with your parents, but you still feel warmth and acceptance and a sort of belonging from your mom and dad.  But then, at that certain point, which is different for everyone, your parents do something that yanks all that out from under you like the proverbial tablecloth trick...and yes that is your teenage life crashing all around you just like the dinner plates, glasses, and silverware.  It is in one swift motion that you realize your parents are at worst, aliens, (not the nice ones, but more like the "V" ones) or at best, were kidnapped along with Patty Hearst, and are still brainwashed, to begin making your life miserable on THAT VERY DAY! For me that day was April 15, 1985. I was 16.

Now before I can continue, there is one important piece of information that is essential for you to know in order to grasp the true gravity of my ordeal - the one that happened on that fateful day in 1985. For all that know me now, with the image of masculine, rippling muscles and lumberjack-like rugged looks (hey! quit laughing), will find this hard to believe, but in high school...I was a nerd.  Yes, it's true.  Now I don't watch Glee, but from what I understand about the show, I would have fit in perfectly. I was even in (GASP!) the band. So as you might imagine, for me, getting dates with young ladies was the equivalent of the calf roping event at a rodeo. And the girls I was getting dates with could probably be best described as "unrefined"... I think one even shaved (not her legs).  So, you understand, dates were scarce, and dates with actual girls from this planet were unheard of.  Now back to the "my parents are aliens" part.

Well, apparently the week prior to "the day", the planets aligned, and  Lori K., at the time the most beautiful girl I knew (who would actually talk to me) said "Yes" when I asked her on a date...and also at that particular time in my life, my mother was the proud owner of a Triumph, a TR7 to be exact.  For those who don't know, it is a sports car. Enough said.  And apparently the stars were still aligned because she also said "Yes" when I asked to use it on my date with the lovely Lori K.  So, beyond my wildest dreams, I have a date with a real girl who I get to impress in my parents sports car.  For a teenage nerd, it does not get any better than this.  Then...the day came.

So I'm getting ready for my appointment with heaven, probably caking acne goop on my face, when I begin to notice some troubling signs.  I see my parents...also getting ready for what appears to be...a date.  So I nervously ask...and they are indeed going out on a date the same night as me, wow, what a coincidence...OR EVIL PLAN.  So, now as I'm shifting into panic mode I ask THE QUESTION.  "So", I ask my mom (who is beginning to resemble an alien) rather unassuming, "are you taking Dad's truck?" "No" she responded in a way that seemed both whimsical and evil at the same time..."we're taking the Triumph, you can take the truck".   Clearly, my mother was an evil alien.

NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes.  I had been relegated to a special place in Hell (in my unsaved mind).  With one fell swoop my entire life had been diminished into a parody of Shakespearian proportions. I had to take the truck. Now, you might think that most teenage boys wouldn't mind taking a date in a truck.  You would be right, except now.  You see, my dad's truck was the best kind of truck - for a contractor - it was pale black, not shiny or glossy black, more like primer and less like paint.  It had huge tool bins on both sides and a ladder rack.  And not just any ladder rack, he even had the "4"-high dog ears" attached to the ladder rack...you know...to keep the ladder from sliding around.  It gets better.  Since my dad, Lord bless him, was so frugal, he wasn't going to waste money on an automatic transmission.  No he had the grinding "four on the floor" that required a leg with the strength of the Hulk's to push down the clutch. Not to mention, dusty seats, skinny (read: not cool) tires and rims.  I really cannot think of how it could have been any worse. 

Well, to Lori's credit...she thought it was all very funny..she still went out with me,  we even had a good time.  We went to the Norfolk water front.  I parked in the parking garage. We had dinner. I had almost forgot how horribly I had felt only hours earlier.  Than, it happened.  Remember those 4"-high ladder rack dog ears...they are, as I found out, just high enough to grab an electric parking garage exit sign...and pull it down...sparks flying and all.  I think the tic's coming back. Happy Valentines Day.

