YES! For YEARS I've wanted to design my own t-shirts. And now, via the magic of the Information SuperDuperHighway, I can. Please feel free to view my first creation. Many, many, many more are sure to follow.

I am going to be in a black movie. Yes, "Finders Keepers", the soon-to-be hit from Chilltime Productions will feature yours truly as a mechanic. See, Dora and I are very Culturally Inclusive, and black people love us. Also, I read for this part about 15 months ago, and apparantly my reading was passable. Financing is now available, I guess, so shooting will start on July 17 (no, none of this is a joke). I will now show you a word for word excerpt from my scene:

DOMINICK: Hey!

MACHANIC [sic]: Yeah, buddy?

DOMINICK: I put money in the machine and nothing happened.

MACHANIC: What do you mean, "nothing happened?"

DOMINICK: What do you mean, what do I mean? I never got a fucking pop outta the son-of-a-bitch.

MACHANIC: (calmly) I'm sorry sir. But that's not our machine.

DOMINICK: What? Not your machine? It's on your fucking property! It's your machine!

MACHANIC: Sorry sir. The guy from the soda company comes about 4:00 each day to refill it. Maybe he can help you.

DOMINICK: Yeah! That's a good idea. How bout I just wait for the guy and shoot him and his fucking machine! Fucking jerk off...

So what do you think guys? Guys?

I'm sure that you've all heard me do as much name-dropping as possible with regards to my old roomie Shane Carruth, who went out and won Sundance this year. Anyhow, his film Primer (which features a jaundiced SManuel in duel roles as "guy standing by pool #3" and "restaurant patron #5"- can anybody say "versatility"?) is getting theatrical release in September, and will be in these festivals this summer. If you can make it to any of them to support our li'l Shanie, gee that'd be great!

Whoa! Go watch this trailer! Yowza! While I'm at it with the links, read this commencement speech from Jon Stewart. This ranks up there with dandy speeches by other academic heavy hitters like Will Ferrell (check out the photo), Al Franken (who, come on, is funny), Conan O'Brien, and Bill Watterson. You know, I lived in eastern Virginia during the summer of '93. Beautiful country, that. Anyhow, W&M was one of those left-wing liberal arts colleges I'd visit (like UC Berkeley, or Baylor), slowly murmuring to myself, "This is for... creative people with ideas. I want to be a... creative person with ideas. But I go to... an ag/engineering school..."

I make up a lot of stuff. I fail to post it because of insecurity. Fie on that! Here's some stuff. I'm going to do this regularly.

They said “if you sail out where there's no map
There are the Pillars of Hercules, then you’re lost.”
The end was the capture of all mankind
And an unending fear was the cost.

But you’ll be fine out there, if you’ll go
What you’ve always wondered at, you will know
There is life out there, on the other end
You’ll be fine out there, if you’ll go

Our passion is the making sure all questions go
We gotta grab at our money, keep that mean little job
But if I could just invite you to the Unexplored
You could cash in your life and trust in God

The few, the few who live in peace
We think of as madmen, like John Baptiste
They lived in death; forfeit control
They lost the world and gained their soul

You’ll be fine out there, if you’ll go
What you’ve always wondered at, my friend, you can know
There is life out there, on the other end
You’ll be fine out there, if you’ll go

The Spirit spoke (I was in Mexico)
Said to sell my mule for all the pobres
I took shaking steps out of my bridle-hold
Into new open fields, grazing on grace

I just spoke with Jif via the talking connector phone. He is presently eating some foodstuffs at Money Poncho, "the worst-named Mexican food restaurant in California!" He swears that the food is terrible, and that he is being made to eat there. Digas una ora por Jef. (I expect you to give us a large description when you get back and read this, Jef.)

My penmanship is rapidly degenerating. Oh sure, back in my pre-computer days (So carefree! So analog!), I could jot notes with the best of them: I could scribble a memo, or scratch out a line, or even ink a chit. But just yesterday I was forced to write, with nothing more than my Unaided Hand, an actual letter to be read by an actual human eyeball. My hand moved uncertainly, like a blind man over a porcupine, and produced a jittery, muted squiggle that could only be interpreted by prophets. My alphabet has always been embarrasingly skewed, with my n's resembling v's and my r's looking like backwards s's, etc. But never before have I felt about my writing like my father says he felt about his tennis game at age 45: "All of a sudden, I woke up one day and I was a step slower. Something in me had changed and I had to deal with it."
I can only say with humility at my own mortality that my best days of handwriting seem to be behind me. I suppose I should expect this sort of thing at my age, but that doesn't lessen the shock when my faculties begin to fail. And so, to whomever might read this, I will only say that it's been a good run, and I hope we'll all meet on the other side of the Jordan. (What does that mean, anyway?)

I agree with Mark Douglass (as usual): everyone should run out and read Blue Like Jazz, by Don Miller. It has always been my understanding that the name "Don", like "Doug" or "Herb", is not a "cool" name (though it's also favored by Waterdeep's wheels-off frontman, from what I understand). Hank, on the other hand- that's cool. Celeste- not cool. Ashley- cool. I once knew a guy named Ashley (a little strange). And I know a girl named Fruraha.

