On Telling A Story

So for the past two months I've been working on completing my application to grad schools. It was long, drawn out and exhaustive process, one that required me to turn out 20 - 40 pages of original material and a 10 page critical essay on a novel. This was no easy task, but one that has finally come to end save for a trip to the Post Office. And then I'm taking a week off from writing and from work -- sorry, that includes the blog.

I've found it is a very difficult thing to tell a story. The challenge for me in writing stories is tone and pace. I've found that I'm a great dialogue writer -- probably because I've been a news writer for like 8 years and put words in people's mouths. On the details, hmm...not so much.

So I've been telling a lot of stories lately -- stories you'll never read. Stories I won't publish here. But I will mention the plots:

1. A story about a man answering an ad for a new roommate. Two of the roommates are brother and sister, the later becomes an interest at first sight to the man. The third roommate is invisible -- like an invisible friend from childhood that the siblings never grew out of.

2. A conversation with God. Really, it's just a conversation between a medical student who just killed a patient and this beautiful woman over a morning's sunrise. There's a lot of dialogue here which played to my strength. I also borrow heavily from G.K. Chesterton.

3. The adventures of my grandfather. A fiction tale of me interviewing my grandfather and him telling me about his military exploits. It's based on the tales he actually has told me throughout my life. The only part, however, I submitted for the application is a write-up of me telling the story of our first meeting for the "book" I was supposedly writing. He talks a lot about the Cardinals.

Anyway, these are the stories I've decided to tell. And as far as telling a story goes, well, "if you want a man to know the truth, tell him; if you want a man to love the truth, tell him a story."

I only wish I knew who said that.

Great Christmas Present

First let me offer much thanks to my family for "postponing" Christmas until the Mrs. and I arrive. Although my father was quite distraught that he didn't get his usual deserts on Christmas Eve, thanks for doing that.

With that said I haven't received all my presents yet, not that I'm expecting many... So far the best has to be the Calvin and Hobbes 10th Anniversary Book. Truly a work par excellence. Also, the baby's crib and dresser comes in a close second, barely edging out some Starbucks Coffee I've been making my way through and the iPod car attachment the Mrs. got me.

But the best present this Christmas was given to a co-worker by another co-worker. This co-worker received a $10 off a purchase at Johnny Buccelli's (a sub shop in Columbus).

The thing of it is: you have to spend $15 to get the $10 off. Priceless -- well, not really.

On Santa Claus

With our child's first Christmas upcoming next year, the Mrs. and I have been talking very much about the tale of Santa Claus and how we will celebrate Christmas with our kids. A little background: she grew up without the incorporation of Santa Claus; I did grow up setting milk and cookies out and getting presents labeled "from Santa".

It is her belief that it is unnecessary and mars the true meaning of the holiday. I concede the latter argument, but not quite the former. She would rather us not give our kids presents from Santa Claus and not spin the yarn with them. Originally her argument stemmed around the foolishness of convincing kids to believe in it and, more importantly, parents lying kids. She doesn't argue along those lines anymore, but they were solid reasons to not incorporate Santa. And I had a lot of trouble arguing my way around the whole "lying to your kids" reasoning. Please don't see my Mrs. as a Scrooge of any sort. There would still be presents under the tree and Christmas would still be very much celebrated in the normal fashion, just without the focus being Santa Claus.

I grew up with Santa Claus incorporated in our Christmas celebration. I grew up every Christmas morning, waking up early, getting the folks out of bed, waiting at the top of the stairs while Dad got the video camera ready and fed the anxiety by taking his time, and then rushing down stairs to see the living room filled with presents. We would then see that Santa had eaten the cookies we left out and left us a scribbled note, a type-written note, or even a video of Mr. Claus playing a computer game (props to Dad for getting a Santa suit that year).

Now I'm older and you would think I've grown out of these rather child-like traditions. However, I recently convinced my family to wait until the Mrs. and I arrive a few days after Christmas and then do the whole wake-up early in the morning thing (of course, now I hear my sister wants to salsa dance and this might not happen. Seriously, who salsa dances during the holidays). So I haven't outgrown it and would like to "pass on the tradition" with my kids. And here's my argument for it.

I concede that the whole Santa thing has gotten out of hand and distracts greatly from the reason for the season. But, in the proper context, it can be a lot of fun. For instance, parents often play make-believe with their kids. From cowboys to pirates to tea parties, these scenes from books and movies and tv are quite often acted out at the imagination of the child -- something the parent loves to foster. So, can't the tale of Santa Claus be done in the same way and still keep the true meaning of Christmas intact? I think so. I think that acting out the "Night Before Christmas" would be a fun thing to do -- using the book as a guide: hanging the stockings with care, leaving food out, seeing the presents in the morning -- all that stuff.

Now as for the whole deluding your child argument. Well, from my memories, when I played cowboys and indians and re-enacted scenes from The Natural, I wished with all my heart it would be real and poured that desire into my acting. But I knew at the end of the day it was just my imagination -- but I still had a lot of fun trying to make it as real as possible. The same could be applied to how my kids then react to the acting out of the poem.

I think then that you are just fostering your child's imagination and, also, keeping your own intact.

Plus, I really want to say: You gotta get up, you gotta get up, you gotta get up, it's Christmas Morning.

Brown Can Do Some Wonderful Things

So remember that whole Cheryl & Co. ethical dilemma the Mrs. and I were faced with. Well, we made a decision. We elected to return the package to UPS. The Mrs. reluctantly did this and told the nice people at UPS that while this was the correct address, no one by the name of Bill Davis resided at it and could you please return it to the sender.

What did brown then do for us? Well the next day they sent the same package back to us. And what did I do? I opened it. Judge me if you want but I did the right thing the first time and I think I was rewarded for it -- like when someone drops ten bucks and you find it and give it to them and they just give it back to you as a thank you. It's the same thing, right?

You can see what was in it from the picture. It was a baby gift for the Davis' who apparently just had a baby girl. Congratulations all around to the Davis' -- maybe I should send them something? Anyway... we really appreciated this gift because, we, like the Davis', are having a child.

The nice arrangement of several boxes included frosted cookies (the Mrs.' favorite), brownies (my favorite) and a variety of cookies (I brought those to work and everyone loved me). I'm still working on some chocolate balls that were in the top box.

It's A Miracle Really

As you can see by this photo of our actual Christmas Tree, it's quite impressive that this thing has remained upright. And with only a few days left 'til Christmas, I beginning to think it might make it.

The true test was when we went away last Friday and returned Monday to find the tree still standing. I don't think you can truly appreciate how exciting a turn of events this was for the Mrs. and I.

Perhaps this picture doesn't do the tilt justice but believe me when I say that this tree is practicing it's "lean back" dance step.

And I can't say exactly what it was that has kept this tree upright. Maybe it was you, my readers, and your prayers?

Lover, By Derek Webb

These aren't my words. But I share these thoughts.

like a man comes to an alter i came into this town

with the world upon my shoulders and promises passed down

and i went into the water and my father, he was pleased

i built it and i’ll tear it down

so you will be set free

but i found thieves and salesmen living in my father’s house

i know how they got in here and i know how to get ‘em out

i’m turning this place over from floor to balcony

and then just like these doves and sheep

you will be set free

i’ve always been a lover from before i drew a breath

some things i loved easy and some i loved to death

because love’s no politician, it listens carefully

of those who come i can’t lose one,

so you will be set free

but go on and take my picture, go on and make me up

i’ll still be your defender, you’ll be my missing son

and i’ll send out an army just to bring you back to me

because regardless of your brother’s lies

you will be set free

i am my beloveds and my beloved’s mine

so you bring all your history and i’ll bring the bread and wine

and we’ll have us a party where all the drinks are on me

then as surely as the rising sun

you will be set free

This Is What's In A Name

It looks like, through a rather unfortunate circumstance, my friend might be getting a dog. He is very excited about this, as sad as the circumstance surrounding it is. We charged ourselves yesterday with coming up for a name for this potential pup. It is a task I believe to be more difficult than naming a baby and here's why.

Dog names (or pet names in general) are tricky. For instance, you wouldn't call a baby (unless you were insane) Rover or Fido. But those names work for a pet. So if nothing else, it seems the pool for potential names is much larger for pets than babies and so, therein, a more difficult task.
You want to anthropomorphize the pet name, if you can; you also don't want to have a dog named Bob. You want them to be cute, reflective of personality and creative, yet uncomplicated at the same time.

