Posts
1. When someone is being very rude to you in conversation; imagine them naked in public wearing clown shoes. Then mentally shrink them down until their voices get very, very high and they're 3 feet tall. Its tough to be angry at a publicly naked midget clown.
2. When in the buffet line at a wedding - eat two items while in line and put one on your plate.
3. Always touch the last biscuit before asking if anyone wants it. You're asking because YOU want it, remember?
4. Avoid strict schedules. They're too confining.
5. If you're terrible at something get good enough at it to squeak by, then move on to something else.
6. Avoid television.
7. Experiment.
8. Wear your seatbelt, its sitting right there anyway.
9. Brush your teeth frequently. Why not? It doesn't take long.
10. Keep M&M's handy.
11. Never be afraid to throw away a food item someone gives you if its terrible. Tell them you loved it. That’s a white lie, not a black one like when you lied about eating all the M&Ms.
12. If you circle the table while eating, the calories and your exertion cancel each other out.
13. Maybe you can't help how you feel, but you're the only one who can control how you act.
14. Catharsis is rarely worth it.
15. Closure is overrated.
16. They're not family, so don't worry about it.
17. Try food you've never liked before once and while. Sometimes you change your mind.
18. If your time invested doesn’t line up with what you think are your priorities, something is wrong.
19. People know when you don't mean it. They're not stupid either.
20. If somebody says something, and you think maybe they meant something else - you're probably right.
21. The people are more important than the meal or the event.
22. You rarely lose by giving someone the benefit of the doubt.
23. Chances are good they meant it. Chances are also good that if you ignore it, it'll eventually go away.
24. If you're not passionate about something - you're boring.
25. You are like your friends whether you like them or not.
26. Don't be stupid.
27. Be nice to nerds because:
A. Somebody out there thinks YOU are one, and
B. You're going to end up working for one eventually.
28. Don't waste time. Either be doing something, or be asleep.
29. Don't take sports too seriously. That’s boring.
30. If you do watch television, at least don't yell back at it.
31. Until you find someone you can't stand NOT to be married to, please don't get married.
32. Do not comment about newborn babies. Period. If you must speak say, "that is a beautiful baby."
33. R.S.V.P.
34. If you're feeling lonely at a party; check the nearest corner. There is someone there lonelier than you. Talk to them, then go check the other corners. Pretty soon the party is in your corner.
35. Chasing the cool crowd puts you…..right behind the cool crowd. They're chasing a cooler crowd. Leave it alone and go find the nerds.
36. Strategize.
37. No, you're right. She did it on purpose to manipulate you and she does it a lot. You normally don't notice, but you better!
38. Make the most of it, but don't worry too much about how you look. You're stuck with it.
39. Always have a casserole handy.
40. There is no such thing as an unwanted guest...as far as they know.
41. You can't play fair if there aren't any rules. Either make rules, or don't worry about playing fair.
42. A big task is lots of small tasks. Do one small task everyday even if you can't complete it right away. Then one day you'll be shocked to realize you finished the whole thing. Its like finding money in the dryer.
43. Most people probably shouldn't sing out loud.
44. If they put something on the table you just can't stomach; you better eat it anyway.
45. You can't fake modesty.
46. Don't fight with your sister.
47. Most of the time its not worth it to be right.
48. You can find a way to pay for it.
49. You can always put it on a zero-interest credit card and figure it out later.
50. Might as well buy the best one if you're going to spend all that money anyway.
51. The rule about doing what adults tell you to do does not apply to your uncles. They're like children.
52. Do NOT get on the four-wheeler with your Uncle Robert.
53. You're not "insensitive"; you were just born without a key emotional component that most women have.
54. Sometimes telling her the whole truth really isn't the nice thing to do. Put her on a "need to know" basis and get out of there.
55. Lying and omission of the truth are identical. The "whole truth" and a "white lie" are somewhere in-between.
56. Cornbread is much harder to get right than most people realize.
57. Using more than one type of pre-mixed ingredient packet means its from scratch.
58. If you win at any cost you're usually the one who pays for it.
59. Losing gracefully is much easier if you really don't care.
60. Lets buy the $15 shirt from target instead of the $40 shirt from the GAP and spend the $25 on icecream for everybody.
61. If you go for the check; get the whole thing.
62. If you really wanted to get the check you wouldn't have asked; you'd have snuck your credit card to the waiter when nobody was looking. People subconsciously realize that. Don't be cheap.
63. There is nothing worse than cheap people.
64. Let yourself be taken advantage of for money, time, food, or work and count on God to take care of you. If He doesn't its his fault, not yours. Either way it becomes somebody else's problem and you don't have to worry about it.
65. Do not tolerate people you love being taken advantage of.
66. People will always take advantage of you. If you get rid of everybody that hurts you you're going to get lonely.
67. There is nothing wrong with sneaking out the back if you find it more convenient.
68. Get there late and leave before people are ready for you to. That way they're always ready for you to come back.
69. The center of attention can be alot of fun depending on the type of attention.
70. Driving 80mph in a 70mph zone when you're only going 80 miles to begin with saves you 11.66 minutes. The last ticket you got cost you $200. Thats $17.15 per minute or roughly $1,029 per hour. Your time isn't worth that much: slow down.
71. There is always somebody smarter, tougher, faster, more successful, better looking, or richer than you. Knowing that doesn't make you feel better when you lose, but at least you're not surprised.
72. In relationships: fish or cut bait.
73. If you get a weird feeling about something - get out of there.
74. If its not on the table already - don't ask for it.
75. If you wait to develop wholly pure motives before you do something nice for someone; you're going to be waiting a long time. Go ahead and do it and don't worry about why. So you're motives weren't pure? Big deal. At least you did something nice.
76. You don't miss the money you give away.
77. Its better to have friends with a boat than to have the boat yourself.
78. If somebody you know talks too much and one day they betray your confidence; its your fault. You knew they were a blabbermouth to begin with, dummy.
79. Granddad always said that if somebody borrows $10 from you and never pays you back; it only cost you $10 to find out he's a crook and a liar. Thats good information - cheap.
80. Do your own thing.
81. If you stay up late - you can always sleep late to make up for it. Thats the nice thing about nighttime.
82. There is nothing wrong with doing two things at once if you can get them both done.
83. Be nice to Grandma. She let you spill stuff all over her house when you were little and didn't complain.
84. You'd be amazed if you knew how many people thought the exact same thing about you.
85. Hopefully people don't think the same thing about you.
86. Its amazing what you can get away with if you try it with a smile.
87. Rework your criteria for picking causes.
88. Eating it doesn't really help the people starving in Africa, but it does help put your life in perspective.
89. Its good to be the boss, but its also good not to be the boss too.
90. Don't make too many decisions based on what other people will think. Chances are good they're not really thinking about you anyway.
91. There is nothing wrong with a mild Christmas present obsession.
92. There is no excuse for being rude.
93. Doodling is healthy.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Monday, October 02, 2006
My Apologies, But Could You Hand Me My Eye?
It seems that I have damaged my left eye. If one did not know better one might think that Satan was attempting to enter the world through my left eyeball. It is that red. Think "fires of hell" red. You're close. So, by "damaged" I mean that the ordinarily-white part of my eye has turned a particularly virulent red. I can only assume that it has begun formally addressing everyone who walks by because they don't speak back at it, but they do stop and stare; a facet of humanity that I have always found somewhat rude.
If you're going to stop and stare at part of my body you could at least direct towards it some sort of appropriate question. Even a quick "well hellooo" under your breath would be fine so long as I can see your lips moving.
I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't do it myself. This morning is a great example. I simply said:
"Hellooo strangely-formed, wide, somewhat oblong, wrinkled rump standing before me on the escalator! How are you today?"
It gave me a pleasant waggle in greeting and I went on about my business.
For now all I will say is that the accident involved me, twelve hundred (1,200) acres of pine trees, one (1) pickup truck, one (1) machete, one (1) bottle of water, one (1) leather glove, and 1 (one) chunk of pine tree traveling at mach 947.
I went into work this morning for a little show-n-tell with the injury. Ultimately my boss (after attempting to exorcise my demons) encouraged me to run down the street for a quick visit with the eye doctor. Its been years since I've been to an Optometrist, but I took his advice.
When I arrived the good doctor dumped a squirt of eye-opener in my eye holes. He then attempted to plug me into a large metal contraption with a shiny tip on it that was entirely too close to my left peeper. Naturally, I asked him what he was going to do. His response was "I'm going to poke you right in the eye with this little metal piece."
Well alright.
But why am I naked?
JGE
If you're going to stop and stare at part of my body you could at least direct towards it some sort of appropriate question. Even a quick "well hellooo" under your breath would be fine so long as I can see your lips moving.
I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't do it myself. This morning is a great example. I simply said:
"Hellooo strangely-formed, wide, somewhat oblong, wrinkled rump standing before me on the escalator! How are you today?"
