Well, it's the last day of the sixth month, so I'll give you all a ME update...

Didi and I just returned from a weekend in Houston, where I met with Les Alexander and encouraged the McGrady trade. We also managed to see our friend Rebecca Johnson (Mayfield) get married off, and spent time with Shawna V, Stacie (Probandt) Bowser, my parents, David and Jennifer and Brandon and Ari Jones, Matt Schell, Clubber Langford, Jif, and my old pal Ronda. A good weekend. On Sunday, I head off to the fabulous white sands of scenic highway 30-a, in the panhandle of Florida. More specifically, we'll be in the neighborhood of where they filmed the Truman Show (Watercolor), all perfect and planned-communityesque. We will be with those kind and inclusive Breitenfelds.

I had a fight with my favorite cockroach today. His name is Larry, and he likes cookie crumbs. Well, he used to, I should say. The fight ended with me looking for a new Favorite Cockroach. I hate that I had to put my foot down like that (heel first, swivelling as if my foot was saying no), but he makes me so mad sometimes! He thinks Cameron Diaz is "so so hot", while I try and try to teach him about Torah as a type and shadow (his view of God in the world is so surface!). He can never sit still! When we lie down for naps, he's so fidgety, like a third grader on a field trip. And if you're looking for a friend who ASKS before he TAKES, you'll have to look elsewhere. I guess Larry and I were just too different for the relationship to last.

This bit of chicanery was brought to my attention by wunderkind Mark Parrett, now on leave from his work with the NSA. Good As New, huh? I think this kind of thinking is neither. Sure, there's something spiritually bankrupt about this, but I don't think that even the lost are fooled by this sort of nonsense. The law is written on their hearts, is it not? Don't their own consciences condemn them? I can't imagine some unbeliever earnestly being interested in this New Spin...

...................................
Notice the butt on the left. Doesn't it look comfortable? Doesn't it look swaddled? Doesn't it look like it's nestled in plush cottony softness? Doesn't that guy look like he's sticking out his butt right at the camera? Well, it IS- and HE is! The legs on the right, well, sure- they're not exactly hurting, but they get plenty of airtime. [As a matter of fact, these two images represent the amount of hype each type of pant enjoys. Look how much bigger the jeans are!] Me, I'm here to hype CORDUROY. Yeah, that's right. The cord of kings. It's soft, it's flexible, and it's much cooler than some suggest. Okay, so it's not AS cool as, say, broadcloth or khaki. But is it any hotter than the standard denim? I say no. And it's significantly softer than denim, this is certain. So, the question is posed: should cords only be worn in the winter months? I say no. Many would disagree, but then again, many, MANY people also enjoy NASCAR. David Letterman, for example.

As I scan the landscape of the little world I call home, I cannot but wonder at my over-concern about things that really don't matter. Nowhere is this more strikingly apparant than in the way I respond to the use of the apostrophe (or in the Dominican Republic). I make that concerned frownie face that made Clinton famous whenever I see signs touting "Toy's for Kid's" or "Tomato's for sale". I shake my head like a concerned father when families are referred to in print as "the Smith's" or "the Niratpattanasai's". What can be done about my persnickityness? Anyone?

I do apologize for making my posts so link-dependent as of late- that's just not me, baby. But I would like my friends to read this, if you have the time and curiosity: a level-headed response from a put-out liberal (yes) about the never-ending shenanigans of the pub-hungry Michael Moore. And now I have over-hyphenated.

Sometimes I think that christians are locked inside a brainless mind-funk warp world of weirdness and hooey. I pass by their bookstores (never going in. never. never.) hawking titles like "Jesus' Sea of Galilee Miracle Diet" and "Shrelk Too: the Ogre Inside Us All" and can only make farting noises in my pants. I'm not the first one with this opinion, but neither was Edison the first guy to think up a light bulb (see what I'm saying?). But then, something like this comes along and renews my faith in the christian community.