Now the dog they will get (if, again, they do) will be a female dog. Female dog names are even trickier because the tendency, the more creative you get, is to make them more masculine. I came up with putting a Miss in front on whichever name you like, irrespective of gender insinuation.

My selection: Miss Tumnus. Tumnus was the fawn in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. I like Miss Tumnus -- it's a rather incandescent name. Also on the table: Mrs. Darcy -- and if you've seen the movie or read the book, you know how illuminating a name it is.

Of course, readers, have no worries, my child will not be named after a fawn, troll, hobbit, elf or klingon. Maybe a Romulan, though. Perhaps even a Ferengi.

Actually, his name was very easy to decide upon and if you know me, it will come as no surprise when I do reveal the name.

This Here's A Story

At that concert the other night I heard a very philosophical quote -- well, philosophical in the way I see things as philosophical (read: more imaginative than anything else):

If you want a man to know the truth: tell him. If you want a man to love the truth: tell him a story.

It's an interesting quote, one with more than a kernel of truth. Simple statements of fact do little to influence lives. The telling of stories is an antediluvian way to pass on truth. Sometimes we don't have time for stories and that's unfortunate: "Just the facts, ma'am". But it's stories that change how we live and how we view the world around us, whether the stories are true or not. There is something transcendent in a simple story.

So when I think of the telling of stories I think of them like I think of bed-time stories. In fact, that's one thing I'm excited about doing with my kids -- the making up and telling of stories. Stories tuck us in when we hear them, even if they're upsetting stories -- we're glad we heard them.

My uncle, when he would call us as kids, would always ask us for stories ("fish stories" he called them, ironic because he would always call from sea).

I never had one. Perhaps I've got a few now. Perhaps I don't.

I'm Getting Old

It dawned on me last night after a game of basketball that I'm getting old. I say this because when I got home both of my knees were sore. Now, I've not ever had a history of knee problems -- not in both knees. In college I partially tore my left knee MCL in a rather embarrassing incident:

I was playing softball and launched a ball to the deepest part of right field. With my blazing speed I was able to get all the way around third before the ball had even reached the cut-off man. So, trotting into home, I decided to make a rather emphatic statement. I stomped my left leg down on the plate. My leg locked and my knee popped. I rolled all the way to the backstop. The crowd went from cheering to silence to laughter. Adding insult to injury, the doctor later told me I had a partial tear which I've never had fixed.

So my left knee occasionally bothers me during basketball or football or soccer games -- but it's manageable. Now my right knee is also acting up in the much the same way. So either I now have knee problems or I've gained too much weight and my knees can't support my weight (this is less likely cause I'm only 165lbs).

The conclusion: I'm getting old.

A Narrative In Concert

There is something about a song that I have never been quite able to nail down. Something that has always echoed somewhere deep inside.

Tonight, I attended a concert. Two of my favorite musicians, Derek Webb and Sandra McCracken, were playing. Their role in the concert was brief, but their music, as always, was powerful. The majority of the concert revolved around another musician Andrew Peterson and a CD he made a few years back entitled Behold The Lamb.

I've been to many Christmas events. This was unlike any other. I have seen the "greatest story ever told" acted out. I have participated in more than a few of those reenactments. I have listened many Christmas' in church, and on Christmas Eve at home, to it being read aloud. I have heard many cantatas. I have participated in a few as well. But, I don't think I have ever heard it in song.

This is a difference that is clear to me, but perhaps not to you. By song, I mean to suggest a poem set to music. Cantatas are wonderful, but they are typically too stiff for me. It's not lyrical enough -- it's too musical...too polished. But the Christmas story in song....well...there's an idea.

Tonight was just that. But it wasn't just a poem. It was an epoch poem. The entire course of the Old Testament, Intertestimental Period and the "fullness of time" was represented in uninterrupted music. No talking. Just the playing of instruments and the lyrical singing of voices.

And then it hit me, why songs echo within me.

Songs have this uncanny ability to tell a story. And, frankly, there is no better story to tell in song.

I Hate The Foo Fighters

Back in college, my roommate was obsessed with the Foo Fighters. He frequently played their CDs. Quite often I would enter the room to "...there goes my hero." Me being the straight-shooter, I would say "I hate the Foo Fighters." And that's true (it still is Eric).

Of course, one-time he caught me. Unbeknownst to me, he was playing their CD and I remarked that "I like this. Who is it?" He smiled when he told me -- like he'd won some battle. But he should've realized that he needed to concede that the Foo Fighters sounded like "everything else on the radio" and I was unable to differentiate between them and the Vertical Horizon's of the world. He didn't and it's become this running joke.

Well...this may be the end of the joke. While watching an episode of Scrubs this past week this song played as Turk and Carla introduced their new child. The song playing was "Miracle":

Hands on a miracle
I got my hands on a miracle
Leave it or not, hands on a miracle
And there ain't no way
Let you take it away

I really liked it and spent considerable time hunting down the author of the song (potentially for the Baby Mix CD, which I'm still working on, btw).

It was sung by the Foo Fighters.

I hate the Foo Fighters.

In The Presence Of Burning Children

I'm in the midst of finishing up my class on Suffering, Tragedy and the Christian Faith. We've come to the point where, before us, is the question of the practicality of a theodicy. Stumbling across a quote in my readings this morning, I've remained invariably unsettled by it: No statement, theological or otherwise, should be made that would not be credible in the presence of burning children. The quote was referenced after an example of the suffering that occured in Auschwitz.

You can easily see the implications of this statement: The need for theodicy seems to be obviated. I recalled the chapter from The Brothers Karamazov where Ivan brings this issue to the forefront as well. It's extremely unsettling because there's no "practical" answer. There are, of course, theoretical ones, but this, in cases like these, is highly unsatisfactory.

Perhaps this is too lugubrious for Monday morning. It will serve you to note, that while I remain unsettled, I do not remain shaken -- only intrigued and reminded that there are times when theodicy "needs to be silent". That theodicy needs to take into account such a quote. It needs to remain grounded and realistic -- or at least have that sense about such things.

Some More Thoughts

Apparently some of my readers do not like my more banal posts. This is understandable...they're not all that good. But before I once again resume my objective of evoking your illative sense, I offer these, admittedly plebian, observations.

I'm growing my hair out. I'm tired of the same haircut. It's been the same way for 12 years. However, in musical terms, if my previous hairstyle was D chord, my new hairstyle is a Dsus -- with maybe a major 7th.

Remember that Friends episode where Chandler and Rachel eat the cheesecake mistakenly delivered to their apartment. Well, last night a box with a Cheryl & Co. label was delivered to our apartment but not exactly to us. We're still weighing our ethical obligations...did I mention I have a pregnant wife?

I'm sitting at an intersection today when an ambulance comes flying down the road towards me. There were three cars in each of the three lanes facing me, two of those lanes had a green light and the cars should've have continued through the intersection (the ambulance was turning left). All three cars stopped. I'm still not sure how the ambulance made it through.

That's not as bad as when I'm on a divided highway with an ambulance or fire truck comes barreling down on the other side of the highway and people going in my direction still stop. Drives me nuts.

My tree has remained upright (almost) for almost 48 hours.

Basketball in HD is sweet.

Damien Rice has a new CD. I'm excited about this.

Congratulations to Mary J. Blige. I have no idea who you are.

Derek Webb's in town Tuesday. I'm excited about this.

Is AI the answer for the C's. I'm not sure. Also not sure what the question is anymore. Oh yeah: When should we fire Doc?

Enjoyed a great game of touch football with co-workers this morning. It was 22 degrees at kick-off. I threw two INTs, but also picked off the other team 3 times (2 for TDs), caught two 2 TDs and threw for 2 TDs. But I'm not the game MVP. That has to go to one of the other Daves I know...Dave Levy....and his little dog too!

Alright...on to more pedantic and erudite observations...

Thankfully, It's Illegal Now

I love the city where I live. We pass the best and most crucial laws.

Per the Columbus Dispatch:

From now on, rubdowns in Columbus must come with clothes on. Not yours — the masseuse's.
The requirement that masseuses and masseurs must be clothed when giving massages became law last night after unanimous approval from the Columbus City Council. The change was prompted by state-licensed massage therapists and police who said that it was becoming increasingly common for unlicensed masseuses to use the rubs as a prelude to prostitution.

Like I said in the newsroom, at least it was unanimously passed.