It gave me a pleasant waggle in greeting and I went on about my business.
For now all I will say is that the accident involved me, twelve hundred (1,200) acres of pine trees, one (1) pickup truck, one (1) machete, one (1) bottle of water, one (1) leather glove, and 1 (one) chunk of pine tree traveling at mach 947.
I went into work this morning for a little show-n-tell with the injury. Ultimately my boss (after attempting to exorcise my demons) encouraged me to run down the street for a quick visit with the eye doctor. Its been years since I've been to an Optometrist, but I took his advice.
When I arrived the good doctor dumped a squirt of eye-opener in my eye holes. He then attempted to plug me into a large metal contraption with a shiny tip on it that was entirely too close to my left peeper. Naturally, I asked him what he was going to do. His response was "I'm going to poke you right in the eye with this little metal piece."
Well alright.
But why am I naked?
JGE
Mom's Memorial Ride
Over the last few weeks my family has been the object of more love and affection than I would have thought possible. Our friends, family members, and, in some cases, people we don’t even know have ministered to us. In spite of their own feelings of grief and personal loss; they have lifted us up in prayer and comforted us.
For that I thank you.
Clearly the intent of this event is to celebrate Mom, and I can think of no better way to do that than to share with her family and friends this place that she loved so much.
I wish I could condense her experience on the Silver Comet Trail into one paragraph, but I’m afraid I can’t. She saw so much beauty on this trail. She saw snakes and birds. She followed deer and foxes. She made a new friend here every day.
Mom experienced creation on a Cannondale.
I never fully realized this at the time, but the two most important things Mom found in this place were beauty and community. I can think of no better place to experience community than in the presence of beauty.
She expressed to us on many occasions how much she loved cycling and how much she enjoyed the people she met here every day.
On her behalf, my family thanks the cycling community and the hundreds of people who brought joy and adventure to her life through this sport.
From my family to yours: it is our hope that this tragedy will not cause you to change your lifestyles and habits out of a spirit of fear. Mom was acutely aware of danger, but that awareness empowered her. She was attentive to the perils in life, but she refused to allow a spirit of fear to temper her willingness to embrace beauty.
Mom lived an intelligent life. She knew that the greatest danger in existence is not a nameless evil lurking in the shadows. The greatest danger in life is allowing fear to prevent you from pursuing your dreams.
My family’s belief is that Mom’s death saved a life; maybe one of yours. So, since she cannot be here to enjoy it; I encourage you to enjoy it for her. I urge you to go out from here in a spirit of joy with the knowledge that you have a clear trail ahead of you, but most of all I pray that you will remember my mother in this place.
JGE
For that I thank you.
Clearly the intent of this event is to celebrate Mom, and I can think of no better way to do that than to share with her family and friends this place that she loved so much.
I wish I could condense her experience on the Silver Comet Trail into one paragraph, but I’m afraid I can’t. She saw so much beauty on this trail. She saw snakes and birds. She followed deer and foxes. She made a new friend here every day.
Mom experienced creation on a Cannondale.
I never fully realized this at the time, but the two most important things Mom found in this place were beauty and community. I can think of no better place to experience community than in the presence of beauty.
She expressed to us on many occasions how much she loved cycling and how much she enjoyed the people she met here every day.
On her behalf, my family thanks the cycling community and the hundreds of people who brought joy and adventure to her life through this sport.
From my family to yours: it is our hope that this tragedy will not cause you to change your lifestyles and habits out of a spirit of fear. Mom was acutely aware of danger, but that awareness empowered her. She was attentive to the perils in life, but she refused to allow a spirit of fear to temper her willingness to embrace beauty.
Mom lived an intelligent life. She knew that the greatest danger in existence is not a nameless evil lurking in the shadows. The greatest danger in life is allowing fear to prevent you from pursuing your dreams.
My family’s belief is that Mom’s death saved a life; maybe one of yours. So, since she cannot be here to enjoy it; I encourage you to enjoy it for her. I urge you to go out from here in a spirit of joy with the knowledge that you have a clear trail ahead of you, but most of all I pray that you will remember my mother in this place.
JGE
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Covered in Glory
As an addendum to our little talk about ants yesterday: you know, the thing I had forgotten is that fire ant-bites turn into little pustules for some reason. I wonder if "necrotic tissue" is the right term to use here? Regardless, I'm currently the proud owner of small areas of necrosis all over my lower legs.
At one point during the hunt I was standing in the field, gun laying in the dirt, doves circling my head like a Hitchcock thriller, furiously slapping my legs, arms, and chest, until finally; I sighed, my shoulders slumped, and I started taking it right on the chin like a man.
Blam! BLAM! Bird goes down.
Wince! WINCE! Two ants bite me.
BLAM BLAM!
And so on.
I just let them do their work. That appears to have been the right move because I eventually got used to it. My experience with ant-bites developed my sensitivity to the process to such a degree that I could sense when an ant was going to light into me. My vision is slightly blurry from the venom, but I have evolved a powerful kinship with my enemy.
He'd be moving along, moving along, down, down, down, down, my leg - toodley doo, toodley doo. "Don't mind me Mr. Man, I'm just tiptoeing along minding my own business. Yep, I'm just shuffling along down this-here pants leg looking for something to drag back home."
Then, all of a sudden, he'd do a little pause, shuffle, ant-dance, right, left, two-step, approach, waggle, address, and tear into my leg like a 6-legged soldier demon with a glandular problem and abusive parents. When I got home there were dead ants all in the tops of my socks and the cuffs of my pants.
Several brave ants appeared to have died attempting to erect a tiny ant-flag on the crest of my left boot.
They died covering themselves in insect glory.
JGE
At one point during the hunt I was standing in the field, gun laying in the dirt, doves circling my head like a Hitchcock thriller, furiously slapping my legs, arms, and chest, until finally; I sighed, my shoulders slumped, and I started taking it right on the chin like a man.
Blam! BLAM! Bird goes down.
Wince! WINCE! Two ants bite me.
BLAM BLAM!
And so on.
I just let them do their work. That appears to have been the right move because I eventually got used to it. My experience with ant-bites developed my sensitivity to the process to such a degree that I could sense when an ant was going to light into me. My vision is slightly blurry from the venom, but I have evolved a powerful kinship with my enemy.
He'd be moving along, moving along, down, down, down, down, my leg - toodley doo, toodley doo. "Don't mind me Mr. Man, I'm just tiptoeing along minding my own business. Yep, I'm just shuffling along down this-here pants leg looking for something to drag back home."
Then, all of a sudden, he'd do a little pause, shuffle, ant-dance, right, left, two-step, approach, waggle, address, and tear into my leg like a 6-legged soldier demon with a glandular problem and abusive parents. When I got home there were dead ants all in the tops of my socks and the cuffs of my pants.
Several brave ants appeared to have died attempting to erect a tiny ant-flag on the crest of my left boot.
They died covering themselves in insect glory.
JGE
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Taking it All Off
Some of you have been taught (in error) that there are four seasons to every trip around the sun. That’s simply inaccurate.
There are actually two seasons each year: summer, and hunting season. Hunting season is my favorite of the two, by far. So, it is with great pleasure that I report to you the official start of my favorite season of the year: HUNTING SEASON. Yeah, its on.
This weekend my travels led me to Griffin, followed by Columbus, Cusseta, Sylvester, Macon, Bolingbroke, and Smarr; none of which you're likely to find on a map with great ease (except Griffin - that one's pretty easy).
Saturday marked the start of archery season which I've been looking forward to with great alacrity for approximately 12 months. However, due to a scheduling conflict I ended up shooting dove all weekend instead of deer.
You'll not hear me complain.
The field we shot was a recently-cutover cornfield that was absolutely full of birds. I knew about that part ahead of time. It was also absolutely full of ants. I found out about the ants a great while after finding out about the birds - much to my dismay.
At some point during the furious melee of hot lead and feathers I managed to gently lay my body down and roll myself in a red-hot ant village; teeming with furious ant citizens.
Like many other of life's little mistakes; I didn't realize it at the time.
The interesting thing about ants is that they are quite small; whereas I am quite large. Another interesting thing about ants is that they seem to maintain a deep attachment to their dirt villages. From what I can tell they greatly resent any sort of booted intrusion; but they go about retribution with a certain amount of conniving coordination and delay that’s quite admirable. As a testament to their stealth and ingenuity; I had ants (literally) in my pants for a solid hour or so before realizing something was amiss.