Wait. I should've made this its own post long ago. JDav turned me on to this greatness maybe a year ago. I insist that everyone who would be called a follower of Awkward, Out-of-Place, Line-Drawing Jesus spend some serious time examining their heart while looking at these images. Then cash in with your observations

Even though our addresses are a combined 2,612.6 miles apart, I had a sit down-style meal of real Texas barbeque (by the same puveyors of cooked meats favored by the right Rev. Franklin Graham and President Bush-- the "read my lips" one) with Didi, Craig and Stacy Weaver (he, fresh from a tour playing drums for Traffic!) and JDav (he, fresh from a whirlwind tour of planet earth, evangelizing and feeding the poor!). Sure it was great to be with old friends, sharing our observations and insights from our various vantages along God's Highway. And sure, it was nice to feel like a family around checkered tablecloths and sweet tea. But did I mention the jalapeno-cheese link sausage!? Holy smokes!

I am a sometime musician, so I feel a certain responsibility towards irresponsibility (no, it's not a paradox. I'm conscientious, that's all), being flaky in relationships, and being emotionally fickle (actually, I turn that trick without effort). I fulfill the first item in that list by Sometimes Not Going to Sleep When I Ought, and Staring Blankly at Colored Lights. This is a good reminder to me and my wife that 1) I'm my own man!, and 2) I'm still so immature that I think freedom = watching Letterman! When I stay up way too late (even after Mr. Kilborn is done ogling the young), and I'm scanning our four channels for attention-seizing fare, I sometimes see one (or, I should say, two) of the strangest things that exist:

Twin Midget Real Estate Pitchmen.

If you've ever seen this phenomenon, you've probably done what I've done, which is to watch for at LEAST a few minutes, just trying to wrap your mind around this macabre display. These twin midgets smile smugly (and let's be honest: midget smiles are HUGE and inproportionate, thus comical), knowing that their Foolproof Method is a surefire winner, while we see People Who're Outside of Society Looking In (and that title is not a putdown. Not only would I include myself in that group, but it's the name of my new album!) talking about how renovating trailer parks has made them tens of thousands of dollars. So my HSO is this: the Twin Midget Real Estate Pitchmen are morbidly fascinating, and I have every reason to believe that, since plunking down $140, I, too, will become a zillionaire by employing their proven strategies.

I think "Caracas" is one of the funnest words going.

There's just too much good material to mine with regards to bathroom politics. So sue me. I should write a flip book, like that crazily popular Life's Little Instruction Book.

1) I sometimes double flush on purpose, because many, many people wait for those moments of audio camouflage to work their hardest at the task at hand. I sympathize with the brother, as I have stated below. So I give him what he wants: Audio Camouflage (also the name of my new album).

2) I don't like it when people make wise about the noises that come from my body in the bathroom. These people could be as close to me as an old friend or a wife, or as removed from me as my boss or colleague, a waiter at a restaurant, any of the patrons of that restaurant, or the hostess at the complete other end of the restaurant. Regardless of the source of these criticisms, my response is the same. I quote the apostle Paul: You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things. Boy that Bible really says it well. And even if those same noises DON'T come from those people, and maybe I just have an unusually upset stomach or my body produces really LOUD noises, it's still the Bible. Am I right here?

How silly of me to not have mentioned this sooner. You should go out and see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I know that Mr. Kauffman doesn't want to become a "brand", but there's no escaping it when you're this original and creative. I probably see a movie a year that I try to MAKE people see, and this falls into that category. C'mon, don't be so stubborn! Go see it!

Matthew 8:20 says "foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."

A hole is a fitting place for a fox to be. It's a correct match for who he is. He belongs there. Same with a bird and a nest. Makes sense. Again, it's fitting that a bird would find repose in a nest. So the question arises, "What would be a fitting location for the head of Christ?" When the question is asked in that way, you might think of this verse:

Colossians 1:18: "And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy." See also Ephesians 5:23, Colossians 2:19.

Consider that the line about the holes and nests was Jesus' reponse to a teacher of the law who declared he'd follow Jesus wherever he went. I'd imagine that Jesus was trying to inform this fellow about the fact that His lifestyle was hard, minimalistic, and uncertain. But isn't it more than possible that Jesus was also telling this guy that the church had left no room for him to rule? Couldn't he also have been warning this man that following Jesus would make him an outcast from the system that gave him so much identity?

And lastly, isn't it true that in the church today, there is precious little place for Jesus to lay His headship? And are we willing to feel "headless" in order to make room for him? THE place that's fitting for Jesus' head to rest is upon the ready, receiving shoulders of His body. May we do as John the Baptizer commanded, preparing the way for the coming of the LORD!

I cannot improve upon the simplicity of this story: Bao Hoang works in the ultra-clean, IKEAfied world of Nokia cell phone engineerdom. And he has a colleague who moonlights as something of a card player. Feel free to go to the links below to see how Raja Kattamuri spends his free time, when he's not tied down by the Nordic Lords. This confims my hunch that all engineers are geniuses in their own little ways, very few of which are at all applicable in the humanoid universe.

http://www.pokerpages.com/tournament/result9061.htm
http://www.pokerpages.com/tournament/result7806.htm