JoeZone

Book Review: Under the Overpass

2011-01-01T17:32:00.004-06:00

So a few weeks ago, Kathryn and I signed up with Blogging for Books by Waterbrook Multnomah. Essentially, they send us free books so we can read and post reviews on them. My first book to review is Under the Overpass by Mike Yankoski. (Check it out on Waterbrook's site here.)

The book tells the tale of a couple of guys on a journey that started with Mike, in a moment of conviction during a sermon where the pastor was urging believers to "be the Christian you say you are", asking himself this challenging question: "What if I stepped out of my comfortable life with nothing but God and put my faith to the test alongside of those who live with nothing every day?" The answer to that question led him and his traveling companion, Sam, to live life on the streets for five months, in six big U.S. cities - Denver, Washington D.C., Portland, San Francisco, Phoenix and San Diego.

But you can gather that much from the back cover. I'll get straight to what I think is the real beauty of this book. First, these guys demonstrate an admirable courage to dive right into the middle of a harsh reality that many of us probably avoid, whether intentionally or unintentionally. I know I at least have tended to stare straight ahead when I pull up to big city stoplights where a homeless person is asking for money. Mike offers very helpful, though surprising, advice for such situations.

He recommends that if you buy a homeless person food, or volunteer at a shelter, you should take the extra time to stay with them and have a conversation over the meal, or while they're waiting in line at the shelter. What's surprising about this, to me at least, is the reasoning behind it. Mike says that the most difficult thing about being on the streets isn't digging your food out of dumpsters, or sleeping under overpasses, or even enduring nights of stomach sickness where your makeshift bathroom is the bushes in a city park: instead, it's the loneliness. The dehumanizing and undignifying effects of homelessness took their toll, even despite having a traveling companion and knowledge that in five months, his difficult journey would end in a warm shower and clean bed.

Mike and Sam meet some inspiring people of faith in unlikely places and circumstances. My favorite was Rings, a Christian homeless man in San Diego. Not only had he gotten out of jail and beaten drug and alcohol addiction (how often do you think homeless alcoholics beat their alcoholism?), but he took it upon himself to spend his entire government checks buying food to feed the local homeless. When asked by Mike and Sam about more of his story, Rings replied, "It's been a crazy road, that's for sure, [but] come on - the road up ahead is always better than the road behind." As someone who has also struggled with addiction, those are words that can only be spoken through faith. Stuck in vicious cycles, it's the hardest thing in the world to imagine your life defined by something other than that struggle.

The book is a compelling read, though it starts out a bit slow. I found myself a bit confused at the beginning, and finding it hard to be drawn in to the story, though after a few chapters I found myself intrigued at what they would encounter in each new city.

The book's target audience seems to be perhaps a caricature of the suburban American Christian: someone fairly comfortable in coffee shops and sparkly church buildings, who doesn't use profanity or spend much time around those who do. I point that last bit out because the book has edited out all the profanity Mike and Sam were used to hearing as a normal part of their daily conversations. While I wouldn't necessarily say I'm sad to not read those words as part of the speech of the homeless people they encountered, I think it does make it a bit harder for them to communicate the grittiness one would expect from a life on the streets. At times they made this perfectly clear; at other times, I found myself thinking they didn't have it terribly difficult.

All in all, I recommend the book as helpful for bringing the world and plight of the homeless into perspective, and for offering insight into what the church can do to minister to the homeless in their communities. I especially recommend it if you've found ways to ignore the homeless people who ask you for money or position themselves in areas you walk or drive by. A fairly quick read, this book challenges all of us who follow Jesus to take seriously his words to clothe and feed the naked and hungry.

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Official-esque FTC Disclaimer, like I mentioned above, but just so it's absolutely clear:

I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review.

God Bless America

2010-11-02T00:21:00.002-05:00

This message is brought to you by Political-Speak: Political-Speak, when you need words and ideas grander than what you can really deliver. Political-Speak - try it today!

I voted tonight. It was kind of a last-minute deal brought on by peer pressure. It wasn't that I'd planned not to vote, I just had better things to do. Things like working to effect real change beyond what the people I didn't vote for will be able to do (none of my guys made it). But I'll get to that in a minute.

I won't say that voting wasn't worth it. They gave everyone a Kit Kat at the end.

I managed to vote for one Democrat, one Republican, and one Libertarian. The Democrat was because his Republican foe is screwing up the university where I work by making everything about customer satisfaction, and eroding the academic culture he doesn't understand in favor of a business culture (which maybe he does understand, I don't know). The Libertarian was because his Republican foe didn't know where he stood on the very issues he was running on. Perhaps if his campaign manager had been running for office, I'd have voted for him. The Republican was because he was a judge that I know, and also because there was no one running against him.

The rest, I didn't know anything about. Maybe I was lazy and didn't brush up on all the candidates and where they stand on the issues. That's partly true. For the other part, I was too busy living a life of real change, beyond the empty rhetoric of those ascending to and descending from Washington. Not that my track record is squeaky-clean or honestly even that impressive. But it does exist. It exists in the form of building a family life on the foundation of new possibilities. It exists in the form of building a communal life on the foundation of ultimate hope, showing up now in tangible ways. It exists, but even more, it thrives.

And the fleeting hope of American politics pales in comparison to that kind of change. Tonight we swung the balance of power in the House of Representatives based on voter discontent. Come to think of it, we founded our country based on the same spirit of discontent: "We won't stand for x!" Just how far can you get on discontent? Even if you get pretty far, aren't you miserable the whole way? Don't you get wherever you're going by repeating vicious cycle after vicious cycle?

I heard someone describe one of the candidates who got elected as a breath of fresh air. We Americans get like this near election days. By "like this", I mean we get selective memories and forget the hundreds of times we've turned on the very people we looked to for change because the old discontent set in. How long before we're ready to skewer this most recent batch of elected representatives?

Where I work, I have a small window in on some of the less glamorous inner workings of government. I wouldn't say that affords me any power, just perspective. And while I see some buffoons, I don't see any more than I saw anywhere else I worked. What I do see is people who work very hard to make a very hostile system work. We Americans love to build massive machines to do our work for us, and think that if we can keep them running then everything will work out okay. Some of the politicians who we scorn the most have taken up the job of working in the sweatiest, most jerry-rigged parts of these unwieldy machines (or at least, they have aides who do), finding a way to keep things from grinding to a screeching halt, and it really is thankless work. It's not all schemes and power plays and conspiracies forged in secret - some of it is just plain dull, like everyone's job is.

So God bless these guys I didn't vote for. Their jobs are sure to suck, and we're sure to give them crap for doing those jobs no matter how well they do them - that's the kind of people we've been and are becoming. I hope some of them even get crap for doing the right thing, because Jesus said those people are blessed in his upside-down Kingdom. And God bless those who are making real change in whatever spheres of influence they have, however small, however imperfectly, and however unnoticed it goes. God bless us, discontent and cynical as we are. God bless America.

Making Do

2010-10-11T20:28:00.002-05:00

If there's some do to be made, you can bet I'll make it. While there's nothing awesome about missing Kathryn and Ewan while they're away in San Antonio, there might just be something nearly awesome about this:

My Dinner

Spamwich: pan-seared Spam on toasted oatmeal bread, with olive oil-sauteed Roma tomatoes and sliced avocado. Oh, and mayonnaise, plenty of mayonnaise.

Top that off with only the finest glass of box wine, and my friends, you have a bacheloresque meal worthy of setting before the King of Texas himself.

And as luck would have it, I've still got two-thirds of my can of Spam left. Any suggestions?

Prayer and Profundity

2010-09-21T07:19:00.001-05:00

Today my thoughts are with friends and family affected by unexplained/untreatable illness. I hope doctors can step up and find a cause, but if not, what else can we do but entrust ourselves to Jesus who has absolute authority over any and all disease? So that's what I'm doing today, for a fairly large number of people. May we be like the crowd, piling in together just to try and touch Jesus.

My other thought will hopefully put a smile on your face. I've also been thinking lately on the coming fullness of the now-and-coming Kingdom. Specifically, the anticipation of when the Lord does this:

He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.

In light of this, I suggest we all give tanks to the Lord.

Part Two, Kindness Crash-Course

2010-09-11T13:55:00.004-05:00

Admit it. When I said last time that I'd be back in a couple of days to end the cliffhanger, you expected something more like a couple of weeks or months. I'll own it - go ahead and admit it.

So I had mentioned that I had two blogworthy adventure-experiences this past weekend. The second happened on our way back to Bryan from Houston. We'd made the first leg of the trip through Houston and were close to turning off 290 when Ewan made it clear he'd like a break from his carseat. So we stopped here (caution: the website contains background music). Frazier's was a nice place - lots of neat fountains, concrete, and such. After about 30 minutes, we decided it was time to get on the road if we were going to make it back to church in time (hint: a quick scroll down the page to see how long this post is ought to clue you in on whether or not we made it back in time... but hey, read it all - it's good stuff!).

We loaded up in the car, and were just about to pull out of the parking lot when I noticed a car with a flat right front tire, that had two ladies in the front seat. Thinking they were about to drive away not knowing they had a flat, I went up to point this out to them. Upon speaking with them, I realized a few things:

1) They were, in fact, aware of the tire, and had been since about noon. (The time now was about 3:05 p.m.)

2) There was actually a third person in the car, a little lady about 3 months old.

3) These poor ladies were in some deep doodoo.

There were the grandmother, the mom, and the baby. (I actually mistook the grandmother for the baby's mom - she couldn't have been older than her early forties - let's hope she took it as a compliment.) They had been calling all the tire places in Hempstead and having no luck finding a place open. The G-ma had called her sister, who lives in Round Rock, to come and help, but the sister was stuck in traffic in an accident in Elgin at the time I arrived on the scene (we later found out she had also gotten lost - which only makes sense... remember what kind of story I said this was?). So they were effectively stuck unless they could make it to Brenham, where the Wal-mart was still open and had a tire shop, unlike its counterpart in Hempstead.

But wait, there was another store in Hempstead, and the G-ma got on the phone and managed to speak to a person after having connected to the fax line all afternoon, and that person said that yes, they were open! If only we could get to the tire shop, they could get the tire and have the guys there put on the new one. If only. As it were, the ladies were without a lug wrench. At this point, my task seemed simple: find a lug wrench, put the spare tire on, and send the ladies on their way to the tire shop to get the new tire. Okay - first, find a lug wrench.

They didn't have one. Hm. Let me check my trunk. Oops, let me unpack it first. Nope, we don't have one either. Hm. Oh, maybe that guy - he's just sitting in his SUV watching his dogs and browsing his smartphone. Oh, you'd have to unpack your trunk? Never mind, wouldn't want to trouble you. What's that? Yes, I suppose I'm dog-friendly - I can watch them while you check for your lug wrench. Ah, you found one? Okay, I'll be right back - let me see if it works. (Time passes.) Nope, it didn't work. Thanks for trying, though. Oh, maybe those guys - they are leaving, but maybe since they're college guys they'll have a sense of service or adventure or something. Ah, so you are about to head out? But you wouldn't mind checking anyway? That'd be great. Oh, so you've now decided for the heading out. Okay. Thanks for the "good luck anyway", I'm sure that will come in handy at some point in the next couple of hours. Oh, maybe this Indian couple, they're just pulling up. (Awkward space where it's obvious I'm waiting for them to get out of their car so I can hit them up for something.) Sorry to bother you, but is there any chance you have a lug wrench? You'll check? Great, thanks! Aww, you don't have one? Well, thanks for looking. Well, hm. I could try the store owner. (I try the store owner. He left it in his trailer at home.) Hm.

Okay, new plan. If we can clear enough space in my car to take the G-ma up to the tire shop, we can ask them to borrow their lug wrench, go back to Frazier's, change the tire out for the spare, and drive back to the tire shop to put the tire on and return the lug wrench. So we make our way for the tire shop. Our conversation on the way:

G-ma: Thank you so much for helping. Do you know how many people we've talked to today who haven't done anything to help?

Me: No problem, glad I can help. (Then silence - I assumed this last one was a rhetorical question.)

G-ma: You're the 21st person.

Me: 21 people?

G-ma: That's right, and it's been really difficult with the baby - we're trying to keep her from getting too hot in that car.

Me: Yeah, and it's hot inside Frazier's (they only had A/C in the bathrooms). What's the baby's name?

G-ma: Serenity.

Me: That's a beautiful name.

G-ma: Thank you.

Me: So I don't know exactly where I'm driving - you said to go 290 towards Houston? I think I should take this first exit here.

After a couple more lucky turns on my part, we spotted the tire shop. I get out of the car, walk up to the door, and it doesn't budge. I check the sign in the window: OPEN, COME IN. I try the door again, and it continues not to budge. I walk around to the garage side. The gate is closed. As G-ma and I are starting to feel this sinking feeling in the pit of our stomachs, a truck pulls up with a guy making signs to us that they are closed. He gets out of the car and confirms this. G-ma, as you might imagine, is not going to concede so easily. Without flipping her lid, she begins passionately explaining how the arc of her day has led her to this particular point in time, shortly after the point in time when she had called and they had said, "yes, we're open", and why at this particular point in time it was rather critical for her, her daughter, and her 3-month old granddaughter that they get the tire they need now, and not in a couple of days (if you'll remember last weekend, Monday was Labor Day - can you imagine how many places in Hempstead are likely to open on Labor Day? Neither can I.). To his credit, the guy agrees to take a look at the tire.

If you're hoping that this is the turning point in the story for the fortunes of the three ladies, I won't lead you on. They didn't have a tire, used or new, that would fit their car. Despite G-ma's attempt over the next 5 minutes to clarify this truth into some kind of communication gap, it remained a truth and not a misunderstanding. Hm.

We made our way back to Frazier's, though after making absolutely certain that all the tire shops on the main drag were also closed. By this time it was about 4:45. Having run out of options in Hempstead, and since her sister still wasn't close to arriving, I had to decide whether I would be able to continue helping by driving her to Brenham to pick up a tire at the Wal-mart there (which was probably going to be another hour round-trip), or if Kathryn and baby were going to be too worn out and sweaty and needing to get home before they reached their limit.

Unfortunately for the ladies, once I got back and talked to Kathryn, we decided we couldn't push Ewan past the couple of hours we'd already done. He'd gone for way too long without a nap, and the only place we could effectively make that happen for him would be at home. Upon talking with the ladies, I asked if there was some place in town I could take them where they could be in the cool air and not stuck in a car that wasn't cool enough. They said the Wal-mart would actually be a good place, since they were running out of diapers. We had a bunch of diapers with us that were the next size up from what they used, but I handed a few over just in case.

So I drove the ladies in town and dropped them off at the Wal-mart. They were grateful for the help we were able to give, but we were still sad that after all that, leaving them at Wal-mart was the best we could do.

If you think that's rough, I haven't even mentioned what Kathryn experienced during all that time. For a couple of hours, she'd been sitting on a bench outside of the store, with a baby in her arms, and next to a pile of some of our luggage (which we'd removed from the car to make room to transport the ladies-in-distress). Wanna take a wild guess how many people spoke to her and asked her if she was okay? For several of them, this involved walking by her twice - on their way in and out of the store. It included a couple with crosses hung around their necks, large enough for Kathryn to spot while they were still in the parking lot - they managed to look away at the last second and pass right by Kathryn. At least the woman from the Indian couple smiled at Kathryn as she went by.

That's right, in two hours, noone checked to make sure Kathryn and Ewan were okay. Maybe she didn't look distressed enough, I don't know. But I can't imagine the 2 women with the baby didn't at least look distressed enough for 20 people to do more than offer their sympathy.

It still amazes and troubles me. Let's hope they eventually got the help they needed.

A crash course (or two) in kindness

2010-09-09T22:04:00.000-05:00

Adventures often seem to happen when you least expect them. Maybe that's part of what makes adventures what they are - but I don't think I've always known that about them. I would have probably thought adventures were 'started out on' or 'begun' in some intentional kind of way. Not mine. They tend to have humble beginnings in a subtle "oh, crap" moment, then gain a bit of momentum into the realization that "this is more of a mess than I first realized", moving right into the 'heat of battle' where there's no time for realizations, before finding some kind of resolution and a feeling somewhere between "that was awesome!" and "I had hoped never to have to learn that, but oh well".

As it were, I found myself on two such adventures just this past weekend. And both situations, it turns out, became studies in kindness: humanity at its best, and humanity preoccupied.

Our first adventure began Friday night, upon arriving in Houston at my sister's house for my mom's nth birthday party, to be held the following night (the party was to be Oscar Night themed, and Kathryn had gone to great lengths to make a Hollywood star for my mom): that was when we realized we'd left the star at home. We made an email to our friends and posted on Facebook, hoping there was a slight chance someone would be coming from Bryan to Houston Saturday - no luck.

We discussed our options. Although the four hours it would take to go back home and get it weren't feasible, we definitely both thought about it. There was the possibility of just making a new one, but we had a lot of preparations to make for the party that night. I thought, I'll try a last ditch effort and post on myBCS to see if we can connect with someone that way. So I did, but by this time, it's Saturday morning.

Fast-forward two hours - I've had two calls from people reading my post online, who are coming to Houston. The first one was coming with her family to the Houston Children's Museum, near downtown - which wasn't super close to Pasadena, but was certainly doable. This thing was going to turn out okay! The lady who called could drop by our house, and our housemate Sarah could put it out on the porch, then they'd pick it up, make their way to Houston, and finally I would meet them at the museum.

And that's what happened! People who we'd never met before made space in their busy schedule to help out someone in need. Think about your family dynamic when you are packing for a trip, or getting ready to head out the door. For most of us, it's probably not the time to think about what else we can fit in, unless it's our own stuff, and it's critical stuff that has to happen before leaving town for a few days (pick up prescriptions, take out the trash, etc.). But someone else's stuff? Bravo to our neighbor who was sensitive enough to life's unpredictability that she was ready and able to help a person in need. There's a term for that - it's called spiritual discipline. That, and it's also called kindness.

I wish I could say our other story painted as bright a picture of humanity at its best, looking out for the needs of others. In one sense it does, but it's at the same time more saddening. Don't get me wrong, it's a good story, but it's got its sad moments.

I'll try to get on here and tell it in the next couple of days. For now, I bid you good night. May you be blessed to give and receive kindness.

...but hopefully not at the same time

2010-08-23T07:05:00.000-05:00

That's what I'm thinking after reading this on my bag of dried figs:

"Delicious paired with cheese and chocolate"

Happy Monday morning, everyone.

Debt-free.