So, approximately one hour after my unwitting intrusion; after I had tromped a half mile out across the open field to pick up a downed bird, some ant Chairman of Homeland Offense gave the order and the troops lit into me as if my freckled skin were an insect Western Front. The infantry threw all it had at me in the initial salvo; then called in reinforcements hidden in my boot socks. The attack mounted in ferocity starting with the lower thigh and running all the way down into my boots. With a secondary attack underway on the delicate skin of my underarm and snipers beginning to colonize my right cheeck, I surrendered the beach and attempted to retreat. A brief moment of clarity seared its way through the pain and, in flash of total calm, I realized: "I am about to be naked."
You might think the sight of a screaming naked person writhing across an open cornfield with a loaded shotgun would draw a crowd, but it doesn't.
I know.
JGE
There are actually two seasons each year: summer, and hunting season. Hunting season is my favorite of the two, by far. So, it is with great pleasure that I report to you the official start of my favorite season of the year: HUNTING SEASON. Yeah, its on.
This weekend my travels led me to Griffin, followed by Columbus, Cusseta, Sylvester, Macon, Bolingbroke, and Smarr; none of which you're likely to find on a map with great ease (except Griffin - that one's pretty easy).
Saturday marked the start of archery season which I've been looking forward to with great alacrity for approximately 12 months. However, due to a scheduling conflict I ended up shooting dove all weekend instead of deer.
You'll not hear me complain.
The field we shot was a recently-cutover cornfield that was absolutely full of birds. I knew about that part ahead of time. It was also absolutely full of ants. I found out about the ants a great while after finding out about the birds - much to my dismay.
At some point during the furious melee of hot lead and feathers I managed to gently lay my body down and roll myself in a red-hot ant village; teeming with furious ant citizens.
Like many other of life's little mistakes; I didn't realize it at the time.
The interesting thing about ants is that they are quite small; whereas I am quite large. Another interesting thing about ants is that they seem to maintain a deep attachment to their dirt villages. From what I can tell they greatly resent any sort of booted intrusion; but they go about retribution with a certain amount of conniving coordination and delay that’s quite admirable. As a testament to their stealth and ingenuity; I had ants (literally) in my pants for a solid hour or so before realizing something was amiss.
So, approximately one hour after my unwitting intrusion; after I had tromped a half mile out across the open field to pick up a downed bird, some ant Chairman of Homeland Offense gave the order and the troops lit into me as if my freckled skin were an insect Western Front. The infantry threw all it had at me in the initial salvo; then called in reinforcements hidden in my boot socks. The attack mounted in ferocity starting with the lower thigh and running all the way down into my boots. With a secondary attack underway on the delicate skin of my underarm and snipers beginning to colonize my right cheeck, I surrendered the beach and attempted to retreat. A brief moment of clarity seared its way through the pain and, in flash of total calm, I realized: "I am about to be naked."
You might think the sight of a screaming naked person writhing across an open cornfield with a loaded shotgun would draw a crowd, but it doesn't.
I know.
JGE
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Counting to 20
Sometimes in life one comes across individuals in the course of business that just ain't right...in the head. I've had the good fortune to cross paths with more than my fair share of such individuals, and the following is an email from one of my favorites. I think it might also serve as a solid portrait of the automotive experiences one might encounter while living as a young, blonde, 20something in Atlanta.
I would love to be sitting at home watching one of the numerous Judge shows, but instead its Monday, my head hurts, and I'm at work. Plus, I had a flat tire this morning. Well, really the alarm on my Beamer went off last night on the way home from training. To be honest - I couldn't tell which tire it was that was flat according to the alarm.
They all look so small to me.
So anyhow, I went to the gas station this morning; (yes, I drove my car with a flat tire) and proceeded to fill all of the tires with air. No, I didn't use a gauge - I counted to 20 for each and figured that was enough air to get me to work and not enough to cause the tire to pop.
Anyways, I get to the front tire on the passenger side - and at this point some guy drives up to use the air. I am thinking, "great, just my luck." I feel intimidated when a boy catches me trying to perform boy activities, like filling up a tire.
So anyways, he offered me the use of the gauge and checked the front tire pressure for me. I thought I spotted what might be the culprit causing the loss of air pressure, so I asked his opinion; "does this look like a screw in my tire to you?" And he agreed. It was a screw.
Ding! 1 point for me - I located the problem.
So anyhow, he helped me fill up the tire to get to work and even gave me some anti-bacterial lotion to put on my hands. Unfortunately, anti-bac does not get rid of the nasty, dirty, crud that moved from my tire and rim to into my newly painted nails ("Sweetheart" was the color Kelly picked out on Saturday).
Anyhow, my thumb still has black crud on it and I see a speck on my thumbnail. Guess I won't be giving the thumbs-up sign today.
Update: I just counted. I see dirt on two other fingers and my other thumb. For sure - no thumbs up today.
Seeya!
I would love to be sitting at home watching one of the numerous Judge shows, but instead its Monday, my head hurts, and I'm at work. Plus, I had a flat tire this morning. Well, really the alarm on my Beamer went off last night on the way home from training. To be honest - I couldn't tell which tire it was that was flat according to the alarm.
They all look so small to me.
So anyhow, I went to the gas station this morning; (yes, I drove my car with a flat tire) and proceeded to fill all of the tires with air. No, I didn't use a gauge - I counted to 20 for each and figured that was enough air to get me to work and not enough to cause the tire to pop.
Anyways, I get to the front tire on the passenger side - and at this point some guy drives up to use the air. I am thinking, "great, just my luck." I feel intimidated when a boy catches me trying to perform boy activities, like filling up a tire.
So anyways, he offered me the use of the gauge and checked the front tire pressure for me. I thought I spotted what might be the culprit causing the loss of air pressure, so I asked his opinion; "does this look like a screw in my tire to you?" And he agreed. It was a screw.
Ding! 1 point for me - I located the problem.
So anyhow, he helped me fill up the tire to get to work and even gave me some anti-bacterial lotion to put on my hands. Unfortunately, anti-bac does not get rid of the nasty, dirty, crud that moved from my tire and rim to into my newly painted nails ("Sweetheart" was the color Kelly picked out on Saturday).
Anyhow, my thumb still has black crud on it and I see a speck on my thumbnail. Guess I won't be giving the thumbs-up sign today.
Update: I just counted. I see dirt on two other fingers and my other thumb. For sure - no thumbs up today.
Seeya!
Part II - The Tire
Here is the much-anticipated ending to my dear friend's tire problems discussed in an earlier post - as told to me.
Friday morning I woke up with every intention of heading over to Firestone first-thing to have that pesky screw removed from my tire. The idea was that I would repair the tire early so Kelly and I could get on the road to Charleston at a decent time. Unfortunately, I was 3/4 of the way through The Devil Wears Prada and didn't feel like getting off the couch to have a stupid tire repaired. Priorities.
I guess it was a little after noon when I finally headed over to Firestone to put in my tire repair request. The hairy little guy immediately asked if I had "run-flat" tires and honestly, I really thought I did. I mean, one of them is flat, but its still running, right?
I maintained that line of reasoning until he explained (in not the nicest voice) that I most definitely did not have run-flat tires.
In an attempt to make him laugh I said, "Hey what do I know? I'm a girl!" He didn't appreciate my attempt at humor and I actually think I might have offended him on some level; whatever level you can offend a man named "Claude" on. We then had a brief exchange regarding my options at which point I asked, "how long I would have to wait for the tire to be repaired?" To which he replied, "over an hour." I thought to myself, "over an hour! Are you kidding me? I have a five-hour drive in front of me!"
Unfortunately, "thinking to myself" and "talking through my mouth" are quite often one and the same.
Mr. Harry Neckline did his best to mimic me and informed me that he was quite serious and that there were "lots of people with nails in their tires before me." I said "thanks!" and started to get in the car. He looked at me shocked and asked, "where I thought I was going?" I told him that there HAD to be another shop that could repair my tire in under an hour.
I wished him a fabulous weekend as I brushed him back with the mirror on my way out.
I called my step-dad and told him that I had a feeling, deep in my gut, that the tire would be okay for the five-hour drive to Charleston. I also called Kelly to tell her I was on my way to get her, and we were going to be driving on the tire with a screw in it. She seemed to have no problem with that proposition which, in retrospect, concerns me for her.
I guess it was about 2:30 pm when we got on the interstate. I would estimate that we made it approximately 43 minutes down the road before that stupid tire alarm went off again.
Are you kidding me?!?!? What about my gut feeling?!?!
We decide to grab a bite to eat and I filled the tire while Kelly sat in the car (complaining). The wall of the tire said something about 51, so I figured that meant I was supposed to fill it to 51, right?
I reset the alarm and we got going again. We were making much better time, so I decided to call my parents. I explained to Mom that I filled the tire to 51 since the wall said 51. Her high pitched "Are you kidding Paula?!!" caused me to wonder if I had, indeed, put too much air in the tire.
"Pull off immediately and let 15 lbs of air out of that tire. Are you crazy? If you hit a bump that tire is going to pop!"
