Da Vinci's Agenda

Many in the Christian church (and, I would imagine, *especially* the Catholic portion of the Christian church) have been concerned that Dan Brown's bestselling novel The Da Vinci Code is rife with misleading information regarding...well, just about everything having to do with the faith. Now that it's about to be released as a movie, the discussions are active again.

The concern, obviously, is that people will take the work of fiction as fact and the conspiracy theories laid out by Dan Brown as scholarly. There's been a great deal of talk about how Brown gets it wrong with respect to documented church history, the actual life of Christ, and the teachings, motives and disposition of the church in general. But one issue that's been largely passed over thus far is the subject of today's insightful A-Team Blog post on how The Da Vinci Code glorifies paganism.

Just as a side note, the A-Team Blog is always worth a read -- whether you're a Christian who wants a stimulating intellectual discussion on faith, culture, politics and society, or a non-Christian who wants some reasonable insight into the Christian worldview. You are ALWAYS welcome to bring your two cents, and you'll always be acknowledged in the discussion.

I Feel For You

Yvette Marie Stevens is 53 years old today.

Carnivorous Van Dwellers of West Los Angeles

We spend way too much time in our cars here. I'm used to seeing people driving while:

* talking on a cell phone
* applying mascara
* writing a check
* reading a map
* rehearsing lines for an audition
* sipping a latte
* reaching for something in another seat

...hopefully not all of the above, at once.

But yesterday as I was headed down Sawtelle, I caught out of the corner of my eye someone weaving in the next lane. Not excessively weaving, just enough to make me wonder if I had missed something in the road.

On my right, a bit ahead: the telltale rattley-putt-putt-clank of the ancient VW bus, in burnt orange and rust-spot, slathered with assorted "peace is the way" and "the earth is our mother" sentiments, piloted by the requisite aging hippie.

Who was gnawing on what appeared to be a giant, barbecued beef rib.

Kirk Cameron on Nightline?

Who'da thunk it?

Apparently, Kirk Cameron (you may remember him from the TV show Growing Pains...or, ladies, from various cheesy teen-idol magazines of the '80s) is going to be interviewed on ABC's Nightline tonight (11:35pm in these parts, but check your local listings). Interviewed about what, you say? Of all things, Christianity.

I think you might be surprised about what he has to say. I was even kind of surprised when I read this.

Check out the show and let me know what you think. Because I'd watch it myself, but...you know.

(Hat tip: The A-Team Blog)

More Search Return Fun

It's time once again to play the game that's sweeping the Web: "How Did You Get to My Blog?"

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, you can't hide from Big Brother Internet. Thanks to my handy-dandy site statistics service, if you got here via a Google/Yahoo!/MSN/whatever search, I will know what you were looking for!

Aside from the usual searches for my name, or my blog name, or "8675309," I get some doozies. Here are a few of my recent favorites:

* taco trucks in fresno
* listen to 8675309 beat
* weight watchers cookbook
* looking for a wealthy benefactor
* photos of ladies wearing pantyhose

Quite frankly, this last one perplexes and mildly disturbs me. But there is satisfaction in knowing that this person must have experienced great disappointment upon landing here, on a blog full of silliness and Jesus.

As for my other blog, the top search always seems to be "Maybe the dingo ate your baby."

Tragedy at the Aquarium

"F," noted Neon Tetra and resident of Happy Gallons Aquarium, has passed into eternity. A brief, private memorial was held this morning at Porcelain Waters Mortuary. F is survived by A, B, C, D and E.

On Sacrifice

My boys are the Number 2 Seed in the West.

Guess who, without considering the potential ramifications beforehand, gave up TV for Lent?

That's right: the girl with her ear pressed to sports radio, praying for a Sunday game and muttering, "Treasures in Heaven. Treasures in Heaven. Treasures in Heaven."

For One Brief, Shining Moment, I Love Cal

You people know where my loyalties lie, and thus, you surely know that the alleged Golden Bears of UC Berkeley -- I will use their preferred "Cal" moniker here because they made me smile today -- are no great friends of mine. No secret that the only days of the year I actually root for them are the days they play the U$C Trojans.

But today I must embrace my Northern California rivals, for they have perpetrated the most inspired embarrassing moment upon my crosstown nemesis.

Bay Area blogger Rangelife, who calls the stunt at last Saturday's basketball game "a prank that straddles the fuzzy gray line between 'Crap-Yer-Pants Hilarious' and 'Inexcusably Cruel,'" gives the lowdown:

When USC guard Gabe Pruitt took his first trip to the free throw line early in the game, the Cal student section hollered in unison: "VIC-TOR-IA, VIC-TOR-IA," and then yelled out a telephone number. Pruitt glanced back at the crowd in horror and bewilderment before clanking his free throws.

It turns out that a couple of mischeivous little bastards from the Cal student section had been IM'ing with Pruitt all week under the identity of "Victoria," a fictional UCLA hottie, and Pruitt was eagerly anticipating a date with this nubile co-ed back in Westwood after the game. In preparation for the date, Pruitt had handed over his digits, which the Cal student section recited back to him in unison.

Golden Bears, I salute you. And on behalf of Bruins everywhere, I say if there's anything we can do to Stanford for you, let us know. We owe you one.

Ninjas and Presbyterians: Both Mammals

Also, they're both totally sweet. I'll bet you didn't know ninjas and Presbyterians had so much in common.

(Hat tip: Scott Zeller)

Bring a Change of Underwear

I am fortunate to have made the acquaintance of the very talented lads over at 3rd Chair Trombone, a site chock full o' death defying comedy written by guys who should be rich and famous, but for some reason are neither of those things yet.

But it is with a special fancy flourish that I point you in the direction of this particular post, because that's where you'll find links to three iFilm episodes of their original comedy, Goodness. If you enjoy the work of Larry David (Seinfeld, Curb Your Enthusiasm), or if you have ever worked -- or aspired to work -- in the film industry, you must see these short films (you need Flash 8 to view them).

Trust me, you will be moved to incontinence. In a good way, of course.

Mildly Disturbing Questions of the Day

Do you ever find yourself feeling so "at home" at work that you forget to use a toilet seat cover in the bathroom?

Have you ever been somewhere that inspired you to use TWO toilet seat covers?

1.21 GaygaWatts

Many have spoofed, but few have been this funny. Ladies and Gentlemen: Brokeback to the Future.

Belly Laugh of the Day

Need a good laugh? Visit this blog right now. Right. NOW.

One of These Things Means I Need to Start Shopping

What I got in the mail today:

1.) Birthday card with check
2.) Birthday gift with style (AWESOME! Thank you!)
3.) Thank you note from my auto mechanic

Missing a Few Key Ingredients

The Internet is like magic to me; I can't remember how I ever learned anything, wrote a paper, or settled a dispute before it existed. Now, when I am faced with a quandary, a quibble or a query, all I have to do is mosey (cyber-mosey?) over to Google and type in a few words.

I have this delicious recipe for something that's made in a Dutch oven, and since I recently A.) acquired a crock pot, and B.) heard that a crock pot and a Dutch oven have similar properties, I thought I'd do a little search about recipe conversion, in the hope that I might be able to make a warm, yummy dessert that will fill my apartment with lovely smells and be ready to dive into the moment I get home from work and wolf down dinner.

So I typed "convert recipes to crock" in the Google search box, and got a few returns that looked promising.

Google didn't find them quite so promising, however, and decided this couldn't possibly be what I'd had in mind when I asked for help. Google is very smart and helpful, but has apparently mistaken me for someone else. The link at the top of the search return politely asked me, "Did you mean: 'convert recipes to crack?'"

Baby Got Book

It's been circulating the Web for a while now, but I watched it again today and laughed as hard as I did the first time I saw it. Those of you who remember Sir Mix-A-Lot will appreciate this.

The Book of Bauer

Huzzah, 24 has returned! For those of you who may have missed this when I posted it last year, check out the 24 (Season 4) Drinking Game!

Some of you may have taken my last post to mean I would put up a full-on review of The Book of Daniel. Indeed, I thought about it...then thought better of it. I'm pretty much in agreement with this commentary and this commentary from National Review Online, both of which are more eloquently articulated and fair-minded than anything I would come up with, even having watched the two-hour season premiere twice. Yes, twice. Sometimes you just have to see something again in order to prove to yourself that you weren't making it up the first time.

In lieu of a review, I will post a brief scene from my fantasy TV crossover episode, starring the namby-pamby hippie Jesus from Book of Daniel, and a REAL man. Enjoy:

JACK (hiding, speaking to CTU through his radio): The hostiles have changed position and are separating the hostages into groups. What's our E.T.A.?

JESUS (stepping casually out from behind a support beam): Now, Jack, "hostiles" isn't cool. They're guys, just like you and me.

JACK: What the hell--

JESUS: You mean "What the heaven!"

JACK: Get down!

JESUS: They can't see me, Jack. Only the children and little animals can see me. And that guy on my other show.

(TERRORIST LEADER pulls a young man from the group of hostages and drags him to another room.)

JACK (into radio): They took another one. What's the holdup? Dammit!

