Peculiar Colloquialisms

After spending the better part of the weekend out in the snow, it occurs to me that there are some expressions I can no longer tolerate.

A preface: each area of the country is entitled to colloquialisms. Coke/Pop/Soda, Tennis Shoes/Sneakers/Kicks etc. But some are just simply foolishness and resound of malapropisms. Which, if you are not aware, malapropisms sound a little like Moxie tastes.

Here's my recent additions to the annoying colloquialisms list:

1. Toboggan. It's a sled. A type of sled. It is not a hat. Why is it not a hat? Well, simply, because a hat is a hat. Do not ask me why I'm not wearing a toboggan. You can't wear a toboggan. You just can't.

2. Sled Riding. As opposed to Sled Walking? Perhaps Sled Galloping? Just call it Sledding. Hey! We're all going sledding, wanna come? Yeah. That sounds great. Let's go. Who's Car Driving?

3. Major Snowstorm. 8 Inches of Snow over 18 Hours is barely a snow storm. And yet, the roads still are not cleared 36 hours later. "But hey," I am reminded casually and ineffectually, "This isn't Boston, Aaron." Quite astute of you. "But hey," sarcastic, caustic, annoyed "It's not Florida. IT'S THE FREAKING MIDWEST!"

Colloquialisms: The Sound of Moxie Being Made.

Inaugural Poem

I was bothered greatly by one thing yesterday. The Inaugural Poem. While I understand that not every poet can be the next Maya Angelou, I ask: can we at least attempt it? Because that was the worst poem I've ever heard. Worst. Ever. While much of it had to do with the way it was read (it is my sincere belief that poets probably shouldn't be the ones to read their own work. Poetry is a cathartic endeavour. It's art expunged. Left to interpretation. A poet reading their poem is interpolation. And it's wrong). See and hear what I mean. I did read it aloud later and it came across much better.

It suffered from a poor panoply of unpoetic words. Chesterton (and Whitman too) will argue me to the death (they win) on this but words like "tire", "pencils", "boombox" and "bus" lack depth and exegetical nuance. And "darning" pushes the edge of poetry as well. Pushes it into the mundane, the muck and mire of everyday life. Poems and Poetry is supposed to put "our heads into the heavens" (take that Chesterton. Your own words). So I was eager to hear the artist's take on yesterday. The person looking down and past and behind and through and alongside.

I was confused by the lines "We walk into that which we cannot yet see" in the middle of the poem when the ending, anti-climatic, demands that we "praise song for walking forward in that light."

Furthermore, if you want me to understand "Praise Song", don't throw at me images. Use sounds and images that inspire sounds. None of the invoked images she chose even approached the power of a song (again, Chesterton, stop talking. I hear your argument loud and clear. I don't disagree with you. I don't. There is great joy in the mundane. In the normal. But is that the function of poetry? C'mon? Is it? That's right. I'm right. Admit it, G.K.).

Overall, I was vastly disappointed with the Inaugural poem -- even upon the re-reading which did make it seem much better.

So I leave you with THE POEM to charge you forward in this new day. I still remember hearing it and being moved during that 7th grade pizza party. Take the time and read it. It's greatness lies in the unassailable timelessness of it. How it was just as striking and brilliant 16 years ago and resonated even more loudly yesterday in me.

Bylines That Violate My Mantra

I try hard not to believe in a liberal media bias. It exists. But I like to think better of my fellow journalists. Then I see things like this just today:

1. Byline, CNN.com: Commentary: Bush Still doesn't get it. Ironically the writer of the byline didn't get the article.

2. Byline, Huffingtonpost.com: Catholics Forced to Keep Quiet Over Virgin Visions. Leaves me conviced that the Huffpost et al has a Mad-libs field generator that automatically takes the words Pope and Catholics and Vatican and turns out: Oppression!

Now I know #2 is the Huff Post. It's liberal anyways. I read it as a whetstone. Same reason I will parlay a glance at Fox News. I expected what I read. Doesn't mean it doesn't bother me.

Also Random Question for all: Is buying a cordless drill at an outlet store an example of irony? I'm white. I like irony.

