The Year of Blogging Sparingly...

As with many of my pursuits, I seem to have grown tired of the attempt to put a blog on this thing every day of this entire year. For me, stopping to write is like stopping to smell the roses. It's something does purposefully just a few times a year, always thinking to one's self how this ought to become a daily, or at least weekly, routine. Yet it never quite does. So it is with music, acting, reading or any of the other random pursuits I have at times given myself fully to in the past, and yet now have to force into an otherwise encumbered lifestyle. I don't promote this negligence. I simply admit to it.
Here is a bit of what I have experienced over the past few months:

The death by suicide of an in-law
A low grade fever that came and went with no other symptoms
The birth of a godson
A situation which for the first time in my life made me lose a little respect for my mother
My first eleven mile run
A very successful record in fantasy football with a team I didn't even draft myself
Nearly 5 months with zero health coverage; now I get it

So, all in all, just another set of months. Could have happened to anybody. Probably did. In my case it did. Looking forward, I get the feeling I might like to head out this year actually putting something in here every now and again. Maybe I'll surpass the century mark, a feat I have been so far unsuccessful at in my prior blog, one which has held on for several more years than this. Regardless, I'm sure it will be fascinating. If nothing else, I'm writing and growing a beard, so the significance of November isn't completely lost on me...

Debt...

We're all debtors. I am. I owe money for my home, credit card purchases, and student loans. Spiritually, I can never pay back the debt I have racked up. Even though I am generally pessimistic, I continuously find myself in debts of gratitude to friends and family for their generosity towards me.

You know who else is in debt? Of course you do. The United States.

Here is my philosophy on debt. Get out of it as quickly and efficiently as possible. Avoid going further if you are stuck where you are. It's like quicksand. Do not struggle. If you must, hold still and wait for help. If you've been practicing the Golden Rule, help should come. If not, well, I believe we all get what we ask for.

Here is a wish list for our government representatives: Work together. Never has the two party system seemed such a dismal idea. The system of checks and balances has devolved into a system of thwarts and upheavals. Human nature. I would love to bottle it then throw it off a cliff. Anyway, I don't pretend to have any idea of what the national debt really is let alone how to fix it. When you start talking about figures that require more than 4 commas to write out, I start thinking about unicorns and zombies. It's fiction. It's unreal. But I still think there are some things that our officials could do in order to lead by example and extend a laurel leaf to those of us nosepickers out in the rest of the nation. How about taking a pay cut, at least for a time. How about a mass donation towards the debt. Pay back a grand or two out of their own pockets--especially those who are responsible for conceiving of and singing off on the expenses to begin with. I understand debt enough to know that a purchase is required, one that represents more capitol than the purchaser possesses or is willing to put up. Take some responsibility. How about Congress not voting to give themselves a pay raise every time you turn around. I haven't gotten a raise in several years. Most Americans don't. Why should they?

Again, I don't claim to know much about the process, which is why I only speak up here, if this is in fact speaking up. I've lived long enough to have learned a couple of things, and I'm simply trying to apply them to this situation that I can't turn on the news without being lambasted with: Do your best not to bite of more than you can chew, and servant leaders are the only leaders I have any interest in following.

That's 2 strikes, America.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Dancing Goats coffee. It's currently doing what could best be described as the Lindy Hop in my intestines right now...

Trimming the Fate...

A quiet morning. My wife waves at me from the bed in the other room. Our guest hastily packs himself for a return trip to NYC. Behind me, one of the cats is busily attempting to cover all evidence of the job it just did in the litter. All in all, a fairly even keel morning. Not exactly the kind one would write about. So, why am I?

The answer is, I'm not sure. It could be that I am still stressed about something I was prayer-journaling about earlier. My wife and I are currently not covered by medical insurance. Part of me wishes I could be okay with that, considering how much I loathe being a part of the corporate machine that is medical insurance in this country. I am, however, neurotically predisposed to be safe and careful, so every day I have no coverage is another day I spend unconsciously worrying about something bad happening to us. Add into that the fact that we are still trying to get pregnant, plus the cost of insurance which includes maternity and you basically end up with a Molotov cocktail of financial and emotional stress, one capably of my overall well-being.

So I guess stress over insurance is the answer to why I am writing this. As a man, I now must seek a solution. My job is currently negotiating rates for a group insurance plan, one that would cover maternity 100%. This is a good thing. Of the 4 primary individuals who would be holders of this plan, I am the only one who is not having it paid for by the company. This is a bad thing.

I am not sure whether we can afford the cost of the insurance without taking pains to drastically reduce our current living expenses. Even with doing that, it would be a stretch. This is a bad thing. I currently do not see a solution from all of this.

I realized I have been seeking solutions while in the middle of this post. Oh Windows, one does tend to float freely among you. I have emailed a mortgage re-financier, hoping to make headway with a process which has started and stalled for months now. I have begun thinking how I can propose savings to my boss which could possibly be rolled over into a discount for insurance. I suppose I'll now go over our monthly expenses and see where fat can be trimmed. [I initially typed 'fate can be trimmed'. I like that. I think I'll keep it]. Beyond that, there's nothing left to do but wait. Which is fine. This is world is at best a really interesting waiting room, and at worst, a really bland waiting room.

This has been brought to you fairly dry. Alcohol is expensive.

All Access Package...

For some reason, I have not been able to log into this to add posts lately. Every now and again Google takes exception to the fact that I never created a password or email address through it. And, when it decides to interrogate me and not accept my password or old email address, it graciously agrees to send me a new one to the old email address. Which has been closed down by Yahoo over 9 years ago. It becomes of vicious cycle of futility where massive Internet companies play ping pong with my data and I end up never getting to my blog. I've had a lot of interesting things to say lately, too. Today, it's brutal hot and all I can think is will this be a one time access? Do I need to get a months' worth of witticisms down here or can I just relax and log back in tomorrow? It may not be for me to know. The ways of the web gods are different than mine. I guess I should feel lucky they still let me play Tetris whenever I want.

Another Failed Camping Trip...

So, another 'this is definitely the one' end of the world prediction comes to nothing. I almost wish one of these folks would admit they only did it for the press, to turn people's attention towards something that actually will happen and actually is important, albeit which is something no man or woman can or will predict (if you believe the scriptures that they take the concept of the end of the world from, anyway). Sadly, I think that this whole thing was just another instance of an idiot with a god complex taking advantage of people who don't think too clearly for themselves. Who am I to judge anyone? I believe in God, and perhaps he puts people like Harold Camping in positions of influence for a purpose. I am grateful that I am not subject to their inexplicable manias, but I have been persuaded of things I later came to disagree with in the past. It's human nature to be led. We're sheep. Clay. Of that I'm certain. To say I'm made of thicker clay than someone else is just, well, thick.

Generation Gape...

I like to hear people's perspectives sometimes. Today I spoke with my grandmother. She definitely has a perspective. Apparently, Obama is an evil man, hellbent on ruining the country from the inside. Also, Camping, or whatever the guy who is predicting the Rapture tomorrow is named, should not necessarily be called a Christian, nor should his followers. Anyone can call themselves that, but it doesn't mean they really are. Those were the main points.

Honestly, I like hearing her input. This is a woman who has lived through more wars than anyone else I know. She was married faithfully and happily to one man for over 63 years. She raised two children and then pitched in and raised 1 grandchild when the father of the grandchild decided he wanted to be a child himself for a little while longer. Whether you like her politics, agree with the far right party line she subscribes to, or simply leave annoyed by her castrating stance against anything remotely democratic, you have to respect the fact that she has been there and seen that. This woman remembers the fireside chats. She witnessed Watergate. She was tuned in when the towers fell, the Arizona sank, the allies won and the bomb was dropped. There isn't a lot you can teach an old dog. Sometimes, I wonder if there is anything you really need to.

This has been brought to you under the influence of, most recently, a black IPA brewed by the winner of a Samuel Adams beer competition. I don't remember the name. I'm sure this is the beginning of a phenomenal amount of forgetfulness on my part. Such is life...

Joe Magnon Man...

I've always been someone who felt that by doing the same thing every day, one gets faster at it, the process, whatever it may involve, becomes simpler, more familiar, expedient. This is so with nearly everything I do on a regular basis. There is, however, one action that confounds me, a routine for which I never seem to develop that shortcut or time-saving tweak for: removing a coffee filter from the endless stack of snugly packaged coffee filters. Every day I go for one so that I can brew coffee for my wife. I don't even drink it anymore since I had my abdomen ravaged by greedy surgeons. Every day, I paw at the edges of the filters like a neanderthal, trying desperately to get a piece of the top one so that I can extract it and continue on with the morning.