JESUS: Sorry, it doesn't work that way. Even I can't damn an inanimate object. It helps to be more specific. Damn who? Like, the terrorist guy down there? Or the terrorist in the White House posing as a presidential advisor?

JACK (turning to the Nonmighty, intense): What are you talking about, "terrorist in the White House?"

JESUS: Sorry, man, no special revelation. I can only say that something really big's gonna happen within the hour. But don't worry, it'll all be okay. Just let it play out.

JACK: I need a name!

JESUS: Can't do it, Jack. If I told you everything there was to know, how would you ever learn?

JACK (pulling a gun on Jesus): This is a matter of national security. I need a name and I need it now. NOW!

JESUS (chuckling gently): Oh, Jack. I already died once, remember? I'd just be all resurrected again, what would that accomplish? Have a lime LifeSaver and chill out.

JACK: DAMMIT!

JESUS: Cherry?

(JACK sees his opportunity for the hostage rescue and takes off, leaving Jesus.)

JESUS (calling after him): I wish you wouldn't carry a gun. Where's the love?

Sorry to Cut the Funeral Short, I'm Late for My Pre-Oscars Hair Appointment

I'm a list maker and a list reader by nature -- a sucker for a good top ten, checklist, or ranking order rundown. So despite satisfaction with my current job situation, I couldn't resist taking a peek at a U.S. News & World Report article about "The Best Jobs to Have in 2006."

Most of it was what I expected: various careers in the healthcare and technical fields, with little blurbs about why these positions were so attractive. But there came a point when I actually laughed out loud. Join me, won't you?

Clergy. Want the satisfaction of doing good? You'll routinely play a significant role in major life events such as birth, marriage, crisis, and death. Plus this career offers status, normally modest work hours, and often good salaries. You needn't necessarily have unquestioned faith in God. I've spoken with a number of clergy who have deep questions about the nature and even existence of a Supreme Being.

Now, I would think the clergy would hardly be a solid career choice for wealth-and-status-seeking atheists who have a yen for bulk leisure time and crave the spotlight and adoration afforded by playing "a significant role in major life events." But perhaps this is seriously the prevailing view. It would certainly explain NBC's anally fragrant new drama "The Book of Daniel" which, yes, I watched on purpose (stories for another time).

What say you, my friends out there in full-time ministry? How's that cushy 9 to 5 desk job and fancy uppercrust lifestyle treatin' ya?

Could it Be?

The same website that sells this t-shirt sells jester hats as well?

People, my birthday is coming.

Just When I Thought Christmas Was Over

What I Learned Over Christmas Vacation

1. The proper way to pick oranges: grab the orange, tip it up and away from you, and pull toward you (this ensures the little green star-shaped stem piece will remain on the orange, thus ensuring the orange will stay fresh longer)

2. My fallback career as an orange picker is shaky

3. Mom and Dad's big manly poodle is not as manly as my intact male Labrador (Shadow spent lots of time behind Dad, sitting down so as to prevent unauthorized sniffing perpetrated by Lomax)

4. Even if I did NOT take and hide the last piece of Dad's annual Christmas jigsaw puzzle, I will still be implicated

5. It doesn't matter how many times I try to replicate something Mom cooks, it will never taste as good as when she cooks it

The Dark Side of Christmas

My dog and I are headed to Fresno for a few days, to have Christmas with my parents, so I'm guessing there won't be much blogging until I get back. But let me leave you with an excellent article on "The Dark Side of Christmas." Here's just a bit:

...I say that many of the Defenders of Christmas have it almost as wrong as the secularists. Their vision of Christmas — centered on words, a rather generic baby, and nostalgic visions of families and fireplaces — actually gets no closer to the real Real Meaning of Christmas than do generic wishes for peace and joy in this holiday season.

What they forget, neglect or conveniently ignore is what we can not-too-dramatically call the Dark Side of Christmas.

The whole article is worth your time and contemplation.

Merry Christmas and many blessings to all of you.

Summon the Heston

Is anyone else freaked out by this?

Pointy Hats and All?

Yes, I know they were talking about the football team, a few members of which exhibited barbaric behavior on a recent mini-cruise...but come on. The Yahoo! News headline read:

Four Vikings Charged in Boat Party Scandal

They're vikings. Scandalous behavior at boat parties is what vikings do.

UPDATE: The humorless folks at Yahoo! News have since changed the headline to read "Four Viking Players." Wussies.

Christmas Comes Early

I've been having a tough time of it the last month or so. Struggling -- physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. It's not "the holidays" or their ensuing crush of activity-based madness, or any other such earthly thing. I'm having a tough time because I haven't been spending enough time with God -- time in prayer, time in the Word, really seeking Him and keeping up my end of the relationship. Observably, when my habits in these areas slip, everything else is quick to follow. I guess you could consider it a confession of sorts.

The insignificant things draw together to become the quicksand in which I find myself mired. I cannot see past these small things: minor inconveniences, frustrations and annoyances, temporary setbacks. I am disappointed in myself, confused about circumstances. I am focused on the wrongs, sometimes merely perceived wrongs. I might be frustrated with God, or wonder where He is in all of this as I flail and swat at these mosquitoes...if I were to stop for just a moment and think of Him at all.

I forget how big He is sometimes.

A friend of my roommate's visited us one evening last week as she was passing through town. She's more of an acquaintance to me; we worked together for a few months, but don't know each other deeply. There's something about my life that I didn't realize she knew.

My only brother was twelve years old when he put a gun to his head and ended his life, in a classroom after school on a Monday afternoon in February of 1988. I was fifteen. The things I could write about that day, or about the moment I knew what had happened before anyone told me, would fill more pages than you would ever want to read.

Apparently, this acquaintance of mine went to school with him; she didn't know him, but she obviously experienced what happened. And she had a difficult life back then, was struggling with suicidal tendencies herself. What stopped her, she said to my roommate last week, was my brother. She saw how his death affected everyone else, and she decided to live.

To me there is a significant difference between acts ordained by God and acts allowed by God, though sometimes it's difficult for temporal beings like we are, limited in the scope of our knowledge, to accurately judge which situation applies. We could talk forever about what's called in Christian theology "The Problem of Evil," and there are some who will refuse to be consoled and in bitterness rail against God for allowing us to bleed and die and hurt each other and ourselves. It's a conversation for another time, too much to go into here.

There are things He knows that we do not, cannot, know. He is the God who takes what was meant for evil -- though His very heart breaks at the evil we have chosen -- and purposes it for good, bringing beautiful, mysterious redemption out of blood and sorrow.

I remember how big He is sometimes.

Another Postage Increase

Not sure I like the new stamps.

Joyful Noise

I went to a terrific concert Sunday night. If you don't know the band Kepano Green, you should.

The cool thing is, I had thought they were broken up for good. I was listening to a CD I've had forever, and I wondered if I could still get any more of their music, so I did a Web search. Lo and behold, as they say...I found out they were playing locally. God bless Google, yet again.

One of the guys commented during the show that he spent his childhood singing and playing guitar and piano, and that he was amazed and grateful to have an audience come to hear him on purpose. I have often said about Neil Finn that I would happily pay him just to call me up and sing to me every night, and I wouldn't be sad if these guys did that either.

Listen to a few of their songs on their myspace page -- "Believe" is fantastic, and so is "Benediction." Then go to the Kepano Green website to look for concerts and buy CDs, or download their latest CD, Valley Drive, from iTunes.

...And Things That Make Me Feel Better

There was a kid in my third grade class named Michael Moore. Sometimes I wonder where he is today, and whether he's happy or sad about sharing a name with this man.

(Hat Tip for this link goes out to mad genius Doug TenNapel).

Things That Suck

1. Vacuum cleaners
2. Nursing infants
3. Chest wounds
4. This

The Rose Bowl is coming, and Texas is my new favorite team. Hook 'em, HORNS!!!

Special By Any Other Name

I was so moved today by this Kathryn Jean Lopez article on Down Syndrome, I wrote her an e-mail. Then I thought I should share a portion of it with you:

I have served as a volunteer with Best Buddies and Special Olympics, as well as several more organizations that serve a variety of other "special needs" people, and I cannot overemphasize the impact this has had on my character and outlook on life.

Never have I been more quickly and powerfully moved to tears of joy than on the day I watched a wheelchair bound, multiply disabled young man perform a brief rhythmic gymnastics routine that consisted of about fifteen seconds of barely perceptible arm movement. It was obviously an arduous task, and it was painful to observe. The moment the music stopped, signifying the end of his routine, a tiny teammate -- a little girl with Down Syndrome who was probably no more than six or seven years old -- leapt up from her seat and ran full speed across the gymnasium floor to fling herself upon him and shower him with hugs and kisses. The cheers were muted only by spectators' vain attempts at stifling their own sniffles and sobs. The memory of the pure, simple beauty of this moment still makes me cry, years later.

Down Syndrome kids are the living embodiment of unbridled honesty. If they're happy, you will know. If they're hurting, you will know. If they love you -- and I have met very few who don't pour out their enthusiastic love and affection on everyone without condition or expectation -- you will know.