Superbowl commercial rant

Please bear with me while I rant a little.  It's my blog so I DO get to gripe, right? Anyway, I just saw that VISA commercial for the twentieth time...you know the one, that ubiquitous ad where the old guys brag that they've been to every Superbowl since the first one.  One guy even admits that he's missed weddings, births of children, and birthdays, but never a Superbowl.  Really tugs on the ol' heart strings. To me this is offensive on several levels. 

First, it glorifies a negative part of sports and that is the obsessive fan. C'mon, really??... this is the most inspiring story VISA could come up with to pitch their cards??   It's guys like these that bring out all the sports haters, those people who think sports are only a contrived media tool to reward greedy team owners, bratty overpaid athletes, and all those who jump on their coattails to cash in on their fortune and fame.  It's a sad, cynical view and one, that while I understand, don't subscribe to.  As a father of boys, I am exposed to the positive side of sports, (which I believe is much more widespread), and that is that sports is an opportunity for kids (and adults) to learn skills which will carry over into adulthood.  Skills like sharing, teamwork, following directions, respect for others, discipline, learning how to lose and be a good sport, playing fair, and so on.  Last time I looked, Playstation or the Wii don't exactly relay any of those.  Sports get kids off the couch, out of spectator-mode and onto the the playing field.  As my cousin said on FB - Hooray sports! 

Second, while I don't know the real story behind these four old guys.  For all I know, they are only paid actors and the stories aren't even real. But for the sake of argument, let's assume their stories are real.  Now maybe, these guys are great husbands and fathers and grandfathers the rest of the year, and they just happen to have this one thing that brings them back together every year. I mean, a guy getting together with his pals is a good thing and I'm not frowning upon that.  I get together with some friends about once a month for poker and a beer.  But if I miss a game, no big deal.  I think this is where the commercial ceases to be inspiring and begins to become pathetic. This annual Superbowl trip somewhere became an obsession that none was willing to let go.  It makes for a good story, but I wonder what things look like if we did a little deeper.  I wonder if we see disappointed sons, angry wives, wounded daughters...just so Dad could make the game and not end the "streak."  I could be wrong, but I bet I'm not.

Lastly, it glorifies something about our country that really annoys me (and I think it may be truer for men), and that's that we must have a hobby.  I look around at the men I know and I see more men pouring their time, money, and resources into empty, time-consuming, worthless causes.  Time, money, and resources that they could have been investing into their wives and kids.  I know this for a fact because I was one of them. I had a garage full of woodworking equipment that got used once a month, if that.  I say "had" because I just sold the last piece of equipment two weeks ago. (Do I hear a chorus of angels or is that my wife rejoicing?)  Now, let me emphasize quickly.  I AM NOT AGAINST HOBBIES. I play guitar, I putter around the house, I write a blog.  These are my hobbies.  I am; however, not obsessed with them.  I was obsessive about the woodworking hobby - and here's the kicker - I didn't even enjoy it that much. I discovered that the things I gravitated toward naturally were playing my guitar, writing, cooking (when Stacy lets me), and playing with my kids.  It never occurred to me that I was feeling guilty because I would play with my boys (what I really wanted to do) instead of building a shelf (what I thought I wanted to do, but really just felt like I SHOULD do)  So I made the decision to simplify my life, get rid of the equipment, and spend my time with those things that I actually enjoy.   My wife and kids (and me) are much happier. 

How I learned joy from McDonalds

A few days ago, Rachel, a girl I work with made the statement, "...I was so so hungry and I ate at McDonalds and it was the best day ever!" Now, excusing my co-worker because she tends to make sweeping exclamatory declarations over silly things, but never....ever...will the words "McDonalds" and "best day ever" come out of my mouth at the same time (my apologies to you Mickey-D lovers out there...all three of you).  Maybe Ruths Chris, Bonefish Grill, even Five Guys....but not the burger made famous by a clown (or is it the other way around). Anyway, you get my point.