I suppose, in thinking about it, I could spend an evening somehow separating them so that they are easy to grab in the morning. In the past I did this, particularly when grinding my own beans. At least then the one I need is ready for me when I am at my most groggy and uncoordinated. I think I shall have to return to this practice.

This has been brought to you by South Park, because you know, I learned something today.

Figures...

For the last couple of nights, Blogger was unavailable for posting upon. Of course, I tried both nights and had what I thought were clever and interesting things to say. Tonight, after ingesting probably more than a pound of meat from the local Brazilian steakhouse, I have little to say except 'help' to whatever nearby deity might hear and perform a cleansing upon my bowels. I haven't eaten this much red meat in total since my cholecystectomy, so, we'll see.

This has been brought to you under the influence of a thousand pastures of cows (or so it feels at the moment).

El Dia De Las Madres...

I've had 3 of 4 days off from the restaurant. It feels odd. Vacation-like. At home. A staycation. I suppose those are good. I was able to get a fair bit done around the house, organizing myself for the months to come. If I had anything interesting to say at some point today, I'm pretty sure it's gone. Nothing really to report. No news is good news, as my mother used to say. Would that we could all feel that way more often.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Southern Tier's 2xIPA (my new favorite) and some wisdom from my mother. Happy mother's day, you.

Sometimes There Is No Way To Say Something and Not Sound Like a Jerk...

Ran a race this morning. Got my best adult time.

Tried to make a baby with the wife. Something that doesn't happen enough. My fault entirely.

Had a list of things to do and got them all done, which, for whatever reason, is the thing that makes me the most content about today. Perhaps there really is something to my self-diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive personality disorder.

Thinko de Mayo...

Cinco de Mayo. In America, this is the day when whitebread middle-class families take their 2.6 children to play in tents and air fortresses which have been erected outside of Mexican chain restaurants while they gulp down pitchers of margaritas and queso laden chips. It really doesn't have anything to do with victory over the French, or Mexican pride or anything minor like that. But that's all right. After all, we do Christmas like nobodies business in this country, and Lord knows that those traditions have about as much to do with the baby Jesus as the instructions on a bag of microwave popcorn. I guess in the end it's about celebrating, verdad?

In other news, I played trivia tonight with two fellows who have both lost their mothers. Mother's Day is just around the corner, and so you learn these things. My immediate superior at work has also lost her mother, though not terribly recently. All of these people are under 50, mind you, two of them under 40. A bit early to be losing your mum, I reckon. Still, life goes on. New mothers are made every day. I just learned of one in my circle, so to speak. I'm still waiting to see if I can't make my own spouse be one. It doesn't seem to be in the cards just yet.

Holidays are tough. You either feel a need to celebrate or a need to grieve. There doesn't seem to be any middle ground. Ambivalence seems not to fit in to our two party system: party-er or party-pooper. For the record, I voted green once. Lot of good it did me, but still, I can't claim to have voted for anyone successful yet. Forever a friend to mediocrity, I guess. And so I take my leave of today.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Stella Artois, proudly brewed in Belgium since before this country was ever even a concept. How's that for some history?

When Can We Start Considering 'Tweeting' To Be a Natural Disaster...

Social Networking. The wave of the future. Well, the wave of the now. A tidal wave, really. A tsunami. Of stupidity, that is. There are some who have clever things to say. Some who don't have the benefit of a public outlet for it. You can find them, I'm sure, on the YouTubes, the Twitters, the Facebooks and whatever other ones are out there. Honestly, there aren't that many people who spontaneously have interesting things to say. I happen to be very clever, but more often than not, my gut reaction to things that I would actually be tempted to comment on in, say, the anonymity of a social online forum, almost always require a little more thought, revision, reflection. Twitter, for example, is the modern equivalent of a hastily written note in a freshmen algebra class. It's the thing mumbled from the drunk girls lips at the party. It's the slanderous nonsense that uninformed and uninvolved parties who are suddenly handed a cyber bullhorn feel entitled to spew. Now, in all fairness, I do write these posts with little or no forethought or editing. Hence 'dangerously', or at least that was my aim. But at least I have the comfort of knowing that no one reads it. Or, if they do, they move on amiably without reprisal. Which I appreciate. Keeps me feeling safe, secure, entitled.

This has been brought to you under the influence of good old fashioned Sweetwater IPA. Ask for it by name.

Bin Leaded?

Well, it appears our super secret military intel budget money has been well spent, at least in one case. Osama Bin Laden has been killed. Although I realize he was a monster, at least from what I gather from people who pay attention to such things, it seems a little odd to celebrate murder quite so openly. I thought vengeance was supposed to belong to the Lord. Many, I'm sure, would argue that he has exacted vengeance for the crimes of terror done nearly 10 years ago. That may be right. I just don't know. What I do know is that we humans are a bloodthirsty, vindictive bunch. We'll go to great lengths to protect what is ours, up to and including releasing cartridges from firearms in the direction of those who would threaten our liberties, possessions or overall way of life. We parade our victories where thousands of faceless foes have been felled, complete with ticker tape and rousing renditions of patriotic fanfares.

I'm not a sympathizer of terrorist behavior. I'm not disconnected from what happened to the US on 9/11. I was there, watching the towers fall. I took phone calls from family members who couldn't find their husbands and fathers, people who worked in the 'there was no hope' zones at the top of the towers. I spent several nights preparing and delivery food for the rescue workers at ground zero. And yet, hearing this current news, I feel something of the same thing--a pit in my stomach maybe, wrapped up in so many things I don't understand and so many things that I at the same time loathe. In the end, I say celebrate America. Get what satisfaction or healing you can from this. My only fear is that Osama has people surrounding him that still exist who are as intent on avenging his death as we were our own citizens. That, I fear, could be the recipe for some unprecedented ugliness.

This has been brought to you rather soberly.

Turning In, Typing Up, Tuning Out...

Today ended the original cycle of '29 Days of Giving', something my restaurant owner and manager enacted for themselves and the employees to do. It is based on a concept discussed in a book of the same name. A woman diagnosed with MS received some advice about giving from a neighbor who had recently taken a spiritual journey of sorts to Africa. Overall, the principles are sound. Outward focus is the opposite of inward focus. If what is going on inside is causing you problems, turn your focus outward, either through giving gifts or what have you. Perspective is everything in this life. So, I tried to follow it. At the end of the day, I'd rather live a life where I am always trying to give something of myself to others than to challenge myself to a specific block of days where I have a journal so I can look back on what I did and, I don't know, feel good about myself or something. Still, I could be working for my former boss, who was a middle management sales fellow, constantly paranoid of his superiors' intentions and fearing for his job. The most outward focused thing we were encouraged to do at that job was to call on our territories and try to sell them something. Giving things away was generally frowned upon. I'll take the present scenario, no matter how earthy and mystical it gets, over falling prone before the almighty dollar 5 times a day in a corporate sty.

This has been brought to you under the influence of some jasmine tea and water. I have a race in the morning, after all.

There's Nothing Silly About My Life...

Just got back from winning a resounding win at trivia tonight. We've been on a bit of a bad streak, you see. Just myself and another fellow whomping upon the competition helped put all the other embarrassments behind a bit, I think.

Also just saw a video of Star Wars dubbed in French, but with subtitles that displayed various quotes from Sartre, all existential and angsty. Hilarious. Makes me wish I had kept reading philosophy after I got the degree so that I could have amassed a much larger library to spoof upon in my noggin. As it is, I tend to forget what I did yesterday. Good thing the present is the only thing that exists, or at least my perception of it. I'm afraid my thought process has traveled back one hundred years and rolled through the Chunnel at this point. Such are the liberties we philosophers take.

This has been brought to you under the influence of, most recently, an oak aged Imperial IPA from Southern Tier. Southern Tier: if Heaven were a beer festival, St. Peter would continuously be putting ribbons on these guys.

We've Barley Begun...

Today I received two things, both oddly related. The first was a small plaque from a co-worker bearing the quote "Beer is the proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy" by Benjamin Franklin. The other thing I received was an email from the spouse of another co-worker who is interested in home brewing beer. He invited me to join him for a class at a local beer warehouse as he has an extra voucher. The wheels have been turning on this idea within me for some time, though slowly. It appears perhaps the time to shift to a higher gear, put my barley where my mouth is, so to speak. Hopefully, something comes of it other than a gut and bad liver. One day, I would love to have a brewery/restaurant, maybe something with pages of the classics strewn about the walls, low lighting, real wood. Food that people come for not to cure the munchies with, but to help celebrate the fabulous brews on tap. A place where everybody knows your name. Well, perhaps not quite like that. Maybe one of the bartenders would recognize you remotely. That's about the best you get these days.

