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!