O Come, Let Us Not Sing Carols

It has always annoyed me: Christmas Carols. I've nothing against them as a whole. My problem lies in that we only sing them at Christmas -- the traditional ones especially (note: I'm not condoning the singing of Jingle Bells in the more verdant(GRE word!) times of the year). No, we restrict great hymns like Adeste Fidelis and O Come Let Us Adore Him to the commercialized portions of our year, namely: between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

It's sad I think. Unfortunate really. These hymns are timeless. With lyrics that are just as relevant as Amazing Grace and When I Survey (all-time greatest hymn). For this reason, I despise Christmas Carols. I despise the comparmentalization of some magnificent lyrics and melodies.

One time in college during a chapel in the spring time, the music director had everyone open their hymnals to Joy to World. I've never heard so many groans and utterances of confusion: It wasn't Christmas! He quickly silenced the chapel discontent with a similar diatribe: these songs deserved to be sung at all times of the year. Are we only joyous at Christmas time?

So I don't like Christmas carols and try really hard to not sing them. Of course, it being the only time of the year that I get to hear them played, the irony could not be greater.

Now Who's Faking?

So maybe the real tree wasn't the best idea. I'm sitting on the couch last night -- writing a marvelous story, mind you -- when I hear this pop. I look up and down comes the Christmas Tree.

It wasn't like I could jump up and catch it -- I had my computer on my lap and that wouldn't of been smart. So I had to sit there and watch the tree come down. Thankfully it didn't come all the way over, miraculously holding itself up a la Tom Cruise/Mission Impossible style.

I then spent the next 20 minutes trying to the re-align the tree in the tree stand by myself. Maybe we bought a crappy tree stand. Maybe we bought a crappy tree. I'm still not sure. But when I went to bed it was upright.

When the Mrs. came home this morning, it had toppled over again. While she went to sleep I spent another 20 minutes trying to get the tree straightened. Eventually I settled for some string to keep it in place...but it's at a very odd angle at the moment.

Does anyone have any ideas how to keep a tree upright in a tree stand?

Also, maybe the tree is drunk -- I did put a lot of water in it.

Study Group

Apparently, they still have these. And they're actually important. This one's about Iraq.

I remember a study group I was in during high school for AP English. We'd meet every other week and go over the answers to the upcoming test. Our teacher gave us the questions before each test and we had to research the answers. It wasn't easy -- we had to pour through countless pages of text and critical essays.

Actually, it was easy -- there were like 25 of us doing that and then writing down the answers -- we were allowed then to bring the answer sheet to the class. Needless to say, I got an A in the class and I don't remember anything else about that. Ah...the American education system.

Hopefully the Iraq study group fares a little better on the test.

I do remember reading some of the books though (even though I really didn't need to): Jude the Obscure, A Passage to India, Crime and Punishment, Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man. All great novels -- all almost forgotten.

O Tannenbaum

Got a Christmas Tree yesterday. A real one at that. For years my family invested in the "fake" christmas tree. I forget why exactly -- maybe it was allergies -- maybe it was the cool thing to do. But this year the Mrs. and I got real. It's actually a nice tree -- has everything you would expect, really. It's green. It has branches. It has little pine needles. It has a bark. Did I mention it was green?

I'm not sure why people invest in the "fake" tree. There aren't many other things we invest in that are "fake", so why do it with a tree. Some people do like fake milk (read: anything other than 2% or Whole milk). Some people like fake butter (read: margarine). Don't get me wrong, a good fake tree is just as good as a bad real tree -- except that it's not real. It doesn't smell like a real tree. It doesn't have the potential to catch on fire like a real tree. It also doesn't drop it's needles like a real tree.

I'm not upset that my childhood presents were under a fake tree. It really didn't matter to me until this year -- when I was emphatic about not getting a fake tree. Though I'm still not sure of my reasoning other than I don't like fake trees. Is that a good enough reason?

The thing of it is: there's something to be said for those of us with the pluck to put hot lights on something that could burn our homes down. We are truly brave souls.

OHSAA

I've been out of town since Thursday -- thus no blog updates. This weekend was the annual Ohio State High School Football Playoffs. It's held at the Pro Football Hall of Fame and our TV station airs every game live across the state and so I was sent up to help with broadcasts. Three 15 hr. days and nights of going out wear you down and then to come back and work a full day in Columbus...well...I'm languished at the moment. Though, this game was unbelievable!

If you've never been to the Pro Football Hall of Fame -- you haven't missed much. Maybe I'm just not a maudlin football fan. I don't know. It doesn't strike me. Not like Cooperstown would.

The bust room is sublime (and Dad, that pic I sent you was of John Hannah's face, not Abraham Lincoln. Question: Why would I send you a pic of Abraham Lincoln's bust?).Other than that, there's not much to see. But certainly, check it out if you love to see pictures, old helmets, cleats and jock straps the players wore. Then it's worth it.

Yes. I did touch Tom Brady's jersey. That was cool -- and there's a section devoted to their 21-game win streak, too. But I touched Tom's game jersey. Oh. And if you were wondering...I had nothing to do with this...but it's freaking hilarious!

The Grand Inquisitor

If you've never read The Brothers Karamazov, I encourage you to because it's an excellent novel. But it's not something you read for fun -- no Russian novel is a fun read.

Anyway, The Grand Inquisitor is labeled as, perhaps, the greatest chapter in all of literature. Which, is somewhat funny because I think it's the second best chapter in the book (The first being "The Devil. Ivan's Nightmare". A close third is the chapter that precedes The Grand Inquisitor entitled "Rebellion").

For precis of the chapter, I recommend you click on the link. But here's my summary: Set during the Spanish Inquisition and describes the return of Christ to the town of Seville, Spain. There, the day before, 100 "heretics" were burned alive by the presiding cardinal who is called The Grand Inquisitor. Christ, as he walks through the town begins to perform miracles. This leads to his imprisonment and eventual interrogation by this cardinal. The Cardinal, believing He is who He says He is, eventually takes the lines of questioning back to Christ's temptation in the wilderness when Satan tempted Christ three times.

The Grand Inquisitor questions him on the nature of "free will" and comes to the conclusion that it is too much for any human to bear -- except for the elect, the strong -- and Christ was wrong to make it this difficult. He should've, the cardinal points out, turned the stones to bread, for that would've made it easier for humanity to follow him. Instead, the burden and responsibility of free will is too difficult and Christ had too much faith in humanity to leave us with it.

Really, you should read it -- even if you only read the chapter. I was struck by the idea of "the burden of free will". On the iPod this morning was Derek Webb's "New Law" . A song with much the same idea:

Don't teach me about politics and government ;
Just tell me who to vote for.
Don't teach me about truth and beauty;
Just label my music.
Don't teach me how to live like a free man;
Just give me a new law.

So...the burden of free will. Reminds of the scene in Bruce Almighty when Bruce is overcome by the difficulty of his omnipotence and the inability to make people love him (This isn't the actual scene I'm referring to but it carries a similar point).

I've never thought of free will as a burden. But I'm seeing it now...hmmm.

Stuff Your Sorrys

So it's the newest list to hit the internet: The list of all-time TV catchphrases, or neologisms for my GRE audience (btw, 620 Verbal, 630 Quantitative). It's a very confusing, contradictory and memorable list. Of note in this list only 2 Seinfield quotes and 1 Friends quote. This is very disturbing because both shows are two of the most popular all-time. Several quotes they could've included but for unknown reasons did not:

"Stuff you're sorry's in a sack!" - Seinfield
"Giddyup!" - Seinfield
"Are you master of your domain?" - Seinfield
"We were on a break!" - Friends
"When were you ever under me?" - Friends
"Could ___ be ___?" - Friends
"Don't have a cow, man!" - The Simpsons
"To the moon, Alice!" - The Honeymooners

And this is off the top of my head. C'mon! (JOB, Arrested Development). And I'm not the guy in the $6,000 suit (JOB, again) but I could remember better catchphrases. JFK? A quote from a vice-presidential debate? Boston Legal? Are you freaking kidding me? Sorry but Denny Crane is no James Tiberius Kirk. And presidential speeches are not riveting entertainment and don't belong, no matter what you think of them, in the same list as "Cowabunga man!" (also, not on the list from The Simpsons).

There should be a standard for memorable quotes, like, do they play out when used in real life. I'll admit, it's not often when I stub my toe that I yell out "Ask not what you can do for your country"; to mock a co-worker that I utter "You, sir, are no Jack Kennedy". Actually, that last one I might start using -- it could be pretty funny. You know, even if they apologized for making this list so devoid of proper catchphrases, I'd tell them where to stuff their sorry's. See -- it works!

Any other quotes not mentioned?