No, I am not crazy, but I do have a schedule to keep and the stupid tire was not helping matters.
Kelly and I pulled off at the next exit whereupon Kelly produced a tire gauge that had apparently been hidden somewhere on her person. I know I certainly don't have one. The air pressure readings in each tire were 50, 30, 40, and 40, respectively. Averaging that out equates to about 40 so I figured we were okay. Kelly briefly perused the owners manual and stated that we "might have overfilled 3 of the 4 tires and OH MAN TURN IT UP PAULA!! TURN IT UP PAULA!! THAT’S THE NEW KEEN SONG!!"
I quickly moved from tire to tire and let the air back out.
While I was in the midst of that delicate manouver a huge 4X4 work truck with a bunch of guys in it pulled over onto the shoulder. Since I was busy working on the tires; I told Kelly that she had to tell the guys we were okay.
When the guys rolled up and asked what was going on, Kelly told them that we "have too much air."
I was about to fall on the ground laughing so I kept my face hidden behind one of the rims and pretended to be studying something complicated in the undercarriage. They really couldn't understand what Kelly was saying through the 110-decibel Keen song and her simultaneous tears and laughter.
She finally mumbled something to the effect that we "really were okay" and they headed on down the road in a cloud of testosterone and illegal emissions.
I am happy to report that we finally made it to Charleston a few hours later with no additional alarms, bells, or whistles of any kind.
My lessons learned during this trip:
1. I really shouldn't have a drivers license.
2. I shouldn't own a motorized conveyance of any kind.
3. My friends trust my judgment way more than they should.
4. My reasoning ability is somewhat more limited than I had anticipated.
Hope to see you on I-85 or 400 soon!
Piggy
Friday morning I woke up with every intention of heading over to Firestone first-thing to have that pesky screw removed from my tire. The idea was that I would repair the tire early so Kelly and I could get on the road to Charleston at a decent time. Unfortunately, I was 3/4 of the way through The Devil Wears Prada and didn't feel like getting off the couch to have a stupid tire repaired. Priorities.
I guess it was a little after noon when I finally headed over to Firestone to put in my tire repair request. The hairy little guy immediately asked if I had "run-flat" tires and honestly, I really thought I did. I mean, one of them is flat, but its still running, right?
I maintained that line of reasoning until he explained (in not the nicest voice) that I most definitely did not have run-flat tires.
In an attempt to make him laugh I said, "Hey what do I know? I'm a girl!" He didn't appreciate my attempt at humor and I actually think I might have offended him on some level; whatever level you can offend a man named "Claude" on. We then had a brief exchange regarding my options at which point I asked, "how long I would have to wait for the tire to be repaired?" To which he replied, "over an hour." I thought to myself, "over an hour! Are you kidding me? I have a five-hour drive in front of me!"
Unfortunately, "thinking to myself" and "talking through my mouth" are quite often one and the same.
Mr. Harry Neckline did his best to mimic me and informed me that he was quite serious and that there were "lots of people with nails in their tires before me." I said "thanks!" and started to get in the car. He looked at me shocked and asked, "where I thought I was going?" I told him that there HAD to be another shop that could repair my tire in under an hour.
I wished him a fabulous weekend as I brushed him back with the mirror on my way out.
I called my step-dad and told him that I had a feeling, deep in my gut, that the tire would be okay for the five-hour drive to Charleston. I also called Kelly to tell her I was on my way to get her, and we were going to be driving on the tire with a screw in it. She seemed to have no problem with that proposition which, in retrospect, concerns me for her.
I guess it was about 2:30 pm when we got on the interstate. I would estimate that we made it approximately 43 minutes down the road before that stupid tire alarm went off again.
Are you kidding me?!?!? What about my gut feeling?!?!
We decide to grab a bite to eat and I filled the tire while Kelly sat in the car (complaining). The wall of the tire said something about 51, so I figured that meant I was supposed to fill it to 51, right?
I reset the alarm and we got going again. We were making much better time, so I decided to call my parents. I explained to Mom that I filled the tire to 51 since the wall said 51. Her high pitched "Are you kidding Paula?!!" caused me to wonder if I had, indeed, put too much air in the tire.
"Pull off immediately and let 15 lbs of air out of that tire. Are you crazy? If you hit a bump that tire is going to pop!"
No, I am not crazy, but I do have a schedule to keep and the stupid tire was not helping matters.
Kelly and I pulled off at the next exit whereupon Kelly produced a tire gauge that had apparently been hidden somewhere on her person. I know I certainly don't have one. The air pressure readings in each tire were 50, 30, 40, and 40, respectively. Averaging that out equates to about 40 so I figured we were okay. Kelly briefly perused the owners manual and stated that we "might have overfilled 3 of the 4 tires and OH MAN TURN IT UP PAULA!! TURN IT UP PAULA!! THAT’S THE NEW KEEN SONG!!"
I quickly moved from tire to tire and let the air back out.
While I was in the midst of that delicate manouver a huge 4X4 work truck with a bunch of guys in it pulled over onto the shoulder. Since I was busy working on the tires; I told Kelly that she had to tell the guys we were okay.
When the guys rolled up and asked what was going on, Kelly told them that we "have too much air."
I was about to fall on the ground laughing so I kept my face hidden behind one of the rims and pretended to be studying something complicated in the undercarriage. They really couldn't understand what Kelly was saying through the 110-decibel Keen song and her simultaneous tears and laughter.
She finally mumbled something to the effect that we "really were okay" and they headed on down the road in a cloud of testosterone and illegal emissions.
I am happy to report that we finally made it to Charleston a few hours later with no additional alarms, bells, or whistles of any kind.
My lessons learned during this trip:
1. I really shouldn't have a drivers license.
2. I shouldn't own a motorized conveyance of any kind.
3. My friends trust my judgment way more than they should.
4. My reasoning ability is somewhat more limited than I had anticipated.
Hope to see you on I-85 or 400 soon!
Piggy
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
A Blue Kayak of Average Quality
Nearly everyone has had a roomate at one point or another. I have too. In fact, I like roomates so much - I have 4 of them. Roomates are great. Anyway, it gets lonely in a house by yourself!! For that reason, if none other, a roomate is a very handy item to keep with you.
Inevitably one's path in life tends to diverge from the paths of those with whom one cohabitates. It is an inescapable truth that I have (unfortunately) been party to on numerous occasions. In fact Alvin, King of the Terrace Level, recently left us for greener pastures.
His blue kayak and antique bedstead stayed.
It didn't take us long to realize that various of Alvin's personal effects were in no immediate danger of moving towards Alvin's new pasture under their own power; and friends: Alvin was nowhere to be found.
It is true that we heard tell of him in the Himalayas. Matt saw his likeness carved into a roadstone in Southern Mozambique. Seth saw him whirling with the dervishes in India. Danny was briefly abducted by pirates in the Tortugas who claimed to have known Alvin passably well, but we knew better. No pirate sallies forth without his trusty, blue kayak!
In order to jog Alvin's memory we sent him the following liquidation announcement:
FOR SALE:
1 "antique" bed of dubious heritage and quality
1 blue kayak of average quality (without paddle)
8 pounds of manure (horse) inside a blue kayak of average quality
6 spent cigarette butts inside a blue kayak of average quality
19 honeybaked hams of (previously) excellent quality inside a blue kayak of average quality
1 toilet seat gently stapled to a blue kayak of average quality
197 beer cans inside a blue kayak of average quality
If you act now; the dudes of the dude ranch will throw in the manure, cigarette butts, and honeybaked hams totally free of charge with the purchase of your first blue kayak of average quality.
Better hurry - Matt has been wanting to do something to that kayak for weeks and I don’t think I can restrain him much longer. He's just too hairy.
P.S. He just got a new drill.
Love,
THE DUDE RANCH
Inevitably one's path in life tends to diverge from the paths of those with whom one cohabitates. It is an inescapable truth that I have (unfortunately) been party to on numerous occasions. In fact Alvin, King of the Terrace Level, recently left us for greener pastures.
His blue kayak and antique bedstead stayed.
It didn't take us long to realize that various of Alvin's personal effects were in no immediate danger of moving towards Alvin's new pasture under their own power; and friends: Alvin was nowhere to be found.
It is true that we heard tell of him in the Himalayas. Matt saw his likeness carved into a roadstone in Southern Mozambique. Seth saw him whirling with the dervishes in India. Danny was briefly abducted by pirates in the Tortugas who claimed to have known Alvin passably well, but we knew better. No pirate sallies forth without his trusty, blue kayak!