2010-07-22T07:08:00.004-05:00

As of today, Kathryn and I have paid off the last of our student loans. This marks the end to a long period of paying way more for our schooling than the initial price tag. It also marks the first time since my freshman year of college that I haven't had any consumer debt (okay, so technically we have a mortgage right now, but that's different enough).

But anyways. Debt-free! It's astounding to look back over the past year and think about all the Lord's done:

-Brought us Ewan when that should have been impossible

-Brought me a raise at just the right time

-Brought us out from under the weight of debt at just the right time

This certainly has been a "year of the Lord's favor".

And that's just the short list. There's more I hope to be sharing soon. But for now, we want to celebrate this. With a party. You're invited.

The View from Six and a Half Weeks

2010-06-27T08:58:00.005-05:00

I've been leaving it up to this lovely lady to be the prolific blogger of the family for the past couple of months, but I think I'd be remiss to go much longer before sharing the inside scoop on some of what's been going on in my brain as we've begun experiencing the joy of parenthood for the first time.

I'll start shortly after where I left off last time. I'll start with...

Labor

It's actually a good place to start, because I don't think Kathryn mentioned much about it in her blog. Can't say I blame her, it was hard. Correction - labor was crazy. We did the Bradley method and took the class, so we were prepared, but we sure weren't ready, if there's a makeable distinction there. I think God's set birth up so that you're never quite ready - he's wrapped up the risks and wonders so tightly in there that new parents can't help but have an experience that will forever be deeply imprinted on their brains and hearts.

To spare you too much unpleasant detail, I'll just give you a representative sampling of some of what was going through my head throughout it all, in some semblance of chronological order:

-"I sure hope she lets me sleep a little longer, I've sure got a massive headache."

-"She says this is it, and she's in way more pain than Saturday... hmm, this is probably it."

-"I hate running around the house so much in the 2 minute window we have between the end of one contraction and the start of another, but I've got to get all this stuff ready."

-"All she wants me to do is rub this one spot on her back. What about this part of her back, doesn't it... okay, okay, I'm rubbing that spot!"

-"The timing's there, the intensity's there - let's get to the hospital."

-"You want me to park the car now?"

-"So is this our nurse? Couldn't we find one a little friendlier?"

-"6 cm - that's it?"

-time passes

-"6 cm still? Okay doc, if you have to break the water artificially to help us, I suppose that's what should happen."

-"Should Kathryn really be running around the room right now? Maybe this is transition."

-"Wow, her back has been hurting non-stop. This is a mess."

-"I'm sure glad my headache is gone, otherwise I'd be a mess."

-"Okay, good - 9 cm. After how hard that last hour's been, I don't think she could take much more of this."

-"Wow, she wants to push. Is this happening already?"

-"Damn it, nurse, stop playing with your scanner gun and check her again!"

-"Yes, she wants to be checked, just like I told you three times already."

-"It's pushing time!"

-"Still pushing!"

-"Lots of pushing..."

-"Poor Kathryn, she's working so hard and baby's still not that close."

-"We can see a little of the head!"

-"Hmm, we've been seeing that much of his head for a while now."

-"Good grief, this is so much blood. How did none of those horrible videos show this much blood?"

-"Doc's cutting her. This sucks. But I guess it's that or something much worse."

-"You can do it Kathryn, you're so close!"

-"Oh my gosh, there he is!"

-"Sorry, let me try cutting that cord again, it's so rubbery!"

-"Wow, Ewan calmed down just from my voice!"

-"Ah, finally Kathryn gets to hold him. Too bad she can only see a little out of one eye."

The first night

It was wonderful holding Ewan the first day. At the end of it, after a good bit of passing him around to all the grandparents, uncles and aunts of various generations, Kathryn and I were afforded time alone in the recovery room, just us and our baby. Having gotten a caffeine boost late in the afternoon, I was able to hold him while Kathryn caught some well-earned shuteye. Joseph wept. I just sat there and basked in the feeling that the Lord was just washing away old dust and dirt and making a new start. Not just was Ewan experiencing new life, I was a full recipient of it, too. And it was one of those rare moments in life where my feeling of it initiated my knowing of it. Usually I let my brain or my body take the lead, but this time it was my heart. So I cried. It was wonderful.

Who's afraid of a little poop?

Everywhere?

Not I, at least, not any longer. Despite the very large number of our friends with young children, and our regular rotation through the church nursery, I had managed to remain a novice at diapering. I wouldn't claim the title of expert just yet, but I've got the hang of it for sure now. And I have most certainly been initiated into the ranks of those who can say, with absolute candor: who's afraid of a little poop? Or: oh that? just a little poop, no big deal - it'll wash out. At times I'm even a little excited about poop, but just at the times when poop means Ewan's tummy is no longer hurting him.

Kathryn loves her Ewan

This might be one of the greatest joys of new parenthood, seeing my wife fall in love with our baby. It's both surprising and not at all surprising at the same time to me. I had every confidence in her that she'd be a wonderful mommy, but I really had no idea what she would look like in that role. She consistently remarks about how cute he is, and the sincerity of her affection isn't mitigated by her fatigue or headaches. She's head over heels, and what can I say? She's got great taste in babies.

It's gradual

Seeing as my last blog post was about anticipating how much life would change and how far upside-down my world would flip, what strikes me more about this period in my life is less how different it feels than how gradual monumental change can be. Sure, some monumental change can happen overnight, but surprisingly, having a baby doesn't feel that way to me. We've been eased into it to a large degree. It's when I start thinking about what having my own son will ultimately mean that I get overwhelmed at the thought of all that has to happen and how unready I am for all of it. But he can't read yet - so I don't have to worry about schooling. He can't run yet, so I don't have to worry about sporting. He hasn't even really realized he has arms yet - so we've got time. I'm sure some personalities are such that some people would use this time to figure all that stuff out, but for now, it just seems right to take one thing at a time and make the most of this sweet time in Ewan's life.

Even the disciples who swiftly and suddenly left their day-jobs and everything else that was their security at the time still had to follow Jesus the same way anyone else would - by putting one foot in front of the other. Not to put the how of following him on some kind of pedestal above the why or the who, but sometimes it's God's grace to provide me the realization that all that's going to be required of me isn't necessarily required of me all at once. And not that I'm holding anything back from him about how I might follow him in raising my son, but he'll provide it when I need it.

More to come

I'll try not to be such a stranger, interwebs and loyal reader(s). Since this is by no means a near-complete representation of even the highlights of being a daddy so far, I'll leave it to another time to give you more of the "inside poop", as one book we've received lately refers to it. As I sign off, I'll leave you with a fatherly blessing, which you can interpret into your life as you can reasonably metaphorically justify:

May all your diapers be snug, and may all your pacifiers be clean.

Changes

2010-05-06T07:33:00.000-05:00

Any day now, our little boy will make his way into the world and turn it upside down for us.

From what I've heard.

And I don't have any reason to doubt those who tell me I have no idea how different, how new my life will be once the baby makes that big transition from fairly low-maintenance to ultra high-maintenance. Indeed, it's already starting to become that different.

I'm not sure that I handle transitions so smoothly - kind of like an engine low on transmission fluid. Even just the shift the past week or two from the frenzy of finishing house projects to the relative calm before the storm (a quick Google image search of "baby in a tornado" didn't net me anything useful to link to here) has been weird. We bought our house two years ago and never really finished construction on it or unpacking boxes into it until more or less now, and so coming down off of months of always having too much to do and trying to settle into a less busy pace is just ... not easy. We've got a little more time for a few days, but soon we won't. Crazy.

A month or so ago, after a stressful morning at work in which I was feeling the squeeze from work in addition to all the other life stuff stressing me out, I went to pick up Kathryn from her job so we could get lunch. After venting a little to her, she asked me, "Do we need to go to China King for lunch?" What a wonderful woman. That much at least will never change.

For everything else, though, I don't try to maintain any illusions that I'll recognize my life even as soon as a week from now. When I hold my son for the first time (and sob), endure my first week of sleep-deficient nights (sobbing), drive for the first time with an infant in the back seat (sweating), and whatever else the super-near future entails, I undoubtedly will feel like an alien in my own skin, but a happy one at that, like the ones that come and vacation on Earth and return to their home planets without leaving a credible piece of evidence that while they were really here, they weren't really from here. You know, that feeling.

Whether or not I recognize my life at that point isn't so important, though. Because it will be awesome. And I'll be the proudest dad there ever was, and we'll have the cutest baby boy there ever was, and Mommy will have had the easiest labor there ever was (a dude can dream), and we'll realize more deeply than ever the goodness of the Lord to us in giving this little person into our care.

I'll keep you posted. From the underside of the world.

The big push before the big push

2010-03-26T06:53:00.005-05:00

I've noticed over the past eight months or so the way that expecting a baby can reorder life. I'd noticed it in other people before myself. In some men, though I wouldn't have called them irresponsible before, there's a marked difference in the seriousness with which they begin to approach life, and they really turn into good husbands and dads. As far as I can tell, at least - but it's hard to chock it all up to appearances when their kids are turning out so well, and I see firsthand (even if only once in a while) how they interact with their wives and kids. (In case you're the type of reader who likes to reread sentences in your head and make things sound weird, I should clarify that last sentence by saying that I don't personally know any polygamists.)

I've even thought some about my dad lately, and the good examples he sets. He would always drive the older (at times junkier) car and let mom drive the better or newer one. He would go out of his way to set up activities where he could spend quality time with me - including such things as building uneven bars for me in the backyard when I was in gymnastics, or pouring a concrete slab in the backyard and putting up a basketball goal when I was in basketball, or coaching my YMCA soccer team, though I'm pretty sure he'd never played soccer before, and I can only speculate as to whether he'd ever even seen a match prior to hanging the whistle around his neck. Probably, but who knows? He's also always gone to great lengths to engage me spiritually, and teach me the importance of knowing the Lord and making that central to everything that I do.

Is Kathryn's and my first child having the same impact on me? It's hard to tell - change for me usually tends to happen so gradually as to be difficult to notice on my own (maybe others can see it more clearly). All I know is that there hasn't been an abundance of time lately to sort all these things out. I would have strongly preferred to have all the major work on the house done months ago and spent most of 2010 reading and thinking deeply about the upcoming change to our family. As it stands now, cosmic diaphragms are starting to get sore for all the laughter at my naiveté for thinking that, amid all the things that we decided we needed to get done in the last several months, somehow we could have completed them in a more timely fashion than all the other do-it-ourselves endeavors.

Does God laugh at us the same way we laugh at children? Since I'm pretty much always laughing at them, I think I'm a more likely candidate than some to be a source of heavenly amusement.

I think this will be the perspective to help me be a good sport about achieving the following in the next few weeks:

-Planting six raised garden beds

-Installing window blinds throughout the house

-Finishing baseboards and trim

-Organizing a very unorganized house

-Finishing dining room table and chairs

-Having gutters installed (thankfully not something I'm doing myself)

-Refinancing the house

-Doing taxes

-Setting up a baby room

I'm sure there's plenty I'm leaving out, but that hits most of the big stuff. It's funny to think that a little baby could inspire such a frenzy of activity, that we begin to suddenly realign our whole lives in anticipation of something we know is coming, but isn't fully here yet in the sense that we know it will be soon enough. Yes, it's pretty obvious I'm going somewhere with this, which is here. Pretty amazing the way God has knit together all the kinds of new life he brings. It comes subtly, but surely (though, ask my wife, and she would say there's nothing especially subtle about the active little boy in her belly); hidden for now, but with signs, and the anticipation of a glorious breaking-in to the world. This is comforting for those of us who find difficulty living in the reality of a kingdom that we can't see by looking at life as it's packaged and sold by an eager world. Despite appearances to the contrary, I can say this with confidence, and in more ways than one:

He's coming. And I'll be ready.

Close Call on Crappy Coffee

2010-03-09T22:06:00.000-06:00

A little over a week ago I nearly sold myself out for recognition and compensation. These guys were doing a jingle contest and I attempted to enter, only to be denied at the last minute by the contest website (yes, I waited until the last minute to try and submit my entry, but it was a very busy weekend).

That "SERIOUSLY?!" moment was quite a long time in the making. At first, I was hoping to do the contest with this guy, until we found out he makes too much of his money as a professional musician. Oh, well. Then I thought this guy would be fun to put a jingle together with, but it turned out to be not a good time for him. Oh, well. But all was not yet lost - we have no shortage of musical talent among our comrades, so I gave this guy a call, and he returned an enthused, "let's do it!" Only, schedules didn't jive, I think some illnesses got in the way (oh, well), and long story short, it's February 27th and I've got less than 48 hours to put my song and video together.

So I decide to go solo (well, sort of - I know I can talk my lovely wife into putting something amazing together for the video in a very short amount of time, and she certainly did, as you'll soon see). Oh, and this is the weekend that we're working on the house, have both sets of family in, have our first baby shower, and meet and chat with our future housemate for the first time - but no big deal, we'll squeeze in cutting a music video, somehow.

The deadline is 11:00 PM (midnight Eastern Standard Time), February 28th. Wouldn't you know, we get to about 9:00 PM and I'm still finalizing the song, no video shot yet. We get to about 10:00 and we're just getting the camera rolling. 10:30, Kathryn's editing the video on our low-end laptop (PSA: don't edit video on low-end laptops). 10:48, the video file is exporting. 10:53, I'm furiously typing on the first of three screens on the contest website, hoping to get my personal info and the video submitted in the next 7 minutes. 10:56, the website malfunctions and won't take me to the screen to upload my video.

This is a true story.

10:59 - 11:01ish, Kathryn pulls up the correct screen on the other computer, I throw the video on our jump drive like a mad man, rush to the other room, and get it uploading.

Shortly after that, we get a failure message from the website - they obviously shut it off at 11:00.

No problem, I'll just email the company, explain the issue their website caused, and hope that someone will have the consideration to let me send in my video still, somehow. Two days later I receive a CYA response, with the applicable portion of the contest rules copied and pasted into the email. I was actually impressed how many scenarios they'd thought of beforehand, that they did have actual control over, for which they found a way to excuse themselves of any liability or responsibility.

Oh, well. I suppose the bright side has two parts to it:

1) I don't have to endorse coffee I would never drink, and

2) I have a fun song and video to share with you today*!

*Video does not constitute an actual endorsement for any products it may seem to be actually endorsing. JoeZone and its affiliates are in no way responsible for any dissatisfaction, bad tastes in mouths, vomiting, regrets, wasting of a few dollars or more, or yuckiness of any sort that are in any way connected to you seeing the preceding video and finding yourself unable to control the urge to go out and purchase the coffee advertised in the video.

Quick stats for ya

2010-01-27T06:56:00.001-06:00

I'll leave it to Kathryn to give you the exciting updates on our near-finished marathon bathroom remodel.

I, on the other hand, will provide you with some exceptionally illuminating statistics:

17 - the number of months we've been in our work-in-progress house.
17 - the number of months it's taken me to figure out that caulking is my absolute least favorite thing ever when it comes to working on a house.
17 - the number of times last night, while caulking, that I considered packing our bags and moving us to a state park or Alaska or something so we could just live in a tent.
17 - the number of minutes it took me to scrub and scrape the dried caulk off my fingers after getting less than half the remaining caulking done in the bathroom.

Last, but not least:
17 - seventeen more than the number of people who are likely to want to return to my blog anytime soon after reading this post.

Hospitals and horse races

2010-01-17T07:59:00.003-06:00

Nearly a week ago today, I almost lost my Dad. He frantically woke my mother up just after midnight Monday morning, barely able to breathe, much less get out the words for Mom to take him to the hospital.

6 days later, he's still in ICU, but has finally recovered to the point that they no longer keep him sedated (he threw a couple of nurses out the window for all the poking and prodding, I think), and they're steadily weaning him off the ventilator, which he was totally dependent on for breathing just days ago.

Our God is powerful and loving, and he has heard our cries.

Dad has self-published a couple of books now, and is working on a third. His published stuff has been about spirituality, and the third book he's working on is about the glory of God. He's been approaching the book from the perspective that he has a lot to learn before he feels like he can complete it and do it justice.

On a related note, one that my Dad will undoubtedly be thrilled that I've shared, I may have seen Dad truly weep for the first time in my life (and consequently the second, third, and so on). Some people would have probably kept better track of such a thing - all I can say is I don't remember any particularly weepy emotional outbursts (or even out-trickles) from my Dad. He said this, just after Kathryn and I (and baby) walked into the hospital ICU room Friday, and just before the waterworks began, "You are a beautiful sight. I forgot you were coming. You three are a beautiful sight." As you might suspect, Kathryn was also crying within seconds. While I only got misty, don't worry about me - if you're around me enough, you'll know that I cry fairly often during worship and Toy Story movies. I think, in addition to the humbling circumstances of being in the hospital (and ICU on top of that), the overwhelming display of love of so many family and friends really touched him. (We really packed out that room and the waiting room all week.) Dad, I think you've learned something about the glory of God. I think we all have.

We've also enjoyed some of your unfiltered, slightly drug-induced moments. I'll leave you all for now with something my Dad doesn't remember saying to my Aunt Lorna (his sister).

"I'm challenging you to a horse race. You and me. I bet you five dollars I can win."

We love you Dad. We trust the Lord for your recovery and restoration. And we all look forward to seeing you on that horse.

Floor no more!

2009-12-08T07:30:00.001-06:00

Thumbs way up.

Gaze your eyes upon this marvel:

You might wonder why I would be so excited about a rather tacky-looking part of our house. Well, cease your wondering and hear this: last night I finished the last non-closet piece of hardwood flooring in the house. Considering that we started laying the floor almost a year and a half ago, this is quite a cause for celebration! You might notice that the final row of wood there is way skinnier than the other rows. I ended up ripping it lengthways. It got pretty tricky in the place where part of the drywall comes down lower than the rest - I had to chisel out a section of it so I could squeeze the strip in place. Lucky for me I'm so danged handy and clever.

So that's Done with a capital D (and a -one tacked on right after). Like I've surely said before on here, I'll say again - you should buy me a beer! Seriously, you should get me one.

I've got some closets left to finish, and in the remodeling of our main bathroom there will be some tile to lay, but getting to this point is a huge milestone. When projects drag this long, I tend to lose sight of the end, and suffer a lack of hopeful imagination. To be perfectly honest, if we ever buy another house, and someone tries to pitch to me that the house "has potential", I will probably go momentarily insane and give them the most painful wedgie ever experienced (this side of the Mississippi, of course).

Oh, and in case you're wondering what type of floor this is, it's cherry birch. I think the "cherry" part of that is really just the stain, 'cause the wood doesn't have a hint of red underneath.

So, in sum:

-All room-hardwood done,

-Buy Joe a beer, and

-Consider it wise (had to find a way to start this one with a C)
(and -onsider) to never tell me a house "has potential" unless you realize the same is true for your underpants.