Text Messaging

So I'm not one for the latest crazes. Count me in the minute minority of people who don't have a Facebook page or MySpace page. I don't Twitter either. The theory: I have better things to do with the time it would take to keep up with them. And it being not a worthwile exercise, merely a billboard creation in the InterWebs, I truly don't see the long-reaching point. But I'm in the minority.

And until lately I've not been a fan of text messaging. Mainly because of the labor it took to weild a worthy message; i.e. typing on a telephonic keypad. But, with my new virtual keyboard, typing is a breeze (unfortunately I can't send pics unless you have an iPhone -- nor can I receive them from you). I can even type big words: shout at me your imprecations!

Yesterday, after a brief conversation with my pastor, I was needling for the 411 on some things, I received a txt msg from him, complete with what I had asked for. At first, I wasn't sure how I felt about that. My pastor? txt msging?

See I've always believed that IMing and Txt msging don't foster good communication skills. That they acquiesce to the introvert/social pariah in all of us. I believe that, in part. They don't foster those skills when one uses them in place of talking to a person directly -- albeit by phone or in person, the former which doesn't actually do much for communication itself seeing as how it omits two important facets of communication skills. But to send a quick note off to someone about something that remind one of someone or some such reason as that, I think it's great. Whereas a phone call leaves one with the awkward responsibility of ending a call after what's been said has been said: Really, that was all you called for? (Have you ever tried to end a txt msg conversation though? Is it possible?). Of course txt msging has it's detractions: the frustrating part of limiting yourself to a sentence or two in response because of the time it takes to type out a response so that the other person knows you're responding and doesn't think you're ignoring them and then feels bad and wonders what they did to offend you and wonders if you'll ever talk to them again. Txt msging can bridge that chasm of social awkwardness in some respects. A quick note. Just keeping in touch. Sometimes that's all it takes, really. Because the uniqueness of some daily happenings a phone call undermines.

And I applaud my pastor. It'll cross a line when he txt msgs me his sermon points while he's speaking.

Or if he starts Twittering during the service.

Cold Fusion

Does anyone wonder what happened to Cold Fusion? I do. A lot. It had the hype. The cool movie. The high-yield potential. Then... nothing. Fizzle, not fusion. Heck, even Elisabeth Shue's made a comeback.

Doing a search on Google, it's the third item on the search with nothing in the sidebar advertisements urging you to "Buy Cold Fusion at Amazon" or "Cheap Cold Fusion" or "Hot Deals on Cold Fusion". And what the search does reveal is the wikipedia entry.

It's sad, really. A once burgeoning field relegated to the pathological sciences. To the X-Files subdivision of the Department of Energy. It was all the rage and now, bringing it up, seems to enrage scientists.

Where did it go wrong? Is it still possible? From what I've read, the only reason it's not possible is because no one has been able to do it. Since when did science abandon the mentality likened to that parent who pushes and pushes their talented, but not great kid through sports and traveling all-star teams?

When did science get cold feet?

Christmas Music, Bad Metaphors, Bad Headlines

A local Christian music station has given itself over to playing Christmas music already. It posits the reasoning rather brilliantly, in the little used metaphor. The music faithful listeners will hear, for the Christmas season, will be sung by artists that the station does not typically give airtime to. Their hope is that this will attract new listeners, which has worked in the past. To wit, they say: "Think of it as cleaning your house before guests come over." No. That's just wrong. It's more like renting a furnished apartment down the block and then cleaning it and then having guests come over. Maybe I'm just sensitive every time my surname is invoked.

Why do we have to play Christmas music? Why? At this point, hearing it, already, is like being invited to someone's house and it's not been cleaned.

The country is up in arms over this. So. They flew private jets. Would you rather have had them drive their Beamers and BMW's and Hyundai's?

This story was frontpage on CNN.com yesterday. Awesome. Inspiring. Only the headline was questionable because it read "Woman receives new lung from stem cells". Which, while not incorrect, reeks of agenda because, asking most people in the country about stem cells and they think the only type of stem cells are the controversial embryonic stem cells. When, in truth, there are more viable and potent stem cells in our own bodies. Yet, the average "logger-on" sees this and thinks, "See, if Bush wasn't an idiot, this would be SOP in America. America Rules! Bush is an idiot! We love America! Change is coming!" However, the stem cells were her own. You'll find that in the 11th graf.Why push forward with funding embryonic stem cell research, which, regardless of religious belief, is scientifically ethically dubious, when there's this method, that is more viable?

