Friday, September 28, 2007

Humor Me

What is it that makes us laugh? Is there a type of Stephen Hawking, "One principle to 'Rule Them All'" quality to humor? Now I've got quite a broad sense of humor. From the dry, deadpan sarcasm of the Brits, aka The Alan Parsons Project and Monty Python, to the physical comedy of Americans, aka the Three Stooges and Adam Sandler punching out Bob Barker. I like the refined wit and charm of Oscar Wilde while at the same time am all-to-eager to settle for fart and poop noises. Pretty much, the penultimate example of humor for me would be someone walking into a wall while asking: "What's the soup d'jour?"

Recently I was remarking with a co-worker on how surprisingly funny a new show on T.V. was. She responded with a quote from said show that I did not find even remotely funny. Not the first time they used it in the show. Not the second time. And, just as surprising, not even the third time they tried the schtick in the show. It proved to me we all have differing senses of humor.

Apparently, humor is not like beauty. It is much more subjective. Where beauty depends on the beholder at times, there's still un-objectable grandeur in the sunset that no one can really deny. But humor and comedy and making people laugh has not that same quality. What's funny for one is not always funny for another. And certainly there's not the "sunset" of humor.

But if you're in the mood for a laugh...

McSweeney's (particularly the list section)
Monty Python's The Dead Parrot Sketch

Dumb and Dumber Highlights

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

For The Home Team

If you didn't grow up a sports fan, it's tough to understand the mindset, the obsession, the unparalleled devotion one can have towards a certain team. Questions on the efficacy of "rooting" for and espousing a collective "we" attitude towards a team seem inane. Obviously, you didn't hit the homerun or catch the pass or bury the jumper. But there's a misapprehension there. No one ever said we did those things. I don't believe I did those things, literally or figuratively. But my team did, our team did. And understanding the idea of a team is crucial towards this "sports fan" attitude.

I'm a Red Sox fan. We're a whole different psychological study. For 162 days and nights from April to September, I live and breathe the Red Sox. Follow the box scores. Question pitching changes, pitches themselves, the idea behind swinging with a 3-0 count and read countless articles filled with inane drivel about my team. I know a great deal about the Red Sox, and I don't even live in Boston. If I did, it would be much, much worse.

But back to this collective "we" in regards to rooting for the home team. The idea behind a team is a group of players pointed towards a goal of achieving some significant accomplishment within their respective sport. For the Royals, and let's be honest, it's not losing 100 games. For the Red Sox, it's winning the World Series. Where the "we" comes in is that we want the team to reach this goal. We share the same end. So we follow our team, extolling the decisions in the win and letting go vitriols in the loss. In this we become a part of the make-up of the team, in a very small sense, an honorary member. We may not be hitting or catching or scoring, but we're rooting for all of it. And that gives us a stake in it -- a dog in the fight. We devote a proportional amount of time and support -- sometimes too much-- and so we have every right to exclaim "we" won.

There's more to being a part of a team than being physically on the team. If you've ever lived in Boston, or spent a decent amount of time there, it's fascinating to watch how much the city -- for good or for bad-- hinges on the fate of the Sox. It hovers over every conversation, news of the team fills every sports page and radio broadcast. The city is the team and the team is the city. We do, unfortunately, a little more than "root, root, root" -- we obsess. But that's neither here nor there to this discussion.

A few weeks ago Ohio State opened their season against some awful team. I went out to grab a bite to eat near the stadium just around kickoff. There was a palpable excitement. Even in the people bringing groceries to their car, you could see it their eyes. It reminded me of Boston. A lot. Of course, CFB fans are stupid because achieving the ultimate goal never rests fully in their team's performance on the field. But I can at least sympathize and come alongside them in their passion -- however foolishly unfounded it is.

But I digress. Back to my point: Go Red Sox.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Engendering

So today our best friends find out the sex of their baby. As we know, their are only two choices: boy or girl. They wanted a girl, but after witnessing how awesome Isaac is they now want a boy.

It was funny how they told us they were pregnant to begin with. The Mrs. had an inkling. So strong in fact that I got a call at work during which time she explored this hypothesis that turned out to be correct. We found out officially when Eric was up in Columbus. He got his Mrs. on the phone and together they gave us souvenirs from their recent trip to Europe. Before we got through the first gift, his eager Mrs. blurted out: "The other gift we're bringing back from Europe won't come until February."At that point there was a lot of screaming, crying and laughing and I don't remember much else other than being very excited.