Special needs people serve a very important purpose in this world, whether or not they are considered to be so-called "productive members" of society. As a Christian, I say they are created in the image of God and therefore inherently valuable, but even those who do not share my worldview should be able to recognize the value they bring to our lives. I am humbled and brought into the correct perspective when interacting with a guileless Down Syndrome child (or adult) who has no hidden agenda, no selfish motive or manipulative angle in conversation. I am reminded of the importance of joy. I am motivated to seek clarity, to reprioritize, to love everyone in equal measure.

I pity the "normal people" who have never experienced this conviction of the conscience, and I mourn the loss of the many thousands of sweet souls who will never have the opportunity to bless and correct and encourage us in this way.

If you got all the way to the end of this post without reading the Lopez article, here's another chance.

Lattes of Love

During the holiday season, everyone seems to make demands of our time and money. There are gifts to buy, cookies to bake, homes to decorate and parties to attend. Since Christmastime is also thought of as a season for giving, many charitable organizations pass the hat as well. (My favorite solicit-by-mail tactic is what Amy and I refer to as the "guilt labels" -- "Please accept these pre-printed address labels with your name and an adorable graphic, as a FREE gift from us...but it would be really nice of you to use one on the included donation envelope!")

I'm the first to admit that sometimes it's all too much. I love Christmas, but I'm exhausted already, and it's not even December.

But as it turns out, even I have a pitch to make (this is what happens when you work at a nonprofit). Are you grateful that you've been blessed with good health this year? Do you like kids? Do the baristas at your local Starbucks actually start making your regular custom beverage the minute they see your car pull up in front of the store? Then consider the Starbucks Joy Drive.

It doesn't take much money or effort to drop a little toy in the donation bin while you're waiting in line for that gingerbread latte, but it will bring a huge smile to the face of a seriously ill child who will be spending Christmas in a hospital bed.

Thank Whom?

In between the Macy's parade and the football game, the drumstick and the nap, the pumpkin pie and the late-night turkey sandwich, think about this:

The essence of sin is misguided gratitude, not ingratitude. As dependent creatures we all, by nature, thank somebody or something (usually ourselves!) for what we experience and achieve. And the ultimate object of our gratitude becomes the object of our worship. In turn, the object of our gratitude becomes the object of our service, since we inevitably serve whatever or whomever we think will meet our needs (see Matthew 6:24). (...)

Idolatry, whether ancient or modern, is thus the futile attempt to look for our lives to anyone or anything other than the one true Creator and Provider. Whom do I thank when things go well? To whom do I look when things go badly? What is my source of security? Where do I gain my sense of worth in the world? What am I striving to achieve in life, and why? The answers to questions like these will help determine whether we are honouring God as God or whether we are idolaters. (...)

Citation: Scott J. Hafemann, The God of Promise and the Life of Faith (Crossway, 2001)

When you are thankful today, extend the thought far enough to ask exactly to whom you are giving thanks, and whom (or what) you are worshiping and serving.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow! Pause this day and thank Him for your very life; marvel that the Creator and Sustainer of all things would reach out in love to His fallen creatures, would allow you to draw the breath you did just now.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. And please say a prayer for my friend Benjamin and all our other military men and women who are far from home this holiday season.

Songs from the Soundtrack of My Life

When I was growing up in Fresno, one of the signature sounds of summer was the neighborhood ice cream truck. I could hear it coming around the corner to the tune of "Little Brown Jug," the lyrics of which I've never really thought about until just now:

My wife and I lived all alone,
In a little log hut we called our own;
She loved gin and I loved rum,
I tell you what, we’d lots of fun.

Chorus:
Ha, ha, ha, you and me,
Little Brown Jug don’t I love thee;
Ha, ha, ha, you and me,
Little Brown Jug don’t I love thee.

If all the folks in Adam’s race,
Were gathered together in one place;
Then I’d prepare to shed a tear,
Before I’d part from you, my dear.

(Chorus)

’Tis you who makes my friends my foes,
’Tis you who makes me wear old clothes;
Here you are, so near my nose,
So tip her up, and down she goes.

(Chorus)

If I’d a cow that gave such milk,
I’d clothe her in the finest silk;
I’d feed her on the choicest hay,
And milk her forty times a day.

(Chorus)

When I go toiling to my farm,
I take little Brown Jug under my arm;
I place it under a shady tree,
Little Brown Jug, ’tis you and me.

(Chorus)

The rose is red, my nose is, too,
The violet’s blue, and so are you;
And yet I guess before I stop
We’d better take another drop.

(Chorus)

"Hey, kids! You're too young to get liquored up like the guy in the song, but it's never too early to start on obesity! Come on out & getcha some ice cream!"

Then I moved to Los Angeles. Ice cream trucks I encounter here always seem to play "Brahms Lullaby." Now, L.A. can be a dangerous city; maybe the ice cream man feels the need to gently sedate the gun-totin' tykes, to lull them into a zombie-like stupor just before providing them with sugar and speeding away.

Now I'm working in West L.A., and almost every day I hear an approaching taco truck, headed to nearby construction sites for the benefit of hungry, hard working men with hammers, who are probably building overpriced condos. I'm always tempted to eat at a taco truck because everything smells good and I love Mexican food. But the horn on this one plays "La Cucaracha," which is either irony or truth in advertising, and that's a dangerous game indeed.

Animated

THIS is the coolest Web toy ever! Go now! Go! GO!!!

Don't Drink and Dork

(AKA "Overheard at a Bar Near the San Diego Convention Center")

* Didn't I see you on the cover of Anime Babe Monthly?
* You're hotter than a Tatooine summer.
* I have kung fu grip, baby.
* So, I have an extra ticket to the Comic Con....
* I just want a woman who understands me. I mean that -- do you know binary?
* Do you play Halo, or just wear one?
* Let's go back to my ship.
* Wanna see my favorite action figure?
* Do you have a little Hobbit in you? Would you like to?
* That's a pretty name...may I "google" you?
* Want to help me with my social skills?
* Stick with me, baby, and I'll take you places no woman has ever been. Like my apartment.
* Ouch! You're +12 versus my heart protector shield.

More Good Neighbors in the Cyberhood

Have you guys met my friend (and occasional commenter on this blog) James? He's a rocket engineer, a dad, and a beagle owner, which means he enjoys a challenge. I like and respect him despite his having gone to USC, and I think you'll enjoy his new blog.

Save the Date...?

Sorry about this next line. You'll understand why as soon as you click.

Calling all "train buffs!"

Double Take

So I'm entering data onto this spreadsheet at work, and I glance at the "contact information" field to see this:

Jesus, Facilities Mgmt.

Then after a quick chuckle, I think to myself, "No, really. He kinda is."

Quote of the Day

From my phone conversation with a smarmy representative from the two-bit management company that has taken over our apartment building, on why we should give them a copy of our apartment key:

"It's not like we'll be using it willy-nilly...just in case of an emergency. You know, like if there's water running down the walls or something."

Which, by the way, it does EVERY TIME IT RAINS. Ready for the kicker? Here it is:

"We'd hate to have to break down the door and then charge you for it."

Word

He is rizzle, indeed.

Think I'll...Pass

Subject line from this week's Ticketmaster update e-mail:

"Don't Miss Urinetown"

Come on now. That's just too easy.

Put on a Happy Face

Or put on a scary face. You decide; you're the master pumpkin carver.

Keep America Beautiful, Jerk

Oh, good sir in your shiny white Ford Explorer, California license plate number 2ZMJ954, I saw you roll down your driver side window and drop that wadded up napkin and flaccid banana peel onto 83rd Street as you and I were waiting in the left turn lane on our way to our respective jobs at 9:00 this morning.

I desperately hope that one of our many thousands of daredevil neighborhood squirrels picks up the banana peel and somehow makes its way back to your overpriced single-family dwelling, to deposit it in some crevice, some out-of-the-way place where the peel will rot and stink and attract many other vermin who will then gleefully take advantage of your unintended hospitality.

I also hope you breathe a little sigh of relief that California doesn't have a litterbug hotline, like Pennsylvania does, because yes -- oh, yes -- I would have called to report you. Really. I called the only litter reporting number I could find (1-800-TELL-CHP), but fortunately for you it was a non-highway issue out of their jurisdiction.

Fun fact of the day, from the California Penal Code:

42001.7. (a) Every person convicted of a violation of Section 23111 or 23112, or subdivision (a) of Section 23113, shall be punished by a mandatory fine of not less than one hundred dollars ($100) nor more than one thousand dollars ($1,000) upon a first conviction, by a mandatory fine of not less than five hundred dollars ($500) nor more than one thousand dollars ($1,000) upon a second conviction, and by a mandatory fine of not less than seven hundred fifty dollars ($750) nor more than one thousand dollars ($1,000) upon a third or subsequent conviction.

Know this, o soiler of my beautiful neighborhood: I will keep my eyes peeled like that banana for you, and perhaps next time I will follow you to the freeway with my finger on the "send" button of my cell phone.

Millionaire Jenny

It's always encouraging to hear there's another valuable Jenny who's treasured and popular precisely because she's got a little something amiss.