So, I'm thinking about this as I'm having a bad day at work, generally NOT having the best day ever, in fact, in my own perspective-less world, it is bordering on the WORST day ever.  Why do I say perspective-less? Mostly because in my own little world being humiliated by my boss in front of my colleagues is enough to classify a day as "Worst", but in many parts of the world, being shot at, losing a loved one, not eating, battling genocide or hunger or racism or general hate is what classifies a person's day (or week or month) as "Worst ever". So I get it. My troubles are fleeting. It reminds me of the verse,

 "For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us 

an eternal glory that far outweighs them all". (2 Cor. 4:17)

Earlier in the passage we are challenged to not "lose heart", (I just looked up this verse and I have the word "PERSPECTIVE" written down beside it...interesting.) But even with this knowledge that the worst of my problems is really the equivalent to a hang nail to many around the world why do I still walk around WITHOUT JOY!!. Doesn't it list the gifts of the Spirit as love, JOY, peace?

 (By the way have you ever heard of love, joy, peace and a package of figs??...if you never heard of it and can't figure it out, respond, and I'll tell you).  

So my great big question to myself (feel free to ask yourself if it applies) is "Why after 20 years (feel free to change the number) of walking with God, is my joy still so intertwined with my circumstances...with my day being a good day!?"  I mean, I know in my head that my joy comes from the Lord...I sing it at the top of my lungs in the car on the way to work (you know you do to, quit denying it), I act joyful in church most of the time, I have a pretty good life, even a great life compared to many, my kids are healthy, my marriage is sound, my team won the Superbowl...I have food to eat...my circumstances are pretty good. So why is that deep joy...that peace that passes understanding so evasive sometimes.  I pray that I and all who read this who resonate with this quandary will begin to see our circumstances have no effect on our joy. May our day, good or bad begin to have little to no effect on the our joy.  May we truly "Rejoice in the Lord, Always" even on the worst day ever.  Amen.

Re-learning to ride the bike

...so I'm re-reading some of my former posts, just to see for myself if my writing is getting better...or (hopefully not) tanking.  Jury's still out. But, As I'm reading it dawned on me that writing is sort of like riding a bike...you know...once you learn you never forget.  Now that I have kids; however, I acutely recall the pain and suffering that my boys poured into the process of learning to ride a bike to get from Point A) crashing in a humbled, crying, bruised heap of blood and flesh and metal and gears to, Point B) TA-DAAA...sweet success...no crash!  Because even though I remember how to ride that proverbial bike,...I easily forget the painful process (a D-- on my first paper in Freshman English. I kid you not, she gave me TWO minus signs so as to exclamate the fact that 1) I am not a very good writer and 2) she didn't give me the F showing her divine benevolence.  I felt like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story").

Where was I?  Oh yes, bikes! What I'm trying to say is that it's been a while since I've ridden this "bike" (all you who are reading who have not yet caught on...when I say "bike" I really mean "writing"- I'm merely using an allegorical tool to creatively make a point which makes it, I hope, more interesting to read) and while I kind of remember, I am probably going to have a few crashes. Hopefully only a few... and while I'm lying in that crumpled heap, with handlebars wrapped around my allegory, and blood dripping down my alliteration...please try not to stare. Just walk away politely and come back in a few days with hopes that I've regained my balance and have not just thrown away the bike.  There are those days.

Update: I was going to do a Top Ten list on " Worse times to say "I'm licking my chops", but I only came up with a few, so it became the Top Few List: (you'll see why)

10) after your high school date's Marine father tells you to have a good time with his daughter.
9) your wife asks you to clean the boys bathroom
8) your kid asks if you want to see how he can make the milk come out his nose.

OK...remember...please just walk away politely.  Or if anyone out there cares to reply with 1 though 7 I welcome the company.

Next time:  My kids love the GEICO commercials and have practically memorized most of them to the point of acting them out (I think the schools should re-think their teaching methods).  When I think of my friends kids reciting Wordsworth while my kids practice their Geico gecko accent...it makes me sad.  So in the spirit of the guy who is saddened by the color yellow...I think I'll be taking a trip to mamby-pamby land.  Stay tuned.