Planet RMFO Blog

We’re back! It’s dancing time! So, obviously, I missed last week’s recap due to an abundance of dresser jumping competitions and late night ice cream trips in my life. I did watch it, however, and I would like to get a few thoughts out before we proceed with the top 8. - Booooo to Comfort being back. - Booooo to [...]

Come to the pool with me!

Hurry up, the pool will be closing soon! Together we can laugh and shout in the splish-splashing sunshine!

If we get there soon, you can sit atop my shoulders as we glide through the pool and delight in the summertime sensations! Then we can all come crashing down into the cool, renewing water. Our frowns will be washed away down the rivers of chlorinated eternity!

Come, slather my torso with suntan lotion that I might avoid the sun’s forbidden rays. Be sure to use a lot, because my upper body is substantial, and I don’t want any part of my skin to escape your lotion-soaked palms.

Hold my hand as I jump into the pool! We will enter the 9-foot oasis together! I don’t ever want you to leave me, do you understand? Never leave me.

The pool is fun!

Now slip below the surface with me and shout out underwater secrets that you would otherwise not tell a soul! It will be a slippery tickle-treat! Ready? Here goes!

Could you understand me? You could? Really? What did you hear me say?

Uh, no, that’s not what I said. I would never say that – that’s really gross! What I actually said was “lollipops can come true.”

Yeah, I know that doesn’t make any actual sense. I guess I was just surfing on the emotion of the moment.

I love the pool!

i’m going to try to summarize the conversation i had with just the essentials.

background: i work in a call center for familylife ministries, which has a radio show. so i receive calls from listeners. our program today had parents talking about dealing with the loss a child and how to cope with that…

guy: [with a middle eastern accent] hello, i’m new to this country. is your number an 800 toll-free line?

me: [thinking: didn't you just dial the 800?] yes, it is.

guy: ok, well, i heard your program about people dying, and i want to learn about my grandfather. he was in new york, but i can’t find any documentation about him. he was an upstanding man.

me: … well…ok…

guy: so i’m trying to find out about that.

me: well, good luck with that, sir. but i don’t think i can help you with that.

guy: what about galahad?

[he really did switch to that abrubtly]

me: what? galahad? i’m not sure what you’re talking about.

guy: yeah, sir galahad from the round table. wasn’t he supposed to be like jesus?

me: …

guy: can you explain that to me?

me: yeah, well, he’s a christ figure in some ways, i guess…maybe…

guy: what about arthur? what’s his story?

me: well…um…he’s a legend…

guy: is he real?

me: well, he’s more of a myth at this point in history, but there may have been someone similar to him at some point, historians can’t be sure because there’s so much legend surrounding the story…[and i go on about what i know about the arthurian legend for a few minutes; he periodically interjects more questions]…so, does that make sense?

guy: yes, that makes sense. do i have to give you my name?

me: um, no…

guy: [proceeds to give me his name, which i can't remember] thank you, goodbye.

I’ve never had a muse. I’ve always wondered what it might be like to have one.

There’s so much to the creative process I don’t understand. Why two people’s art can look and sound so different, yet be distinctly theirs. Why when you seek to imitate it you feel like a forger and your art like a forgery, no matter how remarkable the result.

I can’t count the number of songs I’ve written and the number of poems I’ve pulled out of my head. I don’t think I’d want to. They come and go in phases and shifts. I could never count on a living as a musician: I simply can’t turn it on like a tap. I can sit at the piano and write fifty different phrases and attach fifty different lyrics to those phrase but they won’t satisfy me. Thirty minutes or two days later I sit down and the first thing I play is magic.

There are so few chords and combinations of notes, really. There are only so many ways to put them together before you run out and have to start recycling.

Sometimes you can want desperately to write about something but find yourself unable to write about it and instead spend a half hour writing about something else when you should be sleeping.

Playing old songs is a challenge. I can never remember exactly how they go. Maybe I’m making them up as I go, again, and I have no way of knowing. Only the few I record I know for certain. The rest are possibly recent.

Isn’t it strange how music can reach out and tweak something inside you that logic and facts and science can never explain, much less themselves touch? I played a song the other day that made me feel sad in a way I haven’t felt for a long time now. It made me feel something. This amazes me.

Thinking back, my former art was a shallow imitation of feeling, a tissue-thin façade less tangible than those things I professed to know and write about. If you had to hear them, I am sorry. If you felt a remarkable kinship for me then, even more so. I should be forgiven, I think, for those songs and the words to those songs. We all should, who wrote like that. We were children. If we had a grasp of irony far in excess of our years, we squandered it on songs we thought were about love. We were obsessed with love and being in love and writing about love and being in love. When you are in the desert you write songs about water. We are adults now and instead of obsessing some of us have moved on and are actually loving and being in love. That’s a much harder thing to write about. There’s almost no way to do it properly.

If I’m being too subtle in my lyrics, I don’t apologise. If you can mine seventeen different meanings or none at all, I couldn’t care less. These songs are for me, not for you. These things are the most intensely selfish things I will ever produce, the most tuned to myself. They can’t help but be. They’re my intellectual and emotional children. That you hear them, some of them, is a raw vulnerability I can’t help but shy away from. This is the singer/songwriter curse, of course. These are not songs written by a group of people in a room. They’re not statements about politics or revolution or technological disorientation. They’re songs that bubble to the surface in privacy, when alone.

I have become too verbose.

Somehow or another, some of our pictures didn’t make it online, and we didn’t realize it until yesterday afternoon. So I want to point out a few things, like this sign at Prospect Park:

Mike, in that way that he does, nudged me so I would notice the sign. Because he likes to get me riled up about things. BUT WHAT IF I WANT TO BRING MY BARBECUE INTO THE PARK? WHAT THEN, PROSPECT PARK? GO AHEAD, TRY AND STOP ME! YOU WILL RIP THIS PULLED PORK OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS! (I actually do think this sign is a little odd. I would think it would be “barbecuing.” Which is what other similar signs said. But this is further evidence that the word “grilling” is superior, because there is no confusion.)

Also, because I like this picture, here I am at Prospect Park:

Okay, now I will resume the regularly scheduled recap! On Thursday we went in search of New York City’s best burgers. Mike’s list, obviously. We decided to try The Burger Joint, and we were not disappointed. From there, we hiked up to the Met to purchase Alisa’s half birthday present: the William stapler. Alisa’s half birthday is close to my birthday, and somehow or another we got started exchanging presents for half birthdays as well as regular birthdays. I knew I wanted her present to come from New York, and she loves hippos. Yay, William! (I gave her the stapler already, so it’s okay for me to post this.)

From there, we headed over to the American Museum of Natural History (Mike’s list). I am going to be honest – I was not completely jazzed about going to the museum until I realized that this is where they have the dinosaurs. (I have clearly never seen A Night at the Museum.) I have a freakish love of dinosaurs. In fact, I was a little overly excited. As you can tell in the pictures.

When I was very small, my mother made me a stuffed stegosaurus for Christmas. His name was Diney. I loved him very much and slept with him for years and years. He hasn’t fallen apart, but he’s pretty threadbare (or, as I like to say, real). This picture is for my mom.

Mike and I had a bit of a disagreement about the dinosaurs. I said that I like to imagine that they were purple. And he did not think that was the smartest thing I had ever said. His argument is that if they were purple, they would have stood out and been easily killed. Well, they’re all extinct, aren’t they? Game, set, match. Besides, as the AMNH will tell you, no one really knows what color they were.

(So we should just use our imaginations.)

Thursday was so hot, you guys. By the time we got to the meteorites, I was basically done with everything.

My legs were shaking and I probably hadn’t had quite enough water. So we went back to our hotel to recover before going to Otto, Mario Batali’s pizza place (Kari’s list). A few years ago, I read Heat, and this restaurant was opened during the time that book talks about, so I thought I’d like to see it. Plus, Smitten Kitchen said it was the best pizza she’d ever had. And we all know that I trust her judgment. The thing about Otto . . . well, Mike kept saying, “I don’t understand this place.” The atmosphere is weird – it’s really loud. And there were people of all ages there. But it also felt upscale, though the prices were very reasonable. The food, though, was really awesome. Seriously good stuff. The olive oil gelato? Lives up to the hype. Oh. My. Gosh. I would go there again, just for that. The pizza I had was great, too, and the cheese was wonderful, and Mike’s spaghetti alla carbonara was very tasty. But the gelato . . . so good.

Friday was our last full day in New York. First we went down to Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. This is from both our lists, because as a good Simon & Garfunkel fan, I wanted to see Bleecker Street, and Mike wanted to see the Village. Also, he had a black and white cookie. For Scott.