Born in the Wrong Century?

While poking around the Web looking for more information on the old Getty Villa (the Malibu facility, which houses my favorite parts of the Getty collection, will finally re-open in 2006 after a long and costly renovation), I stumbled upon the beautiful little sampler you see at left.

It's a piece made by Rebekah S. Munro in Rhode Island in the early 1790s, and this is what's sewn into it:

"With Sheba's queen ye american fair
To adorn your mind bend all your care
[How blest the maid] whom circling years improve
Her GOD the object of her warmest love
Whose useful hours successive as they glide
The Book the Needle and the Pen divide
Who sees her Parents Heart exult with joy
And the fond tear stand sparkling in their eye"

What also struck me was the description on the Met Museum site:

"This sampler is in a slightly later style associated with Miss Balch's school. The formal archway in Mary Munro's sampler has been replaced by a gently meandering border (1984.331.12). Both girls used the motto that encourages young women to adorn their minds. Rebekah's verse goes on to say that a young woman should divide her time between reading, sewing, and writing, an indication that by the end of the eighteenth century, some families considered intellectual pursuits as important as sewing."

My first thought was, "How much would I love to divide my time between reading, sewing, and writing?"

Sure, there was no indoor plumbing back then, no e-mail, no accessible Mexican food, and I'd probably have died in childbirth at the age of 25 with the delivery of my seventh or eighth kid, but still. Reading, sewing, writing. Pretty sweet deal.

I'll Take "Things That Are Wrong" for $500, Alex

I was shopping for a new shower head at Home Depot, scanning the massive shelf of products for the fixture that satisified just the right combination of "I am broke" and "I need to bathe the dog, in my bathroom, without incident." It was overwhelming because there were so many choices, and because I had the dog with me and was trying to do things quickly and pay attention to him and pick up everything I needed to look at with my one free hand.

But this post is not about the dog. Oh, no.

I saw a box for a product on that aisle, right there among the shower heads, that made me laugh out loud in the middle of everyone and everything. But distracted as I was, and lacking the time to pick up the box and look at it, I just chose my fine mid-range-price lifetime-warranty Delta fixture ("Great for washing pets!" Am I a sucker for the marketing or what?), and headed home with my head full of "Hope this works."

Two weeks later, I flashed back to that product on the shelf and doubted my lucidity at the time. Did I really see what I thought I saw? Was that really the name of the product? Am I remembering this right? I couldn't be sure. So, like anyone of my generation would, I consulted the great and powerful Google.

And yes. Oh, yes, there it was.

Brother Can You Spare a Pint?

I cried because I had no spoon.
But then I met a man who had no ice cream.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye! The Dog Blog Begins!

It's time to make the official announcement that I have my dog...and he has a blog.

Well, okay. I'm the one who has the blog, technically, since his lack of opposable thumbs prevents him from doing much typing. But it's about him, and it's about my journey as a puppy raiser for Guide Dogs of America. I waited a while for this unveiling so I could put up 20 posts or so full of content and photos to mollify those of you who've been...er, hounding me...for new stuff. I recommend starting with the archives (October 2004) and reading your way forward. Meanwhile, this blog will remain in existence for non-dog-related thoughts and writings.

So check it out! Foolishly, I've put a title on it that's different from the actual URL, which will no doubt make it difficult to remember. But we'll all just have to live with it for now. Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you: To Tame the Wild Beastie.

Watch This Space

I know I've been lax in posting. I know. Here's why....

Coming soon: an additional blog, chock full o' fabulous facts and anecdotes (and photos!) related to my puppy raising for Guide Dogs of America. I've been working on it for the last week, copying dog-themed posts from this blog to that one, tweaking the details, filling in the blanks, dealing with photos, etc.

And it's all because I got my puppy today.

Lomax is snoozing at my feet, all tuckered out from a long day of freeways and baths and playtime and being adored. I am all tuckered out from good old-fashioned not getting enough sleep -- a trend which, unfortunately, is continuing tonight.

I'll announce and link to the dog blog when it's ready. Meanwhile, please enjoy this fine website, which should meet or exceed your humor expectations. (Check out "Last Wish of a Dying Man!")

Avast, Ye Scurvy Scoundrels!

Landlubbers, today be International Talk Like a Pirate Day, so enjoy -- but mind yerselves and keep to the code, because dead men tell no tales.

And because I be a stout-hearted wench, I provide this booty for everyone.

Properly warned ye be, says I!

Habemus PUPam!

Those of you who are regular readers know that I've volunteered with a Guide Dogs of America puppy raising group for more than two years now. For a variety of reasons, I've only been able to act as a "relief sitter" up to this point, rather than raising a dog for the full 16-month commitment. My status recently changed and I've been waiting for my own dog....

I thought I would be receiving an 8-week-old puppy at some point before Christmas, but as it turns out, God has other joyous, important plans for me in my favorite area of community service. This new task will be a sacrifice for me in some ways, but a great joy in other ways. For one thing, the dog I'm getting is already old enough to be well behaved in most public places and will therefore make the already busy holiday season less stressful than would a curious sharp-toothed destruction machine with a tiny bladder.

Also, this gives me an opportunity to serve another person who is probably heartbroken about having to give up her dog sooner than she expected.

Today I am ecstatic to announce that sometime in the next couple of weeks, I will be taking over puppy raising duties from another terrific volunteer who unfortunately cannot complete the commitment. My new charge -- and soon-to-be extension of my left arm, as it were -- is a year-old male Yellow Labrador Retriever named Lomax.

Best Morning Show Ever

I've become quite the fan of radio station Indie 103.1, and especially of its weekday morning show, "The Mighty Morning Show" with Dicky Barrett (of The Mighty Mighty Bosstones). Dicky's got a terrific radio voice, a charming Boston accent, a talent for interviewing fellow musicians and a genuine appreciation for fans of the show.

This is not your mom's radio morning show, of course. Dicky plays a goodly amount of punk and ska and other young whippersnapper fare. Each week, he promotes "Tattoosday" ("Tattuesday?"), in which local tattoo artists come to the studio and work on someone during the show; you can hear the needles buzzing during the course of interviews and traffic reports. And yes, the conversation occasionally turns to unsavory topics...but I'm finding that since the focus is on the music and musicians, and NOT on simply being shocking or juvenile or making fun of the listeners, it's not as prevalent or just plain nasty as on other pop/rock/dance music stations.

The best part is, you just never know what you're going to hear in terms of the music. For an "indie" station that's actually owned by a large communications company, the station does a great job of allowing the jocks to do their thing, which keeps things eclectic. Yesterday as I was lamenting my crawl to work in obnoxious and seemingly causeless traffic on Lincoln Boulevard, Dicky played a cut from the new Go Betty Go album called "I'm From L.A." -- the lyrics made me laugh:

They say I'm lazy
I'm always late
Full of excuses
I'm from L.A.

Today, just because it's his best friend Mickey's birthday, Dicky ignored the groans of his co-workers and played a Spanish version of Toni Basil's "Mickey":

Oh, Mickey, como estas?
Como estas? Me gustas mas!
Ey Mickey! Ey Mickey!

Despite the fact that this is now stuck in my head, it was brilliant. Started my day off just right.

25 Years and Counting

This month marks the 25th anniversary of my introduction to Amy, who has been graciously tolerating my sarcastic ways and willingly participating with me in random acts of geekiness since the third grade.

Many of you who know us well have had this experience with us at least once.

In lieu of something silver, which despite being the traditional "25th anniversary" gift would do significant damage to our crusade to convince people that there are indeed some fine heterosexual 30-something single women living as roommates in Los Angeles (also in lieu of a "Jenny & Amy: Neither Spinsters Nor Lesbians for Over 25 Years!" t-shirt), I have decided to post this brief tribute:

Thanks, Aim, for your many years of matchless and indescribably important friendship, which along with the grace of God has sustained me through many a difficult time. You are the best human being (who is not also fully divine) that I have ever known.

Also, nobody beats us as a comedy team.

Important Things Past, Present and Future

I realize I've been a bit lax in posting recently; some of you have even brought it to my attention. I've been meaning to put something up here for several days now, but a promise to be more prolific soon -- and sure, maybe funnier -- will have to suffice.

Today being September 11th, I'd like to encourage you to spend some time in reflection. A terrorist attack killed many people four years ago today. Just within the last few weeks, many more have lost lives due to natural disaster, and some of you also know that a member of the church I used to attend just lost her husband in an unrelated circumstance of personal tragedy.

Between moments of contentedness, between appreciating and enjoying the season of wonderful gifts you have been given, these are the times to contemplate the truly important things. Who are you, really? Why are you here? And what will it mean to anyone once you and every physical trace of your life have been wiped from the earth?

If it seems I'm hammering on these themes lately, all I can say in my own defense is that it's been a sobering, contemplative couple of weeks. The proud accomplishments of humankind are all too easily demolished, and even the memory of a great man or a horrific incident dissolves into a fine filtered mist as the years pass. Where there is such thing as permanence, as lasting legacy, the wise will seek and cling to it with all great hope and finally satisfied yearning.