Finally, I just saw this when looking for one more thing to go off about. Obama's already ripped Nike's failed "I Can" sobriquet. I say go after VW with something like "American's Wanted." Or, there's the 2004 Red Sox motto, "Idiots" that I'd be okay with pirating. Maybe some take on the Mac-PC campaign and we can have, infused in the music bed, a catchy pop tune that will then become a sensation. Or, maybe, "Nothing Runs like a Deere in the Forest or in ANWR or Utah because there's no way we're drilling for oil on our own soil." There's the politically charged and insensitive, "We bring good things to life."

I need to go listen to some Christmas music; and clean my house.

America, Be Proud!

America rejoices today. Justice has been served.

Fast Words From The IOC

The IOC is the biggest joke. Let's condemn Bolt for his "antics"; how they are not a measure of respect for his competitors. It typical behavior from people who don't understand the true nature of competition. Yes, it's my whole Larry Bird school of sports, even on the largest stage. But I tire of the "why didn't he shake hands?" or "why did he parade around the track screaming he was number 1?" criticism when it's a simple answer. It was his moment. He worked to achieve it. He worked and ran to stand alone. Let him. (And by the way, that 200M run was amazing. Into a headwind?)

Is he a better person if he shakes hands and goes on about with his antics? Maybe. Is he a worse person because he did not? No. He just shattered an virtually unbreakable world record. Give him his moment.

No. The IOC must condemn. Olympics! Higher, Faster, Stronger! Shake Hands! Do Not Focus On Enjoying Winning! Hug! Move On! London 2012! Get Rid Of Softball! Badminton Doubles But No Olympic Golf! The Chinese Are Democratic Afterall! No Human Rights Injustice! Fake Fireworks Are Cool! Lipsynching Is The New Steroid! Sports Are Not Really Sports Unless We Have Judges Who Have Never Competed In The Sports Judging The Sports!

Oh, and all this is coming out of one side of the IOC's mouth. Here's what they're not addressing.

Syntopical Syncretism

Call it the post-modern approach to reading, but I've been diligent recently in my approach to reading. I came across the former of the above terms while reading Mortimer Adler's How To Read A Book. Vaguely, it's about moving one's reading across like themes. It's a unique idea and I recommend it and the original book.

Now I've extended this in several ways. First I have tried to read books similar in writing style. This is one reason for my recent love of Catholic writers of the 40s, 50s and 60s. Barth, Bellows and Updike are also more alike in style than the themes of their novels belie.

Another way I've enacted Adler's idea is by researching the influences of authors I'm reading. Just yesterday I began to look into Umberto Eco's greatest influence, Jorge Luis Borges. He's quite a fantastical and unique and challenging writer. For O'Connor I've delved into Faulkner and read up on Hawthorne.

By doing this I've stumbled across another term: syncretism. O'Connor and Faulkner posses widely different world views. Borges and one of his more profound influences, Chesterton, differ exponentially in their respective world views. Not that I am trying to reconcile these authors but it's certainly challenging to recognize the different approach that is at once alike and different. Like seeing an object from all sides simultaneously and managing to maintain a sense of wonder about it.

Pretty sure none of this makes sense, that it's just ramblings. I'm piecing the idea slowly together. Combining it and, at times, justifying it I suppose. The bottom line is that I notice I am drawn to the syntopical syncretism in Art. From Springsteen to O'Connor, Borges to Chesterton.

Not sure if Adler had this in mind, but I have him to thank for issuing that first challenge.

Common Sense: Common Sense

I'm getting tired of this expression. Especially in the political realm. I'm not sure who's appealing to Common Sense in all things issue related: The Common Sense Medical Plan! But Common Sense tells me someone certainly is. It's the typical, oversimplified nonsense I expect from politicians.

I'm all for Common Sense. Indeed, we could all benefit more if people used Common Sense a little more generously than they/we do. But when it comes to politicians, to people who run governments, is Common Sense all we're missing and therefore all we need to right any sinking ship?

