Slap that thang!

Another year-long home improvement project bites the dust.  Eat it, chunky.

Here's them BEFORE-style photos:

If you could see better, you would note several colors of paint- this thing's been chipping since poodle skirts were in vogue. Also, please note the $7 keep-the-insurance-company-off-my-butt handrail. $7=Quality, in case you weren't paying attention.





























Now, a photo of all my assistants on this project:

I honestly cannot believe how good-looking we are. I can't believe it! I'm agnostic on this one.












Lastly, the AFTER-style photos. Read em and weep, porch! In your face, steps!





Think I'm being a little overzealous with the photos? A little too many, maybe? Not if it's taken me this long to do this dumb thing. I know this: I'm a much better tile-and-grout man than I was a year ago. And I've got Curb Appeal!

Rehearsed Sincerity, like a university girlfriend

I heard a blurb on NPR today of W. at his Memorial Day photo op.  He was saying, among other things, "I am humbled by those who have made the ultimate sacrifice that allow a free civilization to endure and flourish." He also threw in, "It only remains for us, the heirs of their legacy, to have the courage and the character to follow their lead and to preserve America as the greatest nation on Earth and the last, best hope for mankind." He mentioned the "stinging cold of Valley Forge" and of dead soldiers finding "peace beneath the whitehead stones..."

It's hilarious to think of quoting these words and attributing them to the President, because we all know they were created by someone else, reviewed by a team of political strategists, and finally presented to the press (="Amur-ka") like rhetorical cheese whiz, processed and inauthentic. I also decided that, what I don't like about this president (in comparison to others) is that he's just not a believable actor. He LOOKS like he's reading somebody else's words, and he really doesn't understand what they're trying to get at. Clinton, on the other hand: he could be reading the Kroger weekly mailer and totally convey that he UNDERSTANDS these great prices and WANTS YOU to agree with him that Kroger really is the Cost Cutter.

Politics is trashy.

Rock Solid

Based on this, very much looking forward to the album.

Post: Mortem

There's a terrible practice in Africa and the middle east where widows get saddled with all kinds of debt because they have to entertain family for like a week and have these elaborate functions when their husbands die. And if they don't come through, they're shamed by the family and village forever. And uncles and brothers routinely seize lands and properties from these newly-destitute women as well. It's something IJM works hard to combat, but it's rampant.

I was being reminded of this injustice by Mipone, our guest from South Africa, just before having another conversation with musrat (now in America) about the same thing. The death/mourning/remembrance topic is generally enigmatic for me. Here's a smattering of my issues:

* What's the deal with headstones and graveyards? Is that necessary? Do you have to go somewhere to remember your loved one? Or is it just easier to NOT buy another teeny tiny piece of property, pay to have it maintained ("Could you mow over my dad's carcass from now till kingdom come? Great. Here's ten thousand dollars."), and feel a weird guilt for not being more involved in this little tract? I'm open to education, but I just don't get it.

* What's the deal with visiting grave sites? Do you have a talk with dead people there, like in sentimental movie (or occult-type flicks)? We don't believe in that crossing over stuff, right? Is there anything you can say on that property, looking at those dates, that you couldn't say in your backyard to the same effect? I'm talking out of ignorance, here. I've visited grave sites of my relatives-passed-on, but all I feel is vaguely creepy.

* What's the deal with coffins and morticians and embalming and all that stuff, period? Is there some psychological value in letting people look at a human carcass at memorial services (these I'm for, bye the bye) that beats having a photograph or just a memory? Don't we believe that "the flesh counts for nothing" like that Jesus dude said?

As for me, I'm all for recycling any of my body parts that can be harvested, then you can feed my meaty bits to the jackals, which is a great word. Don't cremate my body- that's a much of a racket as the coffin biz. Just sneak my casings to your local open incinerator or (here's a neat experiment) I hear HCL will eat through everything and you could just flush it down the drain. I'd suggest the disposal in your sink but there'd be a LOT of cutting involved. How bout pigs, like in Snatch (a fun film, as I recall)?

So much pomp for the preservation and monumentalization of that which means the least in us- our bodies. Why?


ps- when I was younger, I wrote a lot of poetry about death, though I find myself to be a fairly optimistic guy. Why are the young so interested? I'll include one here...

Ten thousand days, now, I’ve been led
And one grim truth demands my head:
That my day comes
With fife and drums
And someday, I’ll be dead.

