I got an invitation today to preach again up at my friend's Baptist church in Arkansas.... next Sunday! Well at least they didn't tell him to never invite me back.

Okay, one week to prepare. I'm taking suggestions for topics...

Here is my Dabney Center reading list, as requested...
These are the books I've gotten so far, there are about four others on order, I hear.

"Resident Aliens" - Stanley Hauerwas and William H. Willimon
"The Reconstruction of the Church" - James Jordan, editor
"The Failure of the American Baptist Culture" - James Jordan, editor
"The Reading and Preaching of the Scriptures in the Worship of the Christian Church" - Hughes Oliphant Old
"Theology of the Reformers" - Timothy George
"The Story of Christianity" - Justo Gonzalez
"My Heart for Thy Cause" - Brian Borgman
and of course... Calvin's Institutes.

The classes and instructors this semester are -

"History and Culture of the Reformation" - George Thompson
"Doctrine of the Holy Spirit" - Lon Oswalt
"The Doctrine of the Church" - Rich Lusk
"Pastoral Practice" - Steve Wilkins

File this under "really bad poetry"...

Nice look, I said to the guy with no mustache
He parked his horse between the Sport Utilities
Filled his cart up with microwave burritos

I can buy Froot Loops, he replied
I scuffed my shoe on the curb
Scratched my hot neck with my ignition key

Where do you plug in your toaster, I asked
He wiped his brow under the rim of his straw hat
Snapped his suspenders with his dirty thumbs

Electric ham is sacrilegious, he replied
I shoved my hands in my pockets
Flipped the nickels back and forth with the dollar bill

Cars are a lot faster and don't defecate near as much, I said to the guy
He climbed into the buggy onto the hard seat
Flicked the ears of the animal with his whip

Cars don't breed, he replied
I cranked the starter
Turned up the air conditioner

- duane

Yesterday, Sarah went to the church office and picked up most of my books for the semester. I'm going to have to be a readin' fool for the next thirteen weeks.

I remember both studying and working full time, but I don't remember exactly how I did it. It might take me a few weeks to get back in the groove.

One of the cool things I did over the weekend was canoe down a river with my cousins and my dad. I used to go canoeing a lot more often when I lived in Mississippi.

I wonder if you can canoe in Louisiana.

One of my favorite parts of the weekend was sitting with my Uncle Joe and talking about our family history. He has traced our family all the way back to Virginia in the 1700's, where one of our fathers who had sailed from England started a plantation. One of his grandsons fought in the War of Independence. One of his great-grandsons fought in the War of 1812 and was decorated for something.

The family later moved to Tennessee where they carved another plantation out of the wilderness and where the family remained until the nineteen - forties and fifities when many moved north (mostly to Chicago) to find jobs. Some of the old people are still in Tennessee. Some of them made their way up to Ohio to farm. Uncle Joe still runs a pretty big farm in Northern Ohio.

Among the legal documents that helped him trace the names and the dates of the family's history are contracts for the purchase and sale of slaves. Evidently, my family owned quite a number of slaves when they had the plantation in Tennessee. I had always wondered, but now I know for sure that I am a descendent of slave owners. I don't know quite what to think about that.

After the North invaded the South, it appears that my ancestors went broke, and have been pretty poor group up to this generation.

It is about a 2,000 mile round-trip from Monroe, Louisiana to Loudonville, Ohio.

We got back last night from my family reunion. I stopped along the way to take care of a couple of business matters for my company... which in turn paid for my gas and hotel rooms there and back.

On the first night of the trip we were flying up highway 55 through Mississippi when we heard a big "THWACK-ker-THUMP" under the car. I didn't see anything in the road in front of me before we heard the sound, but it was dark, and I thought that we must have hit some chunk of metal or rubber. I started to feel a little vibration in the steering, but pushed on to the next stop.

When I got out, I checked the tires and noticed that the right front did not have a wheel weight on it. The tire appeared to be fine. So it was just going to be annoying, I thought, to drive with a wheel out of balance. I wanted to get to Jackson, Tennessee before we stopped for the night. I thought that I would just stop in the morning to get it balanced.