Web Searches That Apparently Will Lead You to My Blog

Unemployed agency
The Jester Agency
jenny 8675309
fatalbert
MonsterCard
benefits of volunteerism (this person was searching from the Philippines!)
southern california Morris minor
photophobes
catholic tough love

(and my personal favorite):

impractical cowboy boots

Da Return of Da Vinci

Not to take away from this weekend's "Blog for Relief" efforts, but I felt the need to post.... Tell you what: why don't you go donate some money, then come back? I promise the following post will still be here when you return.

****

I've blogged on this before...but wait! There's more!

Dan Brown's novel The DaVinci Code is a bestselling work of fiction. Unfortunately, many who lack an education in the history of the church and the historicity of New Testament events (or even an education in what the Bible itself says) are taking Brown's book as fact, and conspiratorial fact at that.

My fellow blogger Tyler has penned two excellent posts, which contain not only a fair-minded review of the writing, but also responses to several of Brown's claims. If you have read the book, and are wondering where lies the fiction/nonfiction overlap on Brown's take on historical events, these posts are well worth your time.

The first post contains discussions on Christology and Gnosticism, and the second deals with the sacred feminine, Judaism, and other concerns.

Blog For Relief Day (UPDATE: Blog For Relief WEEKEND!)

Today has been designated Blog For Relief Day. Join me in supporting the relief effort, and if you have a blog -- especially one with high-volume traffic -- check out the Blog For Relief Day site.

When you donate, if you'd like to have your donation amount added to the grand total tally for Blog for Relief Day (or say that my blog sent you), record the information here. Get the update on how much money bloggers have raised so far.

My charity of choice is Feed The Children, where every dollar you send enables delivery of seven pounds of already-donated relief supplies (water, "MRE" meals ready to eat, diapers, infant formula, etc.) to families who have been displaced by Hurricane Katrina. Feed the Children has been given the highest rating by Charity Navigator, and has excellent accountability (read: you know your money is going where it should go).

Some other organizations -- many of which are listed here at Instapundit -- you may consider:

The Salvation Army: My dad always says they're the one organization that really provided for him and his fellow soldiers in Vietnam. This is a great organization with a long history of service.

Samaritan's Purse: An international Christian relief organization. They're already mobilizing in Mobile, Alabama to bring supplies and volunteers for physical and spiritual comfort. They're helping to rebuild homes in Mobile, and will move westward into Mississippi and Louisiana as soon as it's possible to do so.

Soldiers' Angels Katrina Relief Fund: Included in the ranks of Katrina's victims are the family members of our soldiers serving overseas, many of whom will be returning home in the next few weeks to find that their families have been displaced and their homes and businesses destroyed. This fund is helping the soldiers' families to obtain essential needs, as well as working to provide information to deployed soldiers concerning their loved ones' whereabouts.

The Search Dog Foundation: The mission of the Search Dog Foundation is to produce the most highly trained canine disaster search teams in the nation. The job of these teams is to find people buried alive in the wreckage of natural disasters and terrorist attacks.

Many lives have been lost, many people have been left without hope, and we who were not directly affected by the hurricane have a responsibility to reach out and provide what we can. Deny yourself a luxury this week in order to save lives and bring comfort.

(Almost forgot: Hat Tip to Timbo for bringing the coordinated blog relief effort to my attention.)

Flood For Thought

Recently I've been reading through the book of Luke; the last passage I read was over the weekend, and it was eerily timely. These are the words of Jesus Christ:

"Why do you call me 'Lord, Lord,' and not do what I tell you? Everyone who comes to me and hears my words and does them, I will show you what he is like: he is like a man building a house, who dug deep and laid the foundation on the rock. And when a flood arose, the stream broke against that house and could not shake it, because it had been well built. But the one who hears and does not do them is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. When the stream broke against it, immediately it fell, and the ruin of that house was great."

(Luke 6:46-49, ESV)

This week, the ruin of the Gulf Coast is great. Stories pour into the media consciousness minute by minute, depicting what can rightly be considered the basest of human behavior: looting, carjacking, prison riots and hostage situations, shots fired at police officers trapped on a rooftop. The entire region is in chaos, and I haven't yet heard anyone express surprise.

I've been seeing reprints of disturbing, long-ago-published news articles and scientific caveats that forewarned of the situation in which New Orleans is currently (and literally) mired. "You live below sea level, surrounded by water. When the hurricane hits -- and it is a question of when, not if -- there will be nothing you can do."

People chose to ignore the warnings. Understandably so, if you consider the charm and uniqueness of the city's culture and history, coupled with passing decades free of incident. Still, there was awareness in the background: New Orleans is a city of above-ground mausoleums because the water table is simply too high to allow below-ground burial of the dead. And now, tragically, many houses of the living have also become houses of the dead. No one yet knows how many desperate souls have perished, trapped inside the homes they could not or would not leave.

It's a cautionary tale for those of us who deem ourselves immune to disaster. Floods, tangible or metaphorical, will come. Devastation will come. Destruction and despair and desperation will come. This, too, is a "when, not if" matter.

In the above passage, Jesus was not warning people to build a literal foundation for their literal dwelling place. He was not warning them to live somewhere else in a physical sense. For as we have seen, even a strong physical foundation won't necessarily save a building in a hurricane, and even people who move to avoid hurricanes may face other destructive natural forces.

Instead, Jesus' admonition, His forewarning and exhortation, is this: build your life on the only foundation capable of withstanding the worst thing that you will ever face. So what is that?

Maybe you will lose your job, or your house, or your loved one, or your health. Maybe you will lose your entire community. Maybe your entire city, your culture, your way of life. Can dependence on Christ and the true inner peace He brings help you through these earthly trials? Absolutely. But to say only that, I think, would be missing the point.

Because someday, you will also lose your life.

It might not be in a hurricane. It might not be tomorrow. You might be one of those fortunate people -- and there will be some -- who will live out the rest of your existence in comfort and privilege, never in need or even in want, seamlessly transitioning from stage to stage of life until you die peacefully in your sleep.

Then what?

Two doors. The first door is wide open and welcoming, and scores of good, charitable, generous, loving, kind, gentle, community-serving, justice-seeking, churchgoing people will pass through the portal to live an eternal life marked by the common denominator they shared on Earth: a rejection of God, His precepts, and His mercy. The other door is locked, the only key being acknowledgment and acceptance of the gift God offered, which is the humbling forgiveness (through Jesus Christ) of everything bad or wrong you've ever done, a slate-wiping grace. The thing is, at this point, you will have already chosen your door. It's the point of no return. What's behind door number one isn't as pretty as things are here in this life, and forever is a long, long time.

I know some of you who read this blog don't agree with me, don't believe as I do in the claims of Christ. That's your decision, the outcome of which doesn't mean I'll love you any more or any less. You can say I'm full of it, a fool, that I have no good reason to believe these things or to present them to you in this manner. You can say you don't need God. You can even say you don't believe in Him at all.

Just don't say He didn't warn you.

Thinking? Different.

My Powerbook (little Gordon, as he is affectionately known) has been getting really hot lately, just above the keyboard, near all the little ports in the back.

It's not a battery problem, not part of Apple's recent battery recall. I'm not doing anything that's different from my usual routine. So I called Apple Care and talked to some tech guys, who -- after about thirty minutes on the phone with me -- recommended I take the computer to an authorized Apple service provider. "Here's your case number. Have a technician measure its heat output to make sure it's within recommended limits."

Fortunately, we live near an Apple retail store, which has a "Genius Bar." You make a reservation, you take your computer in, you sit at the bar and have a chat with an alleged genius.

My genius was nice, and quite complimentary. "You've kept this in great condition," he said, as though he were accustomed to serving vast unwashed masses of "creatives" who belly up to the Genius Bar with expensive laptops coated in nicotene residue and Jackson Pollack inspired splashes of four-dollar nonfat organic latte.

After we let Gordon run and play for a few minutes, my dear little genius took him to The Back of The Store to talk to some of The Other Tech Guys. Verdict?

"I've never owned this model, but I knew a few of The Other Tech Guys In The Back have. They said theirs always got really hot, too -- sometimes so hot you couldn't touch the power button. This one's a little warm, but there's nothing technically wrong with it that we can fix."

Mmkay. So I asked him if there's anything specific I should be on the lookout for. His genius answer:

"Smoke."

Oh, well. At least when everything catches fire, it'll still be under warranty.

If My Friends Were Medical Conditions

The Timbola Virus
Scamies
Parallison
RonorrTina
Brian tumor
Paulera
Johndice
Irritable Bill Syndrome

"How, o how (on Earth), did I miss -- completely miss -- THIS?!?"

Alas, the official celebration has passed; I missed it by a couple of days. That won't stop me from putting it on my calendar for next year.

For me, every day is Punctuation Day. And I may buy a t-shirt to prove it.

Jesus Plus Elvis Equals...?

I'm amazed at the kind of things that get by me, sometimes. This is old news, I suppose, but anything that brings me a hearty laugh is usually worth passing along, even if you've already heard about it.