Tales of Two Victories

2009-12-06T10:05:00.009-06:00

Howdy y'all! Glad you could make it back after over a month of shirking on my part. You might read the title and assume more of a continuity between the ensuing tales than actually exists. Really they're only connected in that they're both part of my life, and both tell-worthy. Oh, and I'd better go ahead and throw this up there:

WARNING: Graphic images of man-over-nature conquest. Not for viewing during meals. Strong caution to anyone with a soft spot for annoying flying pests.

I haven't said anything on here about our trip to Tennessee in early November. It was great. We stayed with these people, this guy and his wife, and this guy. Other than a night in Chattanooga, TN, we spent the rest of the nine-day trip with these good friends. So good to see them all.

It was while we were with the Cavins in Murfreesboro (yes, that word has too many r's) that I decided to venture out for a game of disc golf. Though it was a difficult course, I was enjoying myself until about hole 13. First, I threw a disc into some bushes. Not a game-wrecker in and of itself, mind you. So I go to retrieve it.

New paragraph for dramatic emphasis. While bending down and pushing a side a branch, something flies into my ear. Yes, you read that correctly, a bug assaulted my ear. So I did the logical thing and began to freak out. I cussed the bug. Didn't help. Hopped around while bug-cussing. Nothin'. Pulled on my ear and ear lobe, attempting to widen the hole so bugzilla could make its exit. (Verbal abuse strategy still being executed at this point.) Nada. I figure maybe I can dig the sucker out with my pinkie finger. Nope. And now my ear is hurting a little bit from jamming my finger in. Not to mention burning from my own creative brand of tongue-assault.

I should also point out that there is a periodic throbbing from the beast flapping some kind of wings. Magnified, of course, by the proximity to my eardrum. Kind of like when you stick earphones in and don't realize all your volume controls are maxed out. But way more maddening because THERE'S A FRICKIN' BUG IN YOUR EAR.

Now, by this point I've started to make some observations and hasty doomsday conclusions. One, my disc golf game is pretty much over, because my ear is starting to hurt, and for all I know, I've busted my ear drum by digging around in there. Second, if I have in fact busted my eardrum, I might have to go to a hospital and the rest of the vacation is ruined. If it's not perfectly obvious to you already, I was ill-equipped to handle a bug in the ear.

I make for the car. Hopping, fuming, and pulling my ear all the way in hopes of evicting my unwelcome tenant and salvaging my game. I don't think too many people witnessed the spectacle. I race for the Cavins' house. By this point I'm unsure whether the intermittent throbbing is a result of the bug refusing to give in to death by earwax or the whooshing of wind past my busted eardrum.

I finally arrive at Casa Cavin. I burst inside and, upon seeing Kathryn, tell her gravely that I need her help. She comes into the bathroom and I bring her up to speed on the situation at hand.

"There's a bug in my ear. Either it's still alive, or I busted my eardrum and now it's throbbing from the wind."

"How would you have busted your eardrum? Did you jam something down in there?"

"I stuck my finger in to try and get the bug out."

"You wouldn't be able to reach your eardrum with your finger."

"Oh. Okay, good."

"Plus, your ear would be killing you."

"Okay, it doesn't hurt that bad. So it must still be alive in there."

At this point, we formulate a plan. From high school biology, I remember that bugs can be killed with rubbing alcohol. From high school lifeguarding, I remember that the stuff you use for swimmer's ear is basically just rubbing alcohol. So the first step is to drown the perp with alcohol. I lean over, pour some in, and there's a moment of extra-intense throbbing. Finally, it stops, and I know that whatever is in there is dead.

Jenny has an idea of how to get the thing out. Kathryn has already looked in my ear and can't see a thing. So we use a sucker bulb (the kind used to clean boogers out of babies' noses) to squirt, no, violently flood my ear with water. Kathryn did it once and it didn't work. I'm like, "okay, let's try it again, but you don't have to do it so hard this time." Jenny's all, "actually, sorry, it does need to be that hard." Take two. The water rushes painfully in. Bingo! It worked. Kathryn can see something big in my ear, so she grabs a Q-Tip and fishes it out. Guess what was in my ear. You ready for this?

A fly. A very large housefly. Or bushfly, perhaps? We've surmised that it was likely mutated and bred for being huge and nasty and evil. Wanna see it? Lucky for you, I've got before and after pictures!

Before (this is once the fly is first out of my ear):

After (once the fly got all that was coming to it):

So yes, justice was done. And I'm posting this on the interwebs as a warning and example to any and all (bugs, mainly) who think it might somehow be a good idea to get into my ear and buzz around and not leave in a timely fashion. Beware!

Now, on to another victory - baby! Kathryn and I are very excited that this coming Thursday we'll find out if we have a bell-pepper sized boy or girl! This is probably the biggest milestone yet of the pregnancy, though of course the pregnancy itself is a huge milestone given that for the 11 months prior to getting pregnant, we weren't able to get pregnant. God's been so good.

Something about knowing whether we'll have a boy or a girl makes this thing so much more real. Not that it hasn't seemed real yet. When your wife only ever wants to sleep, eat (only of necessity, though) and puke, it's pretty hard to ignore the reality that there's a baby in there. But soon we'll actually know something about our baby. Something more than he or she has a head and arms and legs and a beating heart, which are all amazing in their own right. It seems like the real beginning of discovering who this wonderful little person will be, and who the Lord will be making him or her. (It will also be the beginning of not having to constantly type "him or her" or "he/she" or "Floriberto/Floriberta".)

I wonder what else you will be, little one. A jock? An artist? A nerd? (Well, we kind of already know that one.) A comedian? (Again, no one is questioning this one.)

Will you be shy? Outgoing? Subtle? Pull-no-punches? Inquisitive? Fearless? Boundlessly energetic? Boundary-pushing? Bold?

I know you will be loved. Indeed, you already are. I know you will be brought up to be on constant lookout for the Lord, finding him in both unlikely and time-tested places. I know we will teach you to present those discoveries to the world so people can taste the goodness the Lord has baked deep into creation. I know you'll be someone who cares deeply about people, and constantly learns to better put their needs ahead of your own. I know you'll be a joy to know and see.

I'm excited about the surprises you'll bring us. About the ways you'll teach us to love and trust and not be so jaded about life.

I can't wait to hold you and kiss your little head. People will probably think I'm running for office.

I'm sure that moment will come soon enough! In the meantime, Mommy and Daddy have lots to do to get ready! This includes making sure your room has a floor. Aren't we the best?

Okay, readers, I'm talking to you again. Thanks for stopping by! I'll try not to make it forever between posts, but we all know how that can be. Until next time, remember what we've learned today:

-The only good bug is a mutilated bug, and

-Coming soon, Boy or Girl Peebles! We'll let you know!

Icees and Marriage

2009-10-20T16:13:00.004-05:00

After nearly 8 years of marriage, Kathryn and I are still learning new things about each other. Couples with more years under their belts have said the same thing. They've said, "After nearly 8 years of marriage, Kathryn and Joe are still learning new things about each other." See? It's what everyone is saying these days.

The occasion for today's revelation was a romantic luncheon at Gattitown. We got our hopes up when the Icee machine didn't have an "Out of Order" sign like it did last week (yes, we're star customers at G-Town these days - for some reason, Kathryn feels less preggie-sick when she's eaten pizza), but upon closer inspection, the mix wasn't ready yet. Drat! Foiled again!

So we set to eating lunch. At one point, I go for a drink refill and notice that the Icee machines are ready to go. Sweet! I get one small cup of cherry Icee for me, one of Coke Icee for Kathryn, since those are, of course, what both of us most like. I set them down on the table in their respective places and go back to get napkins. I come back and Kathryn is laughing, saying "Are you joking? You're not going to drink all that cherry." I said, "Why not? I like cherry."

(I'm starting a new paragraph because this is the part where the story really takes off.) She says, "How in the world do you like cherry? Everytime we get Icees from Sam's, you always insist that we get Coke."

"Of course," says I, "because you like Coke more than cherry." "Nay," replies the wife, "I like cherry better than Coke." "Really?" "Really." "Hm."

Says Kathryn, "So you really don't like Coke better?" "No," quoth yours truly, "I prefer cherry." "Hm."

Anyways, I could go on and describe the part of the conversation where we candidly worked out our feelings on Blue Raspberry, but that's either another blog post in itself or not worth going into.

Wow. Who'd a thunk it? Nearly 8 years of marriage and we'd been doing this crazy little Icee dance, neither of us getting what we truly wanted, both of us trying to sacrifice a little to try and please the other person. To think that all this time, we could have both been savoring more of that frozen cherry goodness, instead of settling for less. Boggles the mind. Whether or not the lesson in all of this is, as the psycho-babblers love to put it, "COMMUNICATION!", I've certainly learned something about my wife, and I'll take it on serendipity.

Needless to say, this one has almost certainly already gone down in Wikipedia as the Great Peebles Icee Surprise of 2009, and will be told and embellished for generations to come.

Names

2009-10-13T06:55:00.000-05:00

Hello again, friends and families! I'm still here, and have just been pretty swamped taking care of a sickly Kathryn and her stomach-baby. Lately, my motto has been, "Hate the pregnancy, love the baby." Wait, hang on...

Okay, I'm back. Ironically enough, I was called away to attend a nigh-puking Kathryn. (Actually, I didn't type "wait, hang on" before going to help her, if you're wondering why someone would keep a sick pregnant woman waiting while he finishes a thought. I typed it in after I came back because it was just too appropriate.)

Anywayz, despite all the sickness and tiredness, we're excited about baby and you'll undoubtedly be hearing all about it on here.

I'll kick off the baby-blogging by asking for a little help with names. Specifically, boy names. Girl names seem easy to me, because you just end them with -ylie or -era or -va and they sound pretty. Piece of cake. But boy names, that's harder. I'd like it to sound masculine enough, without being overused, and it has to go okay with the name Peebles. Sure, those last two apply to girl names as well, but still, for some reason, we're finding boy names harder to add to our list of potentials.

So I thought I'd turn to my fan-base for a little help! I'll get the ball rolling with a few leading contenders, and then maybe we'll get some good suggestions rolling in. Sound good?

Here's what I've got so far:

-Floribert (I think maybe it's Italian or something... seriously, this one really grows on you)
-Phoseph (You know, if I wanted to honor myself, but in a subtler way than Joseph II)
-Gandalf (No one would dare mess with someone wielding a powerful name like Gandalf)

So... post a comment with your ideas! If you don't, I'm likely to use one of the aforementioned names!

Housies!

2009-08-14T06:52:00.000-05:00

It's official, folks - we've got people living with us! As Kathryn noted, Ryan and Chalyce moved in last night. Whoop! Despite apparent subconscious anxiety and an overall challenge of succintly describing "them living with us", I'm super-stoked.

Let me deal with the latter of those caveats first: how to refer to them. It's trickier than you might think. Some people throw out the term roommate without any regard to etymology. (I know, I know, it's a crazy world we live in. Words aren't just words, you know.) But hello, they're not sharing our bedroom. So "roommates" is out. I also thought, Hey Joe, maybe call them "cohabitants". Unfortunately, this word has a connotation that prevents it from being appropriate to our context. So that's out too. I think I've figured it out, though. I'm gonna go with housie. (Disclaimer: we haven't actually sat down to have the DTR talk yet, so this is subject to change.) It even checks out okay on Urban Dictionary if you go with the second meaning.

If you know me, you'll know that it's rare that Urban Dictionary and I see eye-to-eye. But this time, we're cool.

So we've got housies! People who live in our house in a non-weird way in a part of it that's enough on the other side of the house that we all have some privacy but also we share a kitchen and living space and generally get to know good friends better by living in close proximity! Housies! Yay!

Those of you who know me better than just my dramatic history with Urban Dictionary might be thinking, how is Joe's subconscious handling all of this? You might be wondering that because you knew that I grew up as kind of a loner-nerd and have only become super-cool in the past few years. Yes, I know this comes as quite a shock to those of you who have only known me in recent years, but I used to be socially awkward.

How does this play into being around people all the time, and not just in public? I'm going to have to work that one out. I'm not worried about stuff coming to the surface as far as wanting more isolation than I'll be able to have, I'm just trying to be ready for it if it does come up.

Then again, my subconscious may have had something to say about it all, based on my dream last night.

I dreamt that I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. (Our bathroom is across the hall from our bedroom.) I open the door to go in, and Ryan is standing there. One of us says, "Oops, sorry". (I forget who. By the way, the part of the house they're living in is on the far corner from our bedroom, and it has its own bathroom.)

Pretty wild stuff. Probably a bit of a letdown with all the buildup, too.

So. Here's to good times with the new housies! Here's to building community and people not being fazed by other people's crap! Here's to sharing lasagna, pillow fights, and having someone else to mow the yard! (Heh, heh.) Or something like that.

Here's to a true thumbs-up event.

It's a tie!

2009-08-03T07:04:00.000-05:00

COWPIE #5 has officially ended, the votes are in, and folks, we have a tie!

This means a verdict will effectively never be rendered about whether it is better to:

a) cram as many random elements into a chunk of writing with no regard for how they will resolve (a la Joe), or

b) come up with a cool (albeit nerdy) idea and a direction for the book, and properly pique readers' interest in getting to the ending you already envision (Kathryn-style).

To each their own! Well done, Kathryn. Until next time...

COWPIE #5! Book hook

2009-07-30T00:00:00.002-05:00

Howdy folks! Welcome to another quality installation of the COWPIE phenomenon! menon. mahna. Anyhooz, you remember the drill. Read this entry, and the one over here, and post a comment to vote for your favorite! Or post an entry in a comment to join in the fun! Voting closes Sunday night (otherwise this would go on forever - gotta count all these manually, you know).

Here's the prompt for this go-round:
Write the first few sentences (120 words or less) of a book. Could be any type of book. Most gripping entry wins.

So that's what I did. Microsoft Word will back me up: I've got 120 words - precisely - of the most hand-wringing, seat-edge-inhabiting, mind-gripping prose this side of the Brazos. Ready to blow your Chacos off. But prepare yourself: it's going to be a veritable roller-coaster of emotion. No sooner will you have devoured 120 juicy, delicious, well-seasoned, not-too-overdone, with a hint of cumin, savory words, than you will suddenly and inescapably be overcome with disappointment that what comes next will, in fact, never come next. It will literally be said, for years to come, "that's all he wrote."

But cheer up. In the meantime, you've got a COWPIE to devour! Enjoy every last fresh, steaming word. Without further a-doo...

(Actually, go ahead and take a minute to let that last string of jokes wear off before moving on. Okay, ready? You sure? Proceed.)

Chapter 1

11:55. It’s nearly time, Maurice. Oh well. Nothing more you can do now. Even if there were still time for agonizing, that wouldn’t make them understand. Friends. Bah. Each and every one of them false. Each and every one of them, regrettably, about to lose everything.

11:57. Fools. You warned them, Maurice. Weird science, they said. Fuzzy math. Bad religion. Petty politics. They wouldn’t listen to reason or pleading.

11:58. You can do this. You must do this – it’s the only way.

11:59. Was that a slight breeze outside? Is it possible? Down here? Can’t be –
but that means –

12:00. Time.

Maurice unzipped and stepped outside his tent. Taking one last look around, he ran like he’d never run before.

Regarding telephones

2009-07-22T06:24:00.000-05:00

First, a grievance:

It's difficult for me to conceive of areas of our country from where you can still get a busy signal when making a telephone call. I suppose it's the sheer age of call waiting and voicemail technologies that make this particularly astonishing to me. I'd love to see some kind of nerdy statistic to support my bafflement, like "a decade of our time is equivalent to two centuries of ancient time" in terms of the development and adoption of new technologies.

I don't know why it drives me so batty to get a busy signal when I call a person or a business, but it does.

Next, the irony:

I can't receive text messages on my cell phone. A number of people have pointed out to me that "everyone gets text messages", so I wonder if this handicap, combined with the increasing representation of gray on my facial and cranial hair, ages me prematurely. (I think I'd actually be okay with this if it hastened retirement or discounts on food or coffee, but I doubt it will.)

Times like this make me reluctantly appreciative of God's sense of humor. Not to mention his amazing sense of economy at providing these kinds of dramatic entertainment at my expense. Blessed are the poor - for they will find they are rich enough to be made fun of.

One man's trash...

2009-07-09T22:02:00.001-05:00

(from the draft pile...)

I recently sold this beauty to an older couple from Hearne:

Somehow, even though my life isn't ultimately defined materially, it still seems that the cars I drive have a kind of influence on the way I perceive my identity. Or at least, the way I perceive the way I'm perceived.

Take the Escort, for example. In a kind of "Blessed are the poor" meets "I'm so awesome because my experiences of early-life-stage middle-class poverty-approximation totally outdo yours" way (you know, the conversations where people try to one-up each other on what their parents made them drive as starter cars, and the like), I'd really grown into an appreciation of the kinds of reactions I would get as I started up that car close to a group of friends, and puttered away, carried along by an engine that was tens of thousands of miles past due for a tune-up. (Seriously, this was the car that could always be heard coming from at least a couple of blocks away, with its mighty 1.8 liter V4.) As an added bonus, I would make sure they got a good view of the back bumper as I drove off - or at least, the half of it that still remained. (Sorry, no pic here - the one above was my "best foot forward" teaser for the Craigslist posting.)

But it was as much fun to drive as it was for others to experience me driving. Consider all the "personality" that the new owners had to find compatible with theirs in order to want to make it their own:

-Windows didn't roll down. (This is because, after a while, the kind that you crank yourself start wearing down on the inside, and once it starts taking a strong man to roll and unroll them, the parts just aren't made for that kind of brute strength.)

-A/C didn't work on the top setting. (And the second highest-setting certainly wasn't cutting it in Texas summer heat.)

-Engine idled rough. More precisely, it shudder-heaved. (Best to slip it into neutral at stop signs and stop lights.)

-Transmission fluid and oil leaked. (No biggie - just add a little more every other day.)

-Visors weren't really movable anymore. (Sunglasses a must.)

The poor dear had begun to show her age, too. Peeling paint, rusting metal. A handful of dents and dings (other than the bumper, all of these were inherited from the previous owner, a.k.a. "Sistah".) But, having been built Ford tough, this was hardly cause to raise an eyebrow.

Ah, the memories. It wasn't my first car, or even my second, but it certainly was one of the most memorable. And who can put a price tag on such experiences? Actually, in this case, that would be about $450. So we'll hope for the best, but if it goes kaput, then at least the old couple aren't out too much money. May it treat its new owners well and not become rural yard art.