We walked around, had some pizza, and didn’t quite make it to Magnolia’s. Then we headed up to The Strand (Kari’s list). I got a tote bag, one with stripes that does not appear to be on their site. Lucky magazine recommended this one, but I don’t think I’m a toile kind of girl. (I asked Mike, “Am I stripes or toile?” and he was emphatic that I’m stripes. Sorry, toile.) Then we did another thing from my list, which was that we made our pilgrimage to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Mike wanted to see it, too, actually, but just because of the architecture. I wanted to see it because it was Madeleine L’Engle’s church, and for a while she was writer-in-residence there. It was amazing, and it must be quite an experience to attend a service there. I would like to do that sometime.

And then, for dinner, we went to Serendipity 3. I know, it’s kind of a hassle, and it’s such a touristy thing, but the food was pretty good (I had the black bean burger), and the frozen hot chocolate really was delicious. And now I can cross it off my list.

After getting cleaned up, we went back out to the theater to see Avenue Q (Mike’s list). Interestingly, he enjoyed this one more, but I’d have to say that I enjoyed Spring Awakening more. It was funny, though, and I am glad we saw it.

Saturday morning we did another touristy thing and went to BB King’s to see the Beatles tribute band Strawberry Fields. And you know what? I had a lot of fun. It was silly, but the music was good. They were really serious about it – I have a t-shirt that someone gave me that has a picture of the Beatles and says Vox: Sound of the Longhairs. I noticed that the guys were even using Vox speakers. And of course they dressed up, changing costumes throughout the show to represent the different eras of Beatles music. We had a silly fun time, and left very full and singing Beatles songs.

And that was the end! The end of our time in Manhattan. It was a fun, full week of things we had been wanting to do, and it was so fun to share all of it with Mike. Next time we go, we are going to be Brooklynites, because there are tons of Brooklyn things that we want to do. We also enjoyed our time on Long Island very much (look, I have learned: ON Long Island), and I deeply regret that I didn’t get a picture of Mike with Mary Ann, his second mom, who couldn’t have been more welcoming or friendly. The only time I had ever met her was the weekend of our wedding, so it was nice to spend time with her and hear her stories and eat her meatballs (DELICIOUS). And we ate cannolli and we grilled out (I had her saying “grilling” by the end of the weekend) and we had pizza from Mike’s favorite Holbrook place.

Our last morning in Manhattan, Mike and I saw a newscast that was talking about whether couples can spend too much time together. We looked at each other kind of shifty eyed and then decided to watch the report, which said the usual things about communication and making sure each person has the down time that he or she needs. We have spent an unprecedented amount of time together this summer, and I was a little nervous about it, but we have each had our outlets, so I’d have to say that overall? It’s been awesome. And our vacation was a great example of that.

Today, I’d like to announce my retirement from blogging.

It’s been a great four-and-a-half years for the John Larroquette Project. I’ve lived for the challenge of getting up in the morning and coming up with an idea to write about. The creative writing process is one that I’ve always found rewarding. I can honestly say that I’ve loved every minute of it.

Unfortunately, as I sit here this morning, I’ve come to the realization that while I know I still can blog, I just don’t have the desire to anymore. I’m just burnt out. While I know I’ll miss the daily challenge, I won’t miss those mornings where I’m going through the motions, or the feeling of posting drivel just because I spent 20 minutes writing it. I’m just going to take some time off, and spend more quality time with my wife or with a good book.

It’s been fun, and thanks for reading.

…

You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I’m not retiring. I want to come back.

You see, I didn’t really want to retire in the first place. Adam pressured me into it. If you go back and re-read my retirement address, you’ll see that every word of it was honest, except for the parts that Adam forced me into.

What’s that? You’ve already moved on? First of all, that seems improbable, given that I retired only a few moments ago. Secondly, who are you going to replace me with? Ben? Ben’s a nice guy and all, but he’s not ready for prime-time - he still needs more seasoning and tutelage under the master (i.e. me).

Let me put it to you this way, who gives the John Larroquette Project the best chance to succeed on a daily basis? Me, right? So let me back. If you won’t let me back, I demand that you release me from any affiliation with the John Larroquette Project, and let me blog elsewhere. As a matter of fact, I’ve been having a few behind-the-scenes conversations with Kevin’s blog, and they seem very interested in bringing me on board.

What do you mean, “blog tampering”? I’ve never heard of such a thing.

Look, I don’t want to get into some bitter squabble with all of you. All I ask is that you allow me to retire and unretire in peace, and bend over backwards to meet my increasingly fickle demands.

I just wish all of you hadn’t put me in this position.

the last time i had gotten glasses was probably 2004 or 2005. i normally wear contacts all the time, but the past year or so have been wearing my glasses once a week. i’ve gotten compliments on them, even though when i originally went to get them, i was getting the cheapest pair i could get because i was also getting contacts. my love for thicker framed glasses began sometime last year or the year before after i noticed several of my friends had them, and they looked very good with them. i was able to try my friend Chrissy’s pair on when i was in Ireland (!!!) in March which resulted in this picture taken by my friend Lori:

due to having to wait for insurance, i had to wait 4 months before i could get glasses like that of my own. i went to my eye doctor yesterday, and he gave me my new prescription, and told me that my contacts prescription would not need to be updated, which meant i could use the insurance money for glasses. after a couple of empty trips to two places, i ended up at Sears where they had several pairs i could pick from. i went back today and finally went with a dark dark brown pair that was neither of my two choices from yesterday. i should get them within two weeks….just in time for preseason football.

When Mike and I decided to go to New York for our vacation-slash-anniversary, we made lists of the things we wanted to do. I have been to New York more than Mike has, so I had done some of the things that he wanted to do. And, as expected, many of the things on my lists came from books. But we managed to come up with some ideas, and Mike made a great spreadsheet for us. And then he had to take his computer in to be fixed. And we didn’t have a copy of the spreadsheet. So we had to recreate it from memory. We forgot a few things. But we did our best.

Our first night in New York, Mike and I took the subway out to Brooklyn to attend the free New York Philharmonic concert at Prospect Park. The people at our hotel acted as if we were going to the moon. Brooklyn, did you say? I am not exactly sure how you would get there from here. So we figured it out on our own, thankyouverymuch. We had dinner at Dizzy’s, which was the first place we found to eat. Since we weren’t coming from our house, we didn’t have a blanket. Note to self: At outdoor concerts, offer to share your blanket with poor souls who forgot theirs. We still had a lovely time: the music was beautiful, and it was our anniversary eve and the city obliged with fireworks for us at the end of the concert. It did feel a bit like everyone knew each other and we had happened upon a giant get-together we hadn’t actually been invited to, but it managed to have Mike scheming ways for us to move to Brooklyn. He clearly forgot that we just bought a house. That still needs some work. Either that or he was trying to push me over the edge. We were able to vote for our choice for the encore by texting, so Mike explained texting to the wonderful Brooklyn grandmothers sitting behind us. The best part of the whole thing is that one of the Brooklyn grandmothers behind us got “discovered” that night. Someone from some kind of modeling agency said they wanted her for an ad. They told us they were legit as if it was going to make some kind of difference to her, so apparently they thought we were related. We gave our permission and then blatantly eavesdropped on the conversation. It was hilarious to hear the ladies talk about it after the modeling agency person had left: the newly discovered grandma promised not to forget her friends after she became famous. She said she’d text them.

On our actual anniversary, we hiked up to Central Park so that I could finally see the zoo (Kari’s list). On the way, we passed the library (Kari’s list) so that I could visit the lions, walked through the set-up for the All-Star parade, and saw the Plaza.

Also, we got a little lost in the park, but finally, we got to see the penguins. The penguins, you guys! I am not sure I have ever actually seen penguins before. They were adorable with their rock-hopping and their swimming. Mike took about one billion photos of them, which you can see on our Flickr page. We also saw some polar bears, the Delacorte clock (Kari’s list), and then headed back to the hotel so that Mike could have a nap before going to dinner. Dinner was at Sangria 46, a tapas restaurant (yes, yes, go ahead and make your jokes about how we went to a topless restaurant for our anniversary). We had early reservations before the show, so we had the restaurant all to ourselves. We ate at weird times all week long. But it was nice to pretend that Mike had reserved the entire restaurant for us for our anniversary. Like Benny and Jack in Circle of Friends.