This has been brought to you under the influence of many possible libations, some which bear names in my heart, the labels of which will be adorned by the art of various talented friends, once I convince them to offer it.

Jesus Rose From the Dead Today and I Can Barely Get Out Of My Chair...

Apparently, I didn't have much to say this month, looking back over the absence of posts. So it goes...

Today is Easter Sunday. It also would have been my grandfather's birthday (I forget which--maybe 88, 89?). He passed on a few years back. In no one's memory did Easter and his birthday fall on the same day. Interesting.

I visited a church today with my wife and sister and her fiance. We all seemed fine with it, but for him, he took exception to the various times when it was mentioned from the pulpit that this many people don't show up for a normal Sunday service and that they hoped that would change in the future. My guess is he isn't buying as completely into the whole Jesus thing at this point, so the petty remarks resounded more with him. But I had to agree. It's obvious that people show up on Christmas and Easter and don't come as often on other weekends. Shoot, I myself don't make it out every weekend, but usually catch the holidays. It's part tradition, part family expectation, part whatever else motivates the generally unmotivated. Still, I felt it was unnecessary to bring it up. Who cares why you have a loaded house to preach to? Give them the best of what you have. This might be their only chance to hear about the Good News, at least for another year. Don't trouble them with 'where were you's' and 'what about next week's'? Anyway, just my opinion.

This has been brought to you under the influence of several things, including some guava/papaya soup spiked with coconut rum. Yay, Jesus!

Thoroughly Overwhelmed...

Times like these make me think of how difficult it must be for people with chronic fatigue syndrome, for example, to stay on top of the details of life. I have a mild case of OCPD (obsessive-compulsive personality disorder). It mostly manifests itself in muscle twitches, routine and ruthless attention to details and 'the rules'. Although I find myself bending cognizantly in many cases, some things will never cease to be problematic. Such is life. Currently I am ending a 6 day run of work, which exhausts me, and I have one day, Sunday, to embark upon a multitude of tasks which I have been putting off for the past week and longer. Obviously, they won't all get taken care of tomorrow. But I have no choice about going after as many as I can. It's the rabbit run of life, the Sisyphusian undertaking of chores. It doesn't help that I cannot cool off. Hotlanta returns, y'all.

I'm reminded of people I know who really don't get caught up in the details of life. They don't worry, don't complain, they simply exist, and things happen in and around them. Some are successful, some more or less vagrants. It all seems random. I envy that ability to disallow the 'worries of this life' to enter into one's daily experience. I believe Jesus meant for something similar to occur. To me, that is simply one more task to toil upon, one more command to obey, one more check to remove from the list. In the end, though, it probably doesn't matter the means.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Harpoon Leviathan and tiredness. Straight up 80 proof tiredness.

Too Many Topics To Tackle...

After a significant hiatus, I return to imbue the internet with my more than likely uninteresting thoughts. Tonight I watched 'The Moon' starring Sam Rockwell. Great show. Great premise. It picks up where many sci-fi masterpieces left off, delving into the timeless, twisted perception of space occupation, specifically moon harvesting. We've seen cloning in the news. We saw the goat. We understand the concept of DNA replication. Until something steps out of the pictures and enters the workaday realm, we have only our ideas of what it all means, whether it is moral, ethical, plausible, etc. Here is where I stand...

I believe that every human being has a soul. It is unique, unspliceable, uncloneable and unquestionable. I think animals can be manipulated, or cloned if you prefer, because they do not have souls. All dogs do not go to Heaven, if you are wondering. They return to the earth. They are instinctive creatures which, like every other animal that is not homo sapiens, are merely here as moving scenery, albeit scenery which has the very definite chance of teaching us some very important lessons, not to mention showing us a rare example in nature of the unconditional love of our Creator. So, cloning. I doubt we will see it. At least on our scientists' terms. We already see it in identical twins. The fertilized egg splits. Perhaps it splits several ways. But is everything identical? The thoughts, actions, beliefs, ideas and personality of each split portion? They tend to develop their own self along the way. This is not just nature. This is the soul.

I suppose in conjecturing that this falls under most things I can conceive of, but simply don't assume will ever cross my radar (aliens, monsters, cyborgs, etc.). Every thing that is presently has a purpose in being, and everything is governed by a set of laws (i.e., laws of creation). To come across anything that even apparently violates those laws just doesn't make sense. At least, not to me. I don't disallow that extra-terrestrial life exists. I simply do not believe we will ever have a brush with it. It simply doesn't factor into the cosmology that we exist within.

To conclude, and I'm not even sure what I'm concluding to be honest, everything that happens does so by design, perhaps not purposed by but surely presided over by a single creator. All evil and tragedy will one day serve a purpose, and whether that purpose be broadcast on the grand stage or simply fulfilled in the occasional heart, rest assured it will be so. Good night, and good luck.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Bell's Two Hearted Ale. A finer IPA you will have to get very creative to find.

My Day Awful...

Or 'day offal'. Or, 'day off, full'. It always goes the same way. I wait and wait for a day off, because there is so much to do. Then, instead of being hyper productive with my time, I sit around and vegetate. An idle schedule is the Devil's weekend in Vegas, I guess. Honestly, I do get a fair bit done when I have free time, but for some reason, it's the one or two things that I put off accomplishing that haunt me. This may be a personality thing. Half empty versus 'that's enough--stop pouring!'.

I attended a Sunday school lesson today, the first in many years I have attended, I suspect. It went well. It is headed by a couple that my wife and I met recently who are really quite generous and caring. Part of the discussion trended towards using your gifts. This, for whatever reason, got to me. I always figured I had been gifted in the realm of writing and music. As you can see, I'm failing miserably at managing a 'daily' blog. Music has been worse. Everyone takes a break; that is normal. I realized I was slacking more grandly than that recently when I pulled out my guitar and the cats (who just turned 1 year old) freaked out and hid. They tend not to do that when you repeat actions or noises over time. They start to take it for granted. Clearly, it was their first time seeing me brandish the ax.

In the end, it probably doesn't matter so much what I end up doing with this day off or that. Today, however, a chord was struck within me, and so I shall respond by striking back, first at the dishes, then the laundry, currently at the blog, and later, hopefully, on the guitar, where all good chords are properly struck. Cats beware.

This has been brought to you under the influence of some Sunday morning coffee. Nothing says 'excuse me, but where is the men's room?' like a cup of Sunday morning coffee.

Swan Song of the Survivor Beard...

For a little over 5 months now, I have been sporting what some call a 'freedom beard'. It has been described by some as 'epic', others as 'wow, that's...wow', and still others as 'good God, how are you able to get food past it?!'. Honestly, I had no agenda for how long I would grow it, so the shaving part seems like it should be similarly arbitrary. I call it the Survivor Beard because I began growing it in the hospital last year where I survived a rather nasty bout of food poisoning. I have always hoped that someone would describe it as 'prodigious' before it fell victim to my many shaving devices. I suppose some wishes are better left unfulfilled. I wouldn't want it to go to my head. Get it? Sorry for that.

Tomorrow I meet a friend for a jog. With the temperatures easily rising to the low 80's from here on out, I have to assume that wearing the carpet out is going to become a large burden rather quickly. It's not over until the blades connect, but I still find myself slowly beginning the lament. From the corners of my townhouse, a softoned, reedy dirge begins. The cats crouch tensely, suspicious of the morrow's activities. Perhaps they, too, shall mourn the passing of the shrub. For them, it is like a living menu of all the things I have eaten throughout the day, things that they sniff greedily at the vestiges of when I come home in the evening. Honestly, seeing it written down like this, it kind of makes doing it even more compelling. I leave you with the words of Shakespeare, from his excellent and dismal study of the downfall of that lovable Scottish king, Macbeth:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

This has been brought to you under the influence of New Belgium Brewery's Might Arrow Pale Ale. 'Atta girl, Arrow' indeed.

At Least The Beer Was Cheap...

Tonight I played a singularly forgettable round of trivia. I had 5 of my best surrounding me, but it was not enough to stave off mediocrity. Certain key answers eluded us, including what the definitions of the 4 'H's' are in The 4H Club. Apparently, Homicide and Hyperbole are not among them. Should it ever be re-envisioned, I'm hopeful those will be considered.

In other news, my wife has learned that a role with her name written all over it has come available in the schedule of a theater near us. It is a role that she has long wished to play, and yet was recently, was passed over for, to the general detriment of that production (the company of which, incidentally, no longer exists). I'll tell you all what I already know (and please pay special attention directors of the stage and screen): my wife is a rare and unique talent, tireless in her preparation, and flawless in her delivery. Besides that, she looks great up in front of people. You can't go wrong. But you probably will. Because she married me, and I am the upright Eeyore.