So, goodbye, my weird friend. It's been interesting. I say that because it sounds better than frustrating. But now I've got stories to tell, and that's something that money truly can't buy.

It dances, I geek out!

2009-06-18T08:42:00.003-05:00

(This post brought to you by the "up" thumb.)

This is not news, really, though it was to me. If you haven't heard of the Sony Rolly, check out a demo of it here.

I don't know exactly why, but this strikes me as one of the best possible uses of technology. Sure, it might seem like some kind of technology with medical application would easily be more important, and I would agree to a degree since I am a contact lens wearer, but a lot of those technologies are aimed less at enabling disabilities and more at prolonging the inevitable. Whatever, right? That could just be a dumb opinion of mine that will change "when it happens to me", but bodies weren't meant to last forever, and we can't make them that way.

Rant over, geek start. This little dancing robot is so cool. (I've got robots on the brain lately since a friend of mine did this cool little project.) I think that's because it reminds me of the genius and purpose of art - and what it is and isn't. A conference on the arts I attended last year stressed that art shouldn't have utility; instead, it is what it is. It will resist attempts to use it for what it's not created to be. It's useless, but in a good way. It's there to be enjoyed and appreciated. (At least, that's what I took from the conference, whether I'm butchering the concepts or not.)

Rolly plays music and dances. So I guess it's useful in terms of having something around the house that plays music. But I don't think you can use it to make a call, or take a picture, or manage your calendar. You just enjoy it, and that's the beauty.

I don't care if you buy one or not. But if you do, I'll probably invite myself over and sit and watch it for hours. And drink your beer, if you have any.

Rise of the Machines

2009-05-28T06:47:00.003-05:00

No, I haven't seen the new Terminator movie. (Not the same title, anyways.) That's not what this is about.

Check out this little nugget of ridiculosity. Virginians are not allowed to smile when getting their picture taken at the DMV. New computer software aimed at improving prevention of fraud and identity theft by comparing mugshots over time won't allow it.

It's not the first time we've made machines and forced ourselves to accommodate to them. I sit at a desk all day with a comfy chair and wrist pad and perfectly adjusted monitors so that I can stay sitting longer and be more productive. (Don't get me wrong, I like my job.)

But this one is harder for me to stomach, somehow. Just wait. Next they'll (it's kind of fun to lump all the nasty people in power into one steaming pile and suggest that all of them are out to keep us down and make our lives miserable) be banning people from driving whose knees bend the other way. Sound far-fetched? The dark future is coming, my friend.

Renaissance of the Nerds

2009-05-11T07:07:00.002-05:00

Ever since this went down a few weeks ago, it seems as though Kathryn and I have been going through something of a nerd-renaissance. (And yes, I was able to spell that last word without looking it up.)

I'll be brevious. Recently Kathryn and I were driving and a bird flew across the front of our car. It stayed in view after that, and pulled a sort of horizontal 180 degree flip, followed by a wicked upswing that was all the more impressive given the short amount of time it all happened in.

Here's the conversation that ensued:

Me: Did you see that bird?

Kathryn: Yeah, that was cool. It did like a feinting wonky.

Me: You mean a Wronski Feint? (Kudos to the Muggles who didn't let me down by giving me something to hyperlink to.)

Kathryn: [laughs]

In the conversation that followed, Kathryn admitted to sometimes intentionally botching up Lord of the Rings character names so that I could get them right and correct her. Sorry Chica, but after blowing me out of the water a few weeks ago in our house Nerd-Off, nobody's buying it! Plus, I think if we were trying to make Jesus cry by taking something he said and making a general 'principle' out of it, we could take the time when he said he'd be ashamed of us if we were ashamed of him and apply it generally to identity issues, such as being true to ourselves (which is essentially the same as being true to whatever personality or trend we follow anyways) - in which case, not being true to one's own innate nerdness is, by some form of logic, tantamount to messianic desertion.

Nerd out.

COWPIE #4 - T-shirt bleach stenciling contest!

2009-04-23T00:01:00.002-05:00

Howdy folks, and welcome to another quality installment in our COWPIE series! This week's challenge:

Make our own t-shirt designs using bleach stenciling.

This particular prompt gave me a unique opportunity to blend the worlds of philosophy and fashion in a way that only a person with such little respect as myself for either world could possibly even imagine. As such, I make quite the many-layered statement (alas, if only I'd worn layers to deepen the metaphor), as you will soon see below. Not only that, but my particular approach to sticking it to the people who stick it to the man is particularly clever, if I do say so myself.

That self-said, I present you with my latest "piece":

Before I leave you to ponder the depths you've just been awakened to, let me show you Kathryn's next...

So there you have it. Enjoy, and be sure to vote for your favorite! Tune in next week for our challenge of making a 15 second television commercial for something you’d use on a daily basis (can be real or made up). Later!

JoeZone is back!

2009-04-22T07:05:00.000-05:00

Greetings, all of you, on this fine Earth Day. Not only is today significant in terms of saving the planet, but it also happens to be a Wednesday, a.k.a. Hump Day. Put those together and you get Hump Earth Day.

While that revelation is certainly worth a gratuitous blog post in and of itself, I wanted to bring glad tidings of renaming my blog (the whole "make-the-title-so-long-that-you-fall-asleep-reading-it" bit had run its course) and adding a cool photo header! (I feel so 21st century!) Kathryn and I snapped some cool pictures in Corpus Christi last weekend, ultimately inspiring the makeover. (Our new digital camera is so cool!) So "JoeZone" is back and as cool as ever, just like these guys.

Anyways, you've got things to do, and I've got a t-shirt to bleach before 12:01 am tomorrow morning, so I'll blog atcha later.

COWPIE #3: Worldwide Issue Song

2009-04-17T00:01:00.001-05:00

It's here! COWPIE #3 and my song. I'm so pumped - music writing is fun!

The prompt: Create a song, no longer than one minute, addressing an important global issue of your choosing.

I chose global warming! Or sustainability. Though, to be perfectly honest, I really thought we didn't want to sustain the warming of the planet. Whatev.

(Note: There is now a video inserted, though originally I just did the song for the contest. This is me coming back later and adding the video that Kathryn later put together since a widget I'd used to play the song in the first place no longer works.) After you listen, check out Kathryn's entry and listen to her song, and then vote (once) in the comments on one of our blogs to select the winner!

I'm posting the words here in case any parts of the song are hard to understand. You might try just listening first so you don't spoil fun surprises! Don't worry, you'll want to play this song several times anyways (at least), so there will be plenty of opportunity later to make sure you understood me correctly (which is important, of course, so that we all do our part). Also, this or this might help you understand the reference at the end...

Lyrics
Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?
There's nasty greenhouse gases and rising seas
If something doesn't change we'll all be cooked alive
Don't know 'bout you but that ain't how I wanna die

We've got to take action before it's too late
There's polar ice caps melting while you hesitate
Let's change the policies that are too lenient
Move it or lose it - the truth is inconvenient

(So now let's...)
Go green, save forests, use better bulbs
Check tire pressure on those vehicles
Reduce, reuse, recycle, but what is more
You've got to believe the power is yours

(Earth, fire, wind, water, HEART!)

You've got to believe the power is yours!

COWPIE #3 Teaser

2009-04-09T06:46:00.001-05:00

Yes, I know that COWPIE #2 hasn't officially closed voting yet, and no, this isn't some lame attempt on my part to get more votes because I'm afraid I'm not nerdy enough. (I'm actually quite secure in my nerdiness, thank you very much.)

I wanted to give y'all a heads up of what to expect for next week's COWPIE challenge. Since we got our first additional participant in the challenge this week, we want to be sure to give y'all enough time in case anyone else wants to get in on the fun, especially because next week's prompt is a little more demanding:

Create a song, no longer than one minute, addressing an important global issue of your choosing.

There you have it - you have been officially teased! Remember to vote for your favorite "Number Two" COWPIE entry!

COWPIE #2: Nerd-off!

2009-04-09T00:01:00.010-05:00

Boy howdy, it's time for another COWPIE! This week's prompt is to write a Top 10 “Why I’m the most nerdy” list. Once you've read my post and Kathryn's post, then please cast a vote!

(edit) THIS JUST IN: Cory has also submitted an entry! Check it out here. You can vote for his on either blog by specifying that you're voting for Cory.

But first, a quick note about a change in voting procedure: to vote, simply post a comment on the blog you think should win. You only need to vote once, and votes can be anonymous. This way we don't have to keep switching back and forth between each of our blogs and wondering if we voted for ourselves on both. (Look, I'm not implying anything about Kathryn's last-minute come-from-behind tie on the first COWPIE - I'm just sayin'.)

That said, enjoy, and... Nerd On!

Top 10 Reasons Why Joe Is the Metanerd of the Peebles Family

10. Nerdy sound bites. Remember that commercial where the hard-luck kid walks home from school in the rain and then goes to Chuck E. Cheese to redeem his pitiful day? When they get to the arcade, he says to his older brother, "You're on my turf now!" Apparently, I thought this was the thing to say one time when I was playing YMCA soccer and was facing off against kids I knew from school. Turns out it's really just the thing to say if you want to give the cool kids another reason to laugh at you.
9. Just an old-fashioned nerd-song, coming down in four-part nerdery. In college I was part of a barbershop-gospel quartet called AcaFellas. Yeah, you can go ahead and just cast your vote now, and then continue reading the rest of the top-ten list.
8. Front-row Joe. While we're on the subject of music, I should mention that I love singing along with any bass line during movies (especially when in the theater). No, that's not Dolby, that's Joe the human soundtrack, pimpin' it with some groovy Movie Booster Aca-Bass.
7. Average times per week that I visit Wikipedia for longer than a couple of minutes: more than 7. You do the math. Or let me, ‘cause you know, math + anyone = nerd…
6. Preach it, brother. Speaking of math, in high school algebra class one day I got the inspiration for a sermon at church (our church would let young guys preach from time to time): an algebraic equation about a + b being greater than c or something like that, comparing it to Jesus saying “the greatest among you will be your servant”. (And yes, I absolutely worked the whole thing out into a sermon.)
5. Fashion sense, or lack thereof. Other than my honest ignorance that black and orange don't go well together (no, it wasn't Halloween, but it was 8th grade), there was my personal policy of staying at least six months behind any trend of any kind. The first major cave-in to trend-pressure was ankle socks. To my surprise, ankle socks were actually AWESOME.
4.Typical Friday night in high school: TGIF (Urkel, anyone?), maybe study a little, go to sleep.
3. Favorite sport: Disc golf. Yes, I love to frolf. Let me know if you need to borrow my bag or get some instruction on proper driving technique sometime. Anytime. Seriously- I'm usually not that busy.
2. Video games. Not only did I own and play video games obsessively, but I also had favorite books, TV shows, and movies that were all video game-based or -themed. (Did I mention the bed sheets that were video game character-themed?)
1. How do you spell N-E-R-D? I got my high school letter jacket my sophomore year. For UIL Spelling. Yes, before I ever lettered in choir, I lettered in spelling. Now that's layers. L-A-Y-E-R-S, layers. Wonderful, nerdular layers.

COWPIE #1: Funny childhood story

2009-04-02T00:01:00.002-05:00

Welcome to the COWPIE! Be sure to read this post and Kathryn's post and then vote on both sites! My voting gadget is on the upper right side of your screen. Enjoy...

COWPIE#1: Tell a Funny Childhood Story

When we were younger my parents would leave my sister, Emily, in charge if they ever both had to leave to run errands. She only got the job because she's 5 years older, which is actually age discrimination and should have been prohibited by equal opportunity laws. At any rate, I was some number of years away from any kind of familial-organizational restructuring (via college or marriage), so I swallowed my misgivings against my parents' business sense and channeled them towards my sister the way that only a little brother can.

One such occasion occurred shortly after my dad had just recently finished a homemade paddle, intended solely for me (I remember vividly watching through the glass patio door as he sawed the wood, whistling while he worked). Now, it wasn't long after Mom and Dad left that Emily imagined me to have done something wrong. (Creativity runs in the family.) She insisted I should get swats for it. From her. I respectfully declined, or something like that.

Nevertheless, she went and found the newly made, yet-to-be-broken-in paddle and began to yell at me to come get swats. Nope, I said. Yes, she said. Nope, nope, nope. Then the next part happened in slow motion: frustrated at her attempts to administer discipline in her newly acquired role as interim dictator, she raised the paddle to the sky and then smashed it to the ground. It broke, of course.

Emily and I looked at each other and instantaneously put aside our differences, because now there was a situation. We both knew a broken paddle would raise too many questions, so we raced to find the glue. Found it. Then we painstakingly applied it to the paddle and made sure it didn't leave marks. We did a pretty decent patch job and breathed a sigh of relief because we were able to finish all this before the 'rents returned.

Fast forward a few weeks. I was just going about business as usual, having a good time being myself when my Dad suddenly imagined me to have done something wrong. This time, there's no avoiding the paddle. (This was a conclusion I had gradually come to over time, through trial and error.) Dad gets the paddle. I assume the position. Here's the wind up, now the pitch (you know what's coming, right?)... the paddle splintered! Right down the fault line we had so carefully worked to conceal. Our cover blown, I braced for the moment when Dad's realization would become my annihilation. But the moment never came. Instead, Dad was laughing hysterically and my hindquarters were silently rejoicing at their multiple-swat reprieve.

It was months or years later, of course, when Dad was finally imparted a fuller understanding of why these events transpired as they did. But until that time, all that friends and family heard was the tale of Strong Arm and Solid Bottom.

Ready, Set, COWPIE!

2009-04-01T06:54:00.000-05:00

Hello, patient ones! Sorry I've been so long in lobbing some near-awesomeness up into the blogosphere, but all your waiting is totally about to pay off. Kathryn's already posted this on her blog, but I'm posting it on here to doubly pump up the hype. (If you've already read this on hers, make sure you read the end of this, because I'm writing some stuff after what she wrote, and Google Analytics is watching!) Without further a-doo...

Get Those Noses Ready...
Introducing the first installment in another quality creative endeavor: our brand-new Contest Of Weekly Peebles’ Internet Exchanges! Yes, COWPIE! What’s more, you get to be a part of the magic and fun!

Every week, the Peebleses are challenging each other to a duel. One of us (this first week is Kathryn) will choose a topic for both of us to blog about, and then we will commence preparing our blog entries. Have a challenge suggestion? Leave it as a comment!

The Rules

-Written contests have a 500-word limit.
-Blog entries must post to websites at 12:01 AM every Thursday.
-Votes (this is where you come in!) must be cast by 11:59 PM every Sunday night. Go vote on both of our blogs, but vote the same on each!

The First Challenge

Write about a funny story from childhood.

Not an April Fools Joke. Seriously.

You may be looking at your calendar and noticing that today is April Fools'. Rest assured, that has nothing to do with this. I'm about as serious as I usually am in saying that. But really folks, COWPIE is a real thing that we're going to be doing. If it were an April Fools' joke, then I wouldn't go to such great lengths to convince you that it's not. Even I know that's not funny.

But, in the spirit of April Fools', here's a real April Fools' joke.

I recently won a Nobel Prize! After I saw that all it took was a cool Power Point slide-show, I was inspired to make a video about the dangers. You know, all those really dangerous ones that are totally making the planet a sucky place to live. So yep, I met the President and the UN and scientists and stuff like that, had all the vegetable and fruit trays a guy could possibly want, and what's more, got this really cool plaque that I'm totally going to buy a shadow box or something for. And...

Psych! APRIL FOOLS'! Y'all, I totally was making all that up! Seriously! I bet I totally had you going. Next year, I bet you'll be on your guard. Won't matter, though, on account of I'm such a crazy character.

Anyways...

I guess I should make one final push for COWPIE. I hope you're as excited as we think you should be! Butter up some popcorn, wash the dog, and get ready, because COWPIE debuts in less than 24 hours! Kathryn, you best check yourself, because it's ON.

A picture consists of 242 words

2009-02-20T07:09:00.008-06:00

I wish I could draw. My mom thinks I can, but then again, she thinks I can do anything. (Thanks Mom!) I think her unwavering faith in her son, in this case, comes from drawings of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that I used to make in junior high. In no way were the drawings even close to the same level of skill of that guy's, or even my friend Matt's - whose "works" I was copying. But apparently beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What can you say but... Turtle Power! (Seriously, now I can't remember if this is just the first time I've blog-linked that song - sad, right?)

Anyways, the draw to draw that inspired this post in the first place came as I was reading this about the lending crisis and why banks won't or can't lend money right now. About the time the article mentions the Obama administration's efforts to "jump-start [the] crucial machinery" of the banks and markets to get the economy chugging along again, I began assembling this mental picture:

A small group of people in suits, all looking grave, yet resolute, addressing a crowd. One man (probably Obama) among those in suits, speaking to the crowd in grave, yet resolute tones. Behind the suited group addressing the crowd, another small group of suited people, bent-over examining the gears and guts of a ginormous, ridiculous-looking machine (approximately the size of a decently large sports stadium), scratching their heads, puzzling anxiously about how to get the thing running again. I imagine some in the crowd of observers are watching the speakers, and others are watching the group of people scrambling to fix the machine - in either case, watching expectantly. Somehow (this is why I'm not an artist - I have no visual imagination), whether with labels or through some slick, subtle artistry, the viewer realizes this is some kind of massive deep-fryer. Pan out (again, if this is a picture, I realize there's no such thing - but I bet good artists can attract your focus to parts of the picture in stages) and you see a massive farm and garden, bursting with all kinds of delicious food, ready to be harvested and possibly even plucked off the branch or vine and eaten. You look again at the crowd and realize that everyone looks kind of hungry and irritiable, as if they've forgotten how to eat (the master artist has rendered the crowd with a dazzling feat of complexity, of course).

I am enough of an artist to know that this is the point where I sit back and let you savor the rich irony of the picture I've just painted. Go on, savor it.

Thumbs for the road: life is like a (fill in the blank)

2009-02-12T20:58:00.000-06:00

So my post title is probably a bit confusing. Here's what I'm trying to accomplish in the following few moments of your time:

-Give a "thumb report" for something crazy that happened yesterday, and

-Make some deep, I'm talking real deep observations about what life is like (I'll explain more about the "thumbs" theme tie-in when I get there).