We had bacon wrapped shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, lamb, and vegetables. I insisted on some vegetables. Oh, and sangria. Of course. It was all really great. It was also very close to a restaurant my aunt used to take me, Joe Allen. We did not make it back to Joe Allen to see if the burgers were as good as I remembered.

We saw Spring Awakening (Mike’s list: Broadway show; Kari’s list: Spring Awakening), which I had heard a lot about, and I enjoyed it, though it felt a little overwrought, like some young adult novels feel. One thing I had heard was that it was good for people who work with teenagers, and I would agree with that, because it captured that feeling of being a teenager, of having the world in front of you and being very confused about it all, and of running up against authority. It’s good to be reminded of what teens are going through. I think my expectations were a little bit too high at the time, but now I look back and think, “That was pretty awesome.” I would like to get the soundtrack at some point.

Wednesday we only had one thing on our agenda: LETTERMAN. (This is not actually true, because first we went to Ground Zero – Mike’s list - so we could see what things look like down there, and then we began our love affair with Pret a Manger. But it sounds good to be that passionate, right? LETTERMAN! WOOO! The thing is, usually we are too old and tired to stay up that late anymore. Our Letterman fandom is actually more in the past.) The week before we left, we got the call that we had scored the tickets.

This was something that Mike had always wanted to do (and thus, Mike’s list), and it was really fun to see all the energy that Dave had during commercial breaks. I will have to say that it wasn’t Dave’s best show ever (the next night seemed a little bit more loose), but it was still very cool to actually be there. Dave! Paul! Biiiiiiiiiff! (And Mike was happy to catch a glimpse of Stephanie.) We were in the balcony on the side and thus never actually on camera. I just checked the TiVoed episode to see. You will just have to believe that we were there without any actual evidence. Sorry.

Between the time we had to show up to pick up our tickets and the time that we actually had to be there for the taping, we went to Lindy’s so that Mike could have some cheesecake (Mike’s list: He’s a big Guys and Dolls fan, and he wanted some Mindy’s/Lindy’s). That night, we ate at the restaurant across the street from our hotel, The Crooked Knife. Mike had shepherd’s pie for the first time, so I suppose you could say that was from his list. His life list. There was a man at the next table who was obviously a regular there, and he told us that he works for the Miss America pageant (or maybe a different one, but it was one of the big ones) and asked me how I keep my hair so healthy looking. He said he wished all of his girls had hair like mine. If he was pulling my leg, I just don’t care. Between him and the Brooklyn grandmothers (who called me “gorgeous”), New York was good for my self esteem. But, anyway. The Crooked Knife. We liked the food here, and we really liked the walk home. Why couldn’t everything be across the street?

Next up: dinosaurs, cathedrals, puppets, and The Beatles!

Hi friends! I am alive! The past two weeks have pretty much been a blur. Last Monday at 5:00am we loaded up 32 kids and adults and drove to Ridgecrest, NC for youth camp. It was an amazing week that pretty much stressed out every muscle in my body and every wave in my brain, and [...]

This morning our building had a meet and greet where business professionals showed up to swap business cards, drink coffee and eat pastries. I attended, hoping to snag some commercial work, braving the small talk and bored looking ad guys. As I sit, growing more uncomfortable in the setting, failing at small talk and keenly aware that I am doing so, I decide a few things that may be wrong about the people around me.

The hostess is nice and genuine.

The lady who keeps commandeering the conversation fancies herself high society, and would be a horrible mother in law.

The bored looking ad guy is arrogant. It’s his eyebrows I don’t like. They’re permanantly uplifted in a state of incredulity. If he could be paid for being a skeptic, he would.

The architect is a nice guy, but is merely there to see people he knows.

I can only imagine what they think of me as I sit, talk to a few people uncomfortably, then grab some coffee and leave. What I do think is true is that if you are adept at superficial small talk, then you are better at networking than if you try to talk to people at some level of depth.

But I may just be telling myself that to make me feel better.

Here is a special Wednesday edition of Farmer’s Market Finds! They are open on Wednesdays during the summer. And, hoo boy, the Farmer’s Market is in its prime right now. Look at all the colors. My mom would be so proud. (She loves food with color.)

(Also, look at our old countertops there. Because those suckers are on their way out.)

I didn’t actually go to the Farmer’s Market this morning. Mike went by himself. When I go by myself, I come back with three things. When he goes alone, he comes back with a veritable feast. Here are our totals: three tomatoes, two bunches of basil (of course), and two yellow zucchini for $6.25. Two peaches for $.95. One ear of corn (I don’t like corn) for $.50. One head of cabbage for $.65. And he splurged on a red pepper for $2.00. Total for today: $10.35.

(I went by my school yesterday to do some things, and a few people were like, “Hey, I saw you in the paper. Did you get your basil like you wanted?” Heeeee.)

Perhaps my greatest pleasure this summer has been the opportunity to read Doris Kearns Goodwin’s acclaimed book, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln. Not just another biography of our greatest president, Goodwin freshly illuminates the character of Lincoln by studying him alongside four of his most formidable political rivals – William Seward, Salmon Chase, Edwin Stanton, and Edward Bates. Impressively, Lincoln selected each of these men to serve with him in his cabinet, regardless of the fact that three of them served as his chief competition for the 1860 Republican nomination, and each strongly believed that Lincoln was a weak candidate unfit for the presidency. The book then follows the path of his 5-year presidency and shows how he was able to successfully steer the nation through the most perilous crisis it has ever faced.

I cannot recommend this book strongly enough. It moved me to tears on a number of occasions, and I came away from it with a deepened appreciation of the political and literary gifts, as well as the moral goodness of Abraham Lincoln, whatever his flaws. It’s a realistic, yet inspiring read.

Here are some selected tidbits from the text you might find interesting:

-Lincoln had a naturally melancholy temperament, and in many ways seemed to internalize the unbearable weight of the nation’s struggles. At the same time, he was a gregarious storyteller with a sharp, lively sense of humor. An illustrative passage from the book reveals an intimate portrait of Lincoln from the perspective of a visiting French ambassador:
“On first impression, he ‘left you with a sort of impression of vague and deep sadness.’ Yet he ‘was quite humorous,’ often telling hilarious stories and laughing uproariously. ‘But all of a sudden he would retire within himself; then he would close his eyes and all his features would at once bespeak a kind of sadness as indescribable as it was deep.’”

-Abraham Lincoln’s best friend was a blue ox named Babe.

-Lincoln was regularly criticized by Radical Republican abolitionists for his perceived hesitancy to press the slavery issue. Goodwin takes great pains to paint the political deftness needed to assuage the Radicals, keep the slaveholding border states like Maryland and Kentucky in the Union, & pacify conservative Democrats, and even Southerners (with eye toward eventual reunification). In the end, Lincoln moved on the slavery issue as he did with all weighty problems – with great deliberation and wisdom. He said that while he could be criticized for being slow to make a decision, he never wanted to be known to go back on a promise. The promises made by his administration – the Emancipation Proclamation and the Thirteenth Amendment (abolishing slavery) - were as powerful and hard-fought as any ever made by this government.

-Lincoln once instigated a barroom brawl before getting away in a rusty pickup with his loyal orangutan sidekick.

-Among Lincoln’s many nicknames were “Honest Abe”, “The Railsplitter”, and “Old Muttonsleeves”

-Lincoln exasperated Stanton, his Secretary of War, by making regular use of presidential pardons when it came to military punishments for cowardice or desertion. He made a point to offer clemency in all cases, except “where meanness or cruelty were shown.” Perhaps reflecting the same character elements, he spoiled his children, allowing his young son Tad to constantly interrupt important cabinet sessions.

-Abraham Lincoln really enjoyed Brokeback Mountain, except for that one part…

-I share many similarities with Lincoln; namely, we are both 6’5”, bearded, and quick with a joke. However, Abraham Lincoln never had a blog. How do you like me now?

-Lincoln very nearly lost the 1864 election. Peace Democrats (then known as Copperheads) ran on a platform of seeking immediate peace by ending the war on terms agreeable to the South. Though some Democrats differed on what those terms might be, they would certainly have involved repeal of the Emancipation Proclamation and a return of slavery to the Southern states. Their charges were laden with racist claims that what once had been a noble war for Union had become a “war for the negro.” I would offer that their near-success is a healthy reminder that while peace itself is a worthy end, the costs of such compromise must always be considered.

-Lincoln invented holding your breath.

-Lincoln disliked butterscotch candy and slavery.