Titillating. AWFULLY titillating. But let's start calling people by their real names.

This is a picture of a man I met at breakfast this morning, near my home in Oakley, Ohio. His name is Evander Holyfield, which is a pretty long name. He is very strong and has made a good living hurting people on teevee. But he seems nice. On four different occasions, Evander has been able to say, "Nobody in the world can beat me, if we fight."

This is a picture of a man I will meet around dinner time later today, at my church house in Oakley. His name is Michael Card, which is an easier name. He is probably physically weak, judging from his paleness, but is strong in his mind and heart. He makes a living talking about Jesus in songs and in books. He also seems very nice. On nineteen different occasions, radio listeners have said, "Out of the millions of choices, the song you made up, Michael, is our very favorite song right now."

Well, you gotta hand it to the Lakers. They managed to stay with the Pistons for most of the first quarter in game 5's demoralizing rout. (giggle). I watched the Pistons play a grand total of five games this season, and let me say that I was made one huge fan of this team. This pretty well encapsulates what I think of them. (And am I, in a naughty kind of way, tickled pink at the demise of the ballyhooed Lakers in the process? Well, yes. Yes I am.)

Another stance from which I WILL NOT BACK DOWN: Cheat Commandos are sweet as yams!

If anybody was uncertain about my stance, PLEASE know this: I AM AGAINST FALSE RELIGION. DAMN IT ALL TO HELL. hee hee (wink!)

I have never been changed by all the vows I made to God
I am changed by the Promise He made me.
I was often told it was the love that I could give
But the love that I received’s what set me free

I’ve grown a little bit tired of all the pressure to commit
Of all the talk of how to be a better man
If you’re looking for a winner, man, then don’t come look for me
I’ve always failed when I’ve tried the best I can

And the features of a lie are taking shape
And the scars are coming through from all the souls we rape
There’s a filthy underbelly to this beast
Something made our dough rise up that smells a lot like yeast

But I am walking out from underneath
The land that I inherited fin’ly underneath my feet
Hallelujah, walking out from underneath
Like a newborn calf upon the meadow- walking out from underneath

All my days, men have sought to make me serve them
To enlist me for their vision, just to fill me with their shame
All this slavery just rent me from my Father
And the joy of simple sonship and the honor of our name

And I’m not trying to be godly anymore
I just want to be God’s boy
And when I stopped my working hard to get my Father’s love
To my great surprise, I found His joy


The content of this song actually happened to me about 3 years ago, but I'm still understanding the ramifications of the religious spirit that wound itself like a choking weed up into my soul. I'm also reading the book at jakecolsen.com, which is about all this stuff, and that's brought a bunch of these thoughts back up to the surface for me. Also, seeing the multi-million dollar publishing and conferencing juggernaut of Willow Creek for the first time up close last week didn't exactly "take me back to the roots of my faith", either. Funny how life on planet Earth is so strange for a believer, and that largely because of Christianity.

Sorry to post 3 times in a day, but this is just too important to pass up: Apparantly, Paris Hilton is going to be in a movie.
"We're in the middle of nowhere, like 45 minutes away from, like, civilization-- and it's, like, all real. It's, like, really cold and last night we were shooting at this sugar mill and it really smelled bad. And I didn't wear shoes, like, I don't know... We're in the middle of nowhere and there's bugs everywhere. Everything's real. I'm actually running through a forest with bare feet -- it hurts. I've done my own stunts, like falling. I hurt my knee -- it was bleeding. But it looks good, so it's worth it. I definitely think people are going to be, like, looking at me more than they would if I wasn't, like, so . . . I can't explain it. But I do a good job and I'm really looking forward to people seeing I'm good. . ."
I think this will be, like, really really great. Seeing Paris fall, for instance, will be... oh, I don't know...

Some friendly encouragements for you guys:

1) forgiveness is your first ministry. If you're unforgiving to anybody, you cannot be reconciled to God (II Cor 5:16-20). So be a ravenous, militant forgiver.