Common Sense tells me if my car won't start and the gas gauge is on empty: I need more gas! What Common Sense does not tell me, and here's the inherent issue with the expression and application, is that my car will then start. There could be a host of other problems that keep the car from starting. Bad gaskets (whatever those are), lose spark plugs (non-sparking spark plugs?), a bad hose (these are all things in cars right?) could all be reason. Heck, the car might not even have an engine. Common Sense allows you to diagnose, not treat.

So I see these adds that appeal to, in their nuanced, subtle ways, Common Sense tells us if we all could have cheap, affordable, government provided health care, everything would be better. for all of us. No. Common Sense tells us only that it would make sense, for everyone to have health care, not that it would be a panacea for the ironically ailing industry. Or, in the interest of unbias, that drilling in ANWAR will alleviate the gas crunch forever.

We need leaders who know cars. Who know that the car needing gas is just one approach to making sure it's up and running. Give me your platform of vague and nuance and Common Sense, of promises enough to fill a tank. But it's going to take more than a sense of the common to fix problems. It will need that, but you're going to have to know a lot more than how to fill up the tank if you want my vote.

Out To The Ballgame

Just came across this asinine survey on SI.com of the best ballparks in the country. I immediately figured to see either Fenway or Yankee Stadium up there as #1. "At least in the top 5" I consented before I clicked on the article -- knowing I'd get worked up with the results. And sure enough I'm worked up. Fenway was 21st; Yankee Stadium 20th. Several of the categories used to tabulate this result are just plain stupid. 

Food: What are we rating here? An evening out for dinner and a show? Did you order the blue cheese on the side of your hot wings and it was put on it? Was the hot dog too small for the bun? Seriously, when you go to McDonalds don't expect Spago. Or do and be disappointed. Just realize you're an idiot for doing so. And realize this is an idiotic way to rate a ballpark.

Team Quality: I can see the argument that this brings about. Who's going to go see a bad team play. But how does this affect the ballpark rating? See Hamlet performed by puppets at the Globe. Think it trite. But you're still at the Globe.

Hospitality: Huh? Like, "I really appreciated how other fans took time to flush the toilet before I entered the stall" hospitality? Seriously? I can use another metaphor here, but the bottom line is how does this affect the ballpark?

Promotions: Here's a metaphor: this is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Well, second dumbest. The dumbest thing I've heard is "Here's a metaphor: this is the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Obviously, that's not a metaphor. 

Traffic: So does the team with poor team quality have higher traffic scores and vice versa? 

For the legitimate categories, Tradition and Fan I.Q., two things that make the simple and large event of attending a baseball game worth doing, Fenway, Yankee Stadium, Wrigley, all ranking high. And I'm not sure what atmosphere means and why the Sox were so low. Nothing beats Landsdowne street pre- and post-game. Also: completely inhospitable as well. 

The Indians at the top I don't deny. That's a great, great place to watch a game. But I deny it based on these stupid categories. Seattle? Really? It's top 10. I've been there. Pittsburgh? On Bobble Head day it was fun, maybe Top 20. My Dad hates the White Sox Stadium so I'm deferring to him there. Great American in Cincinnati is the WORST place to watch baseball. The old Riverfront was much better. 

Anyway, if you're going to rank ballparks, be intelligible and obvious. Use common sense. Don't try and unhinge the system. Fenway, Yankee Stadium (which they are despicably tearing down), Wrigley, Dodger Stadium, Pac Bell, Cleveland/Jacobs Field/Progressive.

Take your food and promotions and "please" and "thank you", I'm watching baseball.

Pedant Coffee Drinking

I fully recognize it's the #1 thing White People Like. If it becomes a stereotype, then, as I say, stereotypes tend to be stereotypes for a reason. And I am your stereotypical young white person who likes coffee. I am now saddened by the recent Starbucks coffee release. For the most part, I could care less when Starbucks releases a new coffee. But when doing so replaces their Breakfast and House Blends, then I am distraught and must form an opinion if it is truly to be the #1 thing I like (#2 for me is assists. I love assists. When I don't make an assist I get mad and break bones.)