-Lincoln showed an extraordinary ability to disregard the many offenses and attacks he faced as president. Time and time again, he extended forgiveness and favor toward those who maligned him (particularly Salmon Chase, his Treasury Secretary, who essentially ran a presidential campaign against Lincoln while in Lincoln’s cabinet). While some historians have claimed that this represented some flaw of passivity in Lincoln’s character, Goodwin effectively argues that these acts instead reflect his ability to set aside his feelings for the good of the nation. Salmon Chase was, after all, an excellent Treasury Secretary.

-Lincoln’s likeness appears on the penny, the five dollar bill, and thanks to my new branding iron, my cat’s anus.

On Sunday night, Mike and I watched Little Manhattan with his second mom and another one of her “sons” she’s taken in. (She is a very loving person. As I am sure you can tell.) Mike had very specific requirements about watching a movie with his second mom: he wanted it to be clean/family-friendly, he wanted it to be about New York, and he wanted it to be something he had already been wanting to see. Miraculously, such a movie existed. Little Manhattan is the story of ten-and-three-quarters year old Gabe, who loves eleven-year-old Rosemary. I don’t tend to have a lot of patience for children’s movies, but this one was so sweet that I couldn’t help myself. Gabe’s parents, played by Cynthia Nixon and Bradley Whitford, also had a poignant story, and we enjoyed seeing all the places we had just been walking around. If you are in the mood for something sweet and clean, give this a try. Warning: there is a lot of puking in the beginning. Apparently love makes you puke. If you’re ten.

When we got home Monday night, we watched Lars and the Real Girl, which we have both been wanting to see for quite a while. This is the story of Lars, played by Ryan Gosling, who is a nice guy, but who can’t really engage with the people around him. He purchases a doll on the internet. You know the kind of doll I mean. Her name is Bianca, and he introduces her to everyone as his girlfriend. As you can imagine, this alarms his family and friends. I expected to like it, but I did not expect to love it as much as I did. The secret is that this movie isn’t really as silly as it sounds, nor is it anything like what it sounds like when I say, “A lonely guy bought a sex doll on the internet.” Instead it’s a beautiful story of the community around Lars and how much they love him and how it changes them all. I cried. A lot. This one didn’t get a lot of publicity when it came out, and it’s kind of hard to explain, but it really is as wonderful as everyone keeps saying.

My wife just got back from a Premiere Fitness evaluation. This is something they make you do ostensibly for insurance reasons, which is a load of crock, because you’re allowed to use the gym even without the fitness test/evaluation. This is probably because they have a huge backlog of fitness tests to do, but still. It’s a load of crap.

Now, I have to say the gym is nice. The equipment is new, there’s a nice variety of stuff, and you know, it’s a gym. We do our thing.

But my wife was just pressured for 15 minutes or so after the fitness test to buy a bunch of sessions with a personal trainer. Which is really neat: After a gruelling fitness test where you feel terrible about yourself because you’re basically made out of dough, they give you all the stats about exactly how much dough you’re made of, and then proceed to try to sell you an oven.

Guess what: I know how this works. I know how to up-sell. I know where your bread is buttered. It’s selling the extras. It’s like extended warranties at Future Shop. We can barely afford to go the gym as it is, but we’re doing it because we want to feel better about ourselves. We’re not trying to run a triathlon.

We may be out of shape, but we’re not idiots.

Bear with me here, this is going to depend on widespread infrastructure and future technology.

Wind power isn’t a viable always-on solution because wind isn’t always on. Step outside your house right now: It might be windy, or it might not be windy. Even places like parts of Texas which have almost constant prevailing winds, the wind sometimes dies down. When it does, we burn coal to keep the lights on.

So in order to use wind power as an always-on power generation system, we’d need a remarkably large array of batteries to store power for when the wind dies down.

Of course, batteries are expensive. No-one wants to buy as many batteries as it would take to store the amount of power needed for, say, an entire day without wind.

What if there were an existing infrastructure solution to this problem, though? What if there were literally millions of batteries out there just waiting to get plugged into the grid?

Maybe there will be someday soon: Electric cars. They’re basically filled with batteries. Think about it: You drive your car for 15 minutes to and from work at times with low power usage (because people are driving to work instead of using power) and the rest of the time it sits in a parking lot or a driveway.

Instead of just sitting there, it could be plugged into the power grid all night powering up when demand is lowest. Then when demand is highest during daylight hours, it could feed back into the grid if the grid needed it.

We’d still need other generation facilities, yes, because wind might die down for two days and we’d be cursed with having no power and no cars to drive, but for most of the “wind is dying down for two hours”, the blips that are the real concern, electric cars would solve the problem admirably.

Amelia Atwater-Rhodes is an author of fantasy and young adult novels, and her books are popular with some of the students at my school, so when Random House asked me to be part of her blog tour, I happily agreed. She will be posting here on August 7th, but for now, you can read more about her on the rest of her blog tour, which started today!

July 22nd: Bildungsroman
July 24th: Cheryl Rainfield
July 25th: BookLoons
July 28th: Mrs. Magoo Reads
July 30th: Teen Book Review
July 31st: Making Stuff Up for a Living
August 4th: Bookwyrm Chrysalis
August 5th: The Reading Zone

Today is Amanda’s birthday.

Amanda is one of my favorite people in the world. Even if she can’t be serious in a picture for two seconds.

No seriously, she is. She and I have similar philosophies when it comes to food.

And I don’t just love her because she’s my cousin. I love her because she would do anything for me. She would take a rhino horn in the butt for me.

She would drink pineapple through a straw with me, just because I asked her to.

Amanda and I are quite different though. She is adventurous and likes to scale large rocks using her entire body. I would rather read a book about scaling large rocks.

But we work well together. She wrestles a mountain goat with her bare hands, and I take pictures of her.

But our differences don’t matter when we’re together. Together, we form this mighty duo. This athletic, nerdy, beautiful, smart duo.

She’s always been there for me. She’s cried with me. Laughed with me. Spoken wisdom into my life. Occasionally knocked some wisdom into my life. Sings for me at weddings.

I know few people who are more kind, more beautiful, more caring, more grounded than Amanda. Even children like her. And children are good judges of character.

I’m blessed to have her in my life.

Happy birthday, Amanda! Have your cake and eat it to!

Watching the rapid decline of XKCD.

After the beach we took a couple of days to travel up from Long Beach to Leavenworth. The stop in Yakima wasn’t really anything to write home about - Yakima is quite different from the other places in Washington we visited - dry, dusty, more desert than anything. But it was a good stopping-off point. Becky shot pictures from the moving van like a wild woman. She did get a rather nice one of Mount Rainier:

Also, on our way up to Leavenworth, the girls had fun throwing rocks into this little mountain stream:

Once we made it to Leavenworth, we had a great time with family and friends at the wedding. We stayed at the Riverdance Lodge, which you really must check out via their website to appreciate. It’s a ridiculously posh vacation home which happens to be right next door to the house that Andrew & Heather were borrowing for the wedding. So, our family rented it to stay for a couple days. Fantastic choice.

I’ve got a whole set of photos on Flickr from the rehearsal and before and after the wedding, and it’s really hard to decide which ones to show here, so I’ll just give you one of them and you can go visit the set. In this particular pic, Andrew and Heather were kinda bored during the photo shoot and gave me this little pose:

Such fun. There’s one more I’d post, but somehow I didn’t get it uploaded to Flickr yet. I’ll make a separate post for that one picture - how often can you say you have a guy relieving himself against a tree in the background of a wedding picture?

The wedding was beautiful and went about as smoothly as any wedding I’ve ever been to. I played the piano, Ryan sang, Laura and Addie were beautiful flower girls. They also had a lot of fun dancing afterwards. What a fantastic time of celebration.