As we drove on, the vibration got worse and I was greatly relieved to see the sign for Jackson. When we woke up the next morning, I found the first tire store and asked them to balance the front wheels.

About two minutes later they asked me to come back to the shop where they showed me that the inside of the tire was missing a chunk of rubber about the size of my fist. I was very thankful that the thing didn't come completely apart on us in the middle of Mississippi in the middle of the night.

So I bought my 14th tire of 2002. That was the only bad thing that happened the entire trip.

This weekend we are going to Columbus, Ohio for a family reunion. Woohoo. Part of me is looking forward to seeing cousins I haven't seen since High School and showing off my family. Part of me is not looking forward to driving 15 hours with a hyper-active toddler in the back seat.

I have so much to do between now and then, I don't know how I'm going to get it all done.

In yesterday morning's sermon, Pastor Wilkins talked about how closely we identify with our work, and how our calling in life is integral to who we are. One of the first things we want to know about a person is, "What do you do?", or if they are retired, "What did you do?"

I had my very first job when I was twelve. My grandfather owns a little collection of businesses right off of Highway 72 in northeast Mississippi, half an hour from the Alabama state line and about ten minutes from Tennessee. He has a small grocery store, a gas station, a full-service garage, and a greasy little cafe. My first vocation was sweeping, cleaning, stocking, running go-fer errands between the buildings, pumping gas for the elderly (which also meant checking their oil and washing their windshield) and generally keeping things neat. My job description also included making sure that his cattle back at the house had plenty of hay in the morning, corn in the evening and clean water in the trough when the pond was frozen, and making sure that the cow flop didn't stack up too thick on the floor of the barn.

It made me feel good to do those jobs. I felt like a productive member of society. My wages were four dollars and hour and all the Dr. Pepper and Vienna sausages I could eat.

When I was sixteen and we were living in St. Louis, I needed a job that would give me very flexible hours, allowing me to sqeeze work around football, choir and whatever play I was practicing for at the time. That left out pretty much everything but McDonald's. By the time I graduated High School, I was a supervisor-in-training, or something like that. They give promotions out to anyone who shows up for work on time and has a pulse.

When I moved to Colorado and started college, I found my first job in sales. I was hired as a sales rep for Bose Corporation... the very-expensive stereo speaker company. I had the military retail accounts, which meant that I went to the Base eXchanges and the Post eXchanges at the surrounding military bases, and convinced the store managers that they needed lots of Bose inventory, then I went into the stores on nights and weekends to demonstrate to cool products to the customers, and to make sure that my displays were just right. I could make anywhere from $8 to $120 commission on a single pair of speakers. It was a very cool job.

Because I was working on a radio broadcasting degree, I squeezed another job into my schedule. Even though I was doing a four-hour shift every morning on the college radio station for credit, I needed a full semester of internship at a real for-profit station. I did a couple of all-nighter shifts every week on a local talk radio station. Radio is really really boring. All I did for eight hours straight from 10 pm to 6 am is make sure that the right satellite feed was coming through, played local commercial spots twice an hour, and read a little snippet of news, time and temperature at the top of the hour. It was not at all the glorious career I thought it was going to be, so I made up my mind to go ahead and go to seminary.

I moved back to Mississippi to start classes at the Oxford Baptist seminary in Oxford. (I love telling people I went to school at Oxford.) It was tough finding a job there. I found a weekend shift on a country radio station for a while, but the station manager really hated me, and I really hated the format, so I found a job driving a truck for a lumber company.

Working at the lumber yard was one of the most physically rewarding jobs I've ever had. It was one of those jobs that when I went home at night and took a shower, I could say that I had really worked that day. Because I was new, I got all of the sheetrock deliveries. You haven't lived until you have carried 100 pieces of 5/8" drywall up three flights of stairs in the middle of July in Mississippi. This is why my right arm is longer than my left.

Then I got my first cushy job. I was hired as an assistant to the pastor at the Baptist church I was attending.