It's apropos that they're calling it Pike's Place. For those have not been to Seattle, Pike's Place is the fish market where they throw fish. There's other stuff there too, but for the most part that's the draw. It's the place where tourists go. Cultivated to the masses for their entertainment. Popularized and hyped. This new brew is much of the same. Tastes much like a popular tourist attraction. It should after all since patrons created it. It's a noon cup of coffee. Something warm to drink - but not very good. Very disappointing but not surprising and not worth the $1.85 for a grande. And this is replacing their very good Breakfast Blend and very decent House blend?

NOTE: I would opt for the Komodo Dragon brew if, at 6am, I didn't think of this movie and this character and the fact that referring to this cup of coffee makes me seem a little too ostentatious.

My name is Aaron. I am a coffee pedant.

But hey, it's one of the best parts of waking up (the not best part is actually having Folgers in your cup. That's just terrible coffee).

My I Hate Politics Manifesto

This is a far from a rational opinion. I have not sat down and thoroughly thought any of this through. Think less of me from shooting from the hip, but these are my thoughts. Some of them are tardy -- they would've been funny and relevant a month ago. Alas.

First of all, since when can political parties tell voters that your votes for whom you want to run for President don't count because your state decided to have their primary early? Do political parties wield more power than a state? More power than a voter? And yet people still voted? Equally unfathomable. (I'm planning, also, to have an equally meaningless vote: Band-Aids or Caramel Sauce. You pick. You decide. Those are your two options. 50 points to the winner. The loser must count to 1,000 and run a mile.)

Seriously, how did they get away with this? Why didn't the news media take them to task on it? Maybe they did. In the interest of full disclosure, I don't watch the news.

Secondly, why do I have to vote for one of two people in the end? GW thought little of a two-party system. So do I. I'm sure there's an argument to prove me wrong. To show me that the two-party system is glorious. Just know I will disagree. And probably not respectfully.

Tertiary: nuanced political promises. I tire of them. I am physically weary and cynical of them. I get angry and mean when I hear them. I offend people -- not with what I say, I'm not crass -- but towards whom I say it against, i.e. that I'm tipping some sort my figurative political hat by railing on what exactly "Change" means. I'm not. I despise all nuanced statements equally, almost. Ha!

Will I vote? Yes. For whom? Who knows. I don't care much for anyone in this candidate pool. Make your arguments. Rail against me for abusing a freedom, whatever. Just know I hold my vote very dearly. Not in whom I will cast it for, but that I can cast it. Just don't be upset when I cast it for a) a fictional character; b) a Democrat; c) a Republican; d) Ralph Nader; e) Isaac; f) myself; g) The Mrs.; h) The Red Sox.

Again, shooting from the proverbial hip here. And I did cut my head open last night, so take everything accordingly. Except that I very much do not like politics and that I do, actually, very much like government.

A Day For The Birds

So let's get today straight. The Homerun king gets indicted on perjury charges. Indicted. Not convicted. Indicted. And the media goes ape over this. Did I mention he's a baseball player? Well, he is. Meanwhile, a president gets convicted of perjury and it's supposed to be no big deal?

Then there's the whopping $270+ million contract the Yankees are paying someone to not help them win a World Series.
Then, the writers are on strike because the same companies that sue online outlets for $1 billion, i.e. YouTube, for posting and making money off of their online content tell the same writers that they have no way of knowing how much money online content is worth.

The governor of Ohio (and fellow Asbury alum and soon-to-be-Clinton-VP-running-mate) thinks we should do away with the electoral college system and just have a popular vote. In his defense, the electoral college system is no way to elect a prom king or queen. To think that history classes should have as much say as the cheerleaders, the nerve.

Then there's also this guy. Fascinating medical story. But some things you can't un-see.

To quote Tracy Morgan from tonight's 30 Rock that accurately sums up this day: "Stop eating old french fries pigeon. Have some self-respect. Don't you know you can fly?"

I Despise The Rain King

Not the song. I actually like the song. I was hoping it would play in my head as background to the novel Henderson The Rain King by Saul Bellow. Instead, I've been unable to drown out the metaphorical noises of my banging my head against the wall. I'm doing it, however, to the tune of The Rain King, so that's something.