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Tags: Family, photos, Washington Vacation 2008

so yesterday i went to early church at 8:15 am and was again subjected to another boring sermon. i’ve been pretty frustrated with my home church, but have tried other local churches to no success. so i have started going to my home church since i am also helping out with the youth group. it’s not only that the sermons are boring, but most of the subject matter is low hanging fruit type stuff, and i expect more. also, it’d be nice if the pastors didn’t read all of their prayers instead of just speaking from the heart. more on this later….

i got home and made french toast again, and took Adriene’s suggestion for the strawberries ON the french toast. i didn’t exactly do that, but i did buy powdered sugar to use on half the french toast, and the other regular syrup. the strawberries were placed on the plate as a sort of Maginot Line between the two. if there was an Iron Chef French Toast, this would be one of my five dishes.

i went to youth group, and part of the evening was spent playing charades. not only charades, blind folded drawing charades. when coming up with the topics for the other team to draw, i used movie and tv show titles, like Field of Dreams (which one of the dad’s COULD NOT DRAW) and Reading Rainbow (which the other team got right). however, other suggestions were harder for the kids including Rocky Balboa. i heard more than one kid go “who is that?” WHO IS THAT? WHO DOESN’T KNOW WHO ROCKY IS? oh, that’s right, they were born AFTER the original four movies came out. ouch.

while at church, i was invited to the newly formed young adult group. i’ve been in young adult groups at the church before, even tried leading them. we never got support from church leadership, and the last time i tried to lead one 3 years ago, nobody came. so i had kind of given up, but apparently a new group has formed, and they have a similar opinion of the current pastoral leadership. i’m going to see about it, but i’m not going to get my hopes up.

i came home to a roast in the crock pot, which was the first time i had used my crock pot ever…..even though my mom had given it to me at least a year ago. the roast came out fabulous, and the folks who ate it enjoyed it. success! (sorry, no pictures)

in other news, i’m going to get new glasses (!!!)…..story about that tomorrow.

There’s really no other way to say it. Just a short list of all that has come together in the past two weeks:
1.) leased a beautiful apartment in a great location (and got 1.5 months of free rent!)
2.) purchased a dependable second vehicle for our family that is far more luxurious than I was anticipating
3.) Gabe and I both got jobs
4.) found great childcare for the boys (pray for Chap… he’s having a tough time being away from Mama and Daddy all day long)
5.) obtained a loan to cover our moving expenses (thanks to my parents — they have been our rock)

I mean, it’s just been overwhelming. These days, I cry at least once a day. I just do not understand the grace of God. I cannot wrap my head around why God wants to bless his children — children who consistently fall short. I am reading Jerry Bridges’ book The Discipline of Grace, and I am struggling with it. Having operating under a performance-based system for so long, I don’t know how to stop playing those tapes in my head and trust God and his Word. But I am learning. And it’s been a good journey thus far. I will forever look back on this time and be awe-struck at God’s grace and mercy for his children. It’s a mystery to me, but I’m learning to enjoy the mysterious.

Friday I worked in the AM at the church - got a lot done since the day before I was at the zoo with 30 high schoolers for a fun day. And it was fun! Look at photos on flickr of that. Friday afternoon Gayla and I took our sessions passes to the local water park and spent the afternoon catching up. She had been away at Cornerstone then a death in the family took her to TN the week I came home from Project Serve. We had a lot of catching up and she listening to my talk.

Saturday was the first day in over two weeks I got to sleep in late. 11am! I felt like my day was half gone getting up at that hour. I really didnt do much. Bummed around my friends house whom I am house sitting for. Did a little bit of laundry, worked on my talk for Sunday and walked the dog. At 9pm, with my friends Olivia and Kathryn, we went to visit our friend Justin at the fire station where he works then headed to the airport to welcome the Trinidad team home. They’re flight that was to come in at 10pm actually cam in at 11pm. Long travels for them, so glad they are home.

Sunday was slammed packed. I went from church, which was about simplicity, straight to a bridal portrait session (stay tunned for photos) with Emily to the Core. I ate a handful of grapes all day becasue I became so nervous about speaking at the Core. I shared the story of my birthmark - one that Ive been wanting to share with youth for a very long time. After 7 years with middle school, I found my audience - high schoolers. I had a strong circle of support before my talk - during I was a little shaky at first, but felt alright during it, felt pretty much like a blur. Then at the end Jason surprised me by stepping out from his secret place where he’d been listening the whole time.

photo by Emily Freeman

It was a pretty good weekend.

Mike and I are on Long Island today. (I wrote “in Long Island” and Mike, the Long Islander, corrected me. I am from the South. I don’t know how to speak here.) We had a great week in Manhattan, which I will tell you about later. It involved a lot of food. And making decisions about food. And planning where we would eat our next meals. We take food very seriously. Which is okay, because we walked approximately 3,000 miles while we were in Manhattan. I wore flip flops one day. When we got back to our hotel, the bottoms of my feet were black. That is a true (and gross) story. I stuck to the Chucks after that. Even when I was wearing shorts. I did not, however, allow Mike to take any pictures of the Chucks/shorts combo. That I know of. I have not yet reviewed the pictures. If there are any, you will not get to see them. Sorry. It was not my best look. I don’t need to be made to look any shorter than I already am.

For the weekend, we went to Long Island, where Mike grew up. We stayed at his “second Mom’s” house and I got to see where he grew up and meet some of his old friends. We get to see where I grew up all the time, since my mom still lives there. We are surrounded by people who know my growing up stories. But Mike doesn’t really have that, and I think both of us miss it sometimes.

When Mike graduated, our pastor said something to his sister about the courage that it takes to reinvent yourself, and how he admires Mike for that. I thought about that this weekend, how different Mike’s life is now than it was twenty years ago when his family left Long Island, ten years ago when we were meeting, five years ago when he was starting to plan to go back to school. But he’s also the same person who lived on Long Island, walked to the grocery store for candy bars, ate pizza at Mamma Lombardi’s. We reinvent ourselves, but the past is still there, too, part of who we are. I enjoyed being introduced to the Long Island part of Mike. Even if everyone made fun of the fact that I say “grilling” instead of “barbecuing.” (Barbecue is a noun, okay? It is a specific food.)

I’ve come to release that a lot of my favorite bands from my college/high school years that were, sadly, confined to the CCM ghetto are quickly fading away. Many of my younger friends have no idea who these bands are or what they sound like, so I’m creating a series of posts to educate the young listener.

Who Are They?
The Violet Burning is a rock band that formed in Long Beach, California. The band has essentially become the primary project of Micheal Pritzl, the vocalist and guitarist of the band. Other members of the band have changed frequently, but Pritzl remains the sole constant in the band. Unlike many Christian bands, The Violet Burning draws influences from unlikely bands such as The Verve or The Cure as well as more common influences such as U2 and Smashing Pumpkins. The Violet Burning has remained essentially independent of the music industry, Christian or mainstream, releasing albums and touring on their own. Much like The Psalms, individual songs by the Violet Burning portray hope or despair, but taken as a whole, also much like Psalms, the body of work reflects the Christian who wears his heart on his sleeve.

Brief History
The Violet Burning emerged from the Vineyard Church music scene in 1989 and released their first album Chosen a year later. The band released Strength in 1992. Both albums are reflective of late 80’s/early 90’s music and are very upfront in their declaration of Christian faith. Afterwards the band went through a dark period professionally and personally. While some demos were recorded, the band was dormant until 1996 when Pritzl pulled in the assistance of guitarist Andrew Prickett (The Prayer Chain) and drummer/percussionist/producer Steve Hindalong (The Choir) and released an album originally titled Lipstick and Dynamite Wonder, but the label balked at the album title and released it as the self-titled The Violet Burning. The album dredged the depths of despair and hopelessness and might well be one of the saddest and bleakest Christian albums ever released.

The experience proved cathartic and in 1998, The Violet Burning reemerged with the more hopeful album Demonstrates Plastic and Elastic which incorporated more electronic drumming. In 2000, the band re-recorded several songs from their earlier albums with a slower tempo and more relaxed feel and released it as I Am A Stranger In This Place: Experiments in Vibe and quickly returned to the studio to release Faith and Devotions of A Satellite Heart a worship album that has enjoyed some popularity in worship circles, particularly in the Vineyard churches. Both albums feature female vocals by Melissa Barnett accompanying Pritzl’s vocals.

Pritzl then joined the independent album label Northern Records, headed up by former members of The Prayer Chain, for subsequent releases. In 2002, Pritzl took a break from the band to release a more electronica sounding solo project under the name The Gravity Show. Many of the songs from the album, Fabulous Like You have been folded back into The Violet Burning in their live shows. In 2003, Pritzl reunited with Andrew Prickett, longtime bass player Herb Grimmaud Jr., and Sam West (Stavesacre) to release This Is The Moment, an album of decidedly shorter pop songs. A year later, Pritzl released acoustic versions of many Violet Burning songs as a solo project titled Hollow Songs. The band released a live album in 2005 titled The Loudest Sound of My Heart and in 2006 released their most recent album Drop Dead

Where Are They Now?
Presumably, still alive and kicking. Of all the bands I’ve covered so far, The Violet Burning remains the most active, though they haven’t toured extensively since 2006. Micheal Pritzl joined 77’s singer/guitarist Michael Roe to tour as a duo titled “Roe vs. Pritzl” during 2007. The duo has recorded an album worth of songs together, but no release date has yet been given. Also, during 2007, The Violet Burning released many songs online through their website, including demos from various eras of the band and an entire Christmas album. The band has posted European tour dates on their website and Pritzl has mentioned he has other projects in line to work on, but no further information has been given to date.