Word Of The Day

No more pendantry. Back to writing in simple prose and incomplete sentences...one's that are run-on's and never seem to end...

GRE Test
8am
Tuesday, November 28th (tomorrow)

WKRP in Cincinnati

A great thanksgiving day bit from a classic TV show.

As God as my witness....

Some Trimmings

Hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving. I do not, however, wish any of you a happy Black Friday. That even includes my crazy, pregnant wife who was up at 6:30am shopping. Any misery you incur today is brought upon by yourself. By 9am I'd already made about 5 phone calls regarding gifts and sales and ideas. I love her -- but she's crazy!

Anyway, my nephews will love the gift we got them. Yeah...the uncles are gonna have fun at Christmas. On that note -- it is much cooler to be a kid nowadays, so many more high-tech toys.

And here are some trimmings (things worth mentioning but not extrapolating upon):

Props to Terrell Owens for representing the Salvation Army(and my fantasy football team).

Cranberries are the most underrated, yet essential, Thanksgiving dish.

Turducken. Why?

There's this new phenomenon called Sweet Potato Balls. I'm sure it's healthy.

My sister was at the Dallas-Tampa Bay game yesterday. She was holding a red sign during half-time (if you were curious).

My nephew wants to "bust open" my wife's stomach and take the baby out. He was very distressed that no other family members were at his Thanksgiving yesterday.

Apparently my little boy will also be getting a St. Louis Cardinals Sleeper to wear. Not sure how I feel about that. Seems like he'd be perpetrating (like when someone used to wear Reebok and Nike at the same time).

"Boom!" goes the chemical plant in a residential neighborhood.

Oh No He Didn't

There's a video on CNN.com you must watch. I can't link to it so you'll have to go there yourself. It's about a Katrina victim living in Memphis who flipped a house that was donated to him by a local church.

When confronted about it by a local news station, his reply, and I quote, was: "Take it up with God."

Quotes and stories like these are priceless the day after Thanksgiving. Brilliant, really.

Not Strange At All

Saw a fantastic movie last night. Best movie I've seen since I Heart Huckabees and easily entering the realm of my favorite all-time movie: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Stranger Than Fiction is in the same class of originality as those two movies. It's challenging. Not in the sense that it will change your life; rather in the sense of lottery numbers in Ohio matching the score from Saturday's game (no joke!). It's thought-provoking; it's humorous; it's a delightful movie. Much can be offered on the perspective of literature, character, philosophy and even religion in this movie - but you must see it first.

Two ideas, however, stand alone. First, the ever-present notion that life is a story. More than that, life is a narrative. You may not have a narrator that speaks with a British accent, but your life is most certainly a tale. It is being played out by characters you know and characters you do not. You have a limited narrative perspective. It's first-person perspective in the present; it's third-person perspective in hindsight (though not everyone makes the required effort to see life this way). And there is the startling idea that you are the main character in your story. Seems obvious enough, but it takes a bit of detached humor to appreciate the notion. And is your life a book you would read? Is it a masterpiece?

A final note on this notion, I have only recently come to see life as a narrative. In fact, it's a very post-modern viewpoint. It's one I haven't worked out and didn't give much credence to at first. I still can't explain it past the obvious -- but I am swimming in its sea of implication. And this movie was a refreshing dip in to what is a very new world-view.

Ebert sums it up best:
"Stranger Than Fiction" is a meditation on life, art and romance, and on the kinds of responsibility we have. Such an uncommonly intelligent film does not often get made. It could have pumped up its emotion to blockbuster level, but that would be false to the premise, which requires us to enter the lives of these specific quiet, sweet, worthy people. The ending is a compromise -- but it isn't the movie's compromise, it belongs entirely to the characters and is their decision. And that made me smile.

The second thing about the movie I liked was one of many memorable and challenging quotes: I wanted the change the world, so I decided to make cookies.

It's really that simple. It's really that child-like.

Draft Day Coverage

Re-instituting the draft? Perhaps.

Having not been around for the first draft -- though I've seen the movie Hair! -- I know not how this would go down. Would ESPN be involved? Who would have the first overall pick? The Marines? Green Mountain Boys? Would you trade that pick for three second rounders? And who would be Mr. Irrelevant? Would Mel Kiper, Jr. be involved?

The thing of it is: I think the Coast Guard should get the first pick in the draft. They've had a rough schedule this past year.

Because This Is A-"Pope"-priate

Good article in TIME on the Pope's upcoming visit to primarily Muslim Turkey. Given Benedict's recent comments, the current barometer of Islam in general and the fact that this is a somewhat historic visit in it's own right, the article is worth your read.

Two things of note:

1. Benedict's comments and uproar from the visit to Regensburg, Germany in September, are again, mentioned in the article...along with the quoted quote from Manuel II Paleologus: "Show me just what the Muhammad brought that was new." This idea is interesting in lieu of my second favorite book, "The Everlasting Man" by G.K. Chesterton. By far it is his most difficult book to read. In it he traces the history of the world, religiously, up until the supposed coming of Christ and then looks at the history of the world, religiously, from that point on. It's a marvelous work that makes a similar point as Paleologus: That nothing like Christianity existed until the supposed coming of Christ and since then subsequent "new" religions that have propagated the world are merely derivations of Christianity (i.e. Islam, Zoroastrianism, Gnosticism).

He makes the point with a little more romanticism and imagination and, in my opinion, although it is a truly sublime (GRE word!) work, well worth a read and re-read. It's quite challenging. G.K. doesn't force you to agree with him. He isn't polarizing either (meaning you don't have to be religious to find it engaging). I mention the book because it's well written and will make you think-- for good or for bad.

2. Along the same lines and back to the article, the TIME author, in hopes of, for some reason, proving Benedict a fool for the quoting (which has it's merit -- to a point) mentions that Islam is widely credited with bringing about algebra. Gee. Thanks.

Of Note

The Celtics have put together a modest three game winning streak. And, yes, I know I'm the only one who cares

It's Kind Of A Big Deal

You may have heard about this football game being played this weekend? If not -- shame on you.

I am not a college football fan -- for a number of reasons that don't need to be mentioned in this post. I have no allegiances to any college football program like I do the for Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins and Celtics. But I am a sports fan -- a passionate sports fan. Plus I live in Columbus -- in the heart of Buckeye country.

So why am I wearing Maize and Blue today? Two reasons:

1) As mentioned before, I hate college football. Hate it. But being a sports fan I grew up watching this rivalry. From Desmond Howard's Heisman pose to Charles Woodson's INT, I watched the Michigan-OSU game every year. And every year, I pulled for Michigan -- with, perhaps on a season level, the exception of maybe the Woodson year -- I was a fan of the Bobby Hoying/Terry Glenn/Eddie George era. Such things happen in lieu of zeal (GRE word!) for college football. But, I have been and will continue to be a Michigan fan. If, only, because of my favorite athlete Tom Brady (have you heard about my Man Crush on Mr. Brady) -- and despite the allegiance of my most hated, yet respected, athlete Derek Jeter.

2) It annoys the crap out of everyone I work with.

Now objectively I think OSU will win by 14 points at least. For my job's sake (I'm producing the news in Columbus on Saturday night) I want OSU to win and make life easier (hey, it's the weekend!).

But: Go Maize and Blue!

Pleasure or Virtue

Being unable to sleep this morning, I elected to finish a tome (GRE word!) I'd been working on for the past week (For the record: finishing a book proves nothing. It's highly overrated). Overall, I didn't like it. But I had to read it for class, so here I was at 7:30am stumbling across a rather challenging paragraph while Jars of Clay played on the iPod -- keeping me awake until this point. Richard Swinburne presents an example I think you'll find challenging:

Suppose you were to exist in another world before your birth and this one and you were told you would have only a few minutes in this world. During that time you would be a perfectly salubrious (GRE word!) adult. You are given two options for such an existence: a few minutes of considerable pleasure of the kind usually incurred by taking a drug like heroin; a few minutes of childbirth whereby you would bring a living, sentient (GRE word!) being into existence.

Which would you choose? It's the choice between pleasure and virtue; between a greater and lesser good. Still, as obvious as that is -- it's not an easy choice...or is it?

A Pregnant Thought

So we're in a bit of a quandry. We know we're having a boy and we're about 85% sure what his name will be. Of course, we, the Mrs. and me, have been referring to our baby by this name. Yet the difficulty has come when referring to the baby with other people. Last night, the Mrs. slipped the name out on the phone with a friend. Thankfully the friend didn't hear it and the secret was safe. But still...