Thumbs way down

So, apparently I'm terrified of mice. Last night I was working in our extra bathroom to start pulling up the floor (we're prepping it for a plumber who can go in and move some pipes so we can put the toilet in a location that makes more sense than the one it's currently in). This involved taking screws out from the hardibacker board I'd so carefully put down a few months ago, as well as starting to saw through the plywood subfloor (I know, boring details, but I promise it gets good). All of this must have been quite unsettling to the poor mouse who'd made his home in the area recently, because seconds after I hear some kind of pitter-pattering sound behind me, I see THE STREAK. (At this point, I feel it necessary to point out that the animal was still a rat rather than a "mouse on steroids" as Kathryn later put it.) THE STREAK evokes THE SCREAM. THE SCREAM is immediately followed by THE FLIGHT. During THE FLIGHT there is somehow THE SECOND SCREAM. Soon enough I'm in the same room with Kathryn, which upon entering earns me THE LOOK and THE PUNCH.

Here's the same story, this time told from Kathryn's perspective (this portion of our program is brought to you by Vantage Point - own it on DVD and Blu-Ray now!). "I was in the kitchen making a pizza. In the other room I could hear the sound of the drill, which had been going, off and on, for a while. One of the times when it stopped it was immediately followed by Joe screaming. Over the course of the next 2 seconds, here's what ran through my mind: Oh my gosh! How many appendages did Joe just cut off? Can I find a container to put ice in? Will I be able to find the severed parts? Where will we go? Is St. Joseph's the closest hospital? What's the quickest way there? About this time Joe comes in and I do a quick scan - he doesn't appear to have any bloody stumps anywhere." At this point both stories converge with THE LOOK and THE PUNCH.

In my defense, that mouse came out of nowhere. Seriously, it's like he materialized right through the wall of the bathroom vanity and charged right through my line of vision. Also, this mouse was in no way "mousy" - the thing was big enough to be a small rat. And I have seen mice on the run before. They look like little blurs. Not large, ravenous rat-mammal uber-blurs. I swear the thing was ravenous.

Anyways, since my wife works with lab-mice on a daily basis, I went ahead and let her take a look in the bathroom to see if she could spot it. (I figure since I'd led the charge on the roach wars I could take a more cautious approach this time.) Later on I put my adrenaline-induced frenzy aside and placed a baited trap in the area where we saw some mouse droppings. Nothing yet, but I think we'll get the beast in due time.

Thumbing a Ride on the Road of Life

I've had some thoughts stewing around in my head for a few days about what life is like. (You know - life is like... "a journey" or "a box of chocolates" or "it is what it is" - those types of things.) The impetus for these thoughts have been life circumstances that have forced me to become more comfortable living with unfinished things. Goals not yet accomplished. Tasks sidetracked. Sidetracked sub-tasks sidetracking other sidetracked sub-tasks. Those types of things.

Buying a house that was so much further from being done than I realized when I bought it is one of the things that's got me on this train of thought. Another is a project I may soon take on at work (which would involve slowly redoing a large database and website) that could drag on for months or years. Paying off debt and getting financially stable is another fun one.

And then there are things people start that they don't even get to see finished. Like people who already have kids. They know that at some point they'll die and the life they helped start will continue on after they're gone (what a horrible thing that sometimes it happens the other way around). Who are we to think we can accomplish anything? What do we know about finality and worth?

I know people who are addicted to "getting things done" because "it feels good to". I'm not going to lie - I've got a pretty long list of things I'd really like to get done - not necessarily because I'm eager for that sense of accomplishment, but because I'm tired of having things on my list. But lists never clear and stay cleared - we know that, right? I don't know, maybe there are some super-nazis out there who push through and get stuff done on schedule despite the odds and challenges, but I certainly don't operate that way.

Really, I think this is the kind of thing that leads people to say things like, "Life is a journey, not a destination." (Or Ralph Waldo Emerson - whatever.) I guess maybe people who buy into that would see the value in challenges being character-making, and they would rank that above personal achievement. Or maybe they'd take a balanced stance and say personal achievement (arriving at your destination) only gains its value when it's viewed holistically, together with the character-making process of facing challenges (being on the journey).

I looked around a little bit to see some people who have been quoted with thoughts on the subject. (Note: I wouldn't necessarily trust that this guy got his sources right, since apparently Emerson ripped his quote off of Steven Tyler.)

I like the Martin Buber quote because he mentions the secret destinations. It's hard to think of a journey, much less a destination, when most undertakings involve so many detours that you go from "we'll get there when we get there" to "by the time we get there, we'll already need to be somewhere else."

By the time you settle into a new technology, a newer is already taking its place, making it obsolete. By the time you finish the house, you're moving to a bigger one or taking a job in another town. By the time you pay off debt, something (or someone) breaks and you're scrambling to pay for repairs.

That's why when Jesus says, "It is finished", that has to be a really big deal. He's either full of total bull crap or he's totally the man who succeeded in something we've all been failing at all along.

It's nice to know that, in this world, at least somebody is getting something done.

Ride on, King Jesus, ride on. Just as long as I can hitch.

Daily Thumbs Report - February 4, 2009

2009-02-04T23:00:00.002-06:00

Thumbs Down

Finding a roach on the curtain behind our heads, above our bed, first thing in the morning. BLECH. Thankfully, it was on the other side of the curtain. But I think it'd been there most of the night, because I remember looking up at one point and noticing some kind of blob above my head. Not cool.

Thumbs Up

Store-brand Irish Creme non-dairy creamer. Pick any store-brand, they're all pretty consistently good. I wouldn't try applying the up-thumb to other types of non-dairy creamer; many of them are so fake they're nasty. And this one's probably fake too, but somehow it just works anyways (enough for me to buy a thing of it to keep in my desk at work).

Thumbs Down

Weak coffee. So we have two types of coffee in the office, one generic (it's actually pretty good, though I don't think it's your typical Folgers or Maxwell House or any of those) and also Starbucks Verona - very nice. Except when people think that since it's bold they can only use part of the packet for a whole pot of coffee. At that point it's not real coffee, at least not any more than Pierce Brosnan is a real singer.

Thumbs Up

Martin's Barbeque. Sausage wrap, fries, tea with free refills, and a 24% tip: $5.10.

Thumbs Up

Navasota Theatre Alliance. Kathryn's involved in a play called George Washington Slept Here. Last night I went to watch them rehearse. Fun stuff! I'm looking forward to seeing the finished product. Teaser: Kathryn will be showing off her Lamplighter barnyard skills...

Thumbs Down

More roaches. We got home and I got to clean up the carcasses of five dead roaches from around the house since I sprayed strategically all over the house before we left for Kathryn's rehearsal.

Thumbs Up

Dead roaches. The best kind, of course. If nothing else, the sheer number of dead ones tells me that my strategy of spraying this stuff in strategic locations paid off.

Thumbs Up

I don't intend to end this blog post on a gross note. So I'll leave you with a positive, warmly happy story:

A family was sitting around their living room one sunny afternoon, enjoying life and each other, laughing at the antics of their crazy, but lovable ham of an uncle. Suddenly, their new puppy, recently rescued from the animal shelter, scampered into the room happily, sliding on the floor and into a fluffy bean bag chair. Promptly, the too-cute puppy turned its head to the side and made a quizzical face. The beautiful family in their sunlit living room all burst into laughter at the utter adorableness of the puppy and enjoyed a moment they will cherish forever.

LL Cute Joe

2008-12-09T21:03:00.003-06:00

If you think the title is awkward enough (as in, some kind of self-proclaimed title), then get ready for the hot scoop of awkward that I'm about to dish up.

If you didn't quite get the cultural reference, I'm referring to this guy, whose alias, if you weren't already knowledgabizzle, stands for 'Ladies Love Cool James'.

If only I could (or was at least attempting to) make such a claim. No, unfortunately, after the events that just transpired about 20 minutes ago, here's the sad state of things: Ladyboys Love Cute Joe. More on that first part of the title a little later...

Tonight's occasion was made possible by a couple of gender-confused individuals who were leaving the video store at the same time that I was returning a DVD. The transcript is as follows:

Ladyboys: (waving and batting some fake eyelashes - well, at least they were enhanced in some form or fashion) "Hey Sexy..."
Me: (muttering indistinctly and avoiding eye contact) "Hi"
Ladyboys: (walking towards their car, which was also in my general direction) "Merry Christmas..."
Me: (maintaining the initial sense of distance) "Thanks"
Ladyboys: (now at their car) [Waving and batting eyelashes again]
Me: (in my car again about to drive off) [Noticing the waving out of the corner of my eye, I drive away with a the kind of quick wave and sideways glance usually reserved for newspaper salesmen.]

I'd love to say this kind of thing hasn't ever happened before, but it has. Kathryn and I were in Thailand on a mission trip the summer before we got married. We decided to get photos done, because Thai people get wedding pictures done before they get married as opposed to after, and we could get a great deal on some really nice pictures. So we drove an hour and a half across Bangkok to the shopping mall where the photo place was. The place was run by gay Thai guys, who Thai people call "ladyboys" (hence the alias and title for this post). We started getting ready. They spent over an hour on Kathryn's makeup (later, her mom didn't even recognize her in the pictures), and at least twenty minutes on my hair. At some point while they were either fixing my hair or taking the pictures, one of our Thai friends comes and tells us there are some more ladyboys outside the place, watching me through the glass (so maybe it was while we were taking pictures), talking about how cute I was. Brilliant. Of course, Kathryn and our Thai friend enjoy a plentiful handful of snickers at my situation.

Does this make me feel awkward? Yeah, a little bit, but nothing near the level of awkward experienced by a friend of mine when a Brazilian woman offered to have his baby for him (she had to say it through a translator) after a concert in Brazil (he was on tour with a musical group). Great story - maybe I can get him to blog about it.

Looking on the bright side, at least the ladyboys aren't offering to have my baby. Maybe I should ask next time.

Cruelty Free: No Bunnies Were Harmed in the Making of This Lotion

2008-12-09T06:41:00.000-06:00

You may or may not be familiar with this logo:

While it's not exactly the same as the one on my lotion, it's close enough to provide me the reassurance that I can enjoy the softness of my hands without the nagging of my conscience that it came at the expense of cute bunnies.

Stuff and In-Between-ness

2008-11-30T06:52:00.000-06:00

Stuff
Everybody's got their stuff. I've got mine, you've got yours, we've all got ours. And I'm not just saying 'stuff' because I'm afraid of saying 'sh*t' - everybody's got their 'sh*t' too, but that means something different that what I'm meaning here. People try to hide their 'sh*t' in the closet and not let anyone know they wear it; people like to wear their 'stuff' out in the open and show it off because they're proud of it.

So that's crystal-clear. Our stuff is what engages us, what we enjoy doing, what receives our energies. Like a guy with a couple of cars out in the yard he's always fixing up. Or a girl who's always trendy and fashionable and knowledgeable about clothes. The football fanatic. The amateur gourmet. (Sure, these are a little stereotypical, but you get the idea.)

The thing about stuff is that it's not our life. Life doesn't consist of stuff. Life has to be somewhere else, something else. I find it extremely freeing to think about the things I think cause people to think of me (Joe, the guy who does this, Joe, the guy who's into that) and say, "that's my stuff". It's not my life, it's my stuff. Very freeing.

I have to be reminded of this frequently or I start to believe otherwise. Life quickly becomes suffocating when it starts to consist of stuff. Unfortunately, I think this cuts both ways. Do you feel suffocated when you get around certain people? It's not that you don't like the person, it's that they pull out their stuff and hold it up as though their life consisted of it. It can also be such that they measure your life as if it ought to consist of it as well. This is even more suffocating. Either that, or just saddening. What a sad little person, they can't see beyond their stuff.

Thank God for seasons and growth and for him being sovereign and owning everything. He'll grow me and free me out of these obsessions. Otherwise life would be a perpetual "bleak midwinter", wouldn't it?

In-Between-ness
I'm 28 years old. To some this probably sounds pretty old (probably to most in a college town), and to some pretty young. So while I can play a game of soccer without being sore for the entire week following, I think you can spot some of the gray in my hair from across the room. Weird.

Feels pretty in-between to me. And that's just the physical aspect. I haven't even gotten into the maturity part yet. That's the real kicker. Feeling like I can see pretty clearly how immature I am, yet lacking in resources to do much about it decisively. This is where the connection to the 'stuff' thoughts come in (for those of you who were hoping there was some continuity to this post): shouldn't I be old enough to not keep falling for the lie that my life doesn't consist of stuff? I think Kathryn made a comment the other day that maturity and age don't necessarily accrue at the same rate (I've lost the exact context and also her exact words, and possibly also the gist of what she was saying, but obviously this is what I took away from the conversation). I think that must be true. I've met some pretty immature old people. Oh for grace to not become one. (Or to bear it with good humor...)

I'm guessing other young adults would feel similarly. (Or whatever label or category you'd put to us.) The feeling that you ought to be capable of so much more sanity, stability, responsibility and such, but really you're barely taller than knee-high to a grasshopper when you use the adulthood-measuring-stick.

I certainly feel it today. It feels like irony: at times when I take more responsibility, the blindness is removed from my eyes to how much more is waiting to be took. As if the purpose of responsibility is to alert me to how much I'd been fooling myself. Again, without good humor, I think I'd be likely here to want to "curse God and die" - but it's much healthier to have a laugh even though the joke's on me.

Oh, and faith. In those moments when all that I'm called to do and be seems way past my ability to time-manage or deal with maturely or accomplish while 'doing it justice', I need to have a way of pushing beyond despair and trusting God for more than I'm able to accomplish.

It seems then that faith bridges the age-gap and makes it okay to be in-between.

Spirit and Mind?

2008-10-27T07:35:00.000-05:00

It's always nice to wake up and find something like this in your inbox:

Apparently, this guy is the poster-child (to whatever extent) for the A&M Foundation's new Spirit and Mind fundraising initiative. Oddly enough, seeing this doesn't really say either "spirit" or "mind" to me.

A true American hero

2008-10-21T13:36:00.003-05:00

Along with my church, I just saw my friend Bill off at the airport, on his way to Iraq. He's one of the bravest men I know. And I don't just say that because he's off with the Air Force to serve in a war-torn country suffering a grueling war, but I also say it because I've witnessed in him one of the greatest transformations I've seen the Lord do in a person. I'm not exaggerating.

I'll let him tell his own story. I'm just here to say that the man I met a couple of years ago is night and day different than the friend I know today, the one who lights up the sky with some amazing fireworks displays, who nearly puts me to shame by his eagerness to jump off of 50-foot cliffs, who has shown a deep spirit of generosity to those who are truckless.

It's not easy to live life boldly and fully when so much of your life has been lived in a way that's anything but. (This part is as much autobiographical as it is anything else.) In my mind, courage to change the 'quality' of your life in this way is the kind that's most admirable. More impressive even than the kind that leads you to answer the call into harm's way, though that kind is impressive, too.

Bill, yesterday I encouraged you to be safe. Today I retract that comment. Instead, I encourage you to continue to live as you've been living: boldy, fully and courageously. (Notice that I didn't add recklessly, in honor of the spirit of those encouraging you to be safe.) I'm proud to be your friend, and trust you'll keep to what the Lord has begun and is doing in you. And I trust him to keep you until you're back with us, at which point, just in case someone hasn't already verbalized it, we'll all be expecting the kind of fire in the sky that we've been sorely missing for a year. And I'll bring the beer.

Fourth time's the charm: the joys of being an alumnus

2008-10-14T10:28:00.003-05:00

WARNING: the post you are about to read contains thinly-veiled bitterness, justifiable cynicism (probably) and pervasive sarcasm. People with weak stomachs or those preferring lighter-mood-fare are strongly cautioned. Not recommended for the school-spirited or exceedingly loyal. Read at your own risk.

Last night a student worker of the Alumni Association at my alma mater called and asked me for money. I respectfully declined. Four times. And yes, I annunciated.

This seems to follow the stubborn-persistence strategy of Abraham pleading for Sodom. (There are some limitations to the connection, but you get the idea.) In fact, I don't know that I've ever had to tell someone 'no' so many times who wanted my money. It was a little exhilarating, really, being all firm and stingy and stuff.

Oh, and they're clever, too. The students are great conversationalists who can think on their feet. They're formulaic, but not predictable. Still, the conversations all tend to loosely move through the following stages:

1) Address Confirmation. This happens first as the initial 'occasion' for the call, and though it serves a useful purpose for alumni and association alike, is ultimately not the 'real reason' for the call. You know what's coming.

2) Caller/Callee Identification. The caller gets me to talk about what I'm doing now while finding points of connection, in an I'm-your-pal-or-if-we-lived-in-the-same-place-I-could-be fashion. It just so happened that this particular person last night had a connection to Texas A&M and had even been there recently with her family. Smooth.

3) Nostalgic Recollection. "You remember the good ol' days at the Caf' and the Yo'? How about those overseas trips, that crazy fun you had? Ahhhh...." The caller, now your best friend, tightens those concentric circles, strengthening the lulling effect, painting a broad-stroked picture with both of you standing arm-in-arm with your classmates at your favorite campus spot, preying on those powerful "those were the days" emotions as he/she moves in for the kill...

4) Heartfelt Supplication. All those fond memories rekindled, the caller pounces. They start high, and ask if you could help make possible for someone else the blessings you've enjoyed, though not in so many words. After all, our school motto was, "Freely you have received, freely give." (Not quite sure how this plays into Pepperdine graduates having the highest rate of indebtedness among all American schools with doctoral programs - which they did a few years ago, at least - but I'm sure it all works out, somehow.) They work their way down the list of commitments you could make, scripted all the way down (they must know they've got some hard cases out there), until they utter their final plea that the agencies that rank the school look at alumni giving rates to determine standings, to which, though it nearly broke my heart, I was courageous enough to not cave.

Do I sound a little cynical? I'm just tired of being played. Maybe it's because of things like the guy who acted like everyone's friend our senior year so he could get the entire senior class to give money in the senior gift. Maybe it's the fact that one of the older men I knew at the church while I was there (he also worked for the university) died earlier this year, and the first time I ever heard about it was when the Alumni Association sent out an email announcing an endowed fund in his name, painting a portrait of his life as if the only valuable thing about it was his allegiance and contribution to the university. Maybe it's that I'm still paying for a degree that has cost me way more than it's gained me. Maybe all of the above.

Ah, the joys of being an alumnus. What were they again?

In defense of emotional basket-cases

2008-10-10T07:27:00.001-05:00

I've had this thing lately that runs through my head: what about people who are mental? Crazy? Emotionally unstable? I have this real feeling of injustice towards them because it seems like life goes on without them just because they can't seem to get it together.

Partly this is a confession, as well, at perhaps some anger directed at God for feeling like maybe he's okay with the fact that some people can't handle responsibility (and are thus deprived of coming into their full humanness) and that he's content to let such people fall by the wayside.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, this post is autobiographical to a degree yet-to-be-determined by how long I can hold out before ending up in the quack-shack.