This has been brought to you under the influence of both Hopgasm, Kevin McNerneys flavorful first offering to the 5 Seasons Prado, and SweetWater IPA, his former West Coast best. Thanks to Kevin, IPA lot.

Last Waltz For The Gus-Man...

I heard the news today, oh boy. About a lucky dog who just wasn't fitting with his mortal coil anymore. A couple we know, good friends, called today to let us know they had had to put down their little buddy. They had adopted him from a local small dog rescue a few years ago, I think it was. Not terribly long, honestly. Too short for such a pleasant pet. They say he was cremated with his red bandanna on. He always had that on. It was his leather jacket, his stetson, his Chaplincane. Gus always greeted me at the door any time I came over with an eager sniffing, a playful demeanor and lately, two forepaws right to the groin where he rested until a sufficient amount of loving had been administered. He was bright, even for a mutt. I know that they will take awhile to mourn him. Next Saturday we are to meet at a local park for a scattering of ashes. Perhaps we will drink from deep malted wells, share stories, sniff crotches. It's all about Gus that night, no regard for self.

You know, we recently adopted (accepted, really) a pair of rescue kitties. They turned one year old this past week. Although their health seems great right now, it would be unreasonable to think that we will not live to see them pass on. Even after 20 years of them, we would still be middle aged, and with the amount of alcohol my boy cat consumes, he's probably looking at more like 15-17. It's the quality, I suppose, not the quantity, just like with anything. If it can take air, water, then grow and bloom, it can and will also die. Just a small reminder of that for me tonight. You want to make sure you don't regret those times where you were free to choose whatever you wanted to. Those times where no one had the gun to your head. That's my reflexive moral application from the situation. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. That's the Bible. Go figure.

This has been brought to you under the influence of some Listerine mouth wash. Just a splash. No insurance, so, what are you going to do? Gargle well, my pets...

The Sound and the Furry...

Well, so much for my big idea. Freebeard.com has been taken. I invited a couple over last night to get their opinion on how a site like that would look, content, aim, etc. This morning I went to check if there was one, and it's like the guy listened to our conversation, went back a couple of years in the past and created it. Bizarre. This is just one more example of Solomon's words 'there is nothing new under the sun' ringing true. Given that, somehow innovation still occurs. Perhaps I'm just not a hip, cutting edge type guy. Who knows, maybe in a couple months I'll invent Facebook and then realize that has already been done. My destiny may not be to have much money to speak of, no big ideas which include widespread recognition, no fame, no infamy. Lately, I haven't even been successful in making a baby. No progeny. No immortality.

This is becoming depressing, so I am pulling the plug on it. Assisted suicide--there's a dangerous topic to opine about. Perhaps later. I am seriously behind in my increasing inaptly titled 'daily' blog.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Batdorf and Bronson coffee, which is probably why everything is just sliding out of me in a most uncontrolled manner.

Raking Up Is Hard To Do...

Tonight I filled 7 lawn bags with leaves and other assorted debris from my back yard. I could have filled several more, but it got dark, and I couldn't tell which witch grass was which. We only just sprang forward, after all. Still, few things equal independent manhood like taking a swig of beer between carrying lawn bags full of crap you dredged from the far corners of your tiny backyard. We are having guests over tomorrow night, and I actually want there to be something of a scenic view as we grill out and lounge on the 22' by 7' concrete slab that juts from the rear of our townhouse. Tiki torches and well strung Christmas lights can make any unfortunate plot seem like a garden oasis. I did come here from NYC. People in NYC can make a 4' by 10' balcony seem like a tropic Eden. I've seen it happen. You simply have to allow for the fact that an ambulance and fire truck will alternate screaming through said Eden every 5-7 minutes.

I think the thing I found most interesting about raking up all the leaves is seeing what exactly is growing beneath them. The woman who owned the place before us was a notorious gardener, and there is ground cover everywhere to prove it. Ferns, bushes, a couple of dogwoods, daffodils, a hydrangea and many other things that defy classification (at least in my limited scope) just carpet the back. It's kind of cool, but also kind of intimidating. Early in the year as it is, the bug situation has not gotten out of hand. However, within a month, being outdoors will be more of a survival game than a breath of fresh air. The mosquitoes down here are large, black, and insatiable. Their bite swells larger, lasts longer and itches far more than anything I ever encountered in the North. I have a theory that every mosquito down here only targets the transplants. This is because the soul of a dead confederate soldier inhabits their tiny malformed bodies. It's just a theory. For now.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Harpoon's Leviathan Imperial IPA. Tomorrow night, in anticipation of our hosting, we shall have new libations to conquer...

The Piano Has Been Drinking...Not Me...

You know, they say after 30 to 60 days of fairly consistent behavior, a habit is generally born. I find that no matter how long you do something, assuming it requires a degree of discipline and conscious effort, you can generally fall off the wagon completely in about 3 days. It's been 4 since I posted here last, for example. Just another reminder of how hypocritical I am in being a stickler about forming good habits. At least it haunted me enough to wake me at 4 in the morning so that I could return to my--

All right. I'm not even buying this. My cat woke me up. You see, it's their birthday. St. Patrick's Day. I'm not one who necessarily thinks that a cat can understand everything you say to it, but the repetition of certain terms certainly does strike a chord of familiarity with them. 'Beer' for example is a word my boycat knows quite well. In fact, it is possible he thinks it is his name, because it is the only thing I say that he will actually respond to from across the room. Granted, I did name him Barley, and usually just shorten it to 'B', but I still think he knows what I'm talking about. Today I thought I would prepare them a feast of tuna fish and stout, see what happens. The girlcat could really take or leave the beer. She just likes to lick the condensation off of the bottles. Which works well, since the opening of the bottle is only large enough for one kitty tongue.

It's true. I am not an alcoholic--my cat is. Providing it the correct amount of residue to lap at requires tipping bottles regularly. And let's face it, he has a discerning tongue. None of this American macro brew nonsense. He's a fan of more aromatic hops driven micro brew IPA's. Ironically, Hops, the girlcat, really just likes water and almond milk. I've often wondered at how pets can take on qualities of their owners over time, the look of them, certain psychological characteristics, things like that. Owning pets now for the first time in my life, I see where they do have their own personalities, just like people, but for the rest, I guess they just don't have much choice. Environment forms us just as much as heredity. Perhaps even more, since inherent traits and abilities can evolve over time to suit current climates and needs. Fascinating stuff to ponder at sub 5 in the morning.

This has been brought to you while completely sober and rested, but don't worry, I'll fix that shortly.

The Force Is Dwindling Within Me...

Had a good day. Beautiful weather, spent time at home, grilled out, took a walk and ran a 5K this morning. I think I even had my best time since high school. I'm not positive, and they haven't posted the results yet. Can you imagine my frustration with technology that is takes almost a day to post several thousand bits of data from chips carried on runners' race numbers? I didn't sign up for the Dark Ages here, people. In other news, I'm exhausted. Too tired to read, really. I'm on my 2nd time through of watching The Empire Strikes Back, which is already more than I have watched it in my life. It holds up. But I can't for much longer.

This has been brought to you under the influence of copious amounts of water.

Daylight Forcings Time...

Tonight my wife and I had a lovely evening of imitation meat veggie protein tacos, local craft beer and British sitcoms. Few things are more appealing, when you get right down to it. Tomorrow morning, I have my first race of the season: The Shamrock and Roll Run. I signed up for this at the last minute--normally I don't do a race until early May. We shall see if this was wise. They do offer prizes for the first kilted finishers, as well as random door prizes and such. Perhaps I will get something for being legitimately 1/16 Irish and probably one of the only fully bearded runners. You never know. At the very least, I'm sure I'll end up on someone's Facebook page (again).

This has been brought to you under the influence of Harpoon's Leviathan IPA as well as SweetWater's new Dank Tank 'Mean Joe Bean'. Never has a coffee-laden porter dispersed so finely after impact. Good stuff.

Tonight and Other Drugs...