Well today marks another point on their journey into parenthood. And a not insignificant one either. They're not convinced of the baby's sex one way or the other, though I secretly think they think it's a boy though because they want a boy they don't want to jinx it so are saying they're not sure either way. But I also know they couldn't be more excited about the monumental stop on this road of parenthood. And neither could we.

One request: if it's a boy, go ahead and name it Aaron. But if it's a girl: do not.

UPDATE: THEY ARE HAVING A BOY. STILL NO WORD ON WHETHER THEY WILL NAME HIM AFTER ME OR NOT. BUT I'M LEANING TOWARDS YES.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

10 Years Ago Yesterday

I was reminded of it this morning on a post on this site. Hard to believe. I remember hearing the news over the answering machine about a week after it happened. I was getting back from a weekend retreat and our youth pastor's voice cackled over the speaker, telling us Rich had been killed in a car accident. So much for going out like Elijah I recall thinking.

Some 10 years later, Rich Mullins music still influences me. I spent many nights in my youth sitting, looking out the window, listening to songs about praise rising over prairies. Many nights up at Grammie and Grandpa's camp trying not to sing along as "Creed" bellowed over the headphones. And it was "Hold Me Jesus" that was playing through my headphones as I sat praying outside of the gymnasium in 1998 at Asbury College on a cool February evening, making the decision to attend the school. These days, it's most often Songs that I listen to. Especially, lately, "Boy Like Me/Man Like You" -- for obvious reasons.

I've always liked his music. It's something I always come back to. For all my forays into Ray LaMontagne, Pearl Jam, Dave Matthews Band, Damien Rice, Wilco, it's Rich Mullins that I can't ever seem to turn off. Whether it's the underlying dulcimer, the haunting, poetic, transporting lyrics, or the simple voice echoing a simple faith of a simple man living a simple life who was transfixed by a simple fact: Jesus loved him -- Rich's music is new and fresh and ancient with each listen. Some new experience I attach to a lyric, song, melody, phrase, beat.

That's Rich. That's his music. As best as I can remember it.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

What About My Friends?

So it would behoove me to have some better friends. Not that there's anything wrong with my friends. Nothing at all in fact. It's just that they could do a little more for me. So if you're reading this, and you're one of my friends and would like to stay as such, it would do you a world of good to try your hand at the following.

1. Airline Employee. That way I could get away. Free flights; peanuts; exit rows; first class; and all the carry-on's I can muster.

2. Sports Team Employee. Free tickets; inside info; meet and greets.

3. Movie Theater Employee. Free movies; popcorn; private screenings.

4. Gap Employee. 20-50% discounts.

Nope. I have no friends who can give me these things. Though I've got eternity covered; several friends are involved in pastoral offices. Then I'm married to a doctor so I've got my health discounts. But I need to work on having the material things accounted for. I need a little help from my friends.

It's interesting what my friends do. A nice cross-section of talent, gifts and life choices. But of no use to me materially. But then again, friends aren't for that.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Coffeespoons And God: An Allegorical Dialogue

Enter into modern looking coffee shop. Lights are dimmed low. The room, divided by couches and recliners, is scattered with magazines and tables. Obscure, but easy going music plays underneath.

Rick, the hero of the story, gets in the cue (queue) that has formed of well-dressed twenty-somethings.

Rick peruses the menu, spotting the item he wants. Quietly he taps his foot to the music. He glances at his watch, noting how much time has passed. He is a little impatient. Finally, it's his turn.

The clerk/coffee shop worker, in her mid-20s, attired in casual, but official looking garb, greets him. Her name is Susan.

Susan: We're glad you could join us. We're so glad and happy you've decided to come here.

Rick (taken aback, but warmed by the greeting) : Yes. Well. Yes. Good to be here too. Um. Well. I'd like to order...

Susan (interrupting): Before we can give you your coffee, allow me to explain how our drive-thru works.

Rick (quixotically): But I'm not using the drive-thru. I'm here now.

Susan: And we completely recognize this fact. That's why we're going to skip the directions on how to get here. Obviously you're here. But we would like to go over our drive-thru with you.

Rick (slowly): Okay.