In order to jog Alvin's memory we sent him the following liquidation announcement:
FOR SALE:
1 "antique" bed of dubious heritage and quality
1 blue kayak of average quality (without paddle)
8 pounds of manure (horse) inside a blue kayak of average quality
6 spent cigarette butts inside a blue kayak of average quality
19 honeybaked hams of (previously) excellent quality inside a blue kayak of average quality
1 toilet seat gently stapled to a blue kayak of average quality
197 beer cans inside a blue kayak of average quality
If you act now; the dudes of the dude ranch will throw in the manure, cigarette butts, and honeybaked hams totally free of charge with the purchase of your first blue kayak of average quality.
Better hurry - Matt has been wanting to do something to that kayak for weeks and I don’t think I can restrain him much longer. He's just too hairy.
P.S. He just got a new drill.
Love,
THE DUDE RANCH
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
The Impending Collision
Last year (on yet another blind date) my willing accomplice mentioned that she had recently invested in a new pair of Seven Jeans (they are, after all, for all mankind). Naturally, I inquired into what sort of return she anticipated on that investment.
She was not amused.
Typically, a good rule of thumb is to gauge the response to a joke, then respond in kind. Instead I laughed quite a lot, and for entirely too long.
My polls took a nosedive.
In a last-ditch attempt to take back the night; I ingeniously followed up the above obvious social gaffe with the rare and legendary impending collision scare on the way home. You know: that’s where your unwitting passenger is absentmindedly taking in the scenery and you (you mischevious little devil) lock up the brakes while simultaneously screaming bloody native heathenism at the top of your lungs.
Friends, you cannot begin to imagine the breadth of response that comes from that clever little conversation starter....In this case we had a very nice conversation about the wisdom of "frightening people who had recently been in major vehicle collisions."
Ohhhhh waiter! Check please?
JGE
She was not amused.
Typically, a good rule of thumb is to gauge the response to a joke, then respond in kind. Instead I laughed quite a lot, and for entirely too long.
My polls took a nosedive.
In a last-ditch attempt to take back the night; I ingeniously followed up the above obvious social gaffe with the rare and legendary impending collision scare on the way home. You know: that’s where your unwitting passenger is absentmindedly taking in the scenery and you (you mischevious little devil) lock up the brakes while simultaneously screaming bloody native heathenism at the top of your lungs.
Friends, you cannot begin to imagine the breadth of response that comes from that clever little conversation starter....In this case we had a very nice conversation about the wisdom of "frightening people who had recently been in major vehicle collisions."
Ohhhhh waiter! Check please?
JGE
Friday, August 18, 2006
The Emotional Hijack
One day several years ago I felt it incumbent upon me to gently admonish one of my closest female friends with the following pithy bit of wisdom:
"....And I will warn you that sappyness or hijacking someone else's emotional situation for your own will definitely get you teased...by me.
You know that thing where certain persons crave emotional release so badly that they take on somebody else's junk as their own, then freak out about it just so they can blow off emotional steam?
Thats the legendary emotional hijack. "
The relational aftermath immediately following that conversation could only be described as an emotional steamroller.
The important thing I learned that day was this:
I don't understand.
Anything.
And its best if I remember that.
JGE
"....And I will warn you that sappyness or hijacking someone else's emotional situation for your own will definitely get you teased...by me.
You know that thing where certain persons crave emotional release so badly that they take on somebody else's junk as their own, then freak out about it just so they can blow off emotional steam?
Thats the legendary emotional hijack. "
The relational aftermath immediately following that conversation could only be described as an emotional steamroller.
The important thing I learned that day was this:
I don't understand.
Anything.
And its best if I remember that.
JGE
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
You're Standing Too Close To My SCORCHED EARTH
I just found out there is a corporate finance vehicle referred to as a "SCORCHED EARTH POLICY." I heard that term and immediately thought, "I dont know what this is, but it sounds AWESOME and I want to be a part of it."
Turns out - thats where the stockholders of a company have a deal in place to financially blast the company away in the event of a hostile takeover. Its really a preventative measure rather than an all-out attack on the aquisitive company, but it still sounds neat.
Who knew there was anything that insanely cool lurking in the dusty confines of your corporate finance textbook? All I remember from that class was something about a "beta" and asymptotic graphs of risk. I also remember how my professor was such a genius that he took his college loans and, instead of paying off his debt to the school, leveraged himself into mineral-rights trading. So, what I came out of that class with was a general sense of dissatisfaction over my inability to make money off mineral rights.
By the time he got out of college he was a millionaire and had property all over the place. When I got out of college I had a 1993 Ford Explorer with all the carpet torn out of the back and no other property of any kind....BUT I now know about SCORCHED EARTH policies, and apparently he doesn't. Clearly I WIN.
I'm going home now, and I'm taking my SCORCHED EARTH POLICY with me.
JGE
Turns out - thats where the stockholders of a company have a deal in place to financially blast the company away in the event of a hostile takeover. Its really a preventative measure rather than an all-out attack on the aquisitive company, but it still sounds neat.
Who knew there was anything that insanely cool lurking in the dusty confines of your corporate finance textbook? All I remember from that class was something about a "beta" and asymptotic graphs of risk. I also remember how my professor was such a genius that he took his college loans and, instead of paying off his debt to the school, leveraged himself into mineral-rights trading. So, what I came out of that class with was a general sense of dissatisfaction over my inability to make money off mineral rights.
By the time he got out of college he was a millionaire and had property all over the place. When I got out of college I had a 1993 Ford Explorer with all the carpet torn out of the back and no other property of any kind....BUT I now know about SCORCHED EARTH policies, and apparently he doesn't. Clearly I WIN.
I'm going home now, and I'm taking my SCORCHED EARTH POLICY with me.
JGE
Sweet, Sweet, Des Moines
The interesting thing about Des Moines is……. The airport. Because as far as I can tell it doesn't have air conditioning and it smells like a hospital would smell if hospitals admitted farm animals.
While in Iowa a few months ago I also noticed a stunning lack of racial diversity of any kind and an unbelievable number of pregnant women. And twins. Lots of twins. And milk. Everyone drinks milk. I had to convince my waiter at the restaurant that "No, I really do NOT want any milk. No, seriously. I mean it. Get that milk away from me."
I cant quite grasp it, but I'm almost certain that there is a milk/twins/pregnancy link that I haven't quite figured out yet.
I think I heard they're attributing the airport AC shutdown to a cow that got sucked into its air intake. I guess that’s what you get for parking your airport in the middle of a cornfield.
Moo.
JGE
While in Iowa a few months ago I also noticed a stunning lack of racial diversity of any kind and an unbelievable number of pregnant women. And twins. Lots of twins. And milk. Everyone drinks milk. I had to convince my waiter at the restaurant that "No, I really do NOT want any milk. No, seriously. I mean it. Get that milk away from me."
I cant quite grasp it, but I'm almost certain that there is a milk/twins/pregnancy link that I haven't quite figured out yet.
I think I heard they're attributing the airport AC shutdown to a cow that got sucked into its air intake. I guess that’s what you get for parking your airport in the middle of a cornfield.
Moo.
JGE
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The Blind Date
I excerpted the below from an old email I sent to a friend evaluating a blind date.
So the date was a success, I think. I'm basing that on the fact that she didn’t ask to leave early.
Other than that I'm totally oblivious to all hints, subliminal signals, and hormonal indicators that most people would identify and interpret to indicate a positive or negative experience.
Nobody cried
Or vomited
And she didn’t hit me
…hard….
So I guess that went well.
All things considered - not bad for a blind date.
So the date was a success, I think. I'm basing that on the fact that she didn’t ask to leave early.
Other than that I'm totally oblivious to all hints, subliminal signals, and hormonal indicators that most people would identify and interpret to indicate a positive or negative experience.
Nobody cried
Or vomited
And she didn’t hit me
…hard….
So I guess that went well.
All things considered - not bad for a blind date.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Dead Man Walking
In attempt at tracking the efficacy of my new low carb low calorie low sodium low fat low taste low fun weight-loss program I have decided to post regular results on my blog; displaying my fat American shame to the world. Enjoy.
May 29, 2006 - Day 1: 224.5lbs: I'm a big fat dummy. I have pronounced jowls. I feel like a walking face. Don't look at me, I'm hideous.
Day 7: 218lbs:
I'm starving and I can't feel my legs, but I've lost bodyweight roughly equal to an average-sized newborn.
Day 14: 224lbs:
Whoops. Week at the beach. I swam out too far after what I thought was a floating snack pack and a fisherman tried to harpoon me. It turned out to be seaweed.
Day 18: 218.5lbs:
Back on track and whaling down with an unprecedented 5.5lb loss. I have confirmed visual contact with my toes again, but I'd sell my house for a twinkie right now. A twinkie lite. A snack cracker. Six grains of rice. Anything. Instead I'm having a nice snack of...water.
Day 19: 222lbs: AAACCCCKKK**!!!#$#$$$%CCKKK!!! How in the world am I 3.5lbs HEAVIER today? That is not physically possible. The laws of the universe have finally betrayed me. Whats next? Gravity? If I start losing gravity I'm going to be really upset.