And what will my reaction be
When, barging, lumb’ring, death takes me?
Its fatal grist
None can resist
As we all soon shall see.

Will my life have been but a cloud
Which vanishes at sun’s pure shroud?
Will death attest
That my life’s best
Was small, and vain, and proud?

Perhaps my days will act as proof
Of GOD’s dominion, love, and truth
May it be said
When I lie dead
“He loved Him in his youth”

And both these fates before me stand
Awaiting praise or reprimand
And only I
Choose or deny
As I walk through life’s land

And at the great Final Review
I’ll first see me, and you’ll see you
We’ll see what lasts
From both our pasts
When our lives’ days are through

Crap song, interesting video

it's zeitgeist-tapping!

In other news, new look here at the chew. Unfortunately, in order to make the leap, every clever thing anybody's ever said has now dissolved into the internether. I've just coined that word, webster! Bite it!

Same Funny Foreigner

I'm not trying, people. These are just coming to me, now.

Same Guy(s)

Tay Zonday, like Thom, gives me great trouble. Spoilt by choice. You decide on the most apropos:

Same Lucky Dummy










Same Keyboard Nerd














Same Charismatic, Talented Personality, Victim of Ignorant Prejudice


























Bonus Footage:

Same Homey

And one more:

SAME KING

Same One-Note Performer

I'm sorry, radiohead fans. I meant...

SAME OVERHYPED SONGWRITER














































okay, again, unfair. I think I got it right this time...

Same Inscrutable Sideshow

He Cannot Stop Himself

I know it's schadenfreude, but it's still kind of fun. See, Kobe Bryant is an arrogant rapist. We all know that. But I also just don't like the way he plays basketball. Not as morally problematic, but still a burr in my saddle.

Here, a rare shot of Kobe complaining. He is accusing someone of not letting him make more personnel decisions based on threats and pouting to the press.

I am a fan of basketball, not so much of teams. If a team that I've supported becomes lazy, heartless, and foppish, I will turn on them (see Dallas Mavericks). If a team I've grown up with and loved with canine loyalty trades a franchise cornerstone in the last 2 years of his career for draft picks that will score such athletic luminaries as Bostjan Nachbar, I will turn on them (see Houston Rockets). And if a team of drug users and miscreants is turned around by stand-up front office guys, attracting hungry men of character, I will be attracted to them like a kid to a carousel (see Portland Trailblazers). I have NEVER been a basketball fan of K.B. Bryant, the Arrogant Rapist. But I'll give him this: he's incredibly consistent.

Another shot of Kobe upset. Here, he feels he should've been given a few more looks at the basket.

In today's Utah/L.A. game, Mr. Kobe (arrogant rapist) had a worsening back problem (shadenfreude alert!). By the fourth quarter, his shots were of a quality similar to those hoisted by, say, a drunken Mike Gminski. But here's the thing about Kobe (arrogant rapist): You could behead him and he'd still think that HIM SHOOTING is the best option possible. So what did he do? Why, he kept right on hoisting it up there. We've all had to endure SO MUCH positive press about the Arrogant Rapist surrounding his MVP anointing by money-grubbing David Stern (businessman. never played basketball.), and much of it surrounded his supposedly newfound love of his teammates and his incredible desire to involve them in the games. (imagine! involving one's teammates in a game of basketball! Can we get this guy a second MVP for that?) But when push comes to shove, as it did today in a high-pressure playoff game where victory was an improbability, Kobe (A.R.) reasoned that, even WITH a faltering body and an inability to shoot, he was STILL a better option than any of his able-bodied teammates. So he chucked it up there. Repeatedly. Took it himself and took his chances with his favorite option, himself. And finally, when his final shot at the buzzer was an AIRBALL (shadenfreude alert upgraded to orange!) anybody who was watching could've seen the bald truth that it's the same old Kobe (A.R.) as it ever was. Only now he's carting around the MVP trophy he lifted from Chris Paul (I would use the term RAPE in this sentence, but that crime has already been spoken for by Kobe).

A Visit to the Absurd World of Dr. maSeuss

It is my anniversary (FANKyouveddymuch) so, as is our tradition, me and D offed for an us-themed getaway. This retreat included a massage. Jiff has written excellently about this phenomenon in the past (care to share, J?), but I think the strangeness of this topic deserves another visit. Here is my story.