Susan: Here's how our drive-thru works. First, you pull up to the section marked "Drive-Thru" in your car. Then you will see several headers regarding our different items on the large and very colorful menu full of cool fonts and pictures. From there, for example, there's the coffee section which, if you choose that, has our different flavors of coffee we're currently offering. Then, there is the tea section -- if you want tea-- we certainly have just as many flavors for tea lovers.

Rick: Look, I really would just like...

Susan: Sir. This is important. After you have perused our different headers on our main menu. You will be able to speak with an attendant who will greet you with their name. They're one of our many workers who are employed here at the coffee shop.

Rick (amusingly): If they don't say hello do I get a free coffee.

Susan (unamused): After they greet you. Then you can place your order by speaking into our state of the art two way intercom system that works much like the speaker phone on your home phone.

Susan: After you have done this you can pull forward in the drive-thru, collect your drink, and pay. It's all quite easy. We've made it as user-friendly as we can. Do you have any questions?

Rick: Can I order my coffee now?

Susan: In a moment. First, do you have any questions about our drive-thru?

Rick: Uh. No. Think I'm okay on that. But I'll be sure to remember these entirely useful and instructive directions as soon as I use the drive-thru again.

Susan: That's wonderful sir. I'm so glad, again, that you're here and I'd be glad to take your order now.

Rick: Large Coffee. Black.

This is an allegory (is it an actual allegory if you have to say it's an allegory?) after a church experience the Mrs, me and a friend had yesterday. Trying a church closer to the house, we attended on good recommendations. In the middle of the atmospheric service, and that's all I'll say about that, we sat through a ten-minute tutorial on how to use their website. In the middle of the service. Ten minutes.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Postgate

Look. I'm just as upset. Just as furious. Extremely embarrassed. Taking it from all sides too, seeing as how I work with a decent number of Bengals and Browns fans. Though the Browns fans are, themselves, too depressed to be as clever as Bengals fans. But then again Bengals fan are too much of Bengals fans to be clever. Anyway, this whole cheating thing as caught me with my proverbial pants down.

But, it's not like I've lost some sort of virginal quality here. We've known for a long time that baseball players cheat. Albeit from steroids or from stealing signs (the Sox have been accused of this numerous times in the past few years), teams will do whatever it takes to get an edge. Doesn't make it right. But sports isn't the Republic or Nicomachean Ethics. It's not a philosophical treaty on morality. Sure. It would be nice if everyone played within the rules. Like, if, say, all-too-talkative Charger players wouldn't take steroids, the world would be a slightly better place. This whole thing is what it is. Players and teams and coaches will cheat. But they'll get caught. At least there's some moral in that. As for asterikin' the titles, c'mon. They're not the first. They won't be the last. And at least they're not taking steroids. Well. At least not all of them.

One question. Why is it that every "scandal" has to have the suffix -gate buttressed on to it. Patriotgate. Spygate. Videogate. Illegal-taping-of-defensive-coaches-hand-signals-from-the-sidelines-even-though-it's-ok-to-do-the-same-thing-from-the-coaches-box-gate. I understand the origins. I'm familiar with Watergate. But really. Some 30+ years removed and we still think we're being clever? It's more annoying than the accusations themselves.

Almostgate.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Ruins And Love

Now with these hands,
With these hands,
With these hands,
I pray Lord
With these hands,
With these hands,
I pray for the strength, Lord
With these hands,
With these hands,
I pray for the faith, Lord
We pray for your love, Lord
We pray for the lost, Lord
We pray for this world, Lord
We pray for the strength, Lord
We pray for the strength, Lord
Come on, rise up
"My City's In Ruins", Bruce Springsteen
Six years later, we still search for words. For strength. For prayer. For God. May we have the strength to never forget. To always remember. To approach comprehension of the sacrifice and unwavering courage of man. To Love. Above all else, may we be searching for strength to love.

Monday, September 10, 2007

You Keep Using That Word

I'm not sure where I came across it, but the word desultory has popped into my head like a bad jingle. I fell asleep last night wondering whether I was being desultory or not. Whether dinner was desultory. Whether the Patriots convincing win was desultory. Whether I did a desultory job de-grouting the bathroom tile.

I jest with you not. I have wanted use this word in just about every sentence I've concocted over the past 20 hours. I have not, for fear that I will keep using the word and it will not mean what I think it means.