If You Bought Only One Album….
Of all the bands I’ve covered, The Violet Burning has been the most consistent in quality and has really only improved as they’ve gotten older. Chosen and Strength are classics, but have a dated sound. The self-titled album is a little dense to for a first impression of the band. Both Faith and Devotions… and I Am A Stranger In This Place are good, but not very representative of the band, unless you are seeing them during one of their worship sessions. I think I’m going to have to go with their most recent album, Drop Dead which sounds incredible. You can read a short review of the album by me here on this site.

Get Thee to iTunes! Or Make Your Own Mix Tape for 10 bucks
Unfortunately, it appears only four of the Violet Burning’s albums are available on iTunes, so we’ll limit the mix tape to just those albums, but there are great songs from other albums that will be missing here.

1.) Silver - self-titled
2.) Goldmine - self-titled
3.) Moon Radio (including the fade, which is a separate track) - Demonstrates….
4.) Berlin Kitty - Demonstrates…
5.) Oceana - Demonstrates….
6.) Radio Jesus Superstar - This Is The Moment
7.) Heaven Holds My Heart - This Is The Moment
8.) Do You Love Me? - Drop Dead
9.) Already Gone - Drop Dead
10.) One Thousand Years - Drop Dead

This weekend I finished up reading Rules of Deception, the latest novel by Christopher Reich. I have read all of Reich’s novels and quite enjoy them; he does the spy/crime/legal thriller genre as well as most anybody out there right now. I had one real disappointment with the book, though (and OK, this is a bit of a spoiler, so be forewarned): the true evil villain, the mastermind who is willing to kill hundreds of people to accomplish his nefarious goals, is a “born-again”, “evangelical Christian”.

Now, I realize Dan Brown made it cool to rip on Christians and the church with The DaVinci Code, indeed, it seems nearly de rigueur these days to have Christians as the bad guys. And certainly as an author Mr. Reich is allowed to make whatever plot choices he wants to. He’s very even-handed with his other groups of people - there are good and bad CIA agents, good and bad Iranians, good and bad Americans, and etc, in his plot. But Christians? They’re all bad. And shadowy. And in lock-step. And willing to do anything, kill anyone, incite nuclear war, all for the purpose of “hastening the Rapture”. Ugh.

As I’ve been thinking about it, this is one of the reasons that Tom Clancy, one of the better authors in this genre a decade ago, had such good stories: he was willing to use the real-life bad-guys of the day and didn’t feel any politically-correct need to pick somebody else. Hence, during the Cold War, the Soviets were the bad guys, even though there were some good Soviets among them (The Hunt for Red October, The Cardinal of the Kremlin). Once the Wall fell and the new fear was Islamic Fundamentalism, Clancy went with it. In The Sum of All Fears there are good Muslims and bad Muslims, good Jews and bad Jews, heck, good Americans and bad Americans. But Clancy never felt the need to invent some other bad guys just to be politically correct.

So I enjoyed Rules of Deception, and I’m sure I’ll read Mr. Reich’s next book when it comes out. But I can’t help but wish that he’d take a more realistic look at the world when he does. Maybe a little more plot creativity next time?

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Tags: Books, Reviews, thoughts

On this day, July 21st, 2008, I have reached the age of 30.

Looking into the mirror this morning, I strained in search of signs of my body’s increasing decrepitude and infirmity. With some chagrin, I noted the dark areas and wrinkles beneath my eyes, as well as the budding harvest of gray hairs that crown my head with shame. Certain images came to mind as I pondered my body’s inexorable march toward physical decay…

I have to say that, in all seriousness, my 30th birthday finds me in a healthy, happy spirit. I am married to a beautiful, insightful, loving woman who shares and reinforces the values I live by. I am a part of a dynamic, committed church community that rewards and enriches my life in many ways. God has blessed me with a stable career that I love (this is a particularly sweet blessing, given that the first half of my twenties was marked by failure and unhappiness in my professional life). My relationship with God is peaceful and renewing these days, and my intellectual pursuits challenge and inspire me. I love being with my family, I deeply enjoy the company of my friends, and, somewhat less importantly, I have two cats.

Having said all that, it’s important to note that none of that means a thing without this blog. The John Larroquette Project is indisputably the most important thing in my life, without which I would have driven into a ravine years ago.

Seriously people, without this website I am nothing.

An announcement before my departure…

‘How differently we feel!’ cried Fanny. ‘To me, the sound of Mr. Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning - so entirely without warmth or character! - It just stands for a gentleman, and that’s all. But there is nobleness in the name of Edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown - of kings, princes, and knights; and seems to breathe the spirit of chivalry and warm affections.’

Edmund Alexander Okimoto was born July 8th 2008. He is a healthy, happy boy.

I’m going on an internet sabbatical. This will include my blog, the forums I frequent, and most blogs that I read.

I expect to start back after Thanksgiving.

Laura told me that all my songs sounded the same, so I wrote something a little musically and thematically different just to prove that I could. But don’t worry, it’s not as grisly as it sounds. It’s what we call a, you know, metaphor.

General, I will feed you to the dogs
if you dare come round here anymore.
Didn’t you see them straining at the leash?
Maybe you should have a second thought.

Before you’re just a ghost,
disjointed sack of bones,
another sad reminder
we’re still free.

Office, they will rip you limb from limb
if you dare come round here anymore.
Didn’t you see them circling the yard?
Maybe you should take a second look.

Before you’re just a ghone,
disjointed sack of bones,
another truncheon lost
another sad reminder
we’re still free.

President, they will trail you through the fog
until they finally find your foul trail.
And when you ask for the mercy you deserve
trust me, we will all give it to you.

Before you’re just a ghost,
poignant sack of bones,
another leader lost,
another sad reminder
we’re still free.

I wake up in the morning and I am running and I won’t stop until I fall asleep again. I slough the covers and run to the washroom and take a shower and brush my teeth and throw my hair into something like a style and before I know it I am making breakfast. Flipping eggs and frying bacon and spreading butter on freshly popped toast and scarfing it down all the while hating myself for craving the calories. I have counted them and the number hangs in front of my eyes it hovers in the air it won’t leave me along as my legs begin to itch and I want to move again I want to be on the go I want to be running.

I break through the door like I have just attained the speed of sound like I am passing through a vapour barrier like I am a gleaming metal machine screaming through the thinnest air. When my feet hit the pavement I am no longer human I am instead something that cannot be stopped like a mess of chrome and wire and electronic impulses. I suck air into my lungs I flex I streak forward I scream I make the muscles stretch and creak until I am again human and burning and panting and sweating and I am finally at work.

He calls and we have a conversation full of action verbs and short nouns that pop when you say them that sound like firecrackers going off. When I hang up the phone my legs are itching again and I can barely contain myself as I launch myself into the fray into the mass of people all running all the time. I am the finest I am the best I am their finest and also their proudest child. I am everywhere at once making things happen never running out of energy taking short liquid bursts from a plastic bottle I will crumple into a sharp ball and toss perfectly into a trash can ten feet away to the applause of my coworkers my superiors my subordinates my admirers. A plastic bottle and then another and then another and then another and some sort of energy bar that looks and tastes like sugary cardboard.

Ten hours lapses into night and I am running back home again I am passing the same storefronts the same people nodding hello the same streets the opposite way. I break through the door as if it isn’t there and I am home. I call him and we say things that people say to each other we talk for a half hour and finally run out of things to say and hang up the phone abruptly as if we have both realized the words are superfluous anyhow and we will not see each other’s faces for another month and this fact depresses us both. When we finally meet for one of our brief dalliances rendezvous flings romances we will run out of things to talk about and chaste ways to touch each other and fill the rest of the time with what we won’t talk about later except at angles and in ways that neither of us will acknowledge.

I begin a whirlwind dinner marathon the calorie count once again going into the positives but just barely just enough to keep me alive and running. I feel my stomach where I keep feeling my stomach every day my stomach and it is the same size the same bit of baby fat and I hate it. I keep taking down the mirror and covering them with towels accidentally so I don’t have to see my naked ugliness the ugly nakedness I know is there anyways the naked ugliness I can see when I close my eyes when I am not running when that calorie count goes too far into the positive. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know I know I know this is not healthy that this is not right and that I am obsessing and that I will one day feel my kidneys heart marrow skin vision shot through with rot and falling and failing and that I will die. In the meantime all I can see is the road ahead the road that I am running down that is running me down that is gradually coming to an end. It is my private vice my hidden disease that I can look the picture of health yet barely eat anything yet keep running running running running.

