Pride Goes Before the Fall

I'm not proud of it, but I love sugar wafers. Even though I bellyache about processed food, MSG, transfats and addictive chemical additives to our food more than most (as my wife will be glad to attest) I just can't get enough of the eerily preserved pink, brown and yellow wafers filled with some sort of sweet tasting goo invented to trap rats in WWII. Ah, well, we all have our vices, right?

This past week has been effing murder. Tuesday saw two very important and very difficult tests both covering a glut of information on disparate topics come and go, followed by my faculty review for practicum today. I just ate a package of 'strawberry' sugar wafers; it seems to have taken the edge off.

See Below

I'm not quite sure what's been going on inside my head for the last week or so, but I'm think I might have transmittable spongiform encephalitis. Damn the cattle industry and their cost-cutting ways. In all reality I’m probably just more stressed than I’m willing to admit, but I have been dropping the ball on a variety of life tasks for the last few days ranging from badly butchering the cornbread recipe tonight to somehow mistaking a class’ start time. Classic. While my life has been swirling, however, there have been three things that burn brightly through my mental fog. Apropos as it may be, one of them actually happened to me (I think) and the other two manifested out of the morass that is YouTube.

1. While tutoring earlier this week, I looked up to see one of my students hastily retrieving his left index finger from his right nostril. I cocked my eyebrow at him, and he looked slightly abashed for a moment. He then scrunched up his face in an entirely unabashed fit of laughter and confided in me, “I pick my nose almost every day!” Nuff said.
   

2. I somehow stumbled across a Phil Collins video that had me dumbstruck for nearly 15 minutes. I honestly can’t even remember how I found it, but after blindly clicking through a completely random series of ‘linked’ videos, I saw the MTV video for ‘Against All Odds.’ Great song. Inexplicable video. I can’t say much more without totally ruining everything, but I will say bare-chested Jeff Bridges + Count Collin-acula = solid gold music video.

3. As my test for psychopathology approaches, I surf more and more blogs. I found a link to a guy beat-boxing several different songs on a flute on Cory’s. On a FLUTE! If you want to know what it feels like to actually do what this guy is doing in the video, keep sucking in air and blowing it out as fast and as hard as you possibly can for about 3 min. But before you start, go ahead and call the Ambulance because you'll probably fracture your skull when you pass out and smack your noggin at the 53 sec mark. Props, dude.

PS: My dad played flute as well as starting flanker for Hughson High in 1965. We live in a different world now.

PPS: If you watched Phil, check out IMDB for more background on the video.

Shout Out

Yo yo you, holla atcha boy. Imma give a shoutout tuh ma boy JRCO for strait hooking my blog up wid a sweet new look. Wurd.

All My Exes

Through some unlikely twist of fate, I have had six ex-girlfriends in my 25 years at large on the general public. Some of those relationships split because of intense stupidity on my part, some broke off because of fairly erratic behaviour on their part and some simply drifted apart as lives are wont to do when you're still in 5th grade. As much as I'd like to say that my relationships with these girls all ended on good notes, my sophomoric and inexperienced approach to the dating realm left me with really only half of them wrapped up in a mature fashion. I have never regretted dating anyone, however, and still genuinely respect and enjoy all of them as people. That being said, there is no more peculiar experience than bumping into an ex at an unexpected time. I ran into my ex from Jr. High with alarming frequency at unfathomable locales. I found her on the Presidio in Monterrey one Fourth of July casually lounging with her Firefighter boyfriend. Several years later, she happened to start working at the rock gym I climbed at after I graduated college. Just creepy stuff. The funny thing about running into exes, however, is the flood of memories that return. Relational interactions you imagined long dead rear their heads again in spectral imitation of a life long past, questions of etiquette stare you harshly in the face and all the bad memories dash back into the wainscoting.

Tonight I went back to the Church I grew up in for the first time in a very long time. Confronted with the dichotomy of returning from a leadership retreat for the church I currently attend and returning to a service at the Church which I credit with forming me into the man I am today, I'm left feeling like I just ran into my ex while shoe shopping with my current girlfriend¹, and it’s left me reeling a bit. The message delivered tonight was impeccable, the friends I still have in that Body were enjoyable and the building itself folded me back like I had never left. And yet, I have left. In the six years since I have attended that Body regularly I have graduated college, moved six times in two different states, gotten married, worked diligently through 3^1/2 semesters of graduate school and maintained a full beard for nearly 3 months. I’ve undoubtedly changed, but I can’t say that I have 'moved on,' because University Presbyterian Church will always be my home church and cannot be supplanted. I think that The Well has a lot of great things going for it, and am entirely confident in my worshiping there; I am very glad I had the chance to sit in University Chapel tonight and enjoy worship with the Body there.