Where and when I stumbled across the word, I'm still not sure. Nor am I certain how it has snowballed into wanting to tell everyone how desultory they are being this Monday morning. But for all of that and all of this, I take solace and delight in the irony that I have the perfect word to describe the situation.

Sunday, September 09, 2007

Thursday, September 06, 2007

The Loneliest Number

So it occurs to me while listening to Three Dog Night's expose on the loneliest of numbers, that one might not, in fact, be the loneliest of numbers. Of course it all determines how one would define loneliness. Is the amount of something directly proportional to the perceived loneliness a person would feel? I'd argue that where there are more people, there is a greater tendency to feel lonely. For instance, in a throng of people that are unknown to an individual -- say on a first day at a new school, or waiting in line at the DMV -- it's easier and more likely to feel loneliness.

And if we go along these lines, in the same way that there is always a number greater than the one you can think of, there is also one number lonelier than the number you can think of. Say 345. Well, 344 is a lonelier number. Of course, the loneliest number in this argument ends up being one so it actually proves the lyrics of the song: One is the loneliest number, worse than two.

All this to say that I don't think quantity determines how alone a person is or may feel, as prefaced by the former of my arguments. Just remember, regardless of quantity -- if you're by yourself or with a lot of others, if you're in the middle of a large crowd and you notice how "alone" and small you are in comparison to all that is around you:

"Man was always small compared to the nearest tree."
G.K. Chesterton

Also remember that Jeremiah was a bullfrog. I'm just not sure what he is now.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

September And The Denouement

I've many times alluded to how baseball plays itself out like a good novel. And if you know my love and passion for the Red Sox, you'll note I consider them to play out like a Tolstoy novel. The season runs its course every year, winding through spring showers (sometimes filled with snow) to muggy nights of ball in May and June, to sweltering dog days of July and August. But it always runs its course to September -- the mouth of the entire season (sorry for mixing metaphors).

And here we are. The ninth month named for something in French that means seven has arrived. To continue a literature analogy, this would be the denouement. Only, there's no falling action in baseball. The entire season's been building like musicians tuning their instruments. Now, the symphony begins. The characters and plots and sub-plots and settings will converge and collide. Here is the action. Here is the cusp, the apex, the pinnacle, the paramount for the paramours of baseball.

We sit 7 games up in the East. But we are not at rest. Not idle. Not in our denouement. September is here. But it is not time for fall. It is time for the authors of this fantastic season to write the ending. And we, the viewers, listeners, readers, canoers (going back to the river analogy) are here. Perched on the edges of our seats, at the end of each day, waiting for the action to play out. For Pedroia and Buck, for Schill and Coco, for Beckett and Papi and Paps and Manny all to take us out and up and away from the chilling month. To take us out to a ball game. A September ball game.

Phew. I feel like James Earl Jones.

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Bound For Santa Fe

We've gotten a new car. Circumstances as they were on the 12-year old Blazer, (no AC, CD player not working, wipers malfunctioning, an embarrassing, squeaking, cacophony every time the car accelerated, check engine light, broken gas meter, et al) necessity predicated the new vehicle. We shopped around, test drove a few cars, and settled on the 2003 Hyundai Santa Fe. And we got a good deal on it. Low miles. Roomy. Cheap. Good on gas (better than the 17 mpg Blazer anyway).

But in doing this we had to dispense with the Blazer. The car that has served us with dignity these past 5 years, and the Mrs. herself for 5 years beyond that. There were a lot of memories tied up in this vehicle. It was our first car. The one they covered in Styrofoam peanuts as we left for our honeymoon. The car the Mrs. and I first talked about marriage in. Where I first told her I loved her.

I tend to not get attached to things. I'm more of a place person. I remember and still miss all our homes. Long to go back. But tangible objects? Never really gets me. Until last night as we drove away from the dealer, passing the Blazer for the last time. We reminisced on all our experiences in the car. Some good. Some bad. We were both a little moved. That car, we surmised, had been the one constant through our entire marriage. The most reliable thing we owned. No matter where we had lived or worked, all those transient occurrences over the past five years, that car was the constant.

At least this new car has a theme song. One that's rather appropriate for our new family. And seeing how it's the Mrs.' car, appropriate given her crush on Christian Bale.