Here's a brief quote from a 2003 USA Today article on the Rev. Dorian Baxter of Toronto's Christ the King, Graceland Anglican Independent Church of Canada:

"The church doesn't have official status, so contributions are not tax-deductible — at least not yet. But how many other services include Elvis gospel tunes or a rendition of Blue Suede Shoes with the lyrics 'Well, it's one for the Father, two for the Son, three for the Holy Spirit, and your life has just begun. You can do anything but don't turn Jesus away?'"

There's a "Jesus has left the building" joke in here somewhere, but I should really get back to work.

Have You Read The DaVinci Code?

Unfortunately, I haven't yet read it myself...it's perpetually on my list of get-around-to's.

At any rate, there's an excellent post on Tyler's blog today that's worth reading whether or not you've finished the novel. Those of us who are not theologians or seminary students will appreciate Tyler's articulate treatment of the differences between documented history and Dan Brown's misunderstanding of the significant early church events upon which he has based his work of fiction.

It's a fair review/critique, taking into account both the strengths and weaknesses of the book. Rock on, Tyler, and happy reading!

CyberGardening

I stumbled across this lovely little time waster today. Who knows what the site's real agenda is (it's sponsored by GE), but it's fun. Make some flowers grow!

(Hint: try some fun words like "dazzle" and "bees"....)

You Tell 'Em, Josiah

I have seen this poem under two different titles: one, the first four words of the first line, and the preferable other, which I'll use here...

WANTED

God, give us Men! A time like this demands
Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands;
Men whom the lust of office does not kill;
Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;
Men who possess opinions and a will;
Men who have honor;
Men who will not lie;
Men who can stand before a demagogue
And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking!
Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog
In public duty and in private thinking;
For while the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds,
Their large professions and their little deeds,
Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps,
Wrong rules the land and waiting justice sleeps.

Josiah Gilbert Holland (1819-1881)

Shock and Awe

I have finally taken a moment to figure out where to put the code necessary for blogrolling. Please hold your commentary regarding my barely-contained Luddite ways. But please do visit some links over there on the right-hand side! Comment on my friends' blogs, donate time or money to my favorite organizations, and take your business to my friends at New Deal Studios and Goldstar Events, so they may become wealthy and prosperous and remember me in their respective wills.

Everybody's Somebody

The city block between parking and the office is usually a cheerful walk, owing to the many garden centers and nurseries in full bloom that scent the air and color the space between my commute and my workday. Some days, like today, it's even better than pleasant.

This morning I was overtaken by the scuttling figure of a small elderly man, folded over and clutching a brown suede bag to his chest. The bag had fringe, cowboy-style, and since I did not catch a glimpse of him until he had run past me, I wasn't even certain at first whether it was a man at all. White turtleneck, black velour pants. A man in black velour pants?

A parking meter was his destination. What caught my eye, though, was the unusual vehicle in the spot; despite having grown up in the culture of the classic car clubs of Fresno, I had never seen one of these before. I slowed my pace to look at it.

And the man (yes, man, I could now see, though the suede bag was still puzzling) noticed my admiration. "You like the car?"

"It's beautiful," I said. And the car was beautiful, in a diamond-in-the-rough sense that I knew my dad would appreciate. It was a little beat up. Original paint for sure. Kind of a greenish...brownish...gray.

"1959 Morris Minor."

"Morris? Wow. I've never even heard of that."

"Oh, yeah," he began, suddenly very much in my personal space and very excited to brag about his baby. "Morris Minor. I like it because it sounds Jewish, and I'm Jewish. Great car. Drives like a dream. I had a Mercedes once -- you didn't drive the car, the car drove you. But this one, you have to shift. Drives beautifully. You wanna take it for a spin?"

I laughed.

"Just kidding, sweetheart. You remember 'Bonanza?'"

"Sure."

"You remember Hoss?"

"Yep."

"He sold me this car. Fifteen years ago, I bought it for $1,800. The next day, a woman offered me $5,000 and I said no. You know what this car is worth today?"

"How much?" I grinned, smelling Hollywood.

"Twenty-five thousand."

After a brief tour of the car -- he pointed out the "Morris" on the front and the "Minor" on the side, and opened the passenger side door to show me that he was in the process of restoring the interior -- he seemed to remember that he had run out here to feed the meter. The quarters plunked in for an extra thirty minutes, which I feared might be spent with my head under the hood of the Hossmobile.

He asked, "Are you just coming from the doctor's office?"

"Um, no." (Do I look sick?) "I'm on my way to work."

"Well, have a nice day. Thanks for asking about the car."

"Thank you for showing me the car!"

I was a few steps away, when I heard, "Oh, wait!"

The man crossed my way, becoming all personal-spacey again, and extended his hand. "Andre Philippe."

"Nice to mee--"

"Ever heard of IMDB?" He still had a grip on my hand.

"Absolu--"

"Andre Philippe. I'm directing my first feature film."

I'm incredibly sorry to say that I didn't catch the title, because he then released my hand and used his index finger to point one by one to the knuckles on his other hand, simultaneously listing a cavalcade of celebrities who are starring in his magnum opus. Unfortunately, the only two I remember as of this writing are Mel Brooks and Nicole Kidman.

And, of course, Andre Philippe himself.

Great Day Already

I woke up this morning to a nice quiet apartment, the promise of a whole day to myself, and a pleasant surprise -- an e-mail from my adopted soldier.

As you guys are praying for our country during this time of war -- *ahem*, you fellow Christians ARE doing that, right? -- please remember Benjamin, who is in Afghanistan.

For Everything Else, There's MonsterCard

Luke Skywalker's lightsaber: $60,000.00
Greedo's left hand: $1,500.00
Darth Vader's prosthetic scars: $3,000.00
The fact that I am not married to a man who would purchase these things and wear them in public: priceless

Okay, fine, I admit it. There were things I thought were nifty, too. Lots of iconic big-ticket items to be had, from Gone With the Wind to Marilyn Monroe to M*A*S*H. (And here's a little something for Timbo....)

If you've got some spare change, check out the whole memorabilia auction!

I Love My Job

Those of you who know me well might read the title of this post and expect sarcasm. And of course, you'd usually be right.

But seriously, I love my job.

What I do isn't glamorous, and it doesn't even make use of most of my gifts, talents and abilities. I do a lot of grunt work -- data entry, mailings, some very tedious projects. It's kind of my "tent-making" job, to be honest, just something that will pay my bills while I'm pursuing the other things I love to do. But sometimes, in the course of completing my daily tasks, I will have contact with a client or potential client, a mom or dad of a seriously ill child.

Today I talked to a woman -- a single woman! -- in Indiana who has fostered more than 230 of what we would call "special needs" children, most of whom were abused. Among the eleven kids (ages 8 to 21) who are currently living with her full-time, there are 53 disabilities, ranging from Autism to traumatic brain injury to mild mental retardation to anxiety disorders to seizure disorders to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (as a result of sexual abuse).

She spent the first nine years of her life physically disabled, and has undergone seven surgeries (one of them recently) for life-threatening conditions. You'd think that being single would be enough. You'd think that having serious health problems herself would be enough. You'd think that fostering 230 children over her lifetime would be enough. Apparently not.

She has adopted these eleven children, and home schools all of them. Two of them just graduated from high school and are going to college in the fall.

She apologized for not having a pen handy when I called to give her the phone number for her local chapter of our organization...she's at a Salvation Army summer camp this week with all her kids (apparently being a mom to eleven kids at home isn't even enough!). She told me my phone call was timely, because she was just in the middle of telling people how good God is and how He always provides.

Her voice bled physical exhaustion but spiritual joy. I heard her smile. "I'm grateful to be alive and doing the work of the Lord," she said.

Houndsight

On my way out to the parking lot after lunch with some friends today, I noticed a man sitting at an outside table. There were two beautiful dogs tied to the wrought iron fence near him. Of course, being the dog lover I am, I wanted to give them a friendly scratch-behind-the-ears hello. And being the puppy raiser I am, I know it's only appropriate to do so after having asked permission. There were a few other people sitting outside, so I wanted to make sure I was asking the right person.

"Do they belong to you?" I inquired, smiling.

"They belong to themselves."

(Gosh! I wonder why this guy was sitting all alone?)

What I said, smiling politely and making a joke: "I meant, 'Are they here with you?'"

What I SHOULD HAVE said, smiling politely and absolutely serious: "Oh! Then you won't mind if I untie them, fling their collars and tags into the trash can, buy them a taco and invite them to live with me."

Something Old, Something New, Something Disney, Something Snoop

I love, love, LOVE living in Los Angeles. Because you just never know what you're going to see as you're driving home from...well, okay, this super-nifty Harry Potter store, which is entirely off-topic and should really be a whole 'nother blog post. But don't let my own brand of merry freakitude imply that I'm being hypocritical. What Amy and I saw on Saturday was so amazing, we circled the block three times in order to see it again and again.

It was a wedding, but not just a wedding. It could only be described as "Gangsterella."