2) If you love your unforgiveness, or you're just too lazy to forgive, your Father (who will be angry at this kind of behavior) will turn you over to the tormentors (Matt 18:33-35). Tormenting spirits are not your friends, and they're really good at what they do. They can torment your mind, your will, your emotions, and your body (look around your life for examples of people tormented because of unforgiveness). PLEASE, my dear friends, DO NOT PLAY BALL WITH THESE GUYS. FORGIVE!! FORGIVE!! FORGIVE!!

3) Forgiving is not about rights, principles, or fairness. If it were, God would never talk to you. So let go of all that stuff and just forgive. In so doing, you will release your debtors' debt to you, as well as your debt to God. That's a weird thing to say, but that's how the Matthew 18 passage and Matthew 6:12 (LORD's prayer), and Luke 6:37 says it. Uh... it's a big deal.

4) And it is because forgiving is such a basic component of God's character. You cannot possibly be an unforgiving person and be like Jesus. Impossible. This is the man who looked down at His malicious tormentors and executioners and said "forgive them, Father! They just don't know what they're doing."

5) When you forgive, you'll grow in understanding about how much you've been forgiven. God's heart is so very kind toward His children. He rushes to forgive, always. So forgive and let Him do what He wants to do (namely, be in intimate relationship with you)!

Har Har! Good on ye Ags! The Pistons are looking strong, Griffey's leading the Reds, and the Williams sisters didn't win the last major. It's a good sporting day for me.
Boy do I hate it when, after getting my hand down into that just-small-enough-to-drive-you-nuts Pringles (TM) can and getting a few precious nuggets of sustenance,I drop a few, which don't land properly on the deck of snacks, thus throwing everything off. Then I cannot drive my hand down the side of the can (because now there IS no side!), and must resort to the unpredictability of POURING the Pringles (TM) from their brightly-colored holster. Pouring, of course, is a practice which guarantees NOTHING with regards to the re-stacking of the chips. Boy I tell ya, it's enough to make me forget about the Pistons. For a few minutes, anyway.

So, Didi's really into cheese. She writes poems about cheese. She muses about cheese on quiet Sunday drives. Her ideal meal is cheese sauce over broccoli, only without the broccoli. You dig. Well I try to get involved, you know, for support- like a loving father who sits down with his adolescent to listen to the music of a younger generation. Anyway, we are forever stocking string cheese and, my friends, sometimes I just bite it off like beef jerky (or a twinkie. or a corn dog. or a pickle), never taking the time to carefully denude the strings of protein-packed dairy goodness. DOES THIS MAKE ME A MONSTER!??!

ps- Here's a funny photo of me from jeers and jeers ago that I took for my mom on Mother's Day. The lady working the photo "studio" at KMart said I looked great that day, and I thought, "Well, she's a professional..." I had JUST woken up.

Is it just me, or are cartoons the most wonderful medium ever devised? I don't want to overstate my case, so I'll just put it this way: CARTOONS HAVE SINGLE-HANDEDLY AMPED UP THE HAPPINESS QUOTIENT ON PLANET EARTH BY TENFOLD. AT LEAST. Whether you're taking your seven-year-old to see Shrek 2 (imagine that 2 with cute ogre ears), or are a college student enjoying Homestar or the Powerpuff Girls (or, in some cases, Spongebob), or you're one of those creepy men who enjoy the latest Star Wars graphic novel, or you just love it when Speed Racer or the G Force is referenced anywhere, anytime, or you're just a regular guy who enjoys eating your Commando O's in front of those wonderful old Bugs Bunny bits (or the GENIUS "house of the future"-style shorts), you know that cartoons are at least PART of what James was thinking of when he wrote "every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Heavenly Lights." What other medium allows such unfettered imagination, such total control of color, perspective, motion, setting, etc.? I, for one, will always be a proponent. So today, take some time and thank the Creator for Spaceman Spiff.