He doesn’t know my parents don’t know my sister doesn’t know no-one knows except me and my mirror and my legs and my shoes and my scantily clad cupboards and fridge. Before bed I distract myself by running out in the cool night air beneath a sky strewn with stars pounding pavement until I can no longer remember why I hated myself despised something what was I was thinking it no longer matters.

I fall into bed like it is Easter Island and I am made of stone and in my dream I am running away from something and not sure what it is though I am successful I am perfect I am all the things I want to be it is something something past something I cannot remember something that is chasing me and running me down as I feel my skin marrow kidneys synapses heart liver muscles shot through with rigor mortis and I can no longer move and I am staring it in the face it knows me and I know it yet when I wake up I can no longer remember what it was.

I wake to the sound of waves on a beach or static or thunder or something and I slough off the dream like sheets.

since my last update, I have downloaded….

Ron Sexsmith-Exit Strategy of the Soul

Draco and the Malfoys-Draco and the Malfoys

Jingle Spells: Leaky’S Rocking Christmas 2007, which includes all the popular wizard rock bands.

The Hold Steady-Stay Positive

Today is my mom’s birthday. I hate that for the past five years, I’ve never been able to be home with my mom on her birthday. We have to make-do with flowers delivered to her work, beat up packages containing a gift, and the occasional off-tune rendition of “Happy Birthday” on her voice mail. I wish it were different, but for now, that’s how it is.

People say my mom and I look a lot alike. When I was at home for her wedding in May, I came across both of our high school graduation pictures. What do you think?

Anyway, I didn’t come here to post pictures of my mom and me. And I didn’t come here to post pictures of how we’re alike. Because, in fact, we’re quite different. There are so many qualities in her that I admire, that I wish I possessed myself. So many things that come naturally to her that are a struggle to me.

My mom LOVES people. She is kind to everyone, and loves to strike up conversations with someone she’s never met before. I’ve never seen her uncomfortable around people she doesn’t know. To my mother, there are no strangers. Just people she hasn’t met yet.

My mother is also incredibly resilient. When my stepdad died a few years ago, I saw a side of my mom I’ve never seen before. Yes, I saw her grieve. But then, I saw her bloom into this beautiful, independent woman. She was never afraid to show me her sadness–but she also showed me her bravery. And when she remarried a few months ago, I saw a woman who was constantly renewed and healed by God.

Mom also has this beautiful, gentle spirit. For about ten years, my mom babysat out of her home. She cared for those children like they were her own. And they weren’t all very lovable. But she was patient and loving, and those kids loved her, their “Nini.”

So Happy Birthday, Mom! I’m still learning from you, every day.

I haven’t blogged since Sunday. I know, you’ve been wiling away your days, wondering “When will Brandy fill my life again with her words of wisdom.” Well, it ain’t happening today. I have no wisdom. No creativity. My allergies are killing me. I’ve been house and pet sitting for two weeks, and I want to be at home.

So, I will leave you today with a video that summarizes my last 17 days.

And you should comment. It makes me happy.

Central Park hostel. Did you know know
in the basement there’s an old piano?
You can figure out love in its notes,
while you’re making it up as you go.

Cuban cigars out on the roof.
American whisky, eighty proof.
But you’re in your own world running loose,
and you’re making it up as you go.

Everyone seem to know how it should all work out,
but it’s all lies. They’re making it up as they go.

Thirty-three hours on the road
with vehicles turning into ghosts
on missions that only you can know,
you are making them up as they go.

Everyone seems to know where it should all end up,
but it’s all lies. They’re making it up as they go.

Yesterday was occasioned by a visit from my steadfast brother Patrick, back from fighting forest fires near Big Sur, California. Needless to say, his heroism makes George Washington look like a swarthy, acne-ridden Spaniard in comparison.

Here are several photographs he shared with me. I will now show them to you, using the internet.

This is fire, one of the most powerful elements in the natural universe. Terrorizing wildlife, and destroying habitats, fire has long been used by man to establish his just dominion over the earth. Also, fire is hot and makes things smaller and black. At any rate, my point is that this fire is George Bush’s fault.

Here is Patrick, after having faced the terrible menace of fire. Note the sturdy courage in his eyes and the soiled qualities of his undershirt. Behind him lies a path cleared out of the brush, as well as another man, believed to be actor Tom Berenger.

The brush in question was anywhere from 8 to 15 feet high, and teeming with poison oak. As a result, Patrick, along with all the other members of his crew were covered with red rashes and sores that were irritated by the heavy duty clothing and heat. On the other hand, my job involves occasional meetings that run long, so we’re both no stranger to hardship.

In the midst of working 18 consecutive 16-hour days, moments of rest were cherished by Patrick’s crew. He can be seen in the foreground, the back of his shirt blackened with sweaty iniquity, while two of his comrades relax in bizarrely identical repose.

Fine work, Patrick. I’m proud of you, mostly!

Dear Jeff,

Mike and I observed you purchasing burgers for your office Thursday at The Burger Joint, home of New York City’s best burgers (according to some polls, and also according to us). Jeff, had you been to The Burger Joint before? Because one or two things you said made it sound like you had, but you seemed to be very confused about the protocol. I don’t know how to say this nicely, Jeff, but you were pissing off everyone who worked there. Did you really think it was necessary to ask for a receipt seven times? I am a little bit concerned for you, Jeff. Have you ever watched the show The Office? Because I am going to be honest with you, Jeff, you were acting more than a little bit like Ryan Howard. And by that I mean: jacked up on drugs. Jeff, sweetie, no matter how many times you say “To Go,” you are going to have to bag your own food. Mike and I were able to figure that out. Surely you can, too.

After observing you for a few minutes, Mike and I had conflicting ideas about you. He couldn’t believe the office would send someone as incompetent/drug addled as you to order food. I, however, felt as if they probably couldn’t stand to be around you one minute more, and that it was probably worth having their food order messed up just to be able to get away from you.

Mike conceded the point.

Jeff, Mike and I wish you the best and thank you for giving us something to discuss as we hiked through Central Park on such a hot day. But, Jeff, I say this with great concern and compassion: You need to get some help, man.

At one point Mike thought I was going to punch you in the face,
Kari

This is our stove. To be more accurate, it is a microwave/stove combo. I bet you didn’t know they made microwave/stove combos like this back in the day, did you? Well, neither did we.

It has its charms, to be sure. Those dials on the bottom of the microwave panel, they control the burners, and when you turn them on, they are red instead of black. You might think that this would help you remember to turn the burners off, but you’d be wrong. I am bad about leaving burners on as it is, but even Mike has forgotten these burners because they are in such an awkward forgettable place.

The buttons at the very bottom of the microwave panel are extremely special. One of them turns on the light at the back of the burners. That’s right, our burners are backlit when we so choose. It is an awesome fluorescent light. I can sense your jealousy.

Though the microwave looks like a huge beast, do not be fooled. It’s actually quite small. It just has an enormous door. Do not ask why. This stove/microwave combo is not to be understood. It is only to be looked at reverently.

No, seriously, be really careful if you are trying to cook anything. That front left burner - it looks normal, but it boils things, even on low.

Twisted into shape you are a mute
whirlwind of form drinking from the sun,
still equinox you are no longer longer,
all things being equal.

Eyes inward you are unable to inspect
your irresistible fractal curls,
the mesmeric mercuric minutae that
draw me, eyes inward.

That you are that you are is
testimony and testament, the
unfurling world in jasper and gold:
the prologue and the plot running
through it.

I bought this card at a shop with Alisa and Susan and Brandi a few years ago, and I found it when I was cleaning out my side table when we moved. I’ve had it sitting on my bedside table since then, reminding me to purchase a frame for it.

I like the sentiment - it challenges me because I don’t have that kind of faith. I don’t know if I trust in that sort of a world. But it’s exactly the kind of faith I want to have. It makes me want to believe.

Pastor Richard gave me this wonderful (if a bit long) quote from C. S. Lewis regarding consistency in the worship service:

I think our business as laymen is to take what we are given and make the best of it. And I think we should find this a great deal easier if what we were given was always and everywhere the same.

To judge from their practice, very few Anglican clergymen take this view. It looks as if they believed people can be lured to go to church be incessant brightenings, lightenings, lengthenings, abridgements, simplifications, and complications of the service. And it is probably true that a new, keen vicar will usually be able to form within his parish a minority who are in favour of his innovations. The majority, I believe, never are. Those who remain - many give up churchgoing altogether - merely endure.