Let me set the scene: Little church on a major street on the Westside. Hispanic wedding party, big extended family, young bride. It was the groomsmen's fedoras we spotted first -- white fedoras with baby-pink hatbands. White suits...zoot, I'm thinking? Bridesmaids: pink layers of satin-edged, zigzaggy dress skirts (think Tinkerbell costume, only pink).

Then, oh my. Here comes the bride.

I can hardly do it justice. You'll just have to imagine a dress sort of like this sketch, only in color. Eschewing the traditional white (or ivory, or antique white, or what-have-you) gown, our dear little bride proudly sported the fitted, laced bodice, puffy sleeves and...outer skirts? what are those things anyway?...of the aforementioned sketch in a daring PINK FLORAL PRINT.

As I said, we circled the block. It was just too good! Amy actually dropped me off the final trip around so I could walk past in order to have a better look. And I'm glad she did, because otherwise I would never have been able to hear the Eminem blasting from the speakers in their waiting stretch Hummer limousine.

Made of Green Cheese? You Decide.

In honor of the first manned moon landing, which took place on July 20, 1969, take a quick trip to Google Moon.

Library of Lost Thought

The Library of Lost Thought is floating somewhere out there in the universe. Contained therein are millions of mystical shelves of information-filled books -- one for each of us.

My book, entitled "Things That Have Broken Loose and Escaped From Jenny's Mind While She Was Driving or Showering and Thus Unable to Write Them Down" consists of the following chapters:

* Great ideas for stories (or blog posts?)
* Bits of inspired screenplay dialogue
* Names of bands/albums/songs I heard on the radio that I wanted to remember
* The grocery store item I forgot to put on the list but remembered as I was trying to find a parking space
* The perfect birthday gift for a friend
* Impressive quotes I could use as witty or thought-provoking e-mail signature lines
* Names of documentaries I wanted to see
* Phone numbers or Websites advertised on buses/billboards/For Rent signs
* Locations of tempting restaurants I always pass when I have either the time or the money (but not both)

I'm sure there's more, but I seem to have....

Love Your Life? Consider Adoption!

My dad served in the Army in Viet Nam, just a few years before I was born. Sure, it wasn't his idea...but regardless of how he may have felt about the war or the draft or the presidential administration or the choices being made by the rest of his generation, he served. I think it took great courage to do that, and I think it was the right thing to do. (And to be honest, if I had been in his position, I'm not certain I wouldn't have been on the first plane to Toronto.)

The Fourth of July just passed, and I've been thinking about what a free and convenient life I lead. Here I am in sunny Los Angeles, living in a nice apartment, working part-time in a job I love, spending my "non-work" days pursuing creative writing and recreational activity. I have everything I need and lack very few of the things for which I display a sometimes fickle desire. I eat three meals a day, whether I'm cooking something fresh from the store or buying something from one of the thousands of restaurants I have access to here in my city. I have my own transportation. I have pets, hobbies, entertainment. I have access to technology and information. I have a college education. I have a vote in federal, state and local elections. I am free to go to Wednesday night Bible study in the public park, where my fellow Christians can meet without fear of beatings, arrests, or worse. Within reason, I am unrestricted.

And I did not secure these things, these rights and freedoms and luxuries, for myself.

Yes, all true freedom comes from our Creator -- let me not mislead you. But it is in the image of that Creator that men and women were made, and men and women are never more reflective of the God who made them then when they are sacrificing themselves on behalf of others. This is what our soldiers (and sailors, and airmen, and marines) do.

There is no draft right now. The ones who are serving right now are serving by choice, some of them having re-enlisted for two and three consecutive tours of duty. Do you appreciate that? Do you appreciate it even if the sacrifices they make are for someone in another country, another culture?

There is a group called Soldiers' Angels, which started with a mother's love for servicemen who recieved no mail or support from home. This one mom's efforts have grown into a full-fledged nonprofit organization. New "angels" are signing up every day to participate in these and other programs:

* Adopt A Soldier: send letters and care packages to your one assigned soldier
* Letter Writing Team: send one letter to each name you're given
* Operation Top Knot: send baby blankets and other shower gifts to pregnant wives of men who are serving overseas (Storebought or handmade! Do you knit? Crochet?)
* Wounded Project: Donate "transitional backpacks" full of toiletries, phone cards and comfort items for soldiers in Combat Support and Military Hospitals worldwide

It seems to me that these programs would make great projects for elementary school classes, knitting clubs, youth groups and the like. But even the efforts of one person can make a huge difference in the life of a soldier who desperately needs encouragement and a feeling of being in touch with the country he calls home.

Thus, one Benjamin Gray will henceforth be the weekly recipient of long letters from me, containing endless detail about the seemingly mundane activities I am privileged to enjoy because of the sacrifices made by people like him.

Also, I will send him cookies.

A big fat Hat Tip goes to Doug TenNapel and his no-holds-barred blog for bringing Soldiers' Angels to my attention.

And another Hat Tip goes to my dad, who taught me to love and respect my country (imperfect though she is), and the scores of her selfless willing, who understand the price of freedom.

Stiff Upper Lip

London mayor Ken Livingstone's words to the terrorists:

"I know that you personally do not fear giving up your own life in order to take others -- that is why you are so dangerous. But I know you fear that you may fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society...Whatever you do, however many you kill, you will fail."

Please Pray for London

Please say a prayer today for the safety and comfort of my friend Tim, who lives in London (I've just sent him an e-mail and am hoping to hear that he's okay). Please pray as well for God's protection over his family and the rest of England, and for wisdom on the part of her leadership as Tony Blair seeks to respond to today's terrorist bombings.

UPDATE: Tim and his loved ones are safe. He writes:

"Thanks be to God my family friends and colleagues are all
fine but everybody feels down here because of the terrible
tragedy it has been for some people. Such senseless, random
wickedness. I hope LA never has to experience this."

Me too, Tim. Keep praying, everybody.

Every Girl's Crazy 'Bout a Sharp Dressed Man

Disclaimer: I am no fashionista. Far from it; in fact, I do most of my shopping at Target. Take the following as you will, given that knowledge.

SUBJECT ONE: It looked to me -- as it always looks with these guys -- like a subtle pose for his hidden paparazzi. Dark, expensive sunglasses worn indoors, one hand in a pocket, the other at his side. Expressionless. A precise yet impractical head tilt.

His was the kind of spontaneous Westside look that takes an hour to achieve. The neatly tousled hair and brand-new faded jeans bespoke an air of purposeful casualness. Black shirt...passable for inexpensive, but only from a reasonable distance. I was momentarily surprised by the cowboy boots. Surely they were cowboy boots, they were so very pointed at the toe. It's possible, cowboy boots, even here. They have come in and out of fashion as of late. Cowboy boots? Yes. Very pointy cowboy boots, such that I would pity the horse, or the other man in the bar fight.

But then he shifted to a bent-leg pose, as if he knew I wondered, and the lifting of his pantleg revealed a sock-clad ankle. Not cowboy boots but pointy man-shoes. Pointy man-shoes.

SUBJECT TWO: He strode toward me mid-Thursday as I was walking past the noodle houses and anime shops on Sawtelle. Perhaps he was on his lunch break from an ad agency. A lanky six-footer or more, twenty-five years old or less. Short, spiky hair and the requisite black hornrims of the sensitive ar-teest. Black shoes; black pants; black, short sleeved, collared shirt. Taking himself very seriously.

Then, worn as if it were a sweater vest, this.

I didn't see anyone with him, or anyone close enough with a camera for this to be a dare.

SUBJECT THREE: He stood in his suburban front yard at 10:00 on a Sunday morning, inexplicably in the company of two neatly dressed women with whom he appeared to be engaged in conversation. In his mid-to-late forties, perhaps. Beer gut -- or maybe just an actual keg, with a flap of hairy skin stretched over it for good measure -- and the accompanying "manmaries" (thank you, I think I made that up just now).

Shirtless. With beer can.

Come to think of it, that would be a perfect title for a painting in his honor.

Chocolate Wisdom: True or False?

I had one of those little pieces of Dove dark chocolate today. You know, the ones with the little messages printed on the inside of the foil wrapper? And it read:

"The further out of reach, the stronger the temptation."

Do you find this to be true? And is there a difference in the veracity of that statement when:

1. applying it to a literal, physical object of temptation at a physical distance (such as a piece of chocolate sitting on your desk versus across the room where you can see it but not reach it)

versus:

2. applying it to a more subjectively measured object of temptation at a different kind of distance (such as the Israelites wishing to go back to the way things were in Egypt, perhaps more a measure of emotional than physical distance)?

Another Free Ice Cream Public Service Announcement

Because I care, I pass this along. Visit a Starbucks on June 29!

When No Means Yes (in Sri Lanka, Anyway)

Considering some international business travel? You'd better be sure you know what you're getting into:

Those Hissing Guatemalans
Raise an Eyebrow to Fiji
Did the Dutchman Say I'm Crazy, or Do I Have a Phonecall?
Poland: Where Vodka is Finger-Flickin' Good
How to Come Home with Free Slovakian Souvenirs
Never Hug a Scotsman
The Germans and French are Just What You'd Expect

Discover these and other handy cultural tips, courtesy of DHL. The things you learn while shipping a package....