Same Ol Feeling

I hate Tech. Again.

My Normal Life

I was a pretty boring guy all the way through college. I had a soap opera quality social life, but I never got arrested, crashed the ‘Girls Gone Wild’ filming or even had a car to smash into anything. I don’t like loud parties much, being drunk actually kinda freaks me out and the only time I was sitting in a circle having the Magic Dragon passed ‘round I turned it down more out of plausible deniability than moral fortitude. My wife has told me on several occasions that she always wanted to marry a nerd, so I guess that makes me one lucky guy, right? One September night my senior year of college, however, I drove to Austin, Texas with two friends in a bright red Jeep to sound my proverbial ‘YAWP.’ I had just finished a long hard summer of classes and putting my heart back together from a messy relationship the year before. It was a sticky summer of close friendship, head shaving, toe painting and soul searching that left me with a lot of emotional steam to release and I found my catharsis when I heard Chris Carrabba pipe,

‘And the picture frames are facing down
and the ringing from this empty sound
is deafening and keeping you from sleep.
And breathing is a foreign task
and thinking's just too much to ask
and you're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights.’

And so it was that I made the pilgrimage to see this sage for myself; to sit at his feet and behold in person the angst which flowed so palpably through his plaintive voice. To for one night lap up what MTV had been pitching. When Lee, Karen and I made it to 6^th Street in Austin, found some parking and made our way to Stubb’s BBQ, I had officially left College Station and found myself instead on the set of Wild On. The kaleidoscope of humanity, bouquet of olfactory sensations and cacophony of traffic mixed with shouts of revelry mixed with the deep resonance of driving bass grabbed me like a shore-breaking wave and easily subsumed my person into its energy.

Just outside the gate to the venue, I happened to run into my roommate from the year before, his eyes already glazed and lolling. Needless to say he was thrilled to see me. From there we barely dodged some projectile vomit from a young looking blonde and then somehow managed to keep her from plummeting to the ground after it until an EMT could be found to attend to her. From the midst of the throng of several hundred revelers, we let the music wash over us and felt our sweat mingle with that of our impossibly close neighbors and the water from the hose they intermittently sprayed the crowd with. After several hours of roiling participation in the rite, we made our way back the Jeep cotton-eared and reeking of God only knows what. I had never experienced anything quite like it before and never have since.

My cousin had jello shots at her wedding reception last night, and it kinda brought it all back for me.

Fresh Eyes

Binocular vision is a tricky thing. I've never had the experience of monocular vision, but from personal experience I can say with certainty that the former is far from perfect. Although purported to sport the functional benefits of depth perception and improved detection of distant objects, I seem to have a startling propensity to completely miss what is sitting two inches from my own nose. I could have sworn that's what binocular vision was supposed to fix. One of the many valuable features on slate.com is David Plotz's blog through the Bible. Starting in Genesis and currently extending through Ezekiel, his unique and intelligent take on Scripture has been refreshingly binocular to my customary fashion of addressing The Book. Plotz by no means provides a scholarly commentary for serious Biblical study, but the blog is rife with perspective and priceless for brain fodder.

Another example of completely missing what's in front of my nose: Today I bought a mountain bike with a huge dent in the down tube. It wasn't until I was prancing it around in front of my friend Scott that he said, "Hey, did you see this big old dent here in the down tube?" I wonder if that's what those Mennonites have harping on and on about . . . ? Tomorrow I go to Herb Bauer's to do battle with James the cycling manager.

The Killing Game

If you listen to the radio long enough, you can hear just about anything. Due to the nature of the medium and the existence of radio shows devoted to nothing but talking, odds are sooner or later you’ll hear something that stops you dead in your tracks. From HG Wells duping the nation to shaved hamster stories on Love Lines, and everything in between, the public airwaves have always been abuzz with scintillating tales and titillating stories.

