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.