Day 20: 220lbs: So far it would appear that I have lost 15.5lbs over the last 20 days while simultaneously gaining back 13lbs. I'm not certain how that is possible, but the numbers do not lie. Maybe I should get a blood test. That'll fix it. A good blood test'll fix anything. If I go to the doctor and get that cholesterol test done I always feel right as rain when I leave....Even if his printout says I'm technically dead from a cholesterol overdose.
Day 27: 218lbs: Back on track. No clue why I'd show up two pounds lighter because I definitely haven't done anything to precipitate the loss. Maybe I've been snoring harder in my sleep. Thats great exercise AND its low impact. Nobody ever blew out a knee from excessive snoring.
Day 30: 221lbs: So, not great progress for the last couple of weeks, but I went in to workout with my trainer again today anyway. Big mistake. Sometimes I get myself into these situations where I'm doing something; then all of a sudden my brain goes "wait, now remind me - how did I get here?" Today was one of those.
I was stoically plugging away at 100 leg lifts when my all-bones-and-muscle trainer eased a step closer and suddenly hollered, "IS CAESAR NOT MERCIFUL!!!??" right in my ear. Naturally, I fell off the other side of the bench. The chuckle that followed could only be described as "despotic."
And I pay for this.
Day 75: 212lbs: Ok hey, a new all time high low!!! On one hand, that’s a big step in the right direction. On the other hand, its depressing that my fat rump has grown to 212lbs from a svelte 200lbs even.
Lets face it: I was not built for speed.
Also, I'm eating beef jerky like its going out of style. I'm not kidding, it’s the only thing standing between me and the grim reaper. The Pemmican Jerky Company CEO has started sending me holiday greeting cards.
May 29, 2006 - Day 1: 224.5lbs: I'm a big fat dummy. I have pronounced jowls. I feel like a walking face. Don't look at me, I'm hideous.
Day 7: 218lbs:
I'm starving and I can't feel my legs, but I've lost bodyweight roughly equal to an average-sized newborn.
Day 14: 224lbs:
Whoops. Week at the beach. I swam out too far after what I thought was a floating snack pack and a fisherman tried to harpoon me. It turned out to be seaweed.
Day 18: 218.5lbs:
Back on track and whaling down with an unprecedented 5.5lb loss. I have confirmed visual contact with my toes again, but I'd sell my house for a twinkie right now. A twinkie lite. A snack cracker. Six grains of rice. Anything. Instead I'm having a nice snack of...water.
Day 19: 222lbs: AAACCCCKKK**!!!#$#$$$%CCKKK!!! How in the world am I 3.5lbs HEAVIER today? That is not physically possible. The laws of the universe have finally betrayed me. Whats next? Gravity? If I start losing gravity I'm going to be really upset.
Day 20: 220lbs: So far it would appear that I have lost 15.5lbs over the last 20 days while simultaneously gaining back 13lbs. I'm not certain how that is possible, but the numbers do not lie. Maybe I should get a blood test. That'll fix it. A good blood test'll fix anything. If I go to the doctor and get that cholesterol test done I always feel right as rain when I leave....Even if his printout says I'm technically dead from a cholesterol overdose.
Day 27: 218lbs: Back on track. No clue why I'd show up two pounds lighter because I definitely haven't done anything to precipitate the loss. Maybe I've been snoring harder in my sleep. Thats great exercise AND its low impact. Nobody ever blew out a knee from excessive snoring.
Day 30: 221lbs: So, not great progress for the last couple of weeks, but I went in to workout with my trainer again today anyway. Big mistake. Sometimes I get myself into these situations where I'm doing something; then all of a sudden my brain goes "wait, now remind me - how did I get here?" Today was one of those.
I was stoically plugging away at 100 leg lifts when my all-bones-and-muscle trainer eased a step closer and suddenly hollered, "IS CAESAR NOT MERCIFUL!!!??" right in my ear. Naturally, I fell off the other side of the bench. The chuckle that followed could only be described as "despotic."
And I pay for this.
Day 75: 212lbs: Ok hey, a new all time high low!!! On one hand, that’s a big step in the right direction. On the other hand, its depressing that my fat rump has grown to 212lbs from a svelte 200lbs even.
Lets face it: I was not built for speed.
Also, I'm eating beef jerky like its going out of style. I'm not kidding, it’s the only thing standing between me and the grim reaper. The Pemmican Jerky Company CEO has started sending me holiday greeting cards.
Monday, July 31, 2006
For Mom
TESTIMONIALS
Memorial Service
For
Jennifer S. Ewing
July 31, 2006
Memorial Service
For
Jennifer S. Ewing
July 31, 2006
James G. Ewing, Jr.
I think my family fought the tendency this week to blame itself for this trouble. Surely a family as strong as mine could have prevented this atrocity with more care for Mom’s safety, more attention to her whereabouts, or more warning on the dangers of riding alone.
I think my family fought the tendency this week to blame itself for this trouble. Surely a family as strong as mine could have prevented this atrocity with more care for Mom’s safety, more attention to her whereabouts, or more warning on the dangers of riding alone.
What I have realized is this: only things can be made safe. You can hide away your treasures from the world, ensuring that they endure well beyond their use, but you cannot protect a person from the attacks of a ruthless enemy.
Mom was a staunch believer in spiritual warfare. Anytime we felt our family coming under spiritual attack, Mom was quick to remind us that a clever enemy only lashes out against a threat. She always said that, as a Christian, if you’re not under attack, you’re probably on the wrong track.
What we all must realize is that her death took place on the front lines of a battle much older than anyone in range of my voice. The enemy is smart, and Mom was always on the front line.
She was on the front lines of everything - especially anything funny. What can you say about a 54 year-old woman who watched Napoleon Dynamite on a weekly basis and regularly quoted Ferris Bueller’s Day Off at the dinner table?
She was on the front lines of everything - especially anything funny. What can you say about a 54 year-old woman who watched Napoleon Dynamite on a weekly basis and regularly quoted Ferris Bueller’s Day Off at the dinner table?
Mom played her group of seventh-grade Home-school British Literature Students a clip from The Blues Brothers and created a miniature rift in the Home-school parent community.
She was hilarious.
I thumbed through Mom’s library this week and I came across a quote from Elisabeth Elliot’s book “A Lamp for My Feet.” She said:
When we imagine that our problems are so deep, so insoluble, or so unusual that no one really understands us, we delude ourselves…Our story, whatever it is, is an old one, and He who has walked the human road has entered fully into our experiences of sorrow and pain and has overcome them. He has comforted others in our situation, gone with them into the same furnaces and lions’ dens, and has brought them out without smell of fire or mark of tooth.
Hebrews 4:15 and 16 says:
Ours is not a high priest unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who, because of his likeness to us, has been tested in every way, only without sin. Let us therefore boldly approach the throne of our gracious God, where we may receive mercy and in his grace find timely help.
Today I ask for help, but I also bear witness to a life well-lived and a family built strong on Christ; the only foundation that can’t be shaken.
An annual tradition in our family was for Mom to read Truman Capote’s book “A Christmas Memory” as we sat by the tree. The last paragraph details the death of Capote’s dear friend and it’s a reflection of how I feel. Mom never made it through the end without crying, but I’ll try:
And when [she’s gone] that happens, I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received, severing from me an irreplaceable part of myself, letting it loose like a kite on a broken string. That is why, walking across a school campus on this particular December morning, I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying toward heaven.
Today we feel like a thousand kites cut loose from their moorings…..but we’re not. We’re bound tightly to the hand of Jesus; connected to one another in a web of love crafted by my mother.
She was hilarious.
I thumbed through Mom’s library this week and I came across a quote from Elisabeth Elliot’s book “A Lamp for My Feet.” She said:
When we imagine that our problems are so deep, so insoluble, or so unusual that no one really understands us, we delude ourselves…Our story, whatever it is, is an old one, and He who has walked the human road has entered fully into our experiences of sorrow and pain and has overcome them. He has comforted others in our situation, gone with them into the same furnaces and lions’ dens, and has brought them out without smell of fire or mark of tooth.
Hebrews 4:15 and 16 says:
Ours is not a high priest unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who, because of his likeness to us, has been tested in every way, only without sin. Let us therefore boldly approach the throne of our gracious God, where we may receive mercy and in his grace find timely help.
Today I ask for help, but I also bear witness to a life well-lived and a family built strong on Christ; the only foundation that can’t be shaken.
An annual tradition in our family was for Mom to read Truman Capote’s book “A Christmas Memory” as we sat by the tree. The last paragraph details the death of Capote’s dear friend and it’s a reflection of how I feel. Mom never made it through the end without crying, but I’ll try:
And when [she’s gone] that happens, I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received, severing from me an irreplaceable part of myself, letting it loose like a kite on a broken string. That is why, walking across a school campus on this particular December morning, I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying toward heaven.