This morning on my way to the gym I was listening to sports talk radio (1430 KCBL) and had the pleasure of hearing Jim Rome interviewing Lennox Lewis. Now normally I don’t like Jim Rome, but his interview with Mr. Lewis had three pleasant surprises. The first was that Lennox Lewis was remarkably articulate for a former world heavy weight champion. Bill Clinton he was not, but he was fairly pellucid and managed to stay coherent and engaging through the entire interview. I was impressed, and Lord knows he's doing better than I would be after 40-some-odd heavy weight fights. The second was that because Jim was talking to a huge death machine of a man, much of his customary smarminess had magically evaporated. It was like listening to a 6^th grade girl interview Tom Brady; Rome was all giggles and breathlessness and profuse, “Thank-you, Mr. Lennox”es. Priceless. Better than either of these two combined, however, was Lewis introducing Chess Boxing, the sport which has finally combined the game of Chess with the sport of Boxing. I won’t try to take away from it by explaining the whole process, but check out the wiki site and the WCBO site. Pure genius and about damn time.

Spunges Among Us!

One of the unexpected fringe benefits of getting married has been the legitimate utilization of the mesh sponge. (Side bar: I always heard of these things referred to as luffas. This seems to be a misnomer, since the luffa gourd is the source of authentic luffa sponges.) I was never raised in a frou-frou environment, and for most of my life bathing consisted of some hot water, bar of Irish Spring soap and some elbow grease; at the most there may have been some 40 grit sandpaper or steel wool for those really stubborn oil and grease stains. In my single days, there was no conceivable situation that would precipitate me marching myself into any retail establishment and purchasing a mesh sponge. I was infinately more likely to shoplift it. A more likely purchase would have been (and this was my favourite store run as Town Driver for Calvin Crest) a package of adult diapers, tampons and six litres of rootbeer. Now I have body wash and a mesh sponge, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like it.

Marriage has taught me to realize that sometimes being right can be utterly wrong, how to apologize and mean it, how to truly appreciate being alone and how to truly appreciate being together. And it has taught me to love the luffa.

A Reprise

I spent some more time thinking over my previous post about sexuality, and realized that I had made a terrible mistake. Public forum isn't the best place to discuss something as intimate, personal and often wounded as personal sexuality. I appologize, and I'm actually glad that nobody posted much because in retrospect it probably wouldn't have been appropriate.

Whether you post or not, though, I still really believe that it is important to continue examining our sexuality and what it means. In that vein, I ask another question on sexuality: How did the man Jesus Christ, Son of God, express His sexuality? If we really do espouse the doctrine of a fully human Christ (as well as fully divine), it would seem to me that Christ's life would have included sexuality. Did He chase girls on the playground? Suffer through the awkward stages of puberty? Did Joseph ever sit Him down and have 'the talk?' I haven't formulated many of my own thoughts on the subject yet, but I'm interested in what yall think about this . . .

It Bears Repeating

Gregg Easterbrook once again managed to insert some sage observations into his weekly sports column.

Americans Now Hear the Word "Pleasure" 100 Times for Every Actual Experience of Pleasure: TMQ is being driven crazy by the modern affectation of saying "my pleasure" in formal settings that have nothing to do with pleasure. When you call a Hyatt hotel and ask to be transferred to a guest room or the front desk, the Hyatt operator says, "My pleasure." Lots of corporate-run chains are instructing workers to say "my pleasure" in situations far removed from what the word means. It's even catching on with intellectuals; recently David Remnick, editor of the New Yorker, signed off from an NPR interview by invoking this phrase. (NPR: "Thanks, David." Remnick: "My pleasure.") "My pleasure" is a ridiculously overloaded surrogate for "sure" or "happy to do it" or "you're welcome." More, its adaptation as a hollow chestnut of mundane interaction seems part of the overall cheapening of the meaning of words. Pleasure is one of the greatest and highest experiences of life; in our short stay on this Earth, we know far too little. And pleasure is almost always intimate in nature. Using the word "pleasure" in contexts that have nothing to do with intimacy or delight seems a cruel little joke in a world of too much work and too little enjoyment.

My momments of pleasure have been randomly interspersed throughout my life, but when they come they are unmistakable. A glance across the breakfast table at my wife, a ski across an undisturbed meadow, or driving through the desert have all had a way of bringing me up short by the emotional unswelling of pleasure they evoke. They hit me like a back massage all at once, and my senses open up to take in the most subtle of details; time crawls by while I watch in ammusement. When was the last time you experienced true pleasure in an activity or interaction?