Soon after on a bright Sunday morning, after I had been gone on vacation for a couple of weeks, I wrapped up the Sunday School lesson I was teaching and headed out to ask the pastor a couple of questions before the service. When I couldn't find him, I asked one of the deacons where he might be. The deacon looked stunned. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"He resigned last week. You are preaching this morning. Look. It is right there in the bulletin."

It was in the bulletin so it must have been true. I guess I was preaching that morning. I asked the piano player to please play a few more songs... we were going to start a few minutes late that morning. My heart was racing as I found a secluded corner and started flipping through the Bible to find something to talk about. I settled on a Psalm I had been studying, I can't even remember which one.

It was the shortest sermon in the history of the Christian church. They liked it so much that I preached there every Sunday for the next three and a half years. They ordained me and hired me as pastor.

A few years later I was invited to move to St. Louis to help get another church started. That year belongs in a post all to itself. Leave it to say that I believe that 1997 was the most difficult year of my relatively young life.

Then in 1998 I found myself back in a secular job. I started selling something called a Risograph to churches, schools and print shops. The Risograph is a crude printing press and is one of the least expensive ways in the world to make copies. I sold a bunch of them, and was promoted several times until I became the Illinois sales manager for the digital copier and printer division.

In 2002 I moved to Louisiana. Now I'm the sales manager for another copier company. I like what I do. It beats carrying sheetrock. It is nothing like the ministry. It is somewhere in between. It is good, honest work.

Sometimes I wish that I could be doing something more exciting or exotic. I'd like to be a poet, or an actor, or a professional musician. But if my family depended on my abilities in those areas, we would starve.

In the end, I'd rather be good at what I'm good at. So I got to go to bed. I got work tomorrow.

It is so close I can taste it. I've been whistling the Monday Night Football theme for a few days now.

Bring it on!

Yesterday while I was trying to find a customer about 20 miles south of Ruston, Louisiana (you know, the middle of nowhere) I stopped in a little grocery store and paid for a can of Coke, a bag of Tom's Hot Pork Rinds (now with 50% more rind), and a pack of Big Red gum. The checker bagged my purchase and I jumped back in the truck.

A few minutes later I found the customer, met their needs started back to Monroe. I tore into the bag of pork rinds and started going at them. They were good and hot, just as advertised. About half way through the bag they started getting to me. I reached into the brown paper sack for my Coke... needed to cool my tongue down a little. I fished around in the bag. No Coke. I looked on the seat. Looked in the floor board. Felt around under my seat... maybe it rolled under there. No Coke.

The burning in my mouth was increasing. The checker must not have put the can in the bag, and I must have left it on the counter.

I started praying for another gas station or grocery store... a well... a creek... anything. Then I remembered the gum.

Hey, this gum will cool off my mouth! The Big Red only made it worse. A million times worse. My nose was running and tears were pouring down my face.

About ten miles later, I finally found a little quick stop. I slid in, jumped out, and bought a big bottle of milk.

Yes milk. The heat that you taste in your mouth is from the oil in the food that sticks around. When you drink water... well, you know about oil and water. Milk mixes with the oil and washes it down.

There you go, another life lesson from Unca Duane.

Laughter is the best medicine.

Unless you have diabetes.

Then you should probably try insulin.

Is it me, or has The Onion become less funny since moving to New York?

You can be mean to me
Mean as you want to be
Just say anything that you like
You can be nasty or catty and
Cruel and unusual
Twist my nose with your fingers
Trip me while I carry liquids

But as you pin me down
My arms down on the ground
As your spit drips into my face
Deep in the back of your mind
Remember at some point
You'll have to fall asleep

And when you fall asleep
Into your room I'll creep
Did something move
In the dark 'neath your bed?
And then a voice you'll hear
It's calling loud and clear
A voice that is your own
A voice that's saying
AAAAAARHRHHRHHHAA!

There are things that one can do
With Ben-Gay, Nair and Super glue
A package of indelible dye
Why would a guy such as I ever buy
Indelible dye, blue as the sky
Don't ask me why

This catalogue I found
Sells roaches by the pound
Millipedes, Centipedes too
They say the meek shall inherit
Because they stay up late
and change the will.