Today we feel like a thousand kites cut loose from their moorings…..but we’re not. We’re bound tightly to the hand of Jesus; connected to one another in a web of love crafted by my mother.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hey, Haircut!
Friday night Melissa surprised me with tickets to the Guster / Ray Lamontagne concert at Chastain. As you all know - my polls come out consistently in favor of girfriends who get off their wallets. So, in a very predictable trend - preliminary results have shown a marked rise in Melissa's girlfriend poll from a near-record 97% to an all-time high 99% (with a standard deviation of approximately .9901).
As part of the "Classic Chastain" series, tickets to the event far exceeded my $75 credit limit, not to mention my frugal nature. So I feel like, on the whole, it was possibly the only profitable date I have ever engaged in. Plus, it was my first Classic Chastain Guster concert. Hopefully it was not my last (free) one.
As an added bonus Melissa not only arranged for the event, but she also prepared an entire Chastain-table meal complete with carry-in coolers, tray tables, candles, tablecloth and napkins (matching), wine glasses, champagne flutes, wine, champagne, two kinds of chicken, strawberries, two kinds of salad, cake, and various other eatables that are entirely not on my diet. She even thought to bring the thermacell mosquito repellent. Genius.
To put it mildly: I enjoyed it. A lot.
All I planned to do was show up (late), get in the car, pay for parking, park, complain about the heat, and complain about the walk, eat, drink, enjoy the concert, and then leave. That’s it. The requirements placed on me were entirely within my capabilities.
It was planned to a "T."
Melissa even brought a handheld personal fan with foam blades; powered by two AA batteries to help us beat the formidable heat. What a great idea! A mini fan, just for you! Check out this link to get your own: http://www.alwaysbrilliant.com/aa/aspx-products/1-488/2-50809/3-1/bb/mini_portable_fan,create_your_own_personal_breeze_anywhere!.htm
It's a great little device. You flick the switch, point it at your face, and cool away. Its very refreshing. And no, of COURSE there isn't anything dangerous about a mini fan!!....until you get it too close to your girlfriend's long, blonde hair.
Whoops.
Melissa's piercing screams shattered the peaceful pre-concert night as my portable electronic min-fan quickly and inextricably wrapped a 1/4" thick locke of blonde hair into its tiny mini-axle. Rows C - F looked on in stunned silence as I neatly sliced away 4 inches of her hair along with the offending mini fan.
It only goes to show you: sometimes things in life go as planned and sometimes they don’t; but regardless - it is always a good idea to carry a pocket knife.
JGE
As part of the "Classic Chastain" series, tickets to the event far exceeded my $75 credit limit, not to mention my frugal nature. So I feel like, on the whole, it was possibly the only profitable date I have ever engaged in. Plus, it was my first Classic Chastain Guster concert. Hopefully it was not my last (free) one.
As an added bonus Melissa not only arranged for the event, but she also prepared an entire Chastain-table meal complete with carry-in coolers, tray tables, candles, tablecloth and napkins (matching), wine glasses, champagne flutes, wine, champagne, two kinds of chicken, strawberries, two kinds of salad, cake, and various other eatables that are entirely not on my diet. She even thought to bring the thermacell mosquito repellent. Genius.
To put it mildly: I enjoyed it. A lot.
All I planned to do was show up (late), get in the car, pay for parking, park, complain about the heat, and complain about the walk, eat, drink, enjoy the concert, and then leave. That’s it. The requirements placed on me were entirely within my capabilities.
It was planned to a "T."
Melissa even brought a handheld personal fan with foam blades; powered by two AA batteries to help us beat the formidable heat. What a great idea! A mini fan, just for you! Check out this link to get your own: http://www.alwaysbrilliant.com/aa/aspx-products/1-488/2-50809/3-1/bb/mini_portable_fan,create_your_own_personal_breeze_anywhere!.htm
It's a great little device. You flick the switch, point it at your face, and cool away. Its very refreshing. And no, of COURSE there isn't anything dangerous about a mini fan!!....until you get it too close to your girlfriend's long, blonde hair.
Whoops.
Melissa's piercing screams shattered the peaceful pre-concert night as my portable electronic min-fan quickly and inextricably wrapped a 1/4" thick locke of blonde hair into its tiny mini-axle. Rows C - F looked on in stunned silence as I neatly sliced away 4 inches of her hair along with the offending mini fan.
It only goes to show you: sometimes things in life go as planned and sometimes they don’t; but regardless - it is always a good idea to carry a pocket knife.
JGE
Friday, June 23, 2006
The Lightest Brush of Porcelain
I have to admit that I'm not a huge fan of the public restroom concept. Its unpleasant. I just don't like it very much; at least partly because I'm extremely conscious of the potential unsanitary condition created by even the lightest brush of porcelain, plastic, or stainless steel on skin….Any skin.
I don't want to touch the seats, sinks, or door handles. I don't want to brush past the door frames. I don't want to grasp the hot and cold knobs on the sink. I definitely don't want to handle the paper towel dispenser.
Unfortunately it’s a necessary part of life, so I've learned to cope, but mostly I just don't think about it. Today I did, but what grabbed me today wasn't the germ situation; it’s the urinals. In my office restroom there are two. One is three feet lower than the other.
I don't know why.
I have, however, noticed that people, for no clear reason, tend to gravitate towards one or the other. If you wander into your office restroom on day 1 and find Joe standing at righty; chances are good that’s where you can find Joe on any restroom visit in the future. He has committed.
I, for one, have opted not to make that important commitment just yet. I'm concentrating on ferreting out the pros and cons of both righty and lefty before making the call.
I'm also a little thrown by the melamine stall dividers. I mean, seriously, take it on down to the floor - you know? Why leave the shoe-identification gap at the bottom? Was that one additional foot really enough to blow the construction budget? I'd love to listen in on that conversation.
"Well, almost done. Just have to put the walls up on this here stall."
"Walls? Don’t you mean 'dividers'?"
"No, you know - a wall. All the way to the floor. I mean, it’s a bathroom. You need privacy."
"I'm sorry. That’s just not in our budget. Leave it just high enough off the floor for shoes to poke through."
There are probably only a few times in life that I really, really mind having my space invaded by feet. That’s one of them. Next time some guy's docsider cheats off into my side - he's going to get a solid stomp right in the toe.
Also - if that weren't bad enough, I think stall walls are shrinking. I walked into one restroom recently where you could easily slide an average-size dictionary through the gaps around the door. I guess it does help reduce the tendency for unwanted stall-handle rattlers.
I don't need a dictionary to tell you what I think about handle rattlers.
JGE
I don't want to touch the seats, sinks, or door handles. I don't want to brush past the door frames. I don't want to grasp the hot and cold knobs on the sink. I definitely don't want to handle the paper towel dispenser.
Unfortunately it’s a necessary part of life, so I've learned to cope, but mostly I just don't think about it. Today I did, but what grabbed me today wasn't the germ situation; it’s the urinals. In my office restroom there are two. One is three feet lower than the other.
I don't know why.
I have, however, noticed that people, for no clear reason, tend to gravitate towards one or the other. If you wander into your office restroom on day 1 and find Joe standing at righty; chances are good that’s where you can find Joe on any restroom visit in the future. He has committed.
I, for one, have opted not to make that important commitment just yet. I'm concentrating on ferreting out the pros and cons of both righty and lefty before making the call.
I'm also a little thrown by the melamine stall dividers. I mean, seriously, take it on down to the floor - you know? Why leave the shoe-identification gap at the bottom? Was that one additional foot really enough to blow the construction budget? I'd love to listen in on that conversation.
"Well, almost done. Just have to put the walls up on this here stall."
"Walls? Don’t you mean 'dividers'?"
"No, you know - a wall. All the way to the floor. I mean, it’s a bathroom. You need privacy."
"I'm sorry. That’s just not in our budget. Leave it just high enough off the floor for shoes to poke through."
There are probably only a few times in life that I really, really mind having my space invaded by feet. That’s one of them. Next time some guy's docsider cheats off into my side - he's going to get a solid stomp right in the toe.
Also - if that weren't bad enough, I think stall walls are shrinking. I walked into one restroom recently where you could easily slide an average-size dictionary through the gaps around the door. I guess it does help reduce the tendency for unwanted stall-handle rattlers.
I don't need a dictionary to tell you what I think about handle rattlers.
JGE
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Wherefore Art Thou?
It has recently come to my attention that I am sadly lacking in the poetry-writing department. Furthermore, my most recent relationship user poll has indicated that I should begin to consider developing my talents in that arena and start putting some serious thought into directing those efforts towards a certain someone.