You see, we're not wanting to tell anyone what his name will be until he is born. There are a couple of reasons: a) it's always a nice surprise; b) that way people cannot form an opinion, yeah or nea, for said name -- they just have to accept it (we're not thinking anybody would do this, but it's something we considered). Mainly, it's reason (a). We want to surprise people. And we want to have a secret.

Okay, back to the problem. We can refer to the child as the baby/him/child/bundle of joy. But it may be a little vague. What I'm thinking I'm in need of is a temporary sobriquet (GRE word!). My father-in-law has referred to our child as A.J. (Aaron Junior) since before he was even a "glint in our eyes". I'm in favor of the nickname Bob (of course this implies his name will not be Robert) for now. My father might prefer Angus.

Any ideas?

It's All Aesthetics

So it occurs to me recently that there is no aesthetic argument for the existence of God. Aside from the obvious question: does there need to be one, it poses an interesting topic for discussion.

Currently there are four, out-dated and yet classic arguments for the existence of OOG God (an all-knowing, omnipotent, omni-good being -- not necessarily associated with any religion). The Teleological, Cosmological, Ontological and Moral arguments. My favorite is the Moral Argument -- best espoused by C.S. Lewis. Though I am an a priori guy so I do thoroughly enjoy Anselm and the Ontological Argument: "God is that which nothing greater can be conceived". Simply brilliant.

While the Teleological Argument comes the closest to what would be called an Aesthetic Argument, it's not quite the same thing. There is beauty to be found in complexity. The primary example of that is the human body taken as a whole.

My overall thoughts concerned the fact that there is lacking a formal apologia for God's existence in the face of a pretty woman (or man), in the warmth of a sunset, in the rhythm and lyricism of a song. Could one even begin to be proposed? I certainly lack the resources to formally present the argument for the argument.

But I am moved by beautiful things -- by the beauty of my wife, by songs and pictures. It leads me to OOG God. And certainly, isn't it implied that if there were an OOG God then beauty would be something he would be very much concerned with since beauty is most certainly a good and wonderful thing? I think so -- but it can be better stated.

Maybe the poet is the Aesthetic Argument, or it is the job of the poet to present the Aesthetic Argument for the existence of OOG God. Not the philosophers; not the theologians.

The thing of it is: which is more likely to make you believe there's an OOG God: Horton Hears A Who or The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock?

NOTE: A FRIEND, WHO DOESN'T BLOG ANYMORE FOR SOME REASON, IS ACTUALLY TRYING TO DO THIS IN HIS GRADUATE STUDIES IN TEXAS.

A Terrible Thing To Waste

Now that my mind is fully functioning again, I've spent most of the morning reading Richard Swinburne. Nobody was as excited as me. Nobody.

And now that I'm returning to good health, this means no more re-runs of Girlfriends. Yes. For three afternoons I sat through this show. Not a bad show. Not a good show either. Such is what happens when you don't have cable and a disease people used to frequently die from.

I supposed you could call this my first physical brush with death. No. Not Girlfriends, the pneumonia. I wasn't that sick -- but my fever was pushing 102+ and I was coughing, hurling and quite delirious. Still, people used to die from pneumonia -- so I'm calling it my first official brush with death.

Seems I didn't miss much though. It was a bad week to be a Republican (though less and less I'm considering myself one -- seems I'm more libertarian). It was a bad week to be a Celtics fan. Here's my season preview: they suck and Doc Rivers is the worst coach ever. It was a bad week to be a Patriots fan -- I'd rather not discuss the propositions that back up this statement.

On a more positive note: We're having a baby boy(!) and tonight we buy his/our first official outfit for him/us. And no, it won't be a Red Sox sleeper (though that will be the outfit he comes home from the hospital in). This is very exciting.

I'sa Ill Yo!

I've been sick for the past week. Seems I've caught pneumonia. Knocked me pretty much out. Except for a rather heroic election day where I worked 10 hours producing live television coverage from the headquarters of the Ohio Republican Party. If I had to compare my ability that day -- given how sick I was -- to something, it would be the night MJ scored 40+ while throwing up on the bench in the NBA Finals. Ok. Maybe not. But it still was pretty heroic.

I won't go into details. But you don't want pneumonia. Though it came in handy to be married to a doctor. After correctly diagnosing me, she was unable to treat me at home. So she called in some favors at the ER and took me in...and I got the royal treatment. Still it was like a 5 hour visit even with no line. I was very, very dehyrdrated.

Anyway, doing better. Operating at about 65% and still not eating, but back at work.

Also, today marks the first time since Tuesday I've been able to use my head and think. The medication makes me unable to concentrate on ANYTHING for more than a few minutes. I couldn't even read a sentence and remember what I had just read. It was very disconcerting. But then again, I wasn't aware it was disconcerting. If that even makes sense...

HavingABabyIt'sABoy

Yup. We're having a boy!

Show's you what I know.

And we're very excited.

We're Having A...

Actually, we don't know yet. We'll find out tomorrow at 10am whether we're having a boy or a girl. Needless to say, it's a pretty exciting time for us. But I wanted to go on record with my prediction. Let me preface by saying I was way off on last night's Pats-Satan's Dominions game. I had us winning in a blow-out. I was wrong.

Anyway, for my offspring prediction -- of infinite more importance to me right now -- I offer these criteria:

1. The Mrs. and I are sure it's a girl. We have been since we found out we were pregnant. There's no doubt. None at all. It's not even something we convinced ourselves to believe, we've just both had this incontrovertible, undeniable feeling that we're having a girl.

2. There are certain "old-wives tales" in both families that have been accurate predictors in the past:

a) (She'll kill me for saying this) But there's no hair growing on her legs. Her sister incurred the same phenomenon when she had both of her girls.
b) The Mrs. is carrying the baby low -- again, I refer you to her sister as an example.
c) According to my grandfather (Go Cards!) it's all in the eyes. If her eyes are dull looking then it's a boy. If they're glowing: it's a girl. They're glowing spectacularly.

3. I actually, kinda-of, want a girl.

Now let's take these three criteria into account. 3 is neither here nor there. 2 is very convincing, but not enough to sway me in the end. I've gotta say it's number one. It's this amazing feeling that is beyond explanation or proofs. It just is. I don't know where it came from or how to get it rid of it (not that I want to, just adds to my example that it's very innate within me, not a feeling I can turn off or on).

So, I think it's a girl.

I'll let everyone know.

And I'm very, very ecstatic about tomorrow morning.

Thoughts and Works of Mortal Man

One of the Daves I know pointed out this artist to me yesterday. His name is Rene Magritte. He was a surrealist painter in the early part of last century. This painting's never going to sell like Jackson Pollock's paintings sell. And he was mentioned in one of my favorite movies: I Heart Huckabees.

I'm not much of one for art. I've got nothing against it -- but I also don't seek it out. And it's not that I'm intimidated. In fact, when I see good art, I'm always challenged. For instance, the Mrs. and I went the Columbus Museum of Art a few months back. It was very nice and we had some interesting discussions. There's a reason they say a picture is worth a thousand words.

Now I'd be interested to know what you think of this painting. I know nothing of surrealism and I don't think you need to know anything either. My thought is if you can understand a joke, you can begin to understand art. But, it seems, art is always infinite-- there's always something more to discern. Perhaps that's why it intimidates people, because it's very subjective and people like to feel right sometimes.

I'll start my thoughts here, one of the Daves I know mentioned how the apple, placed in front of the face, suggests how temptation is always in front of us. Excellent observation. This painting, as I thought about it, really resonated with me. It's beautifully colored and horrific at the same time. It's very jarring. Thanks Dave I know for our discussion, it was very inspiring.

It's also important to note the title of this painting and there's a reason I haven't mentioned it yet. When we hear titles, we tend to work backwards from the title to form our opinions. I want you to work forwards before you know the title. Because if you do so, as I did, the title makes sense. Like any good title, it becomes the culmination of the thought of the art (this applies to songs and, even, the title of this post. Hint: It's a song lyric).

Anyway, the title of the painting: The Son of Man.

Your thoughts?

FCC Won't Censor Me

On the radio today: more political ads. On tv the other day: more political ads. It's that time of year and I've seen political ads as much as I've seen the Coug do "Our Country" (which is a political ad in it's own right -- maybe I'll vote for him). Just about every commercial break is laden with them from fade to black to the fade in from black. In fact, my TV station
(where I work) makes up most of its operating budget this time of year. So it's paying the bills.