Ever been caught in a book you can't get out of? One you have to finish only because it's required by some person or class? This is where I'm at. I love reading. Love to open a book, sit down, shut-up and read. I dream about reading at work. Looking forward to going home, when everything is over for the day, and beginning a new book, finishing one I've started or re-reading that last chapter because something struck my fancy. But not this book. Not this horrible, horrible book.

It won the Nobel Prize for Literature at some point in the 60s or 70s (I don't even care about when it did; I don't care about being factually correct about this terrible book). I can see why, given context of the social and literary situations of that era. It's a book about discovery; about finding oneself. But the lead character is a misanthrope; an unlovable Falstaff. One who is subject to haughty prose about nothing really, no fluid thoughts or developments of ideas, just ramblings that occasionally make sense, but not so much sense that you remember it after you close the book.

It's taken me two weeks (of course, it's the playoffs and I rarely get much done anyway) to finally see the end. Of course, the end is more like a desert oasis because in no way am I finished with this book when I finish it. Then I must write a paper, and explore the deeper significances of this terrible, meaningless work. One that takes itself much to seriously, much to important. There's humor in it, meaning in it, but it's ultimately humorless and without meaning. And that sentence is indicative of every sentence in the book.

Sorry for the rant. It's just that "When I think of heaven (Deliver me in a black-winged bird) I think of flying down into a sea of pens and feathers". None of which could ever be used to write this book.

Not Peanuts And Crackerjacks

Now we have Midge Masks. Before there were Rally Monkeys, ThunderSticks and Rally Paddles. Now there's Midge Masks? I have respect for Indians fans. Good fans. Love the game. Are extremely passionate in that un-irritable sense. But Midge Masks? I now am no longer in fear of the Indians.

Why must sports franchises do this? Why must they bastardize a game I love? A game I know intimately and as profusely as the expression involving the back of one's hand. It's as bad as putting "Cheer Now" messages on the JumboTron. It was bad when the Red Sox introduced Wally The Wall Monster. Glorious when fans subsequently booed him. No JumboTron message needed then.

Give me peanuts and crackerjacks. Give me the home team in it's final at bat in a close game. Give me the chance to score a run or prevent a runner from scoring. Give me a great pitching performance, a base hit or a run-scoring grounder to short. I'm cheering. You don't need to tell me. Don't need to mask it with some prop. It is what it is. And it's great. If you can't get into that, well, then, baseball is not for you.

But alas it is. So we'll see fans with Midge Masks tonight. But I don't care if they ever come back. Give me a Red Sox win.

NOTE: I'm going to attempt to "live blog" during the game. I'm not sure why though. Seems like it could be fun. So tune in around game time.

EDIT: Semi-related to the post. It's pretty cool. A good Christmas present for Isaac grandparents!

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.

A Moment To Brag

By nature, I'm not a proud person. Not one prone fits of grandeur. Quite aware, under normal circumstances, of my limitations. No self-delusions. Not necessarily humble. But not proud either. So indulge me for a moment.

I've been going back to school for the better part of a year. Originally, it was to garner a Master's in Theology. That changed last fall. I've always felt called to be a writer, or to write in some fashion. Reason number one why I started this Internets adventure. So a degree in theology didn't feel or seem quite right. Seemed rather the safe thing to do. I've always liked theology and philosophy. Always done rather well in classes and discussions on the subject. But my approach to it was never worthy of the analysis true philosophers bring to the table. I argue and think apart from reason. My instincts are more imaginative. Realizing this, and after much prayer (much prayer for I never do anything, apart from swallowing, without praying about it first and can't help but wonder if one did pray before they swallowed would that prevent me from choking but I surmise my choking on my food has more to do with my inability to not talk while eating and less to do with the God of the universe wanting to use the Heimlich Maneuver to teach me a lesson but you never know. Jesus used to cast out demons, maybe he used the Heimlich to do it?) and much discussion with the Mrs., decided to go for a Master's in Creative Writing.

It was hard work, changing horses midstream as the saying goes. Finishing up a philosophy class on the Problem of Evil -- which I never did quite solve -- studying for the GRE and composing about 30 pages of original content (which I discussed long ago). Long story short, I got in to the University of Dayton moments after Isaac was born. On a conditional status -- which was fair seeing as how my only English class in college was on Shakespeare -- meaning I had to complete two undergradute English courses, passing both with a 3.0. Well, I'm well on my way.