- Heywood Banks

Here's one of those deals that you steal from other people and nobody reads:

Name the band (or musician) that...

You love to sing along with: Better Than Ezra, Merle Haggard

Sums up your teenage years: Lynard Skynard (I graduated in '92, if you were trying to date me by that... but I was really into the whole Southern Rock thing in High School)

Makes you cry: Skip Ewing

Perks you up: Weezer

Makes you laugh: Heywood Banks

Wrote lyrics you wish you wrote: Van Morrison

You never want to hear again: Any southern gospel quartet or anyone even remotely affilliated with the Gaithers

Reminds you of your current love: Blues Traveler

You used to hate but now like: I have never un-hated any musician. I've only added to my hate list.

You like to wake up to: The theme from NPR's Morning Edition

You like out of your parents record collection: George Jones, Elvis Presley (if my father leaves me nothing but his Elvis records, I will consider it a grand inheritance indeed)

You love that you wouldn't know about if it wasn't for a friend: Earl Klugh

Has a video you love more than the tune: I haven't seen a music video since 1997.

You are embarrassed to admit you like: Kylie Minogue - well, just that one song they keep playing on the radio

If I ever get to own a car that has absolutely no practical purpose, I think I would like to have a 1986 - 1988 Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS.

It has always struck me as having an angular, masculine design. Definitely not a chick car or a family car. It also brings back great memories of when I was a kid and Dale Earnhardt was winning all sorts of races and championships in one.

It stands as no surprise that when Chevrolet went to the more rounded, sissified Lumina body style and then lately with the new curvy feminine late 90's Monte Carlo body style, stock car racing had its first successful woman driver.

Wednesday, August 14, 2002

Last night I took Sarah out to supper for the first time since we moved to Louisiana. Yesterday was her birthday. Our new Assistant Pastor Rich Lusk, and his wife Jenny, volunteered to watch Bailey for the night. They have similarly aged children, and we will return the favor in the future.

So Sarah and I went out. I told her that she could get anything she wanted off the menu... and since this was her night, she could go ahead and Supersize it if she wanted to.

We actually went to the Olive Garden after sorting through all of our options. I asked her to pick a place to go, and told her I would take her anywhere. Someone had recommended a little restaurant in Monroe called, Le Chateau. They said they have great Italian food. Le Chateau. Italian. I imagine you can get real good German food down at Luigi's.

But we decided not to experiment on her birthday. That's the thing about this homogenized culture. No matter where you go, there is an Olive Garden, a Wal Mart, a Home Depot and a McDonalds, and you can pretty much expect the same soulless, albeit consistently soulless atmosphere and quality of service anywhere you go. No gamble.

You can count on it. Every Wal Mart is going to have the same cross-eyed septuagenarian greeter, asking "Need a buggy?". Every McDonalds is going to have the same tepid lopsided Big Mac with too much sauce. Every Home Depot is going to have the surly guy in the paint department who snorts and points vaguely into the distance when you ask him where you can find a 3/4" allen wrench. Every Olive Garden is going to give you warm beer and cold bread. And you like it. That's why you keep going back.

We keep going back because these corporate monoliths are a sure thing. You know exactly what you are going to get, even if it is really bad. We have no idea what we are going to get when we pull into the little restaurant that looks like a train caboose off of route 72 in rural Mississippi. So we hold on just a little bit longer, hoping to see a Burger King down the road.

For my birthday, however, I think we are going to try something different. Like Le Chateau.

Yesterday I went to register for the fall classes at the Dabney Center. When I started to get all my charges lined out, and trying to figure out how much I was going to pay for books, I was suprised at the total.

I asked Miss Jackie Peacock, the church secretary, "Isn't this a little short?". She informed me that a few days ago, someone had anonymously paid for a large portion of my tuition! I am so thankful, and yet I wish that I knew who to thank. I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I can't believe that someone would be so generous as to do that!