The Fig Leaf

The spring semester has started, and brought with it the promise of rejuvenation and excitement. At the end of last semester, I was bushed. Bedraggled. Beat up, beat down, tapped out. After a relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable trans-continental holiday, I'm facing this semester with a sense of optimism and (dare I say?) excitement. I have a lot to look forward to coming into this semester. I get to begin working with actual people, interview for internship positions and . . . I get a whole class on human sexuality.

While I knew that this class is essential in training to become a psychologist, I was apprehensive coming into it. Would it be awkward? Shameful? Informative? Growth-inspiring? Would I be able to talk about it with people outside of the class, or do I leave that one off the list when people ask me what I'm taking this semester? So far the class has been remarkably un-awkward and refreshing. We are able to talk about people's sexuality in a way that isn't predicated on selling or exploiting anything. We have explored the dualistic philosophical roots much of the Victorian sexual mores have been based on. We have attempted to let Biblical texts inform the readings we have in some remarkably secular texts. It's also helped me to start actually thinking about sexuality instead of blindly reacting to it or away from it.

The class has only gone through two sessions to date, but one of the most interesting questions yet broached is: What does sexuality look like for celibate people? (either permanently or temporarily celibate). Coming to mind are passages like Eph. 5 and the entire book of Song of Solomon, but what do yall think? How do celibate people still incorporate and metabolize a visceral part of who we have all been created to be as human beings?

Infamy

65 years ago tomorrow, a very momentous occasion in our Nation's history came to pass. May we never forget the horror or war, nor forsake the pursuit of more effective and humane means to our ends.

Big Wheels

It finally happened this morning at 12:23 GMT; my Honda turned 100,000. I got my trusty lil 1997 Honda Accord SE with 63,678 miles on it in the summer of 04, and proceeded to put over 35,000 miles on commuting to Madera, heading up the Hill and driving to Texas a few times. I have poked and prodded into its innermost parts, mixed our blood together as knuckles scraped greasy metal and ridden in extreme comfort through countless miles of worry-free driving. My Honda is second only to my wife's wedding ring in important purchases over my 25 years, with the Star Trek communicator I got mail-order in fourth grade coming in a close third. All that is to say, in honour of my Honda turning 100 000, I thought I would come up with a nice cliche Top Ten List of Honda memories. And yeah, this list is in order from least to greatest. I wasn't interested in investing the time and/or engergy to figuring out how to make it go from 10 - 1.

1. The trip to Half Dome which started at about 4 am and ended somewhere around 10 pm. We bumped Marc Broussard from the Gate to the Valley Floor.
2. The trip to Half Dome which started about 9 pm and ended about 4 pm. There's nothing quite like explosive decompression to give you good karma for a hiking trip.
3. The 5:30 am dash to Valley Teen Ranch on Ave. 9. The phantom picking trucks in fog perk you up 10x better than Starbucks.
4. Driving back from Sacramento with Christy on her engagement trip . . . only to realize I somehow got mixed up and had been driving on 99 North for 45 minutes. Crap.
5. Replacing the radiator. The hardest part of replacing the radiator, apparently, is getting the company to ship it to you. In my case, this was harder than one might expect.
   
6. The satisfaction of completing a 3 000 mile road trip twice. The Dallas-Fresno commute is a little long, but you can't beat the scenery.
   
7. Discovering the rear defroster. It only took about a year to stumble upon it, but now I turn it on at random intervals and smile.
   
8. Replacing the seals on the spark plug wells. Not only did this DIY save me approximately $600, it was also a total testosterone boost.
9. Dallas-bound, somewhere on I-20, Honda made it to 120 mph (193 kph).
10. The gang-land check exchange in the Wal-Mart parking lot. If I ever find this shmuck who sold me the car, I'm getting the tank of gas he owes me out of him one way or another.
    

It's All Happening . . .

The momment I have waited for over the past 30 months will happen tomorrow morning. You're not as excited as I am, I garauntee.

Mosaic

I just wanted to at least throw the pic up for Michelle. I'll write more about the process and the result soon, but for now I'll let our creation speak for itself.

Clear Eyes, Full Hearts

Friday Night Lights is a very good show. I am not saying that you should start watching by any means; there are plenty of great things you can do with an hour of your life that don't involve watching a television show. If you are looking for a well written and well acted show that will probably either get cancelled or dummed down next season, however, look no further. Catch up on nbc.com.