Did you know that radio is mandated by the FCC to air political ads? How does that make sense? I'm not sure if TV has to follow the same rules, but I'm guessing. So the government orders stations to play these ads for which they charge the politician. Again, how does this make sense? Shouldn't this be free then? And why is THIS a federal mandate?

And why do people give money to candidates? I never understood that. Someone please explain to me why people give money to candidates. The money would better be used by tipping your waitress a little more each time you eat out. Don't get me wrong, I love the American government system. Sometimes. Though we should introduce some type of House of Commons to one of the branches because THAT makes for entertaining television.

Remember to vote Tuesday. The polls are your only solace from campaigns.

Worst. Halloween. Costume. Ever.

It's a couple days late, but I was thinking about this today. When I was six, my dad dressed me up like a bag of leaves. Not like a pirate. Not like a Transformer. Not like Roger Clemens or Larry Bird. Like a bag of leaves.

The costume consisted of a hefty bag with arms and leg holes cut-out. And, of course, leaves, gathered from the front yard by my all too-willing brother. One leaf, I believe, was hairpinned to my head. Another leaf was drawn on my cheek with lipstick -- just to make sure people knew what I was.

20 years later and I am still scarred by this! Thanks Dad!

Thumbs Up Or Down

In lieu of the recent thread, I've decided to postpone my Celtics preview. I know that's disappointing. Let's talk about movies instead...a much more redemptive topic I'm sure, but, whatever. Go Celtics.

So what should determine whether you go see a movie or not? Clearly not the ratings system these days. For instance, MI:3, which, I admit, I watched yesterday, is rated PG-13 for Menace. (I'm not sure what that is and would Menace to Society have been rated R for Menace as well.)The ratings merely tell you what type of "inappropriate" material is in each movie, not whether it's redemptive, not whether it serves a purpose. Look at The Passion of the Christ. Rated R. Though, clearly, the violence was the paragon(GRE word!) of redemption. I argue you almost can't decide to see a movie based on the MPAA ratings because it doesn't, nor can it, take these factors into account. Though, at the same time, the ratings system does do a good job of giving you an idea of the "inappropriate" material. Look at the new film Shortbus, it's called an art film but most reviewers, while it's got a point, admit it's basically soft porn.

If ratings system gives us an idea, I don't think it can be a benchmark(recent buzz word!) for what determines what movies we see. Though it can, and should, lead us to look at whether we should see a movie. Then it seems movie watching becomes a relative experience, something left up the person to decide. This isn't necessarily the case, but where it's certainly heading. And if it is the case, it then puts a lot of pressure on the movie-goer to decide for his/her-self and do some research -- which I thoroughly advocate.

My movie watching decisions fall along these lines. I won't see Shortbus, nor do I have any desire to. I draw the line when sex or nudity is clearly involved. I believe it most often and usually serves very little redeeming purposes within the movie and for me personally (one exception: Schindler's list). And I won't see a movie, that while it may be very good, has sex and/or nudity involved (i.e. Cold Mountain, Monster's Ball). Violence and language don't really bother me all that much and I can deal with that. I grew up in the ghetto afterall.

Am I compromising what I believe and who I am? I try not to. I really do, but realize I may fall short in some way. Some of my readers may think I'm too gray, others may think I'm too much of a prude. Either way, it should be an interesting thread.

Red Bled Green

The Basketball Jesus was my teacher; but Red was painting on the wall that everyone admired.

Here's a good column on him.

And, he'd have been excited about this year's team. We've got a good team. For the first time in a long time.

And God Said: "It's Good!"

Is football the Lord's game? I argue it is not. But I also contend, baseball, is not the Lord's game. Instead, I opine (GRE word) soccer to be the game of the Heavens.

It's called the Beautiful Game for a reason. And a thing of beauty is a joy forever. I take forever to mean eternally and thus, soccer is God's favorite game.

Second on the list: Baseball. To borrow from a friend in college: Baseball is the only game you can fall asleep on the porch to for 20 minutes, wake up and realize you haven't missed a thing. And we all know God rested on the 7th day...probably on a porch somewhere listening to the ball game.

Third on the list: Football. If only because of the title of this post.

The thing of it is: I think God used to like hockey, I really do. He had a thing for walking on water you know. But with the new rules, it's just not the same. And I don't think he like Darts very much either....but cornhole...well, we'll see.

These Hands Are Ambidextrous, I Know

So I'm watching the World Series last night and, though I'm outwardly pulling for the Cards -- and I am Grandpa -- I'm secretly wishing nothing but the best for the Tigers. More so after last night. Turns out starting pitcher Nate Robertson has a very unusual trait (and no, for those of you who watched the game, it doesn't involve flipping a bat off the floor into your hands -- I swear, the way the announcers teased it you would've thought Brandon Inge was about to solve the mystery of Cold Fusion).

Nate Robertson throws left but bats right.

In my life, I've only known of three people to do such a thing. Myself. My father. Rickey Henderson. And my entire life I've always, ALWAYS been asked while playing softball or baseball: "Aren't you going to bat from the left?" or "Don't you throw lefty? Why are you batting righty?"

I'm not saying it's been traumatic or anything -- in fact, I probably have increased dexterity -- more than the average person even. You see I do just about everything with my right hand as the dominate hand, except throw and shoot and dribble a basketball.

The thing of it is: Perhaps the announcers could've have pointed this out. Not so much. Instead, Tim McCarver (who've I've already told you is a drunk version of Captain Obvious) pretty much said the following: "Robertson certainly throws left and bats right, and that's not a baseball in his hand right now, that's a bat, and he's batting from the right side of the plate."

O Felix Culpa

Basically, this means: Fortunate Crime or Fortunate Fall.

For all you non-Red Sox Fans, this week marks the two-year anniversary of the Red Sox winning the World Series. What a joyous, immeasurable moment and month October 2004 was. And this phrase aply describes the feeling of Red Sox Nation, and, really, is the only tenet a true sports fan must accept.

That for the true fan, you must be willing endure some sort of suffering -- some incantation of "The Drive"; of a "Buckner"; or an "Aaron Boone".

Thus, O Felix Culpa: a victory cannot be as momentously sweet if there is no sort of heinous fall -- Fortunate Fall. That the loss of innocence I incurred in '86 and '03 and even '04 was a good thing because of how much greater and sweeter the victory would be.

Without going into the sordid history of the Red Sox, I think my point is clear: I am thankful for Pesky, the Reds, Buckner and Boone. Because without those dark nights of my soul they gave me, the victory would not have been nearly as worth it. And was it ever worth it.

The phrase has import this year with the '06 Tigers and the '03 Tigers. Not that I'm rooting for the Tigers -- Grandpa and me, we're pulling for the Cards.

The thing of it is: hopefully, it also will have import on my Fantasy Football team this year. How else can I explain my 1-6 start.

Just So You Know

This link was sent to me by a good friend. It's called The Church You Know. And I gotta tell you, it's funny. It's a little acerbic...maybe a little too much. Based on the the NBC The More You Know PSA's, it looks at 5 or 6 issues pressing upon the Church in the form of similar, video PSA's.

(It's not on par with The Office spoofs, however)

You might not like it. The Mrs. didn't. The humor's not always clear...or even nice it seems. But it's thought provoking, I think.

I recommend the "Attendance" and "WWJD". Let me know if you give a crap after you watch it.

The Lake House

So when this blog was started, I said I do movie reviews. I've only done one. And I've seen dozens of movies since that one. Well, I watched one yesterday. The Lake House. An excellent film -- based on a Korean movie from 2000.

Without ruining the plot -- and really because it can't quite be explained, nor should it be, it just needs to be accepted as it is -- I won't get into the storyline at all. But it's sci-fi romance. It's Frequency meets Sleepless in Seattle. And it deserves your time.

I will use the movie to stand on a soapbox. It was a lachrymose (GRE word!) movie -- even for me -- a guy. And I'm not usually one for maudlin (another GRE word) entertainment -- and much of today's entertainment is. This wasn't. This was well-written; this was well-acted; this was well-directed. And it reflected what love is.

Guys: you can enjoy a chick flick without feeling emasculated. It doesn't infringe upon what makes you a "man". There's more than just beer and football in the world. And if my wife can freely sit (and by free I mean the libertarian definition of human freedom) on a Sunday afternoon and watch football with me without turning into that Dairy Queen commercial, then I have that same right. Not in "you scratch my back I'll scratch yours" stereotypical sort of way, but that things in life don't have to be demographic specific like they want you to believe.

Anyway, the movie was great. I started to cry a little by the end. Maybe that makes me a girl. Maybe it doesn't make me a man.