Among the books I collected yesterday was an actual bound copy of "The Failure of the American Baptist Culture" - a collection of essays edited by Jim Jordan. You can download it free HERE, but if you are anything like me, you can't stand to read a book on a monitor. I've wanted to print it out, but I didn't usually have the ream of paper handy to do so. Now I have one of the last known available bound copies in the universe. It seems that several years ago Gary North told Randy Booth to come get a bunch of books that he had sitting around not doing anything. A handful of these were just some of the gems in that collection. Don't you wish you were me?

Monday, August 12, 2002

St. Louis Cardinals legend Enos "Country" Slaughter died today. Here he is scoring the winning run of the 1946 World Series. The family I worked for in St. Louis had him as a neighbor for a long time.

I think the last Psalm we sung in last night's evening service marks the first time I have ever sung the word "dung".

We sang Psalm 83, an imprecatory Psalm containing the words...

"Treat them (God's enemies) like Midian, like Jabin's army. Treat them like Sisera at Kishon's brook. At Endor they were all annhilated and the became as dung upon the ground.... My God, O make them be like whirling dustclouds, make them like bits of chaff before the wind."

Pastor Wilkins had just completed a sermon on the history of Islam, its war against Christianity, and our appropriate response to it. I can say that there was quite a palpable militant ardour when we sang that Psalm after that sermon. I don't know of a praise chorus or revival hymn that would have quite captured the sense of what we were asking God to do.

"I come to the garden, alone, to ask you to spike your enemy's head to the ground like you did Sisera's"

or

"You're my all, You're the best! You annhiliate your enemies and make them like dung!"

I wish I had Psalms to sing like this growing up, instead of the prissy little Sunday School songs I had. I never ever ever want to be a member of a church that doesn't employ the Psalms in worship.

I wonder how authors of books for very young children get away with it? I mean they write maybe seven or eight sentences for the entire book, and fill the rest of the page up with pictures. How about that for an easy way to make money?

Here is the complete text (as best as I can remember it) from one of Bailey's books...

Show me your ears
Show me your nose
Show me your eyes
Show me your hair
Show me your knees
Show me your toes
Now good night little one!

This book has a list price of $8.99, (cheap!). That is some pretty good writing, there. I bet it took the author about five minutes to come up with all of that.

I could do that! I could even develop a plot, one sentence per page.

"Kitty and Bunny and the Balloons" by Unca Duane

Kitty saw Bunny.
"Hi Bunny, how are you today"
"I am sad, Kitty."
"Why are you sad, Bunny?"
"Because my balloon floated away. Hey, I notice you have a balloon!"
"What of it?" Kitty asked incredulously.
"That looks like my balloon! Now give it to me right now.", Bunny raged.
"Get outta my face!" Kitty turned to leave.
Bunny stabbed Kitty repeatedly and left him in the yard.
Bunny took the balloon and frolicked in the green grass.


So... anybody want to help me find a publisher?

Sunday, August 11, 2002

Is it just me, or does anyone else have trouble understanding the dialogue in some of these foppish British films that have come out in the last few years?

Sarah and I rented Gosford Park the other night and we had to keep the captions on the whole time. It seems like we have to do this with every British or Australian film we rent. On this particular night, because I was so busy reading the captions, I couldn't always put the dialogue with the face that was speaking very easily. That film in particular only has about forty principle characters, so I was mildly lost about a half an hour into it, and totally desperately lost after an hour. I gave up on it. I don't even care "who done it". Sarah watched the last half hour alone.

Do people in England really sound so mushmouthed? It seems that every time I see a Brit interviewed on TV or hear one on the radio, I can understand them perfectly. Is there a particular dialect that they use for movies?

Well I give up on British films until they can learn to speak English disctinctly and with proper enunciation.

---

On a similar note, yesterday someone asked me to repeat something. Said they had a hard time understanding my accent. My accent? Somebody from Louisiana saying they couldn't understand my accent.

I take great care to pronounce every consonant and vowel clearly in the perfect flat midwestern manner. So when someone can't understand me, I know that something is wrong with them.