I received another 'that's the coolest beard I've ever seen' comment yesterday at a Chipotle, this time from a gentleman who was actually older than me (or at least looked it). Usually I get this from the 20-something crowd. I can understand if they have only seen 5 or 10 beards in their lives why mine might seem pretty mindblowing, but to someone who has walked the earth for several decades, surely my mane is at best comparable to the better ones, but not superior to them. Anyway, I've never really known what to do with my life, but it seems that this facial hair is giving me a sense of identity I never knew before. Perhaps a web site, 'Obey the Beard dot com', is in my future. The beard can give advice, point out movies or trends that are fashionable, recommend certain adult beverages for different occasions, maybe even sponsor events like foot races. My ruddy down is pregnant with possibility. As Richard Dreyfuss once said: 'this means something'.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Hopgasm, my gateway IPA which has essentially spoiled me for all others with an alcohol content of less than 8%.

Celebrity Sightings...

I guess I have nothing better to write about, yeah? Anyway, just watched an episode of Fringe tonight and recognized Kate, a friend of my wife's. Fun. A week or two ago I saw an old roommate from New York who had a couple of lines in The Social Network. Very nice. Would have been better if it had won best picture, but as we all know, robberies occur. Jason Bateman was a regular at the restaurant I work at while he was filming in Atlanta (with Ryan Reynolds, who was too busy learning his lines and losing his marriage to make it out, apparently). Finally, Ron Livingston and his wife came to my restaurant. I had to really bite my tongue not to call him a straight shooter with middle management written all over him. Good stuff. And thus I sleep.

This has been brought to you under the influence of 21st Amendment Back In Black among others.

My First Use of the Term Solomonic...

Tonight: trivia domination. The team pulled through. Also, recently on sports radio I heard someone who knew the coach of the college basketball team who had been railed recently on the news. I even commented on it, saying things such as 'learn to coach properly' and 'if you did your job better, your students wouldn't have a losing record and require a fire being lit under their bottoms' and such. Well, this coaches opinion was that the news had slanted the story and doctored the video which had been received with the student. What looked like 20 seconds worth of aggressive behavior was actually spliced from various reps the coach had given them which took almost 20 minutes of practice time to gather. Of course, it's hard to know who to believe. The lesson I took from it, though, was very practical and also very Biblical. It's actually a two-parter. First, the first to bring a case seems correct, until the other side steps forward. Then you see another side and it isn't quite to cut and dry. That's Solomonic wisdom. Second, the media is lying to us. Michael Moore has said it, but was dismissed for being over the top. Jesus indicated that the ruling culture of the day would slant his story (the body was stolen to protect the lie) and so it has been to this day. Why do I mention Michael Moore and Jesus back to back like that? They are the first two that came to mind. I'm blogging dangerously, remember. Anyway, place very little stock in that which is reported by most forms of media. They are instructed to create a story even when there really isn't much of one there. Trust me. You can always trust opinions--people rarely lie about those. It's facts that are tricky--those get messed with all the time.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Southern Tier's Gemini. A truly flavorful and powerful brew. Well done, Southern Tier.

Full Circle...

This past Sunday, my wife and I visited a church in our neighborhood. We have gone to many different churches over the years, as a couple and before, but there always seemed to be some travel involved. We knew someone in a different part of town who went to this place and they wanted us to come, etc. Anyway, for the first time, I went to the church that was geographically the closest to us. For perspective, we left at 11am when the service was to have started, and we arrived still during the opening prayer. It's a small group, perhaps only 20 or 25 people in the congregation when we were there. It was also very traditional. Presbyterian. I was raised in a traditional Presbyterian church. It's to this day the only church service I have ever been to where I constantly wished it would be over. In all fairness, my wife enjoyed it quite a bit. I can't say that I did. However, I am not convinced that we shouldn't perhaps be a part of this group. My wife told me a story recently about how she was given advice to 'throw away her list' shortly before she met me. This was the 'what I want in a husband' list that apparently all girls have since they are young, at least the ones who aren't lesbians. Well, as soon as she did that, things kind of opened up and she ended up meeting me. Not that I would consider myself such a great prize. I'm more grateful that she decided to get rid of her Brad Pittian image of a suitor so that I could step in without obvious prejudice. I mention this because I believe the same type of casting off is required in our list of church requirements. Lively, engaging, local, opportunities to serve, all these things are relative, and ultimately come from our own selfish desires. I suspect before we find a place to attend on a regular basis, this list a qualifications must likewise be cast off. Then, more than likely, we will stumble across exactly the right place for us. And, more than likely, it will be everything we wanted to begin with.

This has been brought to you under the influence of (among others) Leinenkugel's Big Eddy Russian Imperial Stout.

Burn Notice...?

A friend forwarded me an article today regarding an executive who was burned to death in India by a couple (or a few) of disgruntled former employees. Apparently they had doused his car in gasoline ans set fire to it. The exec burned to death, or died later from injuries received during the burning process, at least. Apparently, outsourcing is only a good idea if you do not actually send Americans to run the companies and employees overseas. This could create an international incident, especially when outsourcing or downsizing occurs there, which it inevitably will. The Indian people might be cheap, but they aren't the most desperate culture on earth. Perhaps the day will come when impoverished central Chinese men are convicted of literally eating the bosses which just fired them because, without work, they no longer have the means to feed themselves. It could happen. I'm just saying.

Typical...

According to a resent study, the most typical person in the world is an Han Chinese male of about 28 years of age. I saw the composite sketch based on 200,000 males fitting that description. It looka like a...man.

I was concerned when I clicked on the link at first that the most common type of person would be mine. After all, my last name is Miller, which is pretty freaking common, at least in my corner of the world. I'm a white male, mid 30's, protestant. I have red hair. I'm a step child. I'm a red-headed stepchild, for crying out loud. Left-handed, I'm an actor/writer/musician but I also do well at math and got an A in Logic in college. I named my cats after beer ingredients, but I only drink imports and micro-brews. Oh, and I'm a Christian.

It seems clear to my that my initial fears of being 'common' are completely unfounded after looking at the above description. Perhaps a better classification would be 'bizarre'. Not common, at any rate.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Stella Artois and Michelob Amber Bock (I'm not hypocritical, it's just that they tapped the keg of Stella and this was the only other beer I could stomach at the trivia site).

Nightcap of Irony...

So, as you may have realized, I am completely seduced by irony. This one was good enough to keep me awake past my bedtime on a week where it is really not a good thing to be awake past my bedtime. I am fully pumpkintastic. Still...

A recent article from AP mentions a new proposed Texas immigration law which has a suspicious exemption in it. Apparently, in a state which has been attempting to close down it's borders completely and remove illegal immigrants from the local workforce, it occurred to some statesmen that there should be an exemption for 'the help'. To clarify, the article stated that the law proposed would make hiring an illegal immigrant something punishable by steep fine and up to 10 years in prison. However, it allows for the illegal immigrant to be hired to do household chores. In other words, they cannot be hired to roll burritos at Moe's, but by all means, hire them under the table to mow your lawn, nanny your children, landscape, build additions, remove trees and any other serviceable act that can be performed upon private property. In other words, the government does not want to be burdened be recognizing them for their taxable potential, but the landed gentry would like to continue to take advantage of their inexpensive labor potential. I see where this is going. We are talking about the South, after all. Simply reinstate slavery. The terms and conditions can be discussed over Dunkin Donuts while being driven home from the gas station parking lot in the back of the pickup truck, just like it always should have been. You could even build them little shanty towns in the back of your property, at least for the ones who seem honest, the ones you might trust to actually go inside and use the facilities or fill up water jugs for the others.

Really, Texas? Really, America? How about instant naturalization and instant taxation? How do you think this country got going, anyway? Did the founding fathers put a cap on the national population that none of us are aware of excepting those in high state and federal office, and those being mostly to the right?

Here is the thing I found most lovely about this whole article. It was reported on the anniversary of the date in which Texas claimed independence from Mexico. The law which leaves a loophole for Mexicans to still do laborious chores or else leaving Texas in a risk of 'stifling the economic engine' (according Republican state representative Riddle's Chief of Staff), happens to be celebrating the date of its independence from Mexico. If it's that independent, why could things potentially stifle economically if they just put a ban on foreign labor?

We all know the answer to that. It's written all over the loose comments of the republican representatives of the state. I wonder if they remember the Alamo. They probably think it was a rumor created by the Left.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Founder's Red Rye P.A. A finer IPA brewed with Rye I challenge you to find.

Grateful Dead Song Plays Mentally As I Write This...

Being tired does strange things to people. It animalizes them, makes them mean, disturbed, unstable. My wife and I are both working more than usual this week, and we are all of the above if we are any. Sleep deprivation is for the young, college students, people whose bodies are still growing, or at least have not started completely breaking down just yet.

I'm tired, and I'm not apologizing for it. Unless you're my wife. Then I have to, because no amount of exhaustion is worth not keeping the peace at home.

Night.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Sweetwater IPA and altogether too much work.

The Flying Soup Mobile...