The thing of it is: I do feel pretty today. Oh, so pretty. Wonder why that is?

A Christian And A Comedian

Watching Studio 60 this past week, heard a particularly engaging quote: "So you became a Christian and a comedian at the same time?" In the context of the show, it was a particulary astute observation.

It got me thinking about another quote: Joy is the gigantic secret of the Christian. I've always maintained that God has a sense of humor (and no, not just because he made the Platypus. But seriously, it is pretty funny looking). And what if, when you become a Christian, you also become a comedian?

Much of the debate of Christianity's rationality revolves around questions like the problem of evil. And those questions are all well and good and have their place in discussion and questions of its validity. But sometimes I think it casts a rather ominous shadow around Christianity. You see humor and joy and laughter is what Christianity's all about. Those characteristics echo deeper in us than any suffering and any pains. They have to.

I've always felt Christ had a sense of humor, a sense of joy. Look at the Road to Emmaeus; look at the Feeding of the 5,000; heck, when Jesus appears in the Upper Room -- he had to know he was going to scare the crap out of the disciples and there's nothing funnier than a scare or fright that turns out to be a good thing.

Maybe this sounds like the last two pages of Orthodoxy. So be it. But in being a Christian you have the supreme responsibility to bring joy to others and I read this as: to make people laugh.

The thing of it is: Whether or not that means you're actually funny is another question entirely.

The BabyMoon

So the wife and I just got back from our weeknight away. We headed up to Amish Country for a night at a castle. Yup. A castle. I've attached some pictures of Landoll's Mohican Castle so you can believe me . Our room was outstanding and just being together was wonderful. It was the first time since our honeymoon 4 1/2 years ago that we took some vacation time where we didn't go see family or friends.

Now the buzz word for this trip is a BabyMoon. Much like a honeymoon, except you take it before the baby comes, so it's not really like a honeymoon. Whatever it is called these days, it will be remembered by us as a lovely weekend.

The thing of it is: The Miller Suite, where we stayed, provided courtesy bathrobes. I tried one on -- because I've been accused of being an anti-robe-ite -- and hated it. I reiterate: they're stupid, useless pieces of fabric that offer us nothing in the way of making our lives better.

On Life Imitating Art

Every now and then you come across horrible stories. Like today's on the shooting in Florida. And this one mirrors a story I've recently read. Not verbatim. But there are enough coincidences.

The story I'm reminded of is by Flannery O'Connor, a 1950s southern writer known for some rather dark tales (of note: the link I've provided classifies O'Connor as Southern Gothic. Is there a Gothic for each of the four cardinal directions? Or does it eventually break into states, like Idaho Gothic? This is why I need an MFA, to answer these questions). If you haven't read her, I recommend the selected readings on the right -- excellent work. She's a bit of a paradox, but very interesting.

Anyway, the story I'm referencing here is: A Good Man is Hard to Find. Rather outstanding, I must say; in light of the news, rather scary.

The thing of it is: does life imitate art or is it the other way around? It's the age-old question pondered by the pre-Socratic, and, alas, has no answer. Also an age-old question with no answer: Where's Waldo?

Bathrobes

Apologies to Jerry Seinfield, but what's the deal with bathrobes? I don't get it. Perhaps for the woman, it is necessary. Modesty is an issue. But for the guy? No excuse.

Not only are they some type of oddly made coat, in that it comes down to your knees, but there are 3/4 sleeves. Seriously, guys, 3/4 sleeves? And, really, how difficult is it in the morning to get out of bed and throw sweatpants on, or yesterday's jeans (you'll be wearing them to work anyway) or a sweatshirt? It takes the same amount the time. You are invariably warmer and it serves the same purpose -- whatever that is. And it's more comfortable. How, you ask? For starters, you don't have 3/4 sleeves. Also, and this is important, you don't look like a fool.

It's about time we did away with bathrobes. It's a stupid, antediluvian (can you tell I'm taking the GRE soon?) concept.

A Piece Of The Problem

So I'm currently taking a graduate class in the problem of evil. Let's just by me electing to fully share these thoughts -- knowing my audience and my incoherent thoughts -- I am keeping you all from experiencing pain and suffering.

However, sparked by a recent post on this blog from an old friend, my memory has been jogged. Seems I've always had a fascination with the subject material I am now paying (or work is paying) to learn more about. About 10 years ago now I wrote a short drama for a church service. Composed on a Saturday afternoon in the fall with nothing else to do (we don't like college football in my family -- it's stupid). The main objective of the script was to startle the Sunday morning congregation. That consisted of my brother standing up and chucking a piece of fruit at my head while I was reading from Galatians, on, well, obviously, the fruits of the spirit.

From there the dialogue and ideas are very rough, but basically, it was the theodicy of a 17-year-old. I'm not tooting my own horn here, but I must admit the insight, as rough as it was, was interesting though sophomoric. Not saying I could write anything as lucid as it these days -- my mind clouded by the likes of John Hick, Alvin Plantinga and others, which would invariably lead to the lack of clarity in the drama should I re-write. Here's the link if you want to read it; scroll to the bottom and note this isn't the original version at all -- it's been adapted many, many times for the good of all. By the way, it's called: Peace of Fruit. You like that don't you.

The thing of it is: We completely scared the Sunday morning congregation. Our church was prone to drunks and the like wandering into the service and yelling. About three men in the brass band behind me leapt to their feet only to see it was the pastor's son doing the yelling. And, also, being the exceptional athlete I am, I caught the fruit.

Questions For Dad

So the little one has past the 17 week mark. The Mrs. has started to feel the baby move. Apparently, our child doesn't like seat belts very much. Also, this means that the baby has the ability to hear the two of us. An idea and realization that is not lost on me. But I wonder if the baby has any questions for us. I suppose the situation is similar to my Questions For God...questions that baby would want answered when it gets here. Of course, I don't expect such questions to be as erudite (there's a GRE word) as mine were. Still, they may have their merit.

Based on the fact that the Mrs. is usually eating a pickle or two during Seinfield re-runs at 11:30, one question could be: What's the deal with the pickles?

Since I watch a lot of baseball -- especially in October -- another question may revolve around why Tim McCarver is such a buffoon. Although, I was really hoping FOX would bring back Scooter this year to explain what a curveball is to my unborn child who may be the only person who doesn't know what it is. But, alas.

Perhaps a third question would allow me to answer a question I have. Since I golf quite a good deal, I would not be surprised if, somewhere in the womb, lies the answer to my slice.

But amending that Questions For God post, I'm sure once the baby gets here those questions would disappear in an instant (and that's too bad because I could really use the golf advice, it's killing me), much like it will when we get to heaven (though I think that BlowPop question might nag me on into eternity). There'll be too much else to take in. Too much else to try and grasp. I know I have a lot of questions for the baby (and there's a pickle question in there). Questions I know will disappear in that instant.

All That Jazz

So I have frequently maintained the existence of God in this blog. And in doing so, frequently asserted His love of music. Now, I am once again going to use a musical analogy to assert the existence of something divine, namely miracles.

Much has been offered both for and against the idea of Miracles in our lives. And, indeed, while my explanation isn't on par with those authors (perhaps even borrowed from someone else seeing as how I don't think this to be an original idea), I do believe it is satisfactory for the everyday man.

God is a jazz musician. That would explain the existence of miracles in a world I claim to be indeterministic. It explains the gist of the argument: how God can seemingly intervene in this world without upsetting the free-will balance. Right?

Well, it does and I think God is a good jazz musician. I particularly enjoyed the guitar riff during the 2004 ALCS. Didn't see that one coming (Yes. That's been replaced by a humbling blues tune this year).

Also, the upcoming birth of my child will most certainly be a wonderful piano solo (Yes. I know. Childbirth doesn't fit the strict definition of miracle).

Anytime a medical miracle occurs, well, I'd have to say that would be a bass solo. Why? Because bass solos resonate. They shake us. Medical miracles shake us. Fittingly, then, the Great Physician is a wonderful bass player. Probably the upright bass -- you can't perform those miracles sitting down.

And drum solos. Those are the everyday miracles that we don't notice or don't seem like miracles and only later, after everything's settled, we realize how it all worked.

While God is a jazz musician. I also maintain he loves rock music, especially just before lunch time and during the seventh day; obviously classical music, i.e. at the creation of the world; perhaps a good waltz around every sunset.

The thing of it is: God doesn't like opera. Look what happened when God tried to sing opera. Ouch.