Mired in the midst of both classes right now, I've gotten grades back on one class dealing with American Literature. First grade: A-; second grade: A. Both papers received praise from my professor for their insight. My last paper was on The Hamlet by Faulkner. One of the better books I've ever read. In the other class, on British Literature, I'm just setting out, having to read Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. But I feel good about the material.

All of this to say it feels good. Not to be doing so well in the classes (though I am and that does feel rather outstanding), but to be doing something I love. And more so, to feel confirmed with every page I read, write and mull over, that this is what I am called to do. It's rather sublime. Rather mystical. Rather like waking up much earlier and on less sleep than you intended but feeling ever so refreshed. I may not every be good at it -- the boulder might knock me back down the hill quite soon. Not like these authors or their critics. But I enjoy it like they do. And I know that I am supposed to be doing it.

I am "stretching myself in this sea" having "gotten my head into the heavens".

On The Little Wonders That Still Remain

They've, or, apparently, we've named the new 7 Wonders of the World. Congratulations. You have chosen wisely.

I disagree little with this list. In fact, I don't think I disagree with it at all. There's no denying the architectural masterpieces. Indelible contributions of the genius of man to the sustenance of the human race.

My nomination for this list is Machu Pichu. Though I also like Petra -- as referenced earlier -- but not the group.

But why is it limited to 7? Seems a rather arbitrary number. One for each day of the week? Why not 13? Or 22? Or even 1? If the latter is to be the case, the Pyramids win, hands down. Though the Great Wall has a 'dog in that fight'.

I have been intrigued by architecture since I read The Fountainhead. Awed by it's genius. Fascinated by it as an art form -- an idea I never considered before I read the book.

And while I think it rather sophomoric that we should in some way belittle the other masterpieces on this list because they are the geeks at this architectural prom they just had online, I do believe that voters got it right.

But honestly, how could you get it wrong? It's like being in a room of every flavor of ice cream and asked to pick the best. It's ice cream! There's no such thing as bad ice cream.

Things like this are subjective. I grant you that, beauty in the eye of the beholder and all. But, like Plato posited: beautiful things are beautiful things. And not just because we say they are. But is there a more beautiful sight than this? I say not.

On Leaving Early

Inspired by a post on a blog I've occasioned, I was reminded about a story I once wrote. Of course it involves baseball. All my stories involve baseball. Also, it's a particularly good time to write about baseball as the Red Sox are playing some outstanding baseball right now.

Remember my first ever 'live blog'? Well, if you get through it you get to the point where we attend the Red Sox game in the pouring rain (and also what humorous events happened to us at the game which were even funnier in lieu of everything that happened that horrible, no good, very bad day). One of the things I love about my wife is she gets me. Completely and, sometimes, inconceivably. Despite the rain, despite the events of the day, she did not once consider or broach the idea that we should leave the game early. And more than that -- and this is why I love her -- she did not want to leave the game early.

You don't leave a baseball game early. Especially if it's the Red Sox. Especially if it's at Fenway. It is my belief that those people, and there are many of you who choose to leave, for good or for lame reasons, a baseball game before the final out, are the same sort of people who would leave church in the middle of the altar call (Been reading Faulkner, sorry about that sentence).

The altar call is the whole point (usually, but it doesn't have to be) of the sermon and church on the whole. Staying for the final out is the whole point of going to a game. Only then is the final outcome determined. Only then is the victor the victor and the loser the loser. And that's what you go to games for. For one team to win and another to lose. Sure, things may not change between the time you leave your seat and that final out. But the whole point is that they can change and so you need to stay.

My brother and some friends once attended a Red Sox game at Fenway. It was a few years ago and it was a night game in the middle of the summer. Well, like any fan going to a game's dream, it went into extra innings. Around the 14th they made an announcement that the last train was leaving at a certain time readily approaching. That train would have taken them across the city to where they had parked. Sara, one of the friends at the game, as street savvy as she is in Boston, said she knew how to walk the two dozen city blocks so they could stay. They put it to a vote. It was unanimous. They stayed.

In the bottom of the 18th the Red Sox won it on a Shea Hillenbrand home run. And they walked back. He still tells that story.

What story can you tell if you left early.