I'm fairly well-educated. I went to college. Studied the great thinkers. Read some Shakespeare, Faust, Goethe, maybe a little Sappho. So sure, I understand poetry. I like Robert Service quite alot and Service was a great poet! He tended to stay within the comfortable confines of man-talk. I can appreciate that, but somehow I doubt any young lady I know would appreciate the appelation "claw fingered" or "wanton." See below:
Dance-Hall Girls
~ A Poem by Robert Service ~
Where are the dames I used to know
In Dawson in the days of yore?
Alas, it's fifty years ago,
And most, I guess, have "gone before."
The swinging scythe is swift to mow
Alike the gallant and the fair;
And even I, with gouty toe,
Am glad to fill a rocking chair.
Ah me, I fear each gaysome girl
Who in champagne I used to toast,
or cozen in the waltz's whirl,
Is now alas, a wistful ghost.
Oh where is Touch The Button Nell?
Or Minnie Dale or Rosa Lee,
Or Lorna Doone or Daisy Bell?
And where is Montreal Maree?
Fair ladies of my lusty youth,
I fear that you are dead and gone:
Where's Gertie of the Diamond Tooth,
And where the Mare of Oregon?
What's come of Violet de Vere,
Claw-fingered Kate and Gumboot Sue?
They've crossed the Great Divide, I fear;
Remembered now by just a few.
A few who like myself can see
Through half a century of haze
A heap of goodness in their glee
And kindness in their wanton ways.
Alas, my sourdough days are dead,
Yet let me toss a tankard down . . .
Here's hoping that you wed and bred,
And lives of circumspection led,
Gay dance-hall girls o Dawson Town!
Now, wasn't that nice? Lusty youths? Claw-fingered Kate? Thats good poetry. I'm sure I could probably whip up some pithy, over-the-moon, wherefore-art-thou talk, but certainly not in the daylight, and definitely not during deer season. I just don't have the strength.
I'm fairly well-educated. I went to college. Studied the great thinkers. Read some Shakespeare, Faust, Goethe, maybe a little Sappho. So sure, I understand poetry. I like Robert Service quite alot and Service was a great poet! He tended to stay within the comfortable confines of man-talk. I can appreciate that, but somehow I doubt any young lady I know would appreciate the appelation "claw fingered" or "wanton." See below:
Dance-Hall Girls
~ A Poem by Robert Service ~
Where are the dames I used to know
In Dawson in the days of yore?
Alas, it's fifty years ago,
And most, I guess, have "gone before."
The swinging scythe is swift to mow
Alike the gallant and the fair;
And even I, with gouty toe,
Am glad to fill a rocking chair.
Ah me, I fear each gaysome girl
Who in champagne I used to toast,
or cozen in the waltz's whirl,
Is now alas, a wistful ghost.
Oh where is Touch The Button Nell?
Or Minnie Dale or Rosa Lee,
Or Lorna Doone or Daisy Bell?
And where is Montreal Maree?
Fair ladies of my lusty youth,
I fear that you are dead and gone:
Where's Gertie of the Diamond Tooth,
And where the Mare of Oregon?
What's come of Violet de Vere,
Claw-fingered Kate and Gumboot Sue?
They've crossed the Great Divide, I fear;
Remembered now by just a few.
A few who like myself can see
Through half a century of haze
A heap of goodness in their glee
And kindness in their wanton ways.
Alas, my sourdough days are dead,
Yet let me toss a tankard down . . .
Here's hoping that you wed and bred,
And lives of circumspection led,
Gay dance-hall girls o Dawson Town!
Now, wasn't that nice? Lusty youths? Claw-fingered Kate? Thats good poetry. I'm sure I could probably whip up some pithy, over-the-moon, wherefore-art-thou talk, but certainly not in the daylight, and definitely not during deer season. I just don't have the strength.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Bad Carbitude
Monday is a fitting day to begin any sort of torturous endeavor, so I figured - why not start a low-carb diet this Monday? I'm starting my whale-down workshop today so watch out Krispy Kreme - your profit margin just dropped about 2%.
Diets always sounds like a great idea while happily satiated and sitting around the remains of Sunday lunch, but when confronted with the glorious offerings of Rosa's pizza, I tend to inwardly curse my well-intended post-lunch declarations. Of course, then I'm like "well I might as well workout today too (at 6AM) if I'm going to eat healthy." I think you can see the downward spiral from there.
You know you're relatively overweight when your family becomes so accustomed to your porkosity that they feel comfortable remarking on it. "Well, you know how round your face gets..." is not on my top ten list of things I'd expect to hear from a conscientious support group.
The end result of my well-intended new diet is that I'm not only starving, but I'm really sore - sometimes in specific places, but mostly just all over. Plus, my little pinkie toe appears to be sprained. A man ought not ever to be made aware of his pinkie toe.
There is nothing so discomfiting as an acute awareness of one's pinkie toe. It is hard to feel masculine and powerful if you're forced to consider a pinkie toe because an internal undercurrent of pinkie-toe awareness is very distracting. They are perhaps the most unmanly and powerless human appendages ever devised so I prefer to ignore them altogether. When I can't ignore them - it’s a problem.
Dating has taught me that many women seem to feel much better after a nice long conversation about their most recent painful life event. Having talked about my pinkie toe issue, now I think I feel a great deal worse. I can only conclude, then, that despite my pinkie toe awareness - I am not a woman. Thats good news.
Also, I just got a Krispy Kreme mailer with a 10% discount. I've got that going for me. Monday might not be so bad after all.
JGE
Diets always sounds like a great idea while happily satiated and sitting around the remains of Sunday lunch, but when confronted with the glorious offerings of Rosa's pizza, I tend to inwardly curse my well-intended post-lunch declarations. Of course, then I'm like "well I might as well workout today too (at 6AM) if I'm going to eat healthy." I think you can see the downward spiral from there.
You know you're relatively overweight when your family becomes so accustomed to your porkosity that they feel comfortable remarking on it. "Well, you know how round your face gets..." is not on my top ten list of things I'd expect to hear from a conscientious support group.
The end result of my well-intended new diet is that I'm not only starving, but I'm really sore - sometimes in specific places, but mostly just all over. Plus, my little pinkie toe appears to be sprained. A man ought not ever to be made aware of his pinkie toe.
There is nothing so discomfiting as an acute awareness of one's pinkie toe. It is hard to feel masculine and powerful if you're forced to consider a pinkie toe because an internal undercurrent of pinkie-toe awareness is very distracting. They are perhaps the most unmanly and powerless human appendages ever devised so I prefer to ignore them altogether. When I can't ignore them - it’s a problem.
Dating has taught me that many women seem to feel much better after a nice long conversation about their most recent painful life event. Having talked about my pinkie toe issue, now I think I feel a great deal worse. I can only conclude, then, that despite my pinkie toe awareness - I am not a woman. Thats good news.
Also, I just got a Krispy Kreme mailer with a 10% discount. I've got that going for me. Monday might not be so bad after all.
JGE
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Used, Dented, Damaged, Slightly Scratched Car Parts for Sale
It turns out that a 2006 Honda Accord hood costs $1,200 to replace. I know this because I bought one.
Not a Honda Accord - a Honda Accord hood.
I bought one because I backed into my girlfriend's Honda Accord parked in my driveway on Monday morning. It gave up the ghost with a very pleasing"Crunch."
My insistence that the large bumper-shaped dent in her hood "wasn't that bad" has done very little for my love life. As a concession I offered to buy her a used dirt bike for $1,200. I figured we could share the new dirt bike and just leave the dented hood alone. Hoods really aren't that useful if you ask me. I'd just as soon see down into the engine guts on my car. That way you can see right off if anything is amiss.
My kind suggestion didn't help me much and from the looks of things I won't be enjoying the blazing speed of a Kawasaki 250cc dirt bike anytime soon either.
So now I have no dirt bike, no money, and a dented Honda Accord hood. I also just got a property tax bill in the mail. Oh, and one of these days I'm probably going to die.
From the looks of things I'd say a Honda Accord might be involved.
JGE
Not a Honda Accord - a Honda Accord hood.
I bought one because I backed into my girlfriend's Honda Accord parked in my driveway on Monday morning. It gave up the ghost with a very pleasing"Crunch."
My insistence that the large bumper-shaped dent in her hood "wasn't that bad" has done very little for my love life. As a concession I offered to buy her a used dirt bike for $1,200. I figured we could share the new dirt bike and just leave the dented hood alone. Hoods really aren't that useful if you ask me. I'd just as soon see down into the engine guts on my car. That way you can see right off if anything is amiss.
My kind suggestion didn't help me much and from the looks of things I won't be enjoying the blazing speed of a Kawasaki 250cc dirt bike anytime soon either.
So now I have no dirt bike, no money, and a dented Honda Accord hood. I also just got a property tax bill in the mail. Oh, and one of these days I'm probably going to die.
From the looks of things I'd say a Honda Accord might be involved.
JGE
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)