National Pastime

Cinema is the defining medium of the 20th and 21st centuries. With the possibilities available in presentation, manipulating sound and picture together, I have even heard tell of extending the sensory experience by adding smells to the show. In homage to Film, I have decided to post my top five film momments in history. They are, from 5th to 1st . . .

5. The Cliffs of Insanity sword fight in The Princess Bride.

This is the scene that led me to take fencing at Fresno City. The coordination between the music and the fighting, coupled with the fact that it's actually Cary Elwes and Mandy Patinkin doing all the sword play make it one of the most impressive and enjoyable action sequences of all time for me. So many action sequences in recent movies (as evidenced by the recent Star Wars movies) frame their shots so close and frantic I can't tell who's who and what's what. The far shots of two actors legitimately fencing both physically and verbally set this scene far above others for me.



4. Retrieving the Idol in Raiders of the Lost Arc.

The quenisetial Indiana Jones momment. After navagating his way past the steaming Amazon rain forest, trecherous local guides and a lethal Incan temple, he finally arives at the altar. Hunching over the altar with the sand bag . . . sweating . . . taking out a handful of sand . . . weighing it . . . taking out a pinch. The switch and roll. The smile, the hat cock. All hell breaking loose. This is what being Indiana Jones is all about. Harrison Ford's character was, and in many ways still is, the epitome of masculinity for me. He is the avatar of confidence under pressure, ingenuity, a passion for his work, and plain dumb luck. Of all the fantastic scenes in the trillogy, this is the one which stands out among the others; perhaps it's because it is the first scene in the series or perhaps its because he dives out of the temple, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a boulder, only to find himself face to face with a crowd of angry Hovitos. Either way, it's a great scene.


3. THE scene from The Usual Suspects.

If you haven't seen this movie, STOP READING RIGHT NOW and skip to number 2. If you're still with me, lets agree that this is just a fantastic end to a great movie. When Agent Kujon starts putting the pieces together and it cuts to the limp, the first time I saw it my scalp tingled. Let's be honest and up front about two things: 1. As the anti-Santa, Kaiser Sose is cooler than any of us ever will be and 2. This scene is magical. Limp . . . limp . . . limp . . . straiter . . . straiter . . . confident stride. Damn. That is a man of will.


2. Russel Crow removing his helmet in Gladiator.

When he delivers the 'Husband to a murdered wife, father to a murdered son' line I'm fairly convinced that Joaquin Phoenix actually wets himself on the soundstage. Talk about tingling scalps, that scene is palpable. I was going to put another scene in from this film as well, but had to self censor and say that there can only be one top 5 scene per movie; it merits mentioning, however, because it was also masterful. The 'busy little bee' scene caused me to loose sleep for about a week after I saw it. Tingly in all the wrong ways.


1. Wendy Peffercorn!

From one of my favourite movies, this is far and away the best scene in any movie I have seen. All the way from 'Shut up! I got a lot on my mind!' to 'Guys, he planned that!' Just priceless. The entire movie is full of great characters, but Squints is by far my favourite and by far the coolest of the Sandlot gang. I may be a tad bit biased since I was an emaciated child with glasses as well, but let us examin the facts. While the Jet did steal home in a Major League game, it was for the Dodgers and he had a creepy child molestor mustache. Squints married Wendy Peffercorn. They had nine kids. I rest my case.


These are my top 5. What are some that I missed?

This Is What I Was Talking About

It's a bit past 'gamboling' but it's something to shoot for . . .

Unacceptable

The brawl between Miami and Florida International University last Saturday was unacceptable, as were the sadly unsurprising comments made by Lamar Thomas. It's not O.K. that men were on the field, swinging their helmets and stomping people like it was LA, 1992. One game suspension against a winless opponent? Laughable. This was assault, as plain as the chin on Leno’s face, and the people responsible should be brought up on charges by the D.A. Is that unreasonable?

I thought Ultimate Fighting Championship was cool. Then I saw a match. The shameless beating of any helpless individual is inexcusable and should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Is there any doubt that if this had been caught on tape outside a 7-11 that these men would be in County right now, trying to get someone to post their bail? It’s disappointing how unsurprising the Haynesworth episode was, and in Miami as well as the NCAA’s unsubstantial sanctions, we have a clear and present example of why.