Sometimes it feels melodramatic to me to make such statements about my mental health. At other times it seems as if I'm not quite capable of joking, as some people do to cope, about going crazy, and enjoying the joke.

Do I feel like God needs to somehow prove himself or his record on this to me? As far as my record goes, I think I've pretty consistently been able to unmask my own ironies that disguise themselves as justified ranting and raving at the Almighty. Which is to say, it kind of comes down to an issue of patience with me. God never seems to be in much of a hurry to prove himself to me on the things I think are important.

I don't think that means I can't be a little bitter over our culture's worship of self-confidence and how it drives people just struggling not to lose it to appear as if they can conform to the popular idolatry. Or at least, a little bitter over what I perceive as the church's possible complicity (to whatever degree) in this crime. Really, maybe I'm just bitter because I know I'm not just the president, I'm also a client.

I mean, am I wrong about this (the cultural pressure to become someone that you and everyone else can worship)? I seriously wonder if crazy people in other countries are nearly so famous in their cultures as we are, I mean, the ones here are in ours.

This may be one of those posts that far exceeds my normal levels of, "where in the world is he coming from?" If none of these thoughts make any sense to you without the context, I'd be glad to share more of why I think I'm marginally insane with you some time soon. Seriously. After all, misery loves company, whether or not the feeling is mutual.

In response...

2008-09-26T06:59:00.001-05:00

I made a deal with my friend Cory that if he got back on his blogging-horse, that I would post a response to whatever he wrote about. Here are some of his thoughts on the financial bailout. And following are some of mine.

Honestly, though, before I start, I have to say that he could have picked a better topic (better for me, I mean). Economics, along with math, government, and science, is something I last studied in high school. Meaning I'll probably make quite the arse of myself trying to sound educated about all of this. So bear with me. Better yet, you'll enjoy this post all the more if you go ahead and agree with me that education itself is overrated; at least, my $120,000+ undergraduate liberal arts degree certainly was. ;) Well, at least I'm qualified to give my two cents as it concerns bad investments. (Although, I probably should be throwing every pair of pennies I've got towards paying off those student loans...)

One of my biggest hopes in this whole financial crisis is that, having some of our flaws exposed in our national culture, we might be more open to fundamental change in the way we understand our way of life.

Consumerism blinds us to the larger realities of life. Instead of thinking about my neighbors or a kingdom that brings true peace, I'm concerned about my daily ration of premium coffee or whether the flooring I bought for my house is going to crack or warp because I should have paid someone to level the house from the outset.

Capitalism promotes a free market where we're free to jostle and step all over each other (it's called competition and it's great because it lowers the price and increases the quality of that premium coffee) in our rush to be the vendor of choice for all those consumers out there with their heads in their wallets (or the headphones of their iPods, ignoring all the people passing within a few feet of them).

Lest I be a hypocrite in my criticism, I want to be clear that I certainly share the blame in a culture that values people based on their knowledge of and attention to machines and materials over and above that of people (by and large, anyways). I'm caught in the cycle of buying and selling, too. I'm often more likely to be concerned with what a person's job is than what their relationships are like. I've spent a disproportionate amount of time in the past several months obsessing over an orderly (quasi-) assemblage of wood, paint, nails and electrical wires than I have showing consistent concern for the people in my life.

How much of that is going to matter when everything that's now broken encounters the Great Fix? When I get to that point, which of my "investments" will truly pay off? (Isn't it wonderful that we sometimes use financial language to refer to "spending" time and attention and energy and empathy on people? Even the word "spend" there - wow, it's just really hard to say anything in English if you want to truly affirm the "value" of humanity and not "diminish" it. Oh well, I tried.)

I doubt that we'll stop building on shifting sand. But perhaps our days of building skyscrapers on top of skyscrapers there are nearing an end (which is how I envision the whole enterprise of investments stacked upon investments in risky mortgages, which are basically ways of getting things now that we just can't live without, even though we really can't afford it, nudging us to make assumptions against the future about what our lives and financial situations will be like down the road, as if we could predict or guarantee that somehow - hey, I've got a mortgage, too... it's tough). Perhaps. It's hard to tell. Let's not wait around and see before we start seeking a better vision of building whatses (and whoses, especially) that will last.

Recent highs and lows of life (rescued from the draft pile...)

2008-07-24T09:05:00.010-05:00

(QUICK EDITOR'S NOTE: I INTENDED TO PUBLISH THIS POST WEEKS AGO, ACTUALLY JUST A DAY SHY OF A FORTNIGHT SHY OF A MONTH AGO, TO BE KIND OF EXACT. THAT'S BECAUSE THERE ARE PICTURES I WAS HOPING TO INCLUDE, BUT WHICH I HAVE NO WAY OF GETTING OFF OF MY PHONE. SO MAYBE LATER I'LL FIND A WAY TO GET THE PICTURES ON HERE. OKAY, I'LL STOP CAPS-SHOUTING AT YOU NOW SO YOU CAN READ THE POST...)

Pre(r)amble
Well, it occurs to me that there are basically two ways to start any blog post, assuming that you're me (other than with the word "Well," which is always a good choice). It's either going to be, "Life has been crazy lately," or "Life has been boring lately" - and everyone knows, of course, that there never is an in-between option. So, without further mucking about in hyperspace...

Life has been crazy lately. I'd like to share with you, in somewhat random order, some snippets from recent Joe-history. When they finally make a movie of my life, this will be the part where you think you can get up and go get a refill on your popcorn without missing too much. But then when you get back and whisper to your movie neighbor, "What did I miss?", there's no possible way they could catch you up to speed without missing something themselves. So you'll just have to read on for now.

160/50
On a recent camping trip I took with some guys (including him and him and another, non-blogging guy) to Inks Lake State Park, we explored a swimming location called Devil's Waterhole. I think I know why it was so named. Like a casino, the place draws you in and gives you that kind of reckless confidence that nudges you towards making internal statements like, "I bet I could do more. Why the hell not?" (Such things are quite likely to be said at locations named for the devil.) Only, here it wasn't about spending money you don't have (or soon won't), but about jumping off of cliffs and rocks and risking the physical health that you soon may not have. It was awesome. In retrospect, of course.

The first challenge was about a 20-foot cliff. I don't know if you have much of a sense of distance when you hear numbers like that, but 20 feet is a long way up. Consider that, in the normal course of your life, you are not often likely to jump off of walls that are taller than your own height, or even perhaps twice that. Well, this was in the neighborhood of three Yao Ming's high. The worst part about it all was how slippery the rocks were climbing up to this height. My non-blogging friend who went has been to other places in Austin for cliff jumping that he says are much safer, and where the bottom is deeper closer to the cliffs. Here you had to be sure to jump out far enough, or else you're hitting part of the rock formation closer to the cliff. Anyways, the place is fairly crowded, and kids probably less than a quarter of my age are jumping off this thing like there is a bed of puffy marshmallows below, so I couldn't make too much of an ordeal out of my first jump. So I jumped. A little while later I did it again, if for no other reason than I found myself trying to talk me out of jumping again. At times like this I just have to "man up" and silence my inner chicken.

Okay, now for the numbers. As you'll notice in the picture (that is, if I can ever get it transferred from my phone - anyone want to loan me a laptop bluetooth adapter?), one rock is significantly higher than the cliff I first jumped from. We estimated this at about 50 feet. Ay ay ay. (sp?) Two of the guys on the trip decided they were going to jump the tall rock, since we'd seen some other people doing it and not dying or exploding or anything. So they go up and jump. Great. Here comes the inner chicken again, clucking something about how I'd already proved enough manhood for one day. Stupid chicken. Yes, eventually I make my way over the rock. I start climbing. Right before I get to the top, there it is - BAM! That's the sound of my pulse kicking into high gear. I stop to check it. It's at about 160 beats/minute. FYI, btw - I rarely get up this high when I'm jogging. I step up to the top of the rock. Did the wind just pick up? I swear it did. I look down at my legs. They're shaking uncontrollably. I realize that the longer I wait, the harder it's going to be to jump, and also the higher the possibility that I will lose my balance and blaze a new trail down towards the water. So I jumped. About a week or two later, I hit the water. As I come up, I punch both arms into the air for the whole "did that guy just win a teenage karate tournament?" effect. And then I swim gurgling and sputtering to a place where I can sit down and bask.

Joe, the (sheet)Rocker
I've also been working with a very different kind of rock at our new house. Sheet rock. I'd make some kind of official pronouncement that now I am officially handy, but in the current place we live, I've also fixed a leaky washer drain, so this is simply a status that I am renewing, not recently acquiring. Honestly, there's really not a lot to say about this, other than that I really don't enjoy screwing it in. Or cutting it. Or hanging it. Or squatting to get the really low-to-the-floor screws. I think that about covers it.

I think it's an ungrounded myth that guys like power tools. I would offer that, more accurately, guys like power in whatever form they can find it. Kind of like women with chocolate. But power tools are really just a way to do more damage, faster. Noisier. And I'm not just talking about the swearing that follows the router's excursion away from the straight line. Neither am I excluding it.

No use crying over spilled coffee; no use throwing a trash can over it, either
While I'm on the topic of angst, it would be interesting to note that recently, on a frustrating morning of dealing with a handful of housing "decisions" (in quotes because they're really little stinkbombs disguised as situations that people have to deal with), I thought I'd pick up some Chick-Fil-A breakfast on my way home to pick something up before heading to the office. I arrived at home after smelling dark coffee and various forms of heated lipids wafting through the car's recirculating system, ready to chow down. As I'm adding the finishing touches to my coffee and preparing to replace the lid, one of my fingers (investigation still pending) knocks over the cup. Spilling every ounce of the coffee. Onto the table, chair, and floor. Did I mention that this morning had already been frustrating? Swearing ensued. (Some of you may be of the opinion that such action is of minimal benefit to anyone. I would disagree. In my opinion, this blog would be much less interesting if the story continued with, "and I thought to myself calmly and rationally, Self, you know, this really isn't such a bad situation at all - take inventory of how blessed you are and you'll see that this is no big deal.") I think I strung some words together that made very little sense being together, semantically speaking. I went and got a towel to mop up the mess, placing it on the floor. Feeling as though the situation was reaching a resolution too quickly, I promptly picked up our kitchen trash can and sighted in the perfect spot on the wall where I should heave it. "Yes, that's just the spot. Too far left and this might not work at all." Thankfully, at this point my hippocampus stepped in and told my amygdala that it would handle things from here.

The moral of the story? Sometimes being calm and rational will save you from having to clean up extra mess. But not being so makes for good story.

Ten things I hate about summer
1. THE HEAT.
I have an uncle who moved his family to Washington state several years ago (maybe some time while I was in college). What I heard was the reasoning at the time was perhaps he did it to help his allergies. I can't say that I don't find that kind of thing extremely appealing. I don't know whether he really moved for that reason (in a recent-esque conversation with a cousin of mine, I asked about why he had moved, and I received a rather dramatic response about how they just wanted to get away from family), but finding a climate more conducive to not sweating and sneezing sounds really good to me (I realize that there would likely be tradeoffs, but who doesn't want to live in a place where there's a drive-thru coffee shop every few hundred feet?).
2. THE ROACHES.
Seeing as the Brazos Valley only recently seems to be getting some rain after more or less months of little to no rain, perhaps only recently have the roaches been driven out of hiding on a larger scale. Bad grief, they've been crazy at our new house. I had actually forgotten how big they could get (our current property owner does a decent job of keeping the pest service coming, it seems). Silly me. Oh, and did you know that at that size, they make noise on hardwood floors and concrete (in the garage)? Sooooo creepy. Give me a 50-foot cliff I can 'man up' on (over an army of roaches) any day. But hey - roaches - don't take me for soft. Those of you I haven't already decimated, your time is coming. And you'd better beg for the spray if I have a broom within reach.
3. SWEATING.
Really, this one is pretty much a corollary of no. 1. But I didn't think it should go without mention. I'm pretty sure that, whatever my particular mix of Scottish and English and Polish (and someone told me there may be some Cherokee in there somewhere, I think), it wasn't intended for a climate like Texas. I'd go into details as to why I make this claim, but I am at least aware of this much, that certain things do not make for good blog storying.
4. THE WAY THAT THE AFOREMENTIONED THINGS MAKE IT DIFFICULT TO KEEP ACCURATE COUNTS OF THINGS, AND THINK CLEARLY IN GENERAL.
So I don't have ten things, but I do have a theory about summer. (Also winter.) Fall and Spring are my favorite times of year, being the seasons that the weather in Texas is most bearable and allows for that feeling that things are either cooling off or thawing out. It's those in-between times when the long hauls of sweating and shivering begin to fade from memory as they are eclipsed by times of refreshing, when you can walk outside and for a short time, breathe cool air and enjoy that kind of feeling that you want to make last as long as you can. I think of Fall and Spring more of transition periods. Obviously, Summer and Winter transition as well, but they feel less so since they lie in between the pendulum swings. Every second gets counted when pressure is applied. But who stares at their watch in those moments when you can simply be at ease? I think it's those moments that are like little peeks at the Kingdom. Brief glimpses of something that may not last very long now, but one day we won't have to settle for inevitable disappointment. One day, disappointment will be absolutely evitable. Come, Lord Jesus.

Reunions galore
Actually, this post is incredibly long already! I can tell by the fact that my own attention span is being stretched into some kind of funky yoga position. So this is a little taste of what I'll hopefully be posting soon. Tune in next time to hear a little about Kathryn's family reunion and my own 10-year high school reunion, both of which happened in the span of two weekends. There'll be laughs, wittiness, tangents, and of course, me taking every possible opportunity to magnify any of the stories which highlight my manliness. I can't wait, and neither can you! Blog atcha soon!

Yellow Card

2008-06-24T12:58:00.003-05:00

Yep, got my first ever yellow card Sunday night at the Scrubs' soccer game. Let's just say I barely earned it. What I mean is people (self included) have been way more physical in past games, and the referees have been letting all kinds of contact go uncalled. If the games were called by the book, then I would have earned two or three cardable offenses in our previous game. Hardly disputable, in fact. (And I wouldn't probably rank in the top several most physical players on the field, either.) Even assuming this past game had been called by the book, this was a questionable call. And this referee wasn't calling by the book. (Let's put aside for a moment the practice of "taking it like a man" - I've got something to say.) I got pushed out of bounds, shoulder-to-shoulder. No call. Another one of our guys got pushed out of bounds with the other guy's arms extended (a textbook-perfect push). No call. Both cardable offenses, by the way.

If I sound bitter, maybe I am. I don't think I am - it's been two days and I've had time to cool my jets. But this particular referee had more than just a handful of us seething by the end of the night. I don't know, there's something weird about getting fouls called in soccer. In basketball, it's no big deal to get called for a foul - you can even get up to 5 or 6 before they toss you. Rugby? Hockey? I can't say that I really watch the sports that much, but tell me there's not some major jostling and jarring going around, and it's par for the course. But somehow, soccer is different. It's not just that the play gets stopped, it's that the ref has to reach down his shorts and pull out a colored card and wave it at you, signaling to the world that you just behaved badly and would be receiving a low grade for conduct. Does this bring up any juvenile associations for anyone else? Remember those colored conduct systems they had in Kindergarten? (And maybe up through second grade or something...) In mine, green was good behavior, yellow was testing your limits, red was bad and black meant you were a child of hell. (Surprise anyone that my conduct card was pretty much always on red and black? To any educators out there who may be reading this: YOU ARE GIVING YOUR KIDS COMPLEXES. STOP RUINING THE CHILDREN.) You may not agree with the connection, but I think there's something there. I'm just sayin'.

Now, lest you begin to fear that I will leave this story on a sour note, I have good news that there is a redemptive element to it all! It came in the form of a teammate's comment to me upon hearing that I had indeed received a yellow card. "Joe, you're just going to have to stop being such a badass." (Tongue-in-cheek, of course.) You know what? That seriously made my day. Instead of being called up to the front of the class, only to be scolded and sent to stand in the corner, I get to make my way up to the front of the class and take a bow. With the teacher, by the way, directly behind me.

I can add my own cinnamon, thank you very much

2008-06-16T08:44:00.005-05:00

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who think pumpkin and cinnamon go together like t-shirts and jeans, and those who think cinnamon is the quickest way to ruin any and all things pumpkin. Well, I can tell you that the folks at Melitta are the first type, having tried this today after buying it on sale at our local Albertson's, which is closing. I believe they describe it as having "notes" of nutmeg and cinnamon. Hardly. I think "orchestra hits" of nutmeg and cinnamon would be more precisely descriptive.

To be fair, Melitta's not the only one out there making pumpkin products that are cinnamon-heavy. I've tried pumpkin syrup (intended for coffee) before that had the same problem (actually, that didn't taste like anything really - except a badly mixed concoction of various "ose"es). You know what I think? I think you just can't copy pumpkin. Call me a cynic if you will, but once you get away from using real pumpkin in food, then you are left with no other course but to try and hide the fact that you don't have any real pumpkin flavor going on in there. Not even pumpkin-esque in most cases. So then what? It becomes a cover-up job. They know that people often put nutmeg and cinnamon on their pumpkin (which, admittedly, can be done right - but oftentimes is done oh-so-wrong), and so they compensate for pumpkin-deficiency by playing on your natural taste-associative abilities. People: they're playing mind games with you! Are you going to stand for that? I sure as pumpkin pie ain't.

Here's what I resolve to do, and might I recommend you take a similar course of action:
1. Only buy real pumpkin products.
2. If you must buy once- or more-than-once-removed pumpkin-flavor products, hold them to the highest standards of pumpkin-actual-tastiness.
3. Should said pumpkin products fail to meet these standards, complain loudly and publicly. I think at that point something good is supposed to happen as a result.

If that doesn't work, then I don't know what to tell you. I think at that point we're supposed to mutter something, in an I-know-it-all-too-well and shrugging fashion, about what it "seems like" society is "coming to these days".

In a Word: Soccer

2008-06-12T23:11:00.004-05:00

In four words: frustration, aggression, helplessness and disappointment. Somehow, saying "you can't win 'em all" just doesn't cut it when I nearly clotheslined a guy and volleyball-spiked the soccer ball in the last five minutes because time was winding down and our chances of winning were slipping further and further out of reach. Thankfully, no one said anything of the sort, elsewise they may well have received a beating. Actually, Danny and Jordan were very encouraging: "Joe! You were amazing out there! You stopped like every ball that went up the middle!" I'll call this 'speaking hopefully about reality', as opposed to its alternative, 'speaking accurately about reality'. Honestly, the former suits me better anyways, because I'm much less keen on the whole truth-equals-accuracy myth than I used to be. The eye is the lamp of the body, after all...