* This is a bizarre little world they've cooked up, here. Even before you walk in the door, the signals are there. Candles everywhere. What could only be regarded as asian-influenced lawn ornaments litter the inside of this place. Signage everywhere is telling you to RELAX. There are provocative, organic aromas everywhere. Everything is soft. You slip off your workaday clothes and put on robes. There's classical guitar music playing quietly. Sound like anything you've ever heard of before? Yeah, the cues don't say HEALTH, the cues say ROMANCE! This is problematic and weird.

* As I'm preparing (as it is) to have a 20something woman pet my hair, caress my chest, and rub my upper thighs (many famous men have had charges brought against them for very similar activities), I ask my WIFE which of my clothes I should take off (I rarely ask anyone this question). My WIFE tells me "take off as much as you're comfortable with." This is MY WIFE. It struck me that people like musrat and moljer would instantly take off every stitch of clothing, and people like Jiff would actually ADD some clothing at the suggestion that they make themselves "as comfortable as possible." I opted for, ahem, 'undies on'.

* I am too big for this activity. There are no booties that fit me, and the ridiculous robe they give me ties around the middle of my ribs. It's... silly. When I go into the PRIVATE ROOM with me and my new ladyfriend (remember the mood lighting and music and my state of undress as I ask you "Does this sound advisable to anybody who wants to maintain their married status?), I learn that I don't fit on their little table. (for what it's worth, I like these tables. I like a table where I can lie completely face-down and still be comfortable.) This whole scene wasn't built for masculinity, marital fidelity, nor those of us Born Large.

* I've been instructed by friends to relax during a massage, not to think too much or (as been my m.o. in the past) talk non-stop. "Simply enjoy it." Impossible. At the outset, the woman (I never even knew her name!) began to slowly massage my head. And I had a thought: this woman must be more sensitive to the human body than I am. She's knowledgeable, skilled, and experienced in dealing with bodies. She has a discerning eye, surely. So, what is she thinking about MY body? I suddenly want to start a long list of apologies. "If you run into some flaking on my scalp up there, I am so sorry. I know I am a repulsive pig. Later, you're going to find a toenail that looks like a long-abandoned corn chip. Again, I'm sorry. That's an old basketball injury... it looks a heck of a lot better than it once did. And I think there's a a zit on my thigh--I know that will be gross for you. And if the patchouli oil is overcome by the smell on onions, well it was on our pizza last night..."

* As she's kneading my body (and burrowing into my calves like the meaning of life will present itself to her, as long as she DIGS), I think "there are really only three options here. Either she is not enjoying this for the aforementioned reasons, which makes me feel horrible and want to leave immediately, or she IS enjoying this, which is creepy and offputting and makes me want to leave immediately or--and here comes the best case scenario--she is completely inured to the whole thing and just doesn't care at all. Yup, that's best case: the person who's been given incredibly intimate access to my person is totally apathetic about it.

Here's a picture of someone hating someone they're massaging.

* When this woman was finished working me over, I was slimy and smelly and was offered a shower on the premises, which I accepted. After showering and re-dressing (relief!), I sheepishly waved to everyone on duty and slinked out. I made sure none of the newspapers were there to photograph me coming out of the shameful House of Rubbing. Just felt like I'd paid filthy lucre so that someone ELSE would have carnal knowledge of ME. (What a ripoff, huh?)

* I decided while in the spa that, because of the massive amounts of (already discussed) physical intimacy involved, Jesus would not go for a massage, and maybe I should never do this again for that reason. I told Didi so later that day but, as if she'd been waiting on this suggestion, she snapped back, "He was obviously okay with the anointing oil and the foot massage that lady gave him." Huh. Shut my mouth.


Come, all you who are holding stress in your shoulders, and I will give you a thorough pummeling.

Webbkins!

Feels like camp this morning. For some reason, I woke up at 5:30 and all our windows are down, and the air is very wet. I could have campers waking up in a few hours. But no, it's my adult life.

me, Didi, Bennythebull (not the one who injured a basketball fan recently) and his great wife Kate all went to dinner last night (please, see the photo to the left)then to see Derek Webb sing.

It was a great night in a run of great days around here. Don't come around Cincy these days unless you want to be tempted to move here. I'm just saying.