Saturday, August 10, 2002

The church has been so good to us the last few days. A couple of ladies came and spent a good amount of time with Sarah today. We've had a couple of meals brought to the house. We really feel loved and accepted by Auburn Avenue.

There's something about sharing a loss with a bunch of other people. I used to think that sorrow was better dealt with all by yourself. Now I think that it is almost like the impact of the grief is dissipated over a larger area when you have a lot of people around you to share your grief.

I need to remember that the next time I know of someone who's hurting.

Friday, August 09, 2002

Today's cathartic spew...

1. Hey Louisiana drivers! The gas pedal is the one on the right.

2. I have to work on Saturday. I am driving to Vicksburg, Mississippi to give an hour-long presentation on the current climate of the copier industry and an overview of the new technologies and solutions that we are able to provide. My audience will be the guys from all around the Southland who run the various branch offices of the company I work for.

Saturdays are for grocery shopping and for putting Bailey in the kiddie pool and cutting the grass and enjoying the fruits of a week's labors. Saturdays are not for standing around in a polo shirt and khakis acting like you are actually interested in talking about business and pretending to appreciate the opportunity to be there.

3. I hate high fives. When somebody sticks their hand up for one, I just put my hand out to shake their hand... you know like an adult.... instead of slapping their hand like some drunk loser frat boy. Most of them don't know what to do and just stand there feeling awkward, like I left them hanging or something. Big deal. You won't do it again now will you?

Thursday, August 08, 2002

Someone reminded me tonight of how blessed I am that I have a brilliant wife and a beautiful daughter and how much it really stinks to be single.

Have you ever noticed the seemingly infinite number of blogs with the words "random" or "musings" or some combination or synonym of the two in their title or description?

It seems that there are a number of blogs written by people infatuated with their own wit.

Take me for example...

I feel a lot better tonight. Not so sad. More disappointed than anything.

I met with our pastor for a few minutes today, and he helped me think through a few things and gave me some direction in some areas where I was lacking it.

If there is a more Godly, humble, compassionate, thoroughly righteous man, I've never met him.

An open letter to the X-10 Camera pop-up ads, gas pumps that inquire whether I want a car wash and drive-through attendents suggestive-selling french fries:

NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Duane

Go read what Sarah posted today.

Wednesday, August 07, 2002

Sarah had a miscarriage this morning.

We're pretty sad.

Tuesday, August 06, 2002

Okay, I bet nobody can guess THESE movie quotes:

1. Hey!

2. Keep the change.

3. Follow that car.

4. Gimme a beer.

5. Run!

6. Frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a damn that we are in a movie based on a novel of the same name.

It is amazing how a really really bad day seems to gain momentum and quickly turn into a really, super awful, terrible day. It's been one of those days where a bunch of very bad things happened all right in a row. I think I could deal with the challenges individually if they all happened seperately, on different days. But when they all fall right together, it makes you want to crawl in a hole for several hours.

1. Sarah went to the OB/GYN today and we found out that we stand a strong chance of losing the little life that she is carrying. We were wondering how we were going to pay for a normal pregnancy and delivery. I have no idea how we are going to pay for a difficult pregnancy and delivery. Seems that I made some faulty assumptions about the state of health care and insurance in Louisiana. Everything was 100% paid for with the HMO I had in St. Louis. Here, what little bit of crappy insurance is available does not cover any maternity or delivery.

2. When Sarah returned home from the doctor, she sat down at the computer and all the power went off. She made it to the door in time to see a guy returning to his truck who shouted, "Sorry, had to cut you off, because you didn't pay your bill."

It is tough to pay a bill you didn't receive. I have not seen a single piece of mail from the power company. We've only been here a short time, and just this week I got our first water bill. I thought that we must have just moved here between a billing cycle. If we didn't get a bill by the end of the week, I was going to call and find out what was up. When I called the power company, they read the address that the bill had been sent to, and it was entirely incorrect. I said, "Don't you get mail returned to you if it is sent to the wrong address? Obviously you have a good enough address to come disconnect us! Don't you try to call before it gets to that point?" I'm sure that it sounded like I was making excuses because they hung up on me twice. Still, I paid the balance, but it was late afternoon before they could reconnect the service. Sarah had to go find a cool place to hang out with Bailey until she could come back and turn the a/c on.