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid

SHOULD THE ELEVATOR DOORS FAIL TO OPEN
DO NOT BECOME ALARMED,
THERE IS LITTLE DANGER OF RUNNING OUT OF AIR
OR OF THIS ELEVATOR DROPPING UNCONTROLLABLY

-- The small black sign in the elevator at work

And the Dog Snoozed On

Anybody else feel that earthquake? I'm four floors up in a small office building in West L.A., and we had more than our fair share of rock & roll for a temblor that was centered in San Bernardino County.

So as I was sitting here at my sturdy wooden desk, wondering how long the shaking would continue and deciding whether or not to get underneath, I realized I had a dog with me -- Kandy, the 8-month-old Labrador I'm puppysitting this week. Would she whine? Bark? Chew through my leg to get out from under the desk and bolt down the hallway?

Then came the gentle snoring. I don't think she's concerned.

Late Barking News

After more than two years of prayer and perseverance, I have finally been given the thumbs-up to raise a guide dog puppy!

Thank you to those who have stood with me in praying for the fulfillment of this dream. God has been faithful to provide the perfect circumstances: I am in a terrific job at an organization where volunteerism is supported and encouraged, working with people who are excited about my participation in this project. I have my own office, with plenty of room and a door. It seems everything has fallen into place, and I know it's no accident.

Please join me now in praying that the dog I receive won't be a complete spaz.

I'll keep you posted.

Technology Foils Me Again

No matter what I do, I will never defeat the printer. Every time I use it, something goes wrong. Out of paper? Paper jam? Empty ink cartridge? Those are all fixable things, easy things. The most common obstacle to successful printing on the good ol' Epson 980N is simply...rebellion. It won't tell you what's wrong, it just won't work. Things may or may not show up in the print queue. Sometimes there's a flashing light on the back of the printer, sometimes not.

Today I spent the requisite twenty minutes, turning it off and unplugging it and waiting a minute and plugging it back in and turning it back on and clearing the print queue and quitting out of the document and restarting my computer and doing a Native American rain dance and offering the printer twenty dollar bills and a place of prominence near the window so it could enjoy the beautiful sunny Southern California afternoon.

Nothing.

So finally, I resorted to threats. In all seriousness, full voice in the office supply room, I said, "Okay. You're going to print for me now. Or there will be consequences."

I noticed David standing there as I turned around to walk out the door. He didn't seem phased.

So after a five-minute trip to the restroom and a quick check of my computer, which led me to believe my documents had been printed, I went to the printer.

On the tray was one piece of paper. In large, bold letters, it read:

"HA! HA! CONSEQUENCES, SHMONSEQUENCES! -- The Printer. "

Oh, sure, it was David's handwriting. But maybe it's mastered forgery too, just to spite me.

An Open Letter to Mispronouncers of Plain and Reasonably Phonetic English Words

Dear English Language Offenders:

It has recently come to my attention that there is a vast conspiracy. Of you. Against me.

Me: hapless word nerd, fighting the good but apparently fruitless fight for correct pronunciation. You (surprisingly): white, middle-to-upper-middle class, native English-speakers with at least a two-year college degree. Many of you, indeed, are of even higher socioeconomic status and hold even more advanced degrees, and should therefore know better. And yet, the offense continues.

Why do you torment me? Why do you insist upon drinking "melk" -- or "myilk," or, heaven forbid, "malk" -- in your "expresso" and setting off "nookyaler" bombs in countries "acrost" the world and sending your children off to "kinnygarden" and eating "donits" covered with "peanits" (and please do be careful with that one)? One might even say the list goes on, "excetra, excetra."

It is as though there is a toggle switch in my brain, the opposite ends labeled "mental homeostasis" and "murderous rage." And every time one of you says the word "samwich," I can feel a finger on that switch. Waiting. Waiting.

Ebonics and other American cultural linguistic phenomena aside, I remain baffled. I do not speak today of mistakes in grammar, punctuation or syntax. Nor do I speak of regional dialects (though they mystify me as well, what with some of you putting "earl" in the engine, using the "terlet" in the men's room and "pahking" the "cah"). These are not words of freshly foreign origin; they are not new to this part of the world. No one is asking you to stand up and represent in the face of such linguistic hurdles as "Quetzalcoatl" or "schadenfreude" or "trompe l'oeil." This is plain English, people.

And it's not even tricky plain English, like that I Love Lucy episode in which Ricky, in a comically stereotypical non-native-English-speaker way, stumbles over "rough," "through," and "bough" as he is reading a bedtime story to Little Ricky, his fiery Cuban hackles raised at the absurdity of three different pronunciations of the same letter grouping. You should all know better. You should.

What's more, I think you do know better, and I think you are just waiting to see how much more I can take before I snap.

So I have an idea. I will fight back. I will foil you by re-educating your offspring. My Center for the Proper Pronunciation of Childhood Dining Delicacies will eliminate this growing problem by rehabilitating our nation's youth who have been taught, whether by encouragement or by simple lack of correction, to describe a popular pasta dish as "puh-sketti." While the Center does not yet have funding, I am certain to receive adequate financial support from John Malkovich, who was tragically forced to abandon his birth name of Milkovich when, as a young actor, he bowed to the pressure of the mispronouncing masses. Oh, yes. Our dream lives on, and someday we will prevail.

And from that day forward, you will never again pierce my eardrums -- and my soul -- with your torturous word mangling.

Viva la Revolucion,

Jenny

Beyond Beautiful

Amazing. Apparently, the Arrowsmiths have what it takes to keep doing the same old song and dance for eighty years.

The Joke That Tells Itself

According to an e-mail I just got from Ticketmaster, the next "American Idols Live" tour is being presented by...Pop-Tarts.

Blood, Sweat and Tears

As a rule, the only thing I enjoy about boxing is the fact that it is also called "pugilism," which is more fun to say and hear and spell than most other words.

Seriously, boxing is a sport where two men -- and even women, nowadays, which I fail to understand -- are paid to beat each other until: A.) one of them, resembling pre-cooked meat, is rendered horizontal and motionless, or B.) both resemble pre-cooked meat, but only one is chosen as victor by judges with unbroken noses, wearing nice outfits unsullied by their own various bodily fluids. My astonishment at the fact that these men are paid to pound on each other is matched only by my astonishment that other people pay to watch this happen.

But I just saw Russell Crowe's new movie Cinderella Man, which is the story of Depression-era boxer James J. Braddock, and I was enthralled. Not only is it a well-told (true!) story with a good script and strong performances -- even by Renee "SquintyPucker" Zellweger, who generally makes me twitch -- it is a film with good moral messages and positive, uplifting portrayals of marriage and family. Humility. Honesty. Courage. Risk-taking. Hope. Strength of character. This is a film about men doing what they have to do and women doing their best to support and enable the men's efforts.

The reason I've seen it presumably before any of you is that I went to the world premiere at Universal Citywalk. Brian Grazer, one of the producers of the film, is a huge supporter of the Best Buddies program; the $250-per-ticket afterparty was actually a charity benefit. Denise and I were one of the few "buddy pairs" who were specially invited.

And weren't we a sight, intermingled with the eternally youthful and fabulous of Hollywood, standing there all normal-bodied in our khaki pants and matching t-shirts!

Some highlights:

• We were the first group to walk the red carpet, on our way to take our posts at the theater doors in order to hand out flyers and freebies to the moviegoers. People cheered us, so we smiled and waved. Denise, who is too cool for school, muttered, "I don't wave. I will look, but I don't wave." (She'd have waved herself into unconsciousness if Jackie Chan or Steven Seagal had been there, though, I can tell you that.)

• Before the movie, I recognized the Ron Howard trifecta of Marion Ross, Penny Marshall, and M. Night Shyamalamadingdong, as well as a few people whose faces looked familiar in that I-know-you're-somebody-but-you-look-too-3D-right-now-for-me-to-get-it sort of way.

• Just before the movie, we actually got free popcorn and sodas. Seriously. FREE. Denise was very excited about this.

• During the movie, the excellent Paul Giamatti at one point actually said the word "pugilism." I was very excited about this.

• After the movie came the photo ops. No, the photographer wasn't able to corral any of the movie stars, but we had some lovely pics snapped of the group of us with such notables as Brian Grazer, Best Buddies founder Anthony Shriver, and Frankensteinish motivational speaker Tony Robbins.

• We got to keep our "all access" passes, movie tickets and afterparty invitations. You know -- for the scrapbook, next to the picture of Tony Robbins.

• Denise and I walked the red carpet again in reverse, on the way back to the parking structure. It's surprisingly soft when you're barefoot. I've now made contact with whatever was on the bottom of thousands of famous people's designer shoes.

Not too shabby, as evenings go.

Please go see the movie. I'll tell you this: I've been to cast & crew screenings and premieres before. You know the film is good when the jaded Hollywood-types are cheering -- not for the cool and expensive visual effects sequence, or for some bigshot's name in the opening credits, but for the desperate man with the bloody face who's taking the punches for his kids.