I was greatly disappointed that some girl named alli (who was completely unannounced and unadvertised) played her harmless music for about 30 minutes to kick things off. Then I was greatly disappointed that Derek backed up his wife's harmless music for at least another half hour. Then I was greatly disappointed when they announced that this 'tour' (5 small shows, i think) was to support an EP they recorded out of boredom together. And we all know how I get revved up for husband-and-wife music. Don't we all? So they proceeded to sing some of that stuff. Then Derek's wife left the stage. An hour and a half in, and I was finally getting what I came for (this is true for far, far too many concerts). Up to that point, it had been MY GOODNESS boring.

This gives you a feel for what an old, crumbling, catholic mass hall at 1/3 capacity is like. With bad lighting. And bad sound. In a word, awesome. Can you pick out Derek Webb's tiny body in this photo?

Once The Show I Paid For started, it lasted about a half an hour. So, it was overpriced. But I did enjoy that half hour. Derek sang A New Law and A King And A Kingdom from Mockingbird, which are my two favorites. He also turned me onto a couple others I didn't know, like This, Too, Shall Be Made Right--a reminder to us all that we're to be putting stock in an unseen kingdom that's coming and will restore All Things. Yeah. There were several times when my heart beat heavily in my chest at hearing someone else say these words. I feel lonely, often, in my convictions, and it was great to hear someone else say them aloud. I wondered a few things as I watched Derek:

1) Have he and his wife left the religious machine? If they haven't, they must be miserable. I hope they have.
2) Why wouldn't he travel with at least a drummer? He would sound SO much better!
3) What are his statement-making tattoos about? Tattoos often seem to be a screaming message to the world that "I have a secret!!" I see them like t-shirts: if you want everybody to see your message, please don't make it inscrutable. But whatever, I mean it's your body, Jesse.
4) Why wouldn't you get up on the stage if you're particularly small? My wife called them both "tiny" which, had it been said with disdain, would've been hypocritical on her part.

I also thought a few other things:

1) If you have a guitar and some songs, and you keep after it, I really think you can make a living out of it. Really. Call me crazy here, but I really think that if moljer plowed through years of lonely motels playing in terrible places, he would eventually find his audience and be able to make a living out of it. I really do. Jerry Seinfeld says the same about comedy. If you do the leg work, you learn the lessons, period, and you come out okay. I don't think music-making is any more mystical than accounting. It's romantic to think otherwise, but I know better.
2) Throwing him in with Bob Dylan (another guy who said unpopular things and people were drawn to him because of his passion and purity of message, more than anything else), who Derek alluded to several times, I'm encouraged that there's an audience for that kind of message. (If you're not a Webb fan, I'll sum up: the church is constantly being betrayed; she doesn't mind it all that much; her being involved in politics isn't particularly good for her soul; loving our neighbors is a necessary part of the Good News of Jesus. Also, several questionable-value love songs.)
3) I really, really like it when concerts give me a better picture into the heart of songwriters. I want them to TALK. This is decried far and wide ("More rock! Less talk! We come to hear the hits!"), but I own a copy of the songs, if that's all I want to hear. I want to know these people more. That's just me. I enjoyed hearing Derek talk.
4) He and his wife have a really sweet thing going. They have a moderate following, get to say exactly what they want, and seem to live fairly low-key lives. Maybe that assumption (based on very little) is wrong but it seems nice.

Lastly, a comment about the bizarre confines of Vineyard Central in Norwood, Cincinnati. This is a group of people that I roundly like, but they took over this old catholic property and my goodness the strangeness that arises from that marriage.
Here you can see an image composed of colored glass, a practice, I learned, which has nothing to do with Jesus, the Bible, or the early church. This is clearly Ray Beam Avian Jesus, sending his Lasered Grace to -what a surprise!- a praying monk (another tacked-on tradition that has nothing to do with Jesus, the Bible, God's message of the gospel, or anything related. Even Bambi knows how wacked it is when Bird/Jesus zaps a man whose lifestyle is a paen to fifth-century paganism and this sci-fi transaction is commemorated by glass in the year 2008.

Revelation 18:3-5

...all the nations have drunk
the maddening wine of her adulteries.

The kings of the earth committed adultery with her,

and the merchants of the earth grew rich
from her excessive luxuries.

Then I heard another voice from heaven say:

"Come out of her, my people,

so that you will not share in her sins,
so that you will not receive any of her plagues;
for her sins are piled up to heaven,
and God has remembered her crimes.