Wow, I haven't gotten that worked up in a long time, no joke! Kathryn said that now I can relate to times when her emotions get revved up and how difficult it is to relate gracefully to other people at those times. Seriously - after the game, we wanted Icees, and so we stopped by HEB on the way home because they have a machine. You can guess what's coming. We walk inside the store to find the machine turned off. I literally wanted to take the lids and straws off the counter and throw them on the ground.

After that, Kathryn drove the rest of the way home. ;) While I certainly proved myself worthy yet again of the "Destroyer" title, neither of us had any desire to see what I could accomplish with 1,960 pounds as opposed to 196. About the time we sat down in Burger King to enjoy our Icee - finally - I could feel myself calming down a little bit. Probably the grease from the cheesy tots helped.

I need to go to bed. But first, I have something of a public rebuke. For soccer. Y'all can all listen in.

Soccer, you let me down. You were supposed to be a good outlet for energy and aggression and competitiveness, and instead of making me feel like more of a man, you make me look very nearly like an idiot so many times and make me a loser and not a winner. No, soccer, none of this "everyone's a winner" crap - I stopped buying that line after high school. So stop selling it. Seriously, soccer, you know what? Chicken butt.

Things I'm Struck By Today

2008-06-10T07:38:00.006-05:00

Call these personal realizations, "oh, okay" moments, or just plain better sense finally breaking through to me, but I've got a few things on my mind of the should-it-really-have-been-that-hard-for-me-to-learn variety.

Tom Petty Said It Best
"The waiting is the hardest part." Lately I've identified areas of my life in which I'm "waiting on God" for what's next: housing, family, etc. Somewhere along the way, something in me interpreted that to mean, "I'm waiting on God and doing nothing in the meantime." Somehow, I need to get from there to a place where I'm living as if I'm lacking nothing. Because I have everything I need. When you think about what it means that the shield of faith extinguishes the flaming darts of the evil one, maybe it means you use it to keep all those hundreds (thousands?) of advertising messages - that bombard you constantly each day - from sinking in and convincing you, "Ooh, I need that." (Hasn't someone done the math on this? I wonder how many of these get hurled at us on an average day.) So I suppose, if I could piggyback off Mr. Petty, I'd say something like, "Waiting on God doesn't mean sitting around." (Which, admittedly, doesn't make for near as cool of a song line, but I've never exactly owned the market on cool.)

Nuance Doesn't Convey
I was watching some talk show or news cast or something of the sort the other day where they were talking about Barack Obama. Sorry if I botch the details, but what I remember was that they said he was at some kind of press conference, talking about trying to raise the general tone of campaigning above attacks and back-and-forth bickering, and at the end of his speech, the audience was basically silent. He had been very careful to state his position tactfully, or at least that's the picture that was painted of the event. Finally, someone broke the silence with, "Did you change your hair?"

God Bless America.

Whether or not the event really went down exactly like that, it's a picture with fresh relevance for me. So a couple of weeks ago in my performance review I had mentioned that I'd be willing at some point to take on some new projects, as time allows, while emphasizing that I wasn't in any hurry to do so, but that now was a good time for this, seeing as the summer isn't a busy time for our project at all. Now, I know for a fact my boss caught all the nuance bundled up in my little spiel. So I don't blame her for the fact that the next week, one of our administrators came up to me, asked me to come to her office to talk about some new projects, prefacing the entire conversation with, "So I hear you're bored."

The feeling is not unlike buying an expensive piece of chocolate to send via international mail to a relative living halfway around the world, only to have it shipped wrong and get sidetracked all over the globe, finally arriving at your relative's smushed and eaten by worms that it picked up somewhere en route. Oh, and then the relative calls you and gives you an earful about how you should have insured it. Something like that, at least.

Anyways, said admin tells me of a project I can help another coworker with. Said coworker comes to me later that week to talk to me about said project, and, no lie, this is what she says, "So I hear you're bored."

To those of you women who read my blog, I must say that while I respect your intuition and your ability to far outpace us males in terms of the general accuracy of the conclusions you jump to, I must also remind you, as the great Dumbledore once said, "With great power comes great responsibility." Ladies, please use your intuition and assuming wisely and with caution. Please, for once, take the lead of us men when it comes to wielding dangerous weapons: we don't mess around with things that can blow up in our faces, as you'll observe when we're handling guns (all the men I know are extremely cautious, even when around other men who are equally cautious). For those of you ladies who have already attained to a measure of wisdom in this, there are plenty of others around who could gain from your example! God bless you.

God Bless America.

Various happenings

2008-06-03T06:58:00.005-05:00

Howdy from Aggieland! It's a fine day and I hope it finds you... if it hasn't already. I thought I'd post a few recent life happenings, tidbit-style, to catch you up to speed on my brain waves - surf's up!

Summer Breeze, Makes Me Feel Sweaty
Yuck - Texas summers. That's what all of you with sensitive noses are saying now that those of us with sensitive sweat glands are feeling the heat. I am sorry. Generally I'm a very clean person, but thinking I can effectively manage smelling good in this kind of climate is just like thinking that one can effectively manage anything they set their mind to: it's just plain hubris.

So, I've decided to play soccer again. What better way to make the most of the least logical time of year to be outdoors and active in this great state? We had our first game this Sunday. We tied. Actually, I'm kind of happy about that, seeing as it's the first time I remember not losing an opening game while playing with the Scrubs (though memory could be, admittedly, failing me here). I am a little disappointed with my own performance, though. While I did manage to earn the self-titled "Destroyer" nickname (I'm hoping it will catch on) by smashing the face or body of opposing players with the ball quite forcefully multiple times (I wasn't trying to hurt anyone, they just got in the way), as well as one time knocking a guy down just by standing in his way (this time I got in the way, but hey - he ran into me - and yes, this did make me feel manly), I was otherwise a little pathetic, to be perfectly honest. (Or as Kathryn so frankly put it, I seemed to be getting outrun a lot out there. To be quite accurate, I would think it better to say I was "run" as opposed to "outrun", seeing as frequently the other team was running, whereas I was walking.) In heat like this, I'm afraid that if I over-exert, I may keel over and evaporate or something. But I am over 20 pounds lighter this year than last - whoop! - so that's helping quite a bit.

It's A New Month: You Know What That Means!
Actually, you may not know what that means. What it means is both Kathryn and I get paychecks! Which means a new month for our "budget". (I say that, not sarcastically, but matter-of-factly, given that I'm still warming to the concept that a budget is primarily intended to be functional, as opposed to aesthetic. Tomato, tomato. See? Who can tell the difference anyways?) Which means a new chance to not overspend. Which means renewed hopes of getting to the 15th of the month with some eating-out money left. Seriously, though, it's going to happen this month. At this point, I'm not joking around any more - I know it's hard to tell in print, but it's true. Seriously, ask me at the end of the month, and once you have heard about how we've stuck to budget this month, I'll let you buy me lunch.

Performance Review - Delusions Of Better-Than-Averageness
I had my annual performance review at work last week. It actually went really well, and I would actually go so far as to say it was something of a "glowing" review, without verging on celebrity frenzy. I say that because you're ranked on a scale of "Does Not Meet Expectations" to "Meets Expectations" to "Exceeds Expectations" to finally "Outstanding" - at which point, if I'm not mistaken, you start getting calls from people asking you to run departments and governments and things like that. I pulled off an "Exceeds Expectations" overall, which I think puts me somewhere between a firm handshake/pat on the back and a little eyebrow-raising on the part of the office bigwigs.

What's interesting to me about these measures of how worthwhile of a human being I am (other than our culture's audacity and propensity to so readily quantify people's worth) is the point of shift from culture making great efforts to motivate and assure people, not just of their potential but also of their innate stardom, to the point at which everyone is more seemingly on level playing field, except for the true stars who float above the crowds with their feet and buttocks hitting the rest of our faces. You may recall this transition in your life as the time when you went from being pretty much an 'A' student by default to pretty much a 'C' student by default. And while we've all got variations on this theme, there's definitely a point when the coddling stops and you realize that the world is saying to you, "You're not really exceptional unless you're truly exceptional." The way this seems to be communicated is, "You're not exceptional." In this context, the way someone truly does become exceptional is to elbow their way up and proclaim from the top of the heap, "I'm all that. Love me, hate me - I'm the schnitt." Sure, some celebrities and elitists do this with a touch of class, but such a touch doesn't appear to be required to be admired.

I don't really have any particular point in saying all of that, and I don't claim any originality in recognizing it, either (if I did then you might claw over me in your scramble for a better view of the blogosphere... although, I know most of my blog readership, and you are all much better people than that; and for those of you I don't know, I'm quite certain that reading my blog is already helping you to become a much better person anyway). But despite all its quirks and the bureaucratic nature of this whole review process, I'm not unaware of the significance of the process of being measured up according to this cultural metric. I just hope for a greater measure of the kind of spirit whose value is evident in the kind of redemptive tendencies I exhibit, and a shortened leash for the one inciting me to throw elbows, cross tongues and divide loyalties.

Wrap To The Rap
Well, folks, that's all for now. I'll come atcha again as life gives me a fresh batch of wordiness to cook up on here. Until such time, keep it cool, keep it real, keep it real cool, and try not to lose whatever it is you're keeping.

Fives Are Wild

2008-05-24T08:40:00.006-05:00

My friend Ross tagged me and seemed to think I might respond to this. Heck, yeah! I'm totally in my element when I'm doing things that many people find awkward or beneath them. (I've got blue face paint and I'm not afraid to use it.) Besides, having been tagged by a rock star/teen idol, how could I resist the chance to take a shot at, as he puts it, "revealing how insecure I am"?

Here goes everything.

Edit: Oh yeah, almost forgot to post THE RULES:
1. The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read the player’s blog.
4. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve posted your answer.

What were you doing 5 years ago?
Let's see, what was I doing 5 years ago today? (As we all learned in junior high essay tests, it really helps your answers look a lot more solid when you first restate the question before totally B.S.ing the "meat" of your answer.) I know one thing was just starting to breathe again as my wife finished the first of her three final years of school at A&M (after the year off she took to join me in California, which followed her first two years at A&M), and thinking how long the next two years would be until we could get the hay out of College Station. The better question here is, what are you doing today, five years after that time five years ago? The answer then becomes: Watch, and Learn.

What are 5 things on your to-do list today
(NOTE: I started this Saturday. I'm finishing this Monday, but I'm leaving the to-do list intact. Saturday's was much more interesting than today's.)
1. Wake up - check. (Starting the day out slowly and with attainable goals allows for greater momentum going into loftier and more blog-worthy goals.)
2. Help make coffee and quiche for the in-laws in town - check. (Pretty sweet deal, huh? I'm available for private parties, and also I'm a lot of fun on karaoke.)
3. Go look at potential houses - check. (We sort of are and aren't looking at this point in time - today was more of an "are" day than one of the "aren't"s.)
4. Help a friend from our ComGroup move to a new apartment - check. (Get really sweaty while carrying the things that people have to have in all rooms of their house and actually use on a daily basis - also check.)
5. See the new Indiana Jones movie - unchecked at this point in time. But the tickets have been purchased.

What are 5 snacks you enjoy?
1. Tortilla chips with dip
2. Fritos with dip
3. Potato chips with dip
4. Bagel chips with dip
5. Paint chips (plain)

What 5 things would you do if you were a billionaire?
1. Pay off the national debt.
2. Go back to school and take a class in economics.
3. Pay off my own debt.
4. Pay off my friends' and families' debts and probably the debts of a bunch of other people who came up to me and played the sympathy card (I'm such a sucker for these types of people, it's sickening).
5. Go to random stores, on occasion, and say with glee in a loud voice, "I'll have one of everything."
6. Give gobs of money to my church and other Kingdom-minded causes (in a much less showy way). And I'm not just saying that because this guy and this guy said it first.

What are 5 of your bad habits?
1. Loving shock-value attention
2. Eating way too many chips
3. Wow, five is a lot of bad habits to have to list
4. I kind of feel like that first one was worth at least two or three because it was so honest and motive-baring, but okay - I'll list one more:
5. Suddenly quitting a game because I want to, even if other people are still playing (if you've ever played mini-golf or Guesstures with me, you'll know what I'm talking about).

What are 5 places you have lived?
1. Crappy house in Pasadena, TX (a.k.a. Stinkadena)
2. Nicer house in Pasadena, TX (this location smelled a little better)
3. Malibu, CA (if you haven't heard my celebrity stories, I've got a few good ones I can tell sometime)
4. Agoura Hills, CA (through "the Canyon" - this is where Kathryn and I had our first apartment! 500 sq. ft., $670/mo.)
5. Bryan/College Station, TX (hullabaloo connect the dots)

What are 5 jobs you've had? (These will appear in chronological order)
1. Grocery sacker (I was pretty spickin' good at keeping cold items together and totally dominating the canned vegetables, back in the day)
2. Lifeguard (I wasn't actually very good at this)
3. Chick-Fil-A customer satisfaction artist (actually, I don't know what my official job title was, and I only worked there a month because my parents wanted me to focus more on school, but this was a pretty sweet job because you could eat the "employee meals" for $1, which basically consisted of as many of those nuggets and fries as you could fit on a plate)
4. General student worker (I paid my dues for all four years of college...)
5. Various office jobs/Research Assistant (something about wondering whether people noticed that I'd already paid those dues in college - but somehow you continue to pay them long after. I have to be pretty vague here because I'm actually the first name that comes up when I google myself, and most of my current co-workers are either web-savvy or outright techie. Actually, the job I'm at right now is pretty sweet, so it's not like I have a lot to vent about out here in Cyber-topia.)

What 5 people do you want to tag?
1. My wife (seeing as she's working on one of these posts but hasn't published it yet, I'd say this timing works out well; hers will be quite a formidable post, seeing as she's hilarious in her own right, but I can almost bet money on my post being way longer, so I'm not too worried)
2. Thad (he can't ignore the impatient crowds forever)
3. Danny (seeing as he's recently gotten back into blogging, I thought I'd be nice and send all my incredible scores of web-traffic his way)
4. Britt (who is currently suffering from major blog-frost)
5. Cory (another blog-frosty, but ought to be able to craft something hecka interesting)

Common Play-It-Off #1: The "Sniff Catch"

2008-05-20T22:00:00.001-05:00

I'm hoping this post will be the first of many explorations of what I'm terming "Common Play-It-Offs" - which are basically timely behavioral adjustments employed to quickly manage the perceptions of those around you. They are clandestinely desperate efforts to ensure that you don't give something of yourself away that you didn't premeditatedly intend to give away. The type of things about which those less subtle of your friends and/or acquaintances might be quick to say, "He's totally trying to play it off!" Hence the name.

Let me give you an example. Let's assume you find yourself in some form of social situation. Suddenly, something in your immediate environment tickles your funnybone. Perhaps you are in conversation and someone says something unexpectedly ironic. Perhaps you are supposed to be hard at work, though in fact you were daydreaming when a joke or scene of hilarity stumbles into the forefront of your consciousness. Within a fraction of a split-second, before you've braced yourself to withstand the wind of laughter, a gust blows through and exits out your nostrils, thus producing a slight, but plainly audible sniff-laugh, perhaps accompanied by a slight twinkling in your eyes. In yet another fraction of a second, this one no larger than the one that brought on this almost certain disaster, your mind rattles off the following: "Oh no! Did anyone hear that? Did anyone see that? Shoot! How embarrassing if they did! But maybe there's still time... maybe I can [everyone all together now] PLAY IT OFF..." Of course, this would be more of a quasi-conscious reaction - the way the play-it-off would more likely be conceived and executed in real time is something like this: ! nff. And "nff," of course, is what I would call the "Sniff Catch." That timely, ever-so-smooth save that, if successful, will have those in your airspace thinking, "Did he laugh just now? Oh, must have been merely clearing his nose."

And of course, if someone asks you how your allergies are doing this season, you know you're in the clear. Golden. (Barring any hint of sarcasm, of course.) However, should you find no forthcoming offers of Kleenex, you are then faced with a difficult decision. Do you follow up your sniff laugh and catch with another similar sniffing combination? Or would doing so jeopardize the subtlety of your defense? After all, your whole strategy here rests on flying below the radar. Friend, let me just say that I don't envy your decision in the least. All I will offer here, other than the obvious advice that you should factor in as many variables as you can in the time you have (what's your audience like - how well do you know them? are you in a noisy location - perhaps the air conditioning prevented anyone from noticing your blunder? how drunk is everyone - not at all or beyond memory? do these people even care whether you exist - perhaps if they all look down on you they wouldn't care even if they did notice?) - you know, read the situation and make an educated guess - is this: prevention is the best defense. Let me explain further in the next paragraph. See you there in a minute - I have to run to the bathroom.

Okay, I'm back. Hopefully you weren't waiting too long. Now, prevention. The key here is practice. I'm talking, stand in front of the mirror and practice all kinds of get-out-of-trouble looks (I'm a younger brother - trust me, they work. Actually, I really did get in trouble a lot as a kid. But I think this tapered off significantly as I got older, so I take that for eventually getting better at getting out of stuff, especially given the fact that I've always been a learn-the-hard-way type of guy). Especially hone in on such gems as the hee-hee-aren't-I-so-cute look (caution: this look's effectiveness can be compromised by the presence of pepper in between front teeth, or any other foreign objects), the oops-aren't-I-so-cute look (the key here is not in making your surprise come off as genuine, but in how adorable you are), and finally the oh-well-aren't-I-so-cute look (the king of all looks, because once you've mastered this one, you can pretty much get away with anything except for cannibalism and cutting in line). Also, Blue Steel and Magnum are handy options. So then, once you've got some tools in your bag, you're ready to pull them out should you totally botch the play-it-off.

So, without further ado, here it is (in my first ever blog-video!) - the "Sniff Catch":

A Week In The Life Of Joe

2008-05-18T09:52:00.000-05:00

I’ve determined that weekends are the best times for revealing how desperately inept one is at living life. Here’s the way things typically tend to shake out for me on weekends. Actually, to get a better idea, it’s best to start with Mondays – the days on which, usually, my weekend expectations begin to form. Mondays usually begin with an unpleasant discovery: that in the intervening time between Sunday night bed-time and Monday morning wake-time, a miracle has, in fact, failed to occur yet again, and I will, in fact, have to deal with each week day in due course and miss out on skipping right ahead to Friday night. Such is life (imagine that in a French accent). These types of dark epiphanies are much less common throughout the week, but have been known to occur as late as about Wednesday morning.