3. I had to deal with some pretty ridiculous personal accusations today. I dealt with it, and I can't say anymore about it, but it sure did get my adrenaline pumping for a couple of hours.

4. Sarah burned her hand pretty bad while cooking supper.

5. Sarah learned that she might be dragged into a homeschooling legal battle. I don't think I can talk about any of the details.

I know that there are a lot of people who are a whole lot worse off than we are, and I don't mean to sound like I'm not thankful for all the Lord has given us. I'm not griping. I'm just venting. I feel a little better just writing about it.

I will say that on a day like today, I wonder why I left the peace and serenity of St. Louis. Seems like a lot of our worries are tied to our present locale. I'm sure I'll see things differently tomorrow.

Monday, August 05, 2002

Okay, in order to keep in step with some other members of the blogging community, here is my movie quote quiz.

If any one person guesses all five of them correctly, I will send them a $5 Amazon gift certificate. Hey, it's better than a sharp stick in the eye. This is a very low budget operation.

1. "We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives. And remember, my friends, future events such as these will affect you in the future."

2. "I'm impatient with stupidity. My people have learned to live without it."

3. "I can't so much as drink a glass of water around a midget or a piece of antique furniture."

4. "I saved Latin. What did you ever do?"

5. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, if I can change, and you can change, everybody can change."

Have at it... first one there wins.

Waaayyyy overdue on linking to some of these... but I just added links to Fragmenta, Princess Fluffy, Xavier+, In The Shadowlands, the Krazy Celtic and Christdot.com.

Saturday, August 03, 2002

Hey Rick! I think I found your avacado.

You can come over any time and pick it up.

A while back, Jon Barlow told me about this theory of his that every conversation of any length between two members of our generation will, sooner or later, contain at least one reference to the television show Seinfeld. Since then, I have been paying close attention, and I have yet to participate in a substantial conversation that proves him wrong.

So most of you know what I'm talking about when I say that the name "Huck", to me, is sort of like the name "Seven" was to George.

Friday, August 02, 2002

If our next child is a boy, I've decided on the name "Huck".

Sarah still needs some convincing. She says it sounds like a nickname. I said, "Of course, it is short for Huckleberry."

I know she did some compromising when I came up with the name "Bailey". I thought I was being pretty original, but it turns out that there are some other Baileys running around.

Still... how many other kids are going to be named "Huck"?

Please, lend me your support.

Pure meanness.

When Sarah was in Maryland, I rented The Royal Tenenbaums upon Jon Barlow's recommendation. I didn't think Sarah wanted to see it, but when she came back she was disappointed that I had seen it without her. So we rented it again last night.

The best way that I can describe it, is that from beginning to end, the entire movie is like a big itchy sweater. Not to say that I didn't enjoy it, it is a great movie in a lot of respects, but I there are several elements to the film that seem to be placed there for the specific purpose of keeping the viewer just a little out of phase.

For example, I could never really date the film. The cars, technology and clothes are all wierd combinations of 70's, 80's and 90's-retro-60's styles that mingle to create this surreal non-time, as if the characters are living in a different dimension all together. The flat-out wierdness of the fashions, the hairstyles, the house, the sets, the ubiquitous sans-serif fonts and the music all add another level of tension to the heavy dialogue and storyline.

Underlying all of that though, is a very believable story about the failure of a father to protect and rule his household, and the lasting results his sin has upon his children and his children's children.

I recommend checking it out. If you aren't already out of kilter, this is a film that will put you there for a couple of hours. The Royal Tenenbaums is a film completely devoid of kilter.

Thursday, August 01, 2002

I have a summer cold. My throat is sore. I'm coughing and sneezing and my head hurts. Summer colds are the worst.

The only advantage is that I can sing along with Merle Haggard on the radio and hit all the low notes.

I've written a haiku about it.

Scratchy phlegm filled throat
I sing Lonesome Fugitive
Haggard sounds like me

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