I've driven some strange things in my life, but this is probably the strangest. Propane tank fueled, this brightly painted hunk of fiberglass has a cap of 35mph downhill, take off 15 or so for uphill stretches. I've driven it twice. the first time, I was pulled over because apparently, my boss had forgotten to renew the tags. This time, by some stroke of luck, I was not pulled over. The mirrors weren't even positioned correctly, so I had no idea when I was changing lanes if someone was there or not. It took 3 tries to start the thing because the event it had been parked at had required us to remove the contact from the battery. There is far more to mention regarding the experience, but alas, I am exhausted.

Tomorrow morning, I drive it to work in rush hour traffic.

This has been brought to you under the influence of various alcoholic beverages which were given to me while wandering about the food show this evening. I remember 2 red wines, vodka, a spiced rum called 'horny' and Sweetwater Blue.

Another One Bites The Dust...

Tonight, I had my best Oscar Picks showing probably ever. Still, I was tied for 2nd place with two others. The 1st place winner was the every year winner, so my first place prize was well decided upon ahead of time. I deferred to the other two I was tied with for 2nd and 3rd place. 2nd place won an AMC movie ticket plus a large soft drink. 3rd place won a black feather (for Black Swan), $1. 27 (for 127 hours), a spoon (for the Fighter--think about it) and a large soft drink at an AMC movie (because I didn't have time to think about a toy, something monarchical, a bone, something lesbianical and whatever else was nominated).

Overall, it was an excellent party, one which will go down in history as the party with the best beer, the best cake (thanks, Emmeline) and the best trivia (thanks Laurie, Ed and myself). Hail to the king, baby.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Founders Arrogant Bastard, Southern Tier 2x IPA, Wee Heavier Scotch Ale and some good old fashioned Red red wine. Ah, the glory days...

All Things Must Pass...

Tonight my trivia team lost our first round at TJ's, a Friday night event which gives away $100 in house cash to the winners. We don't go often, but every time we have gone over the past year or so, we always get first place and split the winnings. Tonight, that streak was dashed against the jagged rocks of 50/50 guessing. Oddly, 50 was our score tonight. In 15 years, I'll be 50. This means something...

This has been brought to you under the influence of Newcastle and a pint of something that wasn't the Newcastle I ordered so they gave it to me free. I'm thinking it was Sweetwater 420, but I can't be sure.

Today's Idiot: (Former) Coach John O'Connor...

Today I watched a viral video of the basketball coach for Holy Family University in which he pushes a student to the ground in an effort to transmit some chutzpah to the team. He also kicked him (possibly lightly) when he was done, again, to help drive the point home that they need to play better.

After the student filed a police report, several news programs invited them on for comment. His statements were clearly driven by his attorney (who sat at his side in one particular interview) but had no sincerity behind them.

Essentially, he 'didn't do anything wrong' but apologized.

He considers it an accident, but it was 'intentional'.

Later he called it 'unintentional, and wishes he could take it back'.

The truth is, he could care less how his actions are perceived by the players, but it was caught on tape and leaked to the news. What he cares about is being forced out of his job because of the hype that viral videos can create.

Here is my solution: don't suck as a coach. Teams of whipped dogs don't perform as well as well-groomed, well-cared for ones. Even without the 'injured' player, their team is getting beat. When you have questionable coaching practices that can sometimes go over the line, it helps if you win your games. People tend to give you a little more leeway in that case.

This has been brought to you under the influence of a host of libations, including Southern Tier Imperial Red and Founders Hopsomething. I can't remember the name. It was that good.

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow...

Tonight is pregnant with anticipation. For tomorrow, I get my taxes done. I usually get several thousand back on taxes. Yay. Tomorrow also is my book club get together. We will be discussing Endurance, the story of Shackleton's Antarctic misadventure. Very moving. Makes you realize there is little we do these days that qualifies as adventurous, let alone dangerous. But, we will be meeting at the Square Pub, which as a certain Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar on draft, which I shall be partaking of liberally during the conversation. Oh, and the bug lady is coming in the morning. Nancy. She is wonderful. Remembers even the most minute detail about your life and asks you about it while defeating the future efforts of God's little mistakes, insects. It should be a good day.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Founders' Double Trouble and Red, the wine we are still working our way through a case of. Together, these wonder twins form brain freeze and a monkey to throw darts at my temples. Don't ask me how they ever got anyone, let alone themselves, out of trouble with the Legion of Doom.

To Die For...

Not an outright terrible caption to put near a mixed drink on a billboard. It looked quite good in the picture. Perhaps at the corporate offices of Hacienda Mexican restaurants, their only marketing sin was in being too literal about their intentions, mentioning being 'like a cult', only having better drinks. Marketing execs had clearly studied out the concepts how to create a following, incorporating aspects of their business that they wanted to highlight, even referencing something most adults would remember--The Jonestown Massacre. And therein lay the problem. Apparently, making cute jokes about being a cult but having better Kool-Aid seemed a bit dark to some. Offensive even. Now, I don't know (or know that I know) anyone who lost someone close to them in the Jonestown Massacre. I think most people don't. Part of being in a cult is cutting ties with people you care about or bringing them in with you. Regardless, it's not the kind of thing you want to think about when you are deciding where to take your family out for dinner.

Marketing hasn't really advanced so far that we can really afford to lose the staples, has it? Obnoxious mascots, nerds dancing, references to 19th Century lit. These are always rock solid choices. Still, if there are those out there whose pioneering spirit in marketing has not been quenched, feel free to use these ideas:

Domino's: Unlike the clientele of the Atlanta teenage sex trade, we know exactly where our slice comes from.

McDonald's: More fun than a picnic in Christchurch.

Doc Greens: you'll pour more oil on our salads than a busted offshore drill.

Men's Warehouse: You're gonna like the way you look. Or, if you don't, take the suit off like the atom bomb took skins off in Nagasaki.

You get the picture.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Claritin D, which I swear has messed more with my head than all of the former libations I have cited put together.

Monday, Monday...

Worked today. Walked around a park near where I work with my wife. Unseasonably warm for a day in mid to late February. In the North, I remember February as being the most frustrating month of the year. You wanted a break from winter, but it just wasn't coming. In Atlanta, we end up with 70+ temps and a hot sun. This just a few weeks after Superman's ice fortress covered the land. Weird.

Tonight, we dined upon Jambalaya over jasmine rice and a few lovely double IPA's. The cats approved, as was indicated by their licking of the rims of our pint glasses. Soon will be their 1st birthday celebration. St. Patrick's Day. Not my doing. I swear. The vet narrowed it down to that day. I simply named them: Hops and Barley. March 17th we drink Guinness and wear green in my house. What else can I do?

Just as my mother taught me. Sometimes no news is good news.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Port Brewery's 15 Ale and Founders' Double Trouble IPA. Both lovely. Both packing a wallop.

Better Faith Than Sorry...

My wife and I attended a church service for the first time this year this morning. It was a good message, full of international perspective and optimism (the leader is a Brit who has obviously been involved in mission work and is up to date on the status of faith in a good number of countries world wide). Perhaps the most important thing I took from today was to be careful with my pessimism. I have on many occasions dismissed the idea of evangelizing while citing the 'narrow road' quote from Jesus. Narrow is the road to Heaven, and few will make it, and so forth. Logistically, that means that the minority of the people in the world will go to Heaven. Now, that may be true, but it occurred to me that I ought to look at it another way today. God is outside of time, and all time essentially exists at once for Him (or so we can only grasp). Given that, and given the relatively slow to moderate spread of the 'good news' over the past 20 centuries, it is certainly possible that the logistical minority of believers could still be yet to come, whereas the larger majority of unbelievers could largely have already passed. Say 51% will not be deemed worthy. Well, that could include 51% of people who have ever lived, not just who are currently living. We could exist in a day and age where literally all people could be converted and still have a smaller number overall than the total of the unbelieving past and current population.

Go figure that I would seize on something as bizarre and polarizing as this. Not that anyone reads this thing, but I find it ironic that of all the opinions I attempt to espouse here, there can be none more offending, at least to the bulk of the people I know, than my opinions when it comes to spiritual matters, particularly those of judgement. No one wants to hear about that. They assume because you believe it will happen that somehow you have something to do with it. As if believing it were a form of willing it to be. I don't wish it. Trust me. But I live in reality, and that includes some certainties of faith. Sorry.

In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. That's one way to say it. My way would go something like: In the end, we all get exactly what we ask for. I'll be darned if life has shown me a reason to believe differently.

The Winter Beer Carnival...