Is this simply because the majority are hide-bound? I think not. They have a good reason for their conservatism. Novelty, simply as such, can have only an entertainment value. And they don’t go to church to be entertained. They go to use the service, or, if you prefer, to enact it. Every service is a structure of acts and words through which we receive a sacrament, or repent, or supplicate, or adore. And it enables us to do these things best - if you like, it “works” best - when, through long familiarity, we don’t have to think about it. As long as you notice, and have to count, the steps, you are not yet dancing but only learning to dance. A good shoe is a shoe you don’t notice… The perfect church service would be one we were almost unaware of; our attention would have been on God.

But every novelty prevents this. It fixes our attention on the service itself; and thinking about worship is a different thing from worshiping. The important question about the Grail was “for what does it serve?” “Tis mad idolatry that makes the service greater than the God.”

A still worse thing may happen. Novelty may fix our attention not even on the service but on the celebrant. You know what I mean. Try as one may to exclude it, the question “What on earth is he up to now?” will intrude. It lays one’s devotion waste. There is really some excuse for the man who said, “I wish they’d remember that the charge to Peter was Feed my sheep; not Try experiments on my rats, or even, Teach my performing dogs new tricks.”

Thys my whole liturgiological position really boils down to an entreaty for permanence and uniformity. I can make do with almost any kind of service whatever, if only it will stay put. But if each form is snatched away just when I am beginning to feel at home in it, then I can never make any progress in the art of worship.

– from Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer

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My five-year-old daughter, Zoë, will be baptized in a couple of weeks.  Amy told her Grandma this the other day, and Grandma responded with “Is it one of those ‘infant’ baptisms, or is it a REAL baptism?”

After getting angry, calming down, and then thinking about it, I think that the answer is “yes”.

(Obviously, Zoë’s not an “infant” at five, but for the sake of this discussion, her upcoming baptism falls under what most people call “infant baptism” — that is, baptism given to the children of believers, usually soon after their birth.)

Baptism — whether it comes after someone has made a profession of faith or it comes after someone’s being born into a Christian home — is baptism.  The bifurcation between “infant” baptism and “believer’s” baptism is the creation of a false dichotomy.  Both are covenant baptism.

I think I’m going to pick up where I left off in the long-forgotten series of posts on Baptism to flesh this out.

My aunt gave us a new, extremely fluffy mattress pad. Let me remind you, we already have a mattress that is like sleeping on a hammock of clouds held up by angels. I was not completely sold on the idea of needing a new mattress pad. Because of the awesomeness of our mattress. The first night we slept on the mattress pad, I declared it to be like sleeping on giant bubble wrap. It was weird and awful and I hated it. But, you know, maybe it would grow on me. So we left it on the bed, just to try it for a few more nights. After about two weeks, I had managed to smush it down enough that it was softer and more pleasant, except for the giant ridge that fell exactly where I normally sleep. Not my favorite. Also, sometimes when I would sleep a little bit diagonally, my feet felt as if they were elevated above my head. Sometimes they were tingly when I would get up in the morning.

Mike, however, declared the new mattress pad to be like sleeping in a hammock of hammocks held up by clouds of angels. This is an exact quote. And so we were at an impasse. Except for the part where I basically did not sleep through the night one time after we put the mattress pad on the bed, and the part where Mike can basically sleep anywhere on anything. I get . . . how do you say . . . cranky when I do not sleep. Also, the new mattress pad hurt my back. And my feet were tingly. So we are back to the boring old non-bubble-wrap mattress pad. And I am much less cranky, thank you for asking.

But, you guys, the old mattress pad looked so awesome on the bed. It made it look all big and fluffy and kingly. If only there were fluffy mattress pads that actually allowed, you know, sleep. I would totally be in favor of that.

My Dearest Richard-

As I type this, the morning rain falls lightly on my sunroom awning, like a dwarf tossed from a blimp. The metallic percussion delights my ears, but has proven a fright to my cat Ben Franklin, who otherwise spends his mornings sprawled across the floor like a beached raccoon.

Softly, the rain lands upon my lawn, restoring my grass and replenishing my dreams. With each splashing droplet, my soul rejoices and my abdomen gurgles with merriment. O that you were here with me to share in this sweet moment! I confess that I yearn to hold your hand ‘neath the weeping willow with warmest affection.

Also, we would suck down some Coors.

Do you remember the night when you tickled my belly-skin with your fingers? Do you remember how the rain washed all remorse away, like Scrubbing Bubbles bathroom cleaner? That evening’s enchantment has relived itself many times in my memories since then. I can scarce forget the fondness of your calloused fingers, thickened by hard prison labor.

I hope these words find you well, Richard, and fully recovered from the dreaded pox. I have enclosed a package of maple custard, prepared tenderly for you. May its sweetness remind you of my most tender devotion.

P.S. Say hi to Carl for me.

It was a dream, a time and half a time:
that original sin in the tension between the poles.

My internal electronics sparking across the gap,
ephemeral imagined notes and the cascading
columns of maths conspiring to
havoc.

But it was just a dream, a time and half a time,
that original sin, that clumsy stumbling
away from it.

so Sunday i had gone running in the evening, around 7:15 to be approximate. i needed to run, because i had not run in a while, and wanted to wait until i thought it was cool enough. it was still 90 degrees. NINETY DEGREES! i still went, and probably lost at least 5 lbs by the end of my 3.31 miles. i got home today with thoughts of running, but it was still 91 at 7:00 pm so i waited. i ate dinner (spaghetti using wheat pasta) and checked the weather. it was 83 degrees with sub 40% humidity about 8, so i left about 8:45. it was so much different from Sunday. i turned in a faster time, which was cool. not sure if i’m down with running so late, but if it avoids the insane heat going on this week, i might be okay with that.

i’ve stayed up entirely too late thinking i’d see the end of the baseball all star game, but this is getting ridiculous, so i’m going to bed. hope the NL wins because the defense i saw the past few innings has been fantastic.

So, a week ago we got free music at NoiseTrade.com

Now we get free literature at http://evangellyfish.com/

What a world!

Rising oil costs might not be so bad.

Here’s what I mean: if high gas prices localize Americans, then there is virtue in expensive oil.

I believe that localization is a good thing. It is how people were meant to be: connected. Connected to each other, to their communities, to the land on which those communities were built. Connected to their food, the cost of growing that food, the land on which the food was grown.

Cheap oil, largely, has shattered these connections. Cheap oil has allowed us to live miles from where we work. Cheap oil has allowed to us to shop in neighboring towns. It has allowed us to send our kids to school miles from their homes. Cheap oil brings us tomatoes from Mexico in the dead of winter, and apples from New Zealand when American ones will not do. All of this has fractured us.

It’s not cheap oil’s fault. Cheap oil just happened to be around to fuel all of human vices. So, it’s not the oil, or even the oil barons that I blame. It is the basest of human natures. Our desire for the bottom line, our failure to see past the veneers of slick marketing. Our unquenchable need to compete with those around us for bigger and better.

If high oil prices can scale this back, who am I to complain?

If high oil prices mean that it is cheaper to eat the tomato from my back yard than to eat the one “drenched in diesel fuel” (Michael Pollan) from Mexico, then I cannot complain. If high oil prices mean that neighborhood stores close to our homes outpace the big boxes on the fringes of our towns? Then order more fives and sixes for gas station signs. If the price of crude necessitates higher bike sales, a new pair of walking shoes, and re-imagined urban planning, then I’ll pay through the nose. If Exxon-Mobil’s record profits mean that I must become creative in my choices—choices about food, work, shopping, schooling—then keep those stock quotes high. If the life of the futures market means that I must think about what I do instead of taking for granted the ability of my car (and its wake carbon gasses) to take me anywhere I need to go on a moment’s notice for a marginal sum of money, then may some trader get even richer. If expensive oil is what it takes to make us whole again, perhaps we should all be breathing a sigh of relief, rather than plunging drills into our oceans to find a reason for a rollback.

When we live in an unsustainable way, on the foundation of an unsustainable resource, then there will eventually be a correction in our lifestyle. There will inevitably be a difficult time of transition when we are forced to rethink how we do life, because our fundamental assumptions about access and transportation are being questioned. That seems like it’s not so bad.

All kings, and all their favourites,
All glory of honours, beauties, wits,
The sun it self, which makes time, as they pass,
Is elder by a year now than it was
When thou and I first one another saw.
All other things to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay;
This no to-morrow hath, nor