Skip ahead to Thursday. I actually like Thursdays quite a bit. They consist largely of the promise of freedom – a certain kind of over-the-hump-ness mixed with a feeling that scores of hours are coming in which I can breathe and run free, sleep in (although I usually prefer to be up sometime before 9 on weekends), and regain the sanity that evaporates off me like steam during the week. Thursdays are great because the next day is Friday, and then you can wear jeans to work! (Never mind the fact that many of my coworkers and I often wear jeans the other days of the week. Never mind that now.)

Friday arrives. Fridays are good, partly because of jeans, but most importantly because of the unshakeable optimism that accompanies knowing that any crap you have to deal with today you most assuredly won’t have to deal with tomorrow (that is, unless you are one of those “task-oriented” employees instead of a “time-oriented” employee, like me…). Ah yes, Fridays. And then it happens. Five o’clock. Everybody saying, “have a good weekend.” Weekend? Hm. I always arrive at this point underprepared. Suddenly I have 63 hours of freedom that I have absolutely no idea what to do with. How can that be, you ask? Let me explain.

In honesty, I have plenty of ideas what I’d like to do on a weekend. They’re the types of things that tend to break the budget, or the inseam, or come across as violations of spousal peace treaties. That is to say, the consumer in me knows exactly what to do with weekends and a debit card. That’s the problem – that dude is a total asshole. And if asshole is left unchecked all weekend, then Monday rolls around and taunts me, in all its sick irony, “time to do it all over again.” Usually, though, those voices in my head start their harassment by Sunday night. It seems they’ve found that it’s best to ease people into despondency, rather than springing it on them all at once.

“Joe,” you say, “it sounds like you’ve been noticing this thing going on for a while.” “Yes,” I answer, “I have.” “Joe,” you continue, “have you thought about planning out your weekends in advance?” “Why yes,” I respond, “I have. In fact, that’s exactly what I did this weekend. I took some time during the day Friday to plan out, wisely I might add, both the sorts of things I would need and want to do this weekend. Additionally, I found some time for my wife and I to communicate about these things, so we could both talk about what we hoped to do this weekend.” “Joe,” you exclaim, “that’s great! How did it go?” “Well,” I sigh, “you’ll be reading about it on my blog. I might label it ‘downbeat something-or-other’.” “Oh.” “Oh.”

Yes, so that brings me to this weekend. Was it horrible? Not entirely – because, for all my shortcomings, I did succeed in one thing: making both my wife and I painfully depressed by late yesterday evening. Score. On my own goal. Kathryn and I have both been wanting to pursue creative projects more in our free time, rather than just watching TV or doing something totally passive like that. (Granted, she can typically be working on some kind of craft project while watching TV, but I certainly can’t. I don’t multitask – TV and activity are like oil and water for me.) So, she comes to me in the afternoon and asks, “Want to work on a video together?” After a little inertia on my part, I decide that I would like to try to brainstorm a project we can do together. So we both brainstorm independently (she’s showering at this point) – collaborative brainstorming sessions have previously tanked in prior instances of this exact situation. Then, a little while later, we both come together to share the ideas we’re both excited about. Let’s just say, our ideas meshed about as well as cold water and wood fire. Creative momentum: successfully managed, i.e., squelched.

I’ll save you the rest of the details (other than clarification that this really wasn’t a fight by any stretch of the imagination – we just had vastly different visions and couldn’t get on the same page, or in this case, even be reading the same book), because I’m short on time and they’re depressing anyways. Suffice it to say we did manage to find a little enjoyment watching Steve Carell host Saturday Night Live. Oh well. Whatever.

Lord, I feel I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Now, I don’t fault you for any of this. You’re not, historically speaking, the one who botches things up so much as the one who steps in and repairs the damage, making things right and good again. But (and, you know, big one or whatnot…), I need some help here, and not just a little. Life just seems more complex and complicated than I can handle. Maybe I’m the one making it difficult, but I need to be taught before I can be expected to perform. You’ve given me an airplane, but I’ve only ever learned to drive a car. You know I want to fly, because a guy can barely walk down here without being assaulted by a thousand damn billboards. You know I’m tired of buying their crap. Teach me to fly. Forgive me for all I’ve spent poorly. Teach me to fly. Forgive me for loving anyone who looked me in the eyes or flashed me a smile, and the stuff they peddle. Teach me to fly. Forgive me for buying when they told me I could be like you without you. Teach me to fly.

Well, time to wrap things up, lest I risk ending it there on a deceptively high note (a ‘false positive’, perhaps?). Moral of the story? Weekends are overrated. Avoid them if at all possible. Weekdays? Avoid those as well, if you can. But since that doesn’t really leave you with much, if anything, I suppose I will leave you with this final dino-nugget of wisdom and ray of ambiguity: make the most of your Thursdays.

Little Dribbler, National Champion

2008-04-20T00:04:00.000-05:00

I just witnessed my cousinito (little cousin - she'd be my cousin-niece if we had a word for it in English) become a National Champion in Little Dribblers, at a basketball court in Franklin, Texas. National Champion. Has quite a ring to it, right? Imagine how a 10-year-old girl feels having that title to throw behind her name now. Imagine roll call: "BONNIE FIELDS." "National Champion HERE!"

Actually, two things about that. First, the actual title of the Little Dribblers tournament was the "Continental National Tournament." Just enjoy that one for a minute. (In doing a little research on the website for the event, apparently the "Continental" version of the tournament is for those communities, holding Little Dribblers charters, under a population of 2,500. The biggest version, the "National" - as in the "National National Tournament", I'm assuming? - has a population limit of 35,000. So this is small-town stuff, pretty much. Or, as you'll see next...) The other thing is that all the places involved in the Continental National Tournament are from Texas. (All over, though - one team came all the way from Farwell, which is an hour and a half north-west of Lubbock, right near the New Mexico border; they lost the championship game. Ouch. That's a really, REALLY long bus ride back.) I have two potential explanations for this. One is that Little Dribblers happens in more states than just Texas, and each one has its version of the "National" tournament. The more fun explanation for me (which, unfortunately, I just found out to be false because I read this - but humor me anyways) is that, in the deep reaches of small-town Texas, there is still a strong sentiment that Texas should be, as it once was, its own country. Thus, any competition comprised entirely of teams from Texas, is a "national" competition. Heck, even despite the Little Dribblers history page, there may be a fair few who would fire off a shotgun into the air in affirmation of such a sentiment. God Bless Texas.

Hey now, I really don't want my having a little fun with this to detract from my cousinito's accomplishment. Seriously - who would have ever thought that elementary-age girls' basketball could be so enthralling and nerve-wracking? I'll tell you what. I'm hoarse, and a little bit worn out emotionally.

I went to two games today. They'd already won several games this week, but lost one yesterday, in a double-elimination tournament. So the first game today could have been their last. It was a nail-biter, with the Lady Devils (my cousinito's team) staying ahead by about 2-4 points most of the game - not a comfortable lead to those in the stands by any means, especially when the star player from the opposing team - who's a pretty darn good shooter - runs the ball down the court and makes the same play EVERY TIME, keeping the pressure on. That's one thing about basketball with kids this age, especially girls (no offense, but hear me out): they haven't really learned to think for themselves yet (probably true across sexes), which is not helped by the fact that their reaction time is so slow (probably less true across sexes) that if the ball is loose and heading for the sideline, you can put money on it being a turnover. Or worse yet, all the passes that were totally catchable or retrieve-able that ended up flying out of bounds.

I'm sure I'd be more disappointed with such minor blunders if they'd lost. But hey - SCOREBOARD!

After that, I went home, because I wasn't quite sure whether I'd make it back for the evening game. Wow - that was almost a really dumb decision, potentially not going back. But I thought about it, and I don't get to see this part of my family all that often, and especially for something so big, so... national to a little girl, it would be really cool to support her in it. So I went back for the Championship game.

This time we were in the Big Gym (Franklin High School's best, with elevated bleachers on both sides, so this time we could actually shout at the other team's fan-base, rather than just juxta them). Gosh, I was so nervous. Remember that one loss I'd mentioned? This was that team. Oh, and after the first game today, here's what the coach said to the girls, "Okay, tonight we're going to play Buffalo. Remember that those girls were passing well and making shots and pretty much doing everything flawlessly out there on the floor. I'd like for us to be doing the same." (Gee, coach, I don't know whether to be more disturbed at our prospects tonight, or the way you're drooling over their athleticism.) I may have had a super-fan exterior on. But inside, I had all the confidence - in this team of little girls - of, well, a little girl.

Things quickly did a massive 180. After the first quarter, the Lady Devils were on top 10-2. For those of you not acquainted with young girls' basketball, eight points has the potential of taking five to ten minutes of game time to be scored. By both teams together. Which is an eternity in basketball-reckoning. At the half, with continued Lady Devil domination, an eleven-point lead. And huge heads all around on our side of the court. Not a whole lot changed during the third quarter, I think, though the Lady Devils' offense started to slow down. Fourth quarter.

Fourth quarter. Something changed. Namely, the position of my stomach, which was now somewhere in the general vicinity of my ankles. Something else changed: the no full-court press rule. That's a handy little rule I'd never heard of before (must be particular to younger-age game-play) - for the first three quarters, no one is allowed to defend the back court. Doing so will actually earn you a technical foul. (Honestly, there were other odd rules that made the game a little annoying to watch, because not only were the referees a little whistle-happy, they were frequently calling these penalties which were quite foreign to me. If I'd had more of a voice by this point, I think I'd have been yelling more protest.) What does all that mean? Suddenly, the Lady Devils were being afflicted in the back court, and they were not handling it well - at all. Actually, the other team went on something like an 8-0 run, with the Lady Devils failing to even make it past half-court ONCE. It was infuriating. Not to mention that since Buffalo was so close to Franklin, they had a huge cheering section, and so once their girls got some momentum back, the cheers coming from across the court were quite imposing. Also, and I won't go into this because I'll just end up getting worked up, the Lady Devils' coach would not have his girls maintain any pressure in the back court. So the fourth quarter, for the most part, felt like a Lady Bison shooting rampage.

And then the Devils broke through to the other side. Hallelujah. Somebody made a shot. Thank you, Lord. (My cousinito told me later that at some point, while she was on the court, she was praying. ;) Maybe it was at this point?) But the Bisons answered. And oh, crap - they pulled ahead. At this point I sat down and looked dejected. The Devils had blown a 12-point lead in a matter of minutes (the quarters are only 6 minutes, anyways). Time was ticking off the clock. In about the last minute of game play, players on both sides were shooting free throws. Somewhere in all of that, someone tied the game up. This lasted until the end of regulation time. So now there was overtime! Can you imagine the tension in the room? If you've never witnessed elementary girls' basketball, you probably can't imagine it. But you could cut it with a knife. Not that they'd probably appreciate you carrying one into a tournament like this, though.

2 minutes on the clock. Tip-off. Lady Bisons get the ball - shot's no good. Lady Devils' turn. Nothing. This pattern repeats itself for what seems like a hundred years. Finally, fortune strikes. A Bison fouled a Devil! Two shots at the line! I mutter inaudibly, "You really need to make both of these." She makes one. Better than nothing, as you can probably already guess. Oh, and at this point there are 9 seconds left on the clock. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Just enough time for one of those agonizing last plays where the other team rushes down the court, barely manages to get an open shot, throws up a wild prayer, and sinks it, along with all of our dignity. But then a miracle happened. Bisons inbound the ball. A Devil contests the Bison-recipient of the ball. The clock ticks. They scramble for the ball, both unfoulingly (a miracle in itself). The clock keeps ticking. Now they're both on the floor trying to get the ball. The clock stops ticking. Hey! The clock stopped ticking. And no whistles have been blown! And now everyone on our side of the court is cheering, and all the Lady Devils have these uber-surprised looks on their faces and are also yelling and cheering. They won the Continental National Championship! (Yes, Queen actually does come on over the loudspeaker at this point. These Little Dribblers really know how to create a moment!)

Somewhere in the next few minutes of elation, both teams line up to be announced and receive their honors and trophies. This is the part where my heart broke. Looking over at the Lady Bisons, several of the little girls were sobbing and wiping their eyes. Mine started to leak, too. (They are even now. Wow, I can't even imagine how much of a pushover I'm going to be if Kathryn and I ever have any girls.) Okay, I'm about to offend some people now, and I'm not going to apologize for it, either. While I don't really have a problem with girls playing sports, I'm just going to go ahead and question whether they're really designed for sports. Now, I definitely recognize there are females who are great athletes, and even for those who aren't, I don't have any problem seeing value in their athletic pursuits. But here's the thing: those didn't look like emotionally healing tears as much as they did emotionally damaging tears. And what effect does it have on girls to have coaches yelling at them so harshly when they forget which play is being run? I wonder whether something is being lost in developing the tough skin to cope with all the pain of the gym floor, or field, or court - something beautiful. (Granted, we have some friends with a very young son who, when playing soccer, cries whether he messes up a kick or scores a goal - so it's tricky to make hard, fast rules - but I still wonder.)

Anyways, back to story. Lady Bisons have all been called. Now Lady Devils are lined up to go pick up their trophies (they were so excited, twice the whole line starts for the middle of the floor before their names are called). I cheer most loudly when Bonnie is called up. They stand in the middle of the court, raising trophies high, with parents behind and around me in near-hysteria. What a great moment.

Later Bonnie was telling me she thought the trophies were supposed to be about "this tall" (she reaches her hand about a foot above her head). We go to dinner at a Mexican restaurant to celebrate, and Chelsea (my same-ish-age cousin, Bonnie's mom) answers the loads of voicemail she got and spreads the news of the victorious Lady Devils, radiating with pride, as was Bruce, her husband/Bonnie's dad. Ah, what a night.

Here's to you, Bonnie. Congratulations. Enjoy your victory, little miss National Champion.

Mountain man and aspiring artist? (part 1)

2008-04-11T09:30:00.000-05:00

New Blog!
Dear adoring fans and breaders-Like-You,
Welcome to my new blog! Not only had JoeZone not been updated in a while, but it had also begun to seem to me like clothes that just don't fit anymore once you've lost some weight. (Or even, perhaps, those clothes were starting to wear through around the armpits because of you wearing them all the time on account of how awesome you thought they were during that time, but then fashions start to change and you realize it's probably time to toss the old Hypercolor tee.) It's not a perfect analogy because I think there was some good stuff on there (in terms of the subtext and substance; of course, the writing was excellent, or so I've heard. Or maybe that was one of those inner-cranial conversations? I don't remember now.), but that's not to say there wasn't a measure more of the self-absorbed spirit, which I feel I'm starting to shed, than I'm agreeable to perpetuate. Along with that came my tendency towards self-disparaging remarks, which I'd like to mighty-morph into a healthy self-respect (which I'm learning doesn't have to be self-worship - any other recovering pop-psychology-skeptics out there?). Anyways, what better place to work all of this out than on the 'net? It's like blogs are to normal face-to-face social interaction what draining the beef-grease before adding the Hamburger Helper is to a meal. Ideally. Or else it's like a teenage slumber party in which one of the kids has access to Mom and Dad's car key and its automobile (accompanied by an opportune lack of parental oversight), where stupidity has a chance to percolate before bubbling out into the most unfortunate places. So in one such fashion or the other will I work out this personal transformation. Either way. But also neither, too - because it's probably better to work out life's big questions in community as opposed to all by oneself. So whatever.

The particular stories which occasion this post (as well as the next - I'll be splitting them up seeing as I already seem to be digressing more than progressing) are quite appropriate and timely for the contemporaneous life-shifting and blog-hopping. One is a tale of adventure, the kind that every man should have regularly so that the world, with its institutions and fixations on safety and risk-management and comfort, doesn't tame him - especially if he finds himself at a desk or computer each day (not necessarily a bad thing, but it's just not in our nature to sit still! Look at little boys, and remember they are the way they are because God made them that way. There's a lot less fallen-ness in youthful energy and vitality than is easy to believe, in my opinion.); the other is a tale of vocational discovery (what is it that God, throughout the course of my life, in all of my doings and pursuings and learnings and strugglings, is preparing me for? It's the "big question", and it's so much more than merely paid employment, though neither is that excluded). Both stories are ones I believe may ultimately prove to have been critical to my journey of self-and-other-within-Kingdom discovery. Or else they'll suffice as acceptable blog-fodder. Either way. But hopefully more the former. So whatever.

Potential milestone #1: The call of the wild (don't let it go to voicemail)
From Nine March to Eleven March Two-Thousand Aught Eight In the Year of Our Lord Anno Domini, did myself and my portly pack ascend the mount beyond the River Paluxy upon the Park of the Valley of the Thunder-Lizard, and there we did make camp and exercise much manliness through the lugging of said pack, the subsequent scaling of lofty cliffs, the drowsy braving of thunderstorms, the marking of trees and ensuing domination of nature, and the continual sweating-through of apparel. Yea, most assuredly, did no pleasant odor go unconquered.

Ironically, I was expecting that backpacking would allow me to get away for a few days of relative relaxation and peaceful reflection. No sooner did monkeys fly out of my butt than I said to myself, "Spike, that was pretty danged naive." One-man backpacking is a heckuva lot of work, especially when you get onto the wrong trail an hour before dark, and by the providence of God stumble onto a different campsite with just enough time to set up a tent before dark and the onslaught of a Texas thunderstorm, only to wake up the next morning with a wet tent and sleeping bag, and still somehow think how much you'd like to continue on to that campsite which the park ranger said was his favorite (which happens also to be the one furthest out), if for no other reason than to prove how much of a man you are. And since such was utterly and undeniably proved, it was therefore a heckuva lot of work. But an awesome experience.

Oh, and it gets lonely and scary in the wild of those state parks where there may not be any major roads or facilities for literally thousands of feet, and where, at night, you can almost feel the hot, putrid breath of the wild raccoons and white-tailed deer on the thin tent-nylon, cold and dewy from the rain of the forty-degree, onslaught-uous Texas thunderstorm. And me without my hatchet! Thus the marking of trees. Not to mention the mini-concert of songs that any person or thing within probably a couple-mile radius heard that night as I belted out my defense against the enveloping darkness. The score: Darkness and Beasts-of-the-Wild, zero; Joe, eight-hundred and ninety-three. Million.

So, all things considered, and all hatchets and packs back in their respective places of storage, do I think I got out of the whole experience what I thought I was signing up for? Probably not. Did I get more, and in different ways than I expected? Probably so, and most definitely yes! And so, to this day, some people who backpack in DVSP say that, on cold, thunderous nights, they can still hear a young man singing:

Then sings my soul,
My Savior, God, to Thee,
Back up offa me, raccoons,
How great Thou art!

Or something like that.

Tune in next time for...
Potential milestone #2: The-artist-soon-to-be-known-as-Joe-Peebles?