Or so it was billed. Oddly, we stood in a long line underneath a remarkably hot mid-February sun, just waiting to get our wristbands and our red star stamps, those happy indicators of our ability to imbibe. It wasn't until much later that the clouds rolled over and it almost felt once again like Spring hadn't begun yet. Not that I'm complaining. This was a ridiculous winter in Atlanta. Not ridiculous because of the amount of snow and ice. Ridiculous because the city is apparently in denial that such a thing as snow and ice could happen, and worse, stick around for several days. Perhaps it will revert to a summer scenario like we had last year, where temperatures hit the 90s for 9 straight months.

General notes on the festival: limited and unremarkable beer selection, overwhelmingly attended by people I would not have thought to be 21 or over but for the dayglo green wristbands, a strange sort of celebrity.

Yes, the beer selection was unremarkable. Most of the beers there were poured from bottles, first of all, and were available widely around town already, more times than not in draught form. Nice. Next time charge 8.99 for admission, if you're just going to pour me beer from a bottle I could have gotten in a sixer for the same.

Young people. Probably all or mostly college aged. Nothing wrong with this type of person in general, but they tend to be outspoken about things. Perhaps time and reality haven't synced up yet in their lives to dissuade them from just letting fly with their newly found thoughts and opinions. Whatever it is, it makes me uncomfortable, and very likely, old.

Which leads perfectly into the final observation--today I was a celebrity. I can't tell you how many men complemented me on my beard. Granted, it's a formidable one. I don't shave the moustache either, which makes it even seem bigger. I've never been hit on by so many straight guys before. But that's not all. Not only did I step softly but carry a big facewig, I also stood in line for nearly 45 minutes (waiting for a corn dog, as one will) reading a book. That bought street cred with the ladies. So, I also had women coming up and asking about the book I was reading. I am a member of a book club I said. Oh, I've been in one of those, they countered. Tell me about this book. I shall endeavor to (this I did, not said). Anyway, at one point I was even accused of being a ninja, hiding in plain sight, at one point. You have to understand, I don't go to these events to socialize. That is why I came alone and brought a book. But apparently there was no ducking below radar what with reading a massive paperback called The Doomsday Book and wearing the burning bush over my face.

In the end it wasn't all bad. I do not regret going, and I have also come to the conclusion that I do not need to ever attend this particular festival again. All together, a rather productive day.

This has been brought to you under the influence of: Terrapin Hopsecutioner, Abita Turbodog, Rogue Mocha Porter, Point 2012 Black Lager, Red Brick Long John Ale and Porter, Holy Mackerel Panic Attack, Bridgeport IPA and Hop Czar and good old Sweetwater IPA. Plus some wicket McKellar 10 that I had when I got home.

Righteous Indignation...

I was in a discussion with a co-worker today who indicated that a Christians' faith is based mostly in fear, and that whenever something came along to challenge their beliefs, they tend to react aggressively towards is, as if it were a legitimate threat. On the outside, I can understand this. There has been an addition to the business we work for which includes some practices that are frowned upon by many Judeo Christian schools of thought, and it has been brought to light in front of the entire current constituency. Certainly some would be expected to react overtly in a negative way towards the news. I also understand that those who take the opposite viewpoint would be put off by the tide of opposition they are facing currently. It just doesn't make sense. It must be fear. Irrational fear.

All that I can say is that my faith is based not in fear, but in reality, cemented through decades of experience, countless instances of miracle and spiritual connection, and a core revelation of forgiveness. Judgmentality was eradicated in the face of this forgiveness. It had to be. I wonder how many of the critics of peripheral activities today who represent the 'moral majority' have a depth of understanding of forgiveness. If one does, it makes it very difficult to take seriously the judging of another. Trust me.

Still, I managed to be a little ticked about what was told to me today. Whenever someone generalizes about a group that you belong to, you can't help but take it personally. Especially when the person knows that you belong to said group. Therefore, I postulate that some of the feedback they have received has been summoned by outright fear, as they said. But I would be willing to bet that some came from straight forward righteous indignation, the kind that comes from a place of certainty, confidence, knowledge, and an overwhelming desire to cut to the chase.

This has been brought to you under the influence of a slightly different kind of Spirit...

Further Ironies...

I noticed a couple of tasty ironies this morning as I was driving to the make-up store to buy foundation for my wife (I am fully bearded, incidentally; this wasn't even one of the ironies I was considering). There is an abortion clinic about 1/2 mile from my home. As I pulled up to where the customary protesters were, I had my windows down and was blasting 'Business Time' by Flight of the Conchords. It's about how Wednesday night is sex night for the couple in the song. I thought that was a bit ironic.

A little further down the road, there is a large building with several businesses in it. One of them is a Mellow Mushroom pizza house, something created by some college guys in Athens, and clearly a testament to both great pizza and serious marijuana use. Behind it is the Da Vinci Club, a gay owned and operated night club. Between them, prominently jutting out from the building are the words 'Actors, Models and Talent for Christ' in red neon. Together, they make a sublime slice of irony, one that can only be found just around the corner, perhaps past the last house in your neighborhood, in a little place we call 'the twilight zone'.

Still drinking Red. I just am.

Sins of the Fathers...

A discussion I had earlier with my wife managed to resonate with me, and so I thought I would toss out an opinion here regarding one of the finer points. People are formed in the image of their parents. Whether we like it or not, we look like them, act like them, think like them, and are fundamentally made up of the same stuff as they are. The only ways in which we differ, beyond some basic 'no two snowflakes are ever alike' senses, are in the choices we make and the way we conduct ourselves based on them. For years, the Biblical threat of being punished for 'the sins of the fathers' really troubled me. I myself had some daddy issues growing up, and the last thing I wanted to think would happen is that I would face judgement over some of the things my father chose to do when he was younger. Well, over the years, I began to get a new understanding of what this might possibly mean. You see, in families (mine, my wife's and probably yours as well) each generation tends to mimic the previous one. I know of one family in which every generation there are alcoholics, addicts and co-dependents. It happens over and over again. It isn't even about the genetic predisposition, because we are talking about people marrying in and even children being adopted who exhibit the same darned behavior. In my family, one one side, there has been about 4 or 5 generations of illegitimacy among the females. Right, wrong or neither, it is something that keeps happening over and over again. Now, I realize that certain traits and characteristics are spread down through genetics and environment, but at any given time, a person can look at what has come before them and decide that they no longer want to take part in the abnormal or destructive behavior that the previous generations have chosen to take.

This may seem obtuse, but what it does for me is to show me that, from the Biblical perspective, people are not being unjustly convicted of the 'sins' which their elders committed. It is a conviction based on the fact that, by and large, people do not learn from the poor choices and bad mistakes of others, but simply fall into the same habits, perform the same unfortunate routines, and wind up creating more young that grow up without anyone stepping in to teach them any better. It's not an unjust judgement. Merely, it is a statement of how rare it is for someone to break the cycle of addiction, or infidelity, or illegitimacy, or insert your poison here. I realize more than ever now how difficult it is to find the generation that turns the tide, how rare it is to see someone learn from those who came before and turn those weaknesses into strengths. Anyway, this was what I gleaned from the discussion.

This has been brought to you under the influence of generations of poor choices, but hopefully, leaves me under better auspices.

When Passing the Torch, Someone Often Gets Burned...

Not much time today. A couple quick thoughts.

Someone at work relayed to me a recent study on marriage taken back in the 50's or so. Those women questioned responded overwhelmingly that their marriage was good because they were 'rarely' hit by their husbands.

This generation of adults, particularly the Southern ones, were also the ones who put up the most resistance to negro rights back in the day.

It's no wonder that the Baby Boomer generation was so reactionary, divorcing on a dime and violating the smalltown America/nuclear family notion at every turn.

It's also no wonder that Generation X, my generation, is so jaded and fed up with ignorance and hypocrisy. We've watched the example of our parents and grandparents and we are pissed about the stupid behavior. Grow up, come to or die off. It's a new world, and we're finally taking control of it. For better or for worse. Probably worse. I'm intelligent, not idealistic.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Red. I just bought a case of it, so a lot of these will probably be being brought to you as such.

Anticipation and Stuff...

It promises to be an eventful week. First off, my wife and I both work today, then both perform in a cabaret this evening. This will likely be my last performance of the year, so I am both relieved and extremely relieved. Although I spent many years performing regularly, I seem to have shaken off the bug. Most of the folks I work with are still at it, burning the candle at both ends, either performing themselves or running their own schools and theaters. I can't say I miss it much. I look at them, frenzied, exhausted, cramming so much activity into such a little space of time. Then I look at my cats. They are currently balled up on the floor around me like spent fire logs, vaguely aware of a new day beginning, which for them means the promise of some napping, climbing, eating, pooing and napping again. Honestly, we speak of accomplishment and greatness and laud the achievers in this life, but what about the pets? Who is smarter than they are? I would easily be my cat for a while. I'm sure somewhere there exists a bad 80s film which has already explored this paradigm shift.