NOTE: I know the clip is in Spanish. Fast Forward to about 2:00 minutes into the clip for my point. Sorry. Sometimes you can't find everything on the web.

Sing-A-Long-Songs

So now that everyone knows the Mrs. and I are expecting our first child, I've got a request. We've decided that rather than buy one of those CD's that plays popular tunes sung by someone other than the original artist that are easy to listen to for babies -- we'd like to create our own. Essentially: a lullabye mix tape. Of course, it won't be an actual tape, rather a playlist on my iPod.

So I'm looking for songs. To give you an idea of the type of artist and song you would expect to find on this playlist: Jack Johnson, Billy Joel, James Taylor. Sadly, there won't be any Pearl Jam, CCR, Wilco and the like. It's all got to be music that's easy on the ears, positive lyrics and something the wife and I could listen to over and over again without becoming sick of it (as is the case with children, they love repetition).

Hit me with your best shot. Fire away. I'll let you know the final list.

Studio 60

It's the best new show on T.V.. And there are a number of reasons for that, reasons that come before actually watching the show and reasons that incredibly clear after watching the show. For those of you who have not yet seen it, I will tell you why you need to see it, and for those of you who have, I'll tell you what makes it so great.

REASONS WHY IT WOULD BE GOOD
1. Aaron Sorkin is writing the show. He's created it. And NBC's been plugging that. How often do they plug a show by the creator? And mention him by name (a la: "From the producers of Friends and Mad About You")?
2. There isn't a show like it on T.V. -- in premise that is. Always a good sign for a new show, it's not trying to make a stale formula work, it's its own mixture.
4. Extremely good actors. Always a positive to bring, while not superstars, actors who bring something to the table.
5. Did I mention Sorkin's writing the show?

REASONS WHY IT WILL BE GOOD
1. Aaron Sorkin is writing the show. Having watched it with this in mind I couldn't quite remember what I was missing with him not being around (he left the West Wing which was terrible after he left). Then I watched the show. And remembered.
2. It's intelligent. Sorkin doesn't pull punches with topics, but I feel he gives them a fair treatment, even if he doesn't agree with them. He shows difficult issues the respect they deserve. Not easy to do in 41 minutes of T.V. that has to keep people interested. Actually, it's pretty impressive.
3. All the characters are strong characters. There's no weak character, no comic relief. Each is already quite developed and rounded -- though this does not leave them without their flaws, not easy to write in when dealing with such strong characters. Especially his female characters, all very, very strong -- in every show he's ever done.
4. It challenges you to think. NO SHOW ON TV DOES THIS.
5. Did I mention Sorkin's writing this.

So give it a chance. It's not like anything you know -- not even like the West Wing, it's much different in tone which is good lest it be like the West Wing and not it's own mixture. Let's just say that I stopped watching any and all dramas on TV once Sorkin left the West Wing because all others are formulaic.

Choosy Moms Choose JIF

It's not exactly a crisis of faith, or even my "dark night of the soul", but it's just after 6 AM and I'm blogging. Seems I've been struck with this realization (coming after I realized I shut the alarm off on the Mrs., making her late for work) that I may very well be becoming a determinist. Of course, this thought struck me after I had spent most of the night dreaming about my brother and I swimming underneath a plane traveling along the water getting to land in Washington state and me feeling terrible about losing his Blockbuster card. All that to say I'm not sure how valid this idea is but it was certainly worth me working it out.

I've long struggled with the free will vs. determinism debate. As my dad said long ago, there are times when both are valid and provide comfort. And I like that idea (does that make me a compatibilist?). Most of the time I've fallen alongside the free will-ers. Asserting this point of view better equips me to explain, for instance, the problem of evil - arguably the most difficult problem facing the Christian (outside of homoousis -- an idea I can't even touch in the middle of day with a full night sleep and dreams of sugar plum fairies behind me).

However, the thought struck me that I have become a determinist. For example, there are several rather large decisions facing me in the coming months (work, kid, school, whether to be a Red Sox fan) and my general attitude seems to be one of "well if it's to happen, it will". That's not to say I've not try to take control of any of those decisions, but still, the prevailing belief is not to spend time in such decisions - to assert control (whatever that means) in making them. Four or five years ago I would have prayed long and hard about such decisions (not that I'm not praying about them now) and spent time trying to discern God's will. Now, I'm not sensing that I am doing that well enough; so I fear that has made me a determinist. Such a paradigm shift has allowed me to see how one puts such a belief into action (again, when deciding which side of the debate to come on to originally, the idea of putting such ideas into practice was challenging). Fixing the problem is easier: spend time in prayer, spend time with God, read the Bible, etc. It's the realization that is eye opening (I say that not just because it's after 6 AM and I'm blogging).

The thing of it is: If I hadn't have come to such an awakening, would I be the type of dad that would just choose any type of Peanut Butter? Or would I use my free will and choose JIF? So let's just say I'm glad, for my kids sake, that I've identified this now and rest assured, my kid'll be eating JIF.

Fixed the Problem! Here You Go!

A Thought

I remember where I was five years ago. The world remembers where it was. It is a day, a time, an event we will not forget. Words and even memories can't summon the emotion of that day.

I offer these words to a song by Sandra McCracken:

To the ones left behind who are picking up the pieces
of planes, bombs, and buildings of innocence and evil
‘Cause when the news and noise and flowers die,
and you still wake up alone
There is a God who knows every tear you cry,
And this world is on His shoulders.

Perhaps it may bring you comfort when your memories and thoughts of 9.11.2001 do not.

The Video Montage

Of course I was watching the premiere of the NFL season last night (In Hi-Def too, I might add -- it looks absolutely incredible!). First, you should know I'm riding the Daunte Culpepper Train in Fantasy Football this year. So I might be bitter throughout the season. Perhaps Nick Saban shall be his Virgil and lead him and the Dolphins to Paradisio (of course, like Dante, to get to Heaven you must go through a cold and frozen Inferno that bears an awful likeness to Foxborough in January.)

Second thing of note: Does anyone remember how to make a successful video montage? Pink? That was terrible. Just abominable. And nothing against rap music, I like a good rap song. But rap doesn't work in the video montage. Here's why: the song needs to build. It needs to drive. Rap songs don't do that (except on rare occasions; read: Eminem). You need a classic rock song. How about The Who classic Baba O'Reily (Yes, before it was the theme to Without a Trace, it was an actual song)? How about Rebel Yell by Billy Idol (I'm sure he'd love to be popular again)? Heck, even Styx's Come Sail Away would be better than Pink.

The thing of it is: Is this a lost art? Am I wrong? But I love a good rock song and it seems, like for video montages to start the game, a good rock song from years gone by (when they were making good rock songs) couldn't be a more perfect fit.

Oh No She Didn't!

Perhaps this bothered no one else: Did you notice Katie Couric was wearing white yesterday? After Labor Day?

Show's you how much I care about the news by the fact that this is the one thing that has stuck with me since yesterday.
But, again, Katie was wearing white!!!! After Labor Day!!!!! Barbara Walters wore white today too...apparently in solidarity.
But you can't tell me it wasn't done on purpose with Couric? That no one thought of the old wives tale? Something was up with that choice.

The thing of it is: investigating this idea would've been the most interesting thing on the newscast. Evening news is done. Why wait until 6:30 to get my news (and there was very little of it in the show) when I can get it at 3:30 on-line and it's much more complete. Plus I don't have to sit through the newscast either and hear what I want to. It's worth thinking about.

A Volley For The Ages

Much has been said, and much more will be said about today's final match of Andre Agassi's career. I recommended these two articles to start with. If there are others, please let me know. I enjoy good writing and moments, like today's at Arthur Ashe Stadium, was one that wrote itself. And that's a rare thing.

Still there is much to be said because there was much to this man. I grew up watching Agassi play. Not the Agassi we saw today, a much different Agassi. I watched him struggle, fall out of the Top 100. Then I watched a glorious return to his career. I don't think many people understand how tough it is to be a 36-year-old tennis star and be successful. It's unheard of.

Today there was plenty to hear and see. But there was much more to remember. And I'll still take it in for a few days. Let it out at moments, years from now, when some sports show is showing highlights. I'll remember this moment. I'll remember the epic battles with Sampras. My god, was there ever a better individual rivalry than those two, one that NEVER let you down.

There are few moments like these, this perhaps the greatest of 2006. When a man, with a career like Agassi's, with a huge heart and love and passion for life and flair for a simple game, is overcome. Overcome by the end.

You don't get past moments like today on center court. They cannot and shall not be overcome. Not by time, not by other moments, not by words.