In a couple of days, the owner of my restaurant will open a new cafe. It is a quaint spot, focusing more on breakfast and brunch, as well as some light lunch fare. The atmosphere is cozier and more intimate than the current space. It also happens to be about 200 yards from door to door. As we typically have a long line out the door during lunch hours, it will be interesting to see if the new space actually takes some of the current business away. However, I happen to know that the line itself discourages many people from stopping during the traditional lunch hours, and this new space my give an alternative that helps us realize the full potential of business that exists in the area. I am excited to have a spot to stop at before I open my place where I can kick back in front of a fire in a wingback chair with some high quality coffee. Lord knows, we could all use some incentive to get out of bed these days.

Finally, I have called for some extra rounds of trivia to be played. My team is rocketing towards another round of tournaments, and we need to position ourselves a little better so as to take full advantage of the opportunities afforded during these times. Plus winning = house cash = free beer. Again, reasons to get out of bed in the morning. The beer doesn't just roll up against me like the cat. There is an idea, though. Somehow get the cat to carry around a can, St. Bernard style. There. It's on the list. Of course I would then have to share it with the cat. Cash doesn't really appeal to them, since this hotel provides for every need. I'll have to revisit this one later.

Tolerance...

I rarely title a post before I start writing it, but this one was just bouncing around in my head. I have a friend who has that 'Tolerance' bumper sticker on her vehicle, the one spelled out of various religious icons and spiritual insignias. I know several people who have those, many of them who are Jewish. As always, I am quick to hone in on irony whenever it makes a public appearance. Jewish people, proper practicing Jews anyway, are technically supposed to be the least 'tolerant' people of all. They are God's chosen people, and history has shown that God has gone out of his way to make the Jews different, separate, exclusive, and most importantly intolerant of all nonjewishness. In the end, it mostly came down to hygiene and proper eating habits, but since those have picked up support in many different cultural circles nowadays, one has to infer a bit to realize the spiritual significance of such restrictions. They were to be kept apart. Set aside, as it were, for holier purposes.

Anyway, I have no problem with Jewish people, but I happen to know a good many of them, and the ironic thing is that they seem to be the most tolerant people I have ever come across. Tolerant to a fault, as it were. Unless you're talking Jesus. Then they pretty much stick to the party line. Anyway, brief moments in irony, captured here for none to see.

It's the Day of the Show, Y'all...

I realize there are probably many vastly more important things going on in the world than a cabaret (Uh, Egypt?), but in my world, that is really the big news. I have to get through work, then somehow get through the show. I hope it works, because tickets weren't cheap, and tonight is sold out. Hopefully tomorrow I can sleep until I don't, then re-acquaint myself with the rest of the world.

This has been brought to you under the influence of a strong desire to get an Einstein's coffee and bagel.

A Brief Pep Talk Before Checking Out...

Tonight I am exhausted. It's been the thing lately, I realize this, but tonight I am really gone. We have been rehearsing for a cabaret which opens tomorrow, and all of us have been at it to the point where we just cannot retain any more. Honestly, I do not know why I am so exhausted. I was always a night owl who could also get up early and work some insane morning job. Not any more. Perhaps it's just bad habit, dragging myself out of bed each morning. I hear the voice of a parent in my head: You don't want to feel groggy? I'll give you something to feel groggy about--hit that snooze button again!'.

And so, tomorrow I shall endeavor to rise upon first hearing of the alarm. It will not be pleasant. The kittens, which are alerted by the alarm that their person is awake and can thus pet them half-consciously will not understand when I rise as soon as they hit the spread. But we must all bear under this burden. I have of late lost my mornings to floundering nearsleep, and I will take them back. Which means I have to hit it. Now.

This has been brought to you under the influence of anything I could find, literally.

Brief Notes on a Not So Bad Day...

Saw an Oscar nominated film today via For Your Consideration. Nice packaging. I predict at least 1, possibly 3 Oscars for it. Picked up a new cardigan and a hoodie for my upcoming Hispanic boy band performance of 'There's a Prize in my Pants'. A nice night of preparing for a performance (cabaret) with my wife and coworkers. Later, at home, enjoyed beer and wine while getting the Martin Dreadnought out to back up my awesome partners' voice on Time After Time. Overall, not a bad day.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Red, a richly blended California wine.

Edwin Starr May Have Asked the Most Important Question Of Our Time...

War. Huh. Good God y'all. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing?

Well, I really am not sure. I've had family members who participated in wars. I've lived through a few myself, though never as a participant. I must say, I attempt to live by a 'turn the other cheek' philosophy, so the concept of war seems very counter intuitive to me. I realize there are larger issues at hand, and that sometimes we must take up arms against our oppressors, whether to defend or simply to 'correct' a situation. All I can say is, I am glad I am not in a position to have to choose. My father's generation was the Vietnam war draft generation, and I know many of them would have rather fled to Canada than face the draft. I would probably have been one of them. Following the decisions, especially the decisions to kill, wreak, wreck and destroy, that stem from one man or a select few just does not appeal to me. We have a government. The government has power. It needs to, in order to run things. Someone has to make decisions, and they have to be followed or chaos ensues. But I'm really talking about the innocuous things, like trade laws, fiscal policies, the divvying of responsibilities to the states and other managerial responsibilities. I can even swallow the horse pill of bureaucracy for the sake of all that nonsense. But to land on a foreign shore with your weapons drawn and to be given no choice in the matter, such things are unacceptable. Granted, my grandfather was a peace loving man who found himself in France during WWII. He was fortunate enough to not have to kill anyone, or so he remembered. I certainly respect the dismantling of the camps, and am encouraged when I hear tell of those involved having done assisted without shedding blood themselves. In fact, this isn't so much an indictment on war (which I still have a moral aversion to) but on the draft. Fortunately, I haven't lived to see it re-instituted. I suppose as long as little soldiers, malcontents, Sgt. Rock's and warmongers are born to us, I never will. Keep breeding, middle America. Keep breeding.

The Best Part of Some Days Are Their Endings...

Today was kind of a difficult day. Many challenges. I had hoped to end the day on a solid note, having overcome said challenges and having wound up smelling like a fragrant offering to God. I suspect at some point that some pleasant fragrances were emitted, but overall, today kind of stunk. This is why we have beds in our homes. It is something to look at after a long day and be reminded of the fact that you can always try again tomorrow.

I also have the hiccups. Don't get me started.

This has been brought to you under the influence of too great a deal of negativity.

They Could Feel It Coming, All Right...

Having watched the Steelers lose to the better team this past Super Bowl Sunday, I was struck by a few interesting things. First of all, Mike Tomlin, head coach for the Steelers, plays the song In The Air Tonight for his team as a type of focus exercise the night before really big games. An urban legend I have heard (one a close friend swore to be true) was that Phil Collins wrote that song to express how he felt at having witnessed a man watch a woman drown from the high window of a hotel room. The truth of the myth behind the song is irrelevant to me in this case. I just found it ironic that such a well-known indictment of mysogyny is the pep song for Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger.

The other thing I found interesting is that I actually have a Terrible Towel, complete with trademark stamp and legit lettering. I have had this since I can remember. It was my bath towel as a scamp. My grandmother tells a story of having found a white towel washed up on the shore of Lake Superior near Traverse City in Michigan. The family used to vacation there. Apparently, she took the towel, cleaned it up, and gave it to her son, my uncle to use. Years later, I must have come across it and liked it, and so it was handed down to me. The thing that is weird is that I have looked at all the official sites that describe the history of the Terrible Towel, and none of them indicate that there was ever a white towel with yellow lettering and black outline made. And yet, this is what I have. The concept itself apparently came into existence as a marketing gimmick in 1975, the year I was born. It is possible this was a very early prototype of the current towel, one perhaps not mass-produced, and so mostly forgotten about. Likely, someone used it to sun themselves upon and left it for the waves to soggy up shortly before my grandmother came upon it. I, however, like to imagine that it was tossed into lake Erie after having been carried to the Northwestern corner of Pennsylvania. Perhaps a lover made a wish and cast it out. I like to think it traveled through the great lakes, up Huron, rounding the entire Eastern coast of the lower peninsula until it came to rest near my family's beach spot. I may never know the true story of the towel, and that is a terrible shame.

This has been brought to you under the influence of Shiner Bock. If you haven't had one recently, do so.