happy haiku friday!
confined in a cube
a monkey pushes buttons
then throws shit at rhys
note to the easily offended: i didn't actually say shit. i merely spelled it.
Course Opens on Monday . October 19, 2026
3 weeks ago
Friday, November 19, 2004
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
link-a-matic
last night, after reading the sports guy's links page more carefully, i realized that gary wayne rodgers committed suicide about a week ago. it is one thing to laugh at the living, but another to desecrate the memory of the dead. thus, this link has been removed.
for more quirky links, visit the sports guy page.
last night, after reading the sports guy's links page more carefully, i realized that gary wayne rodgers committed suicide about a week ago. it is one thing to laugh at the living, but another to desecrate the memory of the dead. thus, this link has been removed.
for more quirky links, visit the sports guy page.
to go, or not to go. that is the question
last week kevin and amy clark, two of my favorite people, came out to visit. between conversations that fluctuated from the absurd (including their tale of naughty middle schoolers who have been nicknamed "the fondeleros") to the significant (including discussions of how our sociological and ecclesiological place influences our interpretation of the gospel as well as the particular method that my Dr. used to assess the state of my prostate) amy mentioned that she had recently attended her ten year high school reunion. i condescendingly asked her if she was joking and she assured me that she was not. apparently, she even geared up for this shindig by visiting that snotty little republic and sharpening her, already formidable, claws in preparation for engagements with long-time adversaries. i punctuated her story by teasing her about attending such a meaningless affair until kevin rose to her defense. apparently he is going to attend his reunion as well.
in an attempt to both empathize with their decisions and to develop an appropriate response to the reunion invitation that i will undoubtedly receive this spring, i have decided to weigh the pros and cons of attending the ten-year reunion of Bishop Kelley's class of 1995.
first, since i am ever the optimist, i will consider the pros:
1. attending the reunion would provide an opportunity to key the h2s, lexus suvs and bmw3 series that the trust fund babies received from their parents.
2. after locating another marginalized, jaded soul we could play a game of plastic surgery "i spy." i can picture the joy of this competition in my head..."i spy a rhinoplasty." "i spy a britney job." "i spy a bo-tox injection!"
3. the freshman baseball team from 1992 could gather together and tell inappropriate jokes about our pedophilia stained baseball skipper and baptist deacon, coach webber. my first joke, due to unexpected pangs of conscience, has been edited.
4. i could finally discover whether paul finally came all the way out of the closet and wrote the script for "angels in america" under an assumed name.
5. i could drink alcohol with my classmates without receiving an m.i.p. (minor in possession) and smoke within 50 feet of school grounds without being fined $100. however, using the lingering incense in the school chapel to cloak the meeting of the 420 club would probably still be prohibited.
now, and you knew they were coming, the cons:
1. most of my friends in high school weren't in my class. in fact, most of them lived in canada...you wouldn't know them.
2. i could avoid conversations about my vocation without being interrupted by comments like "you became a pastor?" "what is it like? some kind of cult?" to which my response would be that (1) God has a sense of humor and (2) the boston church of christ congregation i lead is not a cult. just kidding...God doesn't have a sense of humor.
3. i don't have a pink oxford shirt of pair of navy blue dockers in my wardrobe. furthermore, while i thought cowboy boots with slacks were the "bomb" in 1995, i wouldn't be caught dead "duding up" now.
4. my failure to make the varsity baseball team is up near the top of my list of regrets. i can live without conversations about how i drilled fritz with 3 out of 5 batting practice pitches or about the time i got tossed out of edison field for using one of my favorite words.
5. i cannot endure another night of Bishop Kelley girls killing me softly with the blight on humanity that is known as karaoke. even if alcohol is involved...
at this point, i'm thinking that the cons outweigh the pros. but only time will tell how i will respond to that eagerly awaited invitation.
last week kevin and amy clark, two of my favorite people, came out to visit. between conversations that fluctuated from the absurd (including their tale of naughty middle schoolers who have been nicknamed "the fondeleros") to the significant (including discussions of how our sociological and ecclesiological place influences our interpretation of the gospel as well as the particular method that my Dr. used to assess the state of my prostate) amy mentioned that she had recently attended her ten year high school reunion. i condescendingly asked her if she was joking and she assured me that she was not. apparently, she even geared up for this shindig by visiting that snotty little republic and sharpening her, already formidable, claws in preparation for engagements with long-time adversaries. i punctuated her story by teasing her about attending such a meaningless affair until kevin rose to her defense. apparently he is going to attend his reunion as well.
in an attempt to both empathize with their decisions and to develop an appropriate response to the reunion invitation that i will undoubtedly receive this spring, i have decided to weigh the pros and cons of attending the ten-year reunion of Bishop Kelley's class of 1995.
first, since i am ever the optimist, i will consider the pros:
1. attending the reunion would provide an opportunity to key the h2s, lexus suvs and bmw3 series that the trust fund babies received from their parents.
2. after locating another marginalized, jaded soul we could play a game of plastic surgery "i spy." i can picture the joy of this competition in my head..."i spy a rhinoplasty." "i spy a britney job." "i spy a bo-tox injection!"
3. the freshman baseball team from 1992 could gather together and tell inappropriate jokes about our pedophilia stained baseball skipper and baptist deacon, coach webber. my first joke, due to unexpected pangs of conscience, has been edited.
4. i could finally discover whether paul finally came all the way out of the closet and wrote the script for "angels in america" under an assumed name.
5. i could drink alcohol with my classmates without receiving an m.i.p. (minor in possession) and smoke within 50 feet of school grounds without being fined $100. however, using the lingering incense in the school chapel to cloak the meeting of the 420 club would probably still be prohibited.
now, and you knew they were coming, the cons:
1. most of my friends in high school weren't in my class. in fact, most of them lived in canada...you wouldn't know them.
2. i could avoid conversations about my vocation without being interrupted by comments like "you became a pastor?" "what is it like? some kind of cult?" to which my response would be that (1) God has a sense of humor and (2) the boston church of christ congregation i lead is not a cult. just kidding...God doesn't have a sense of humor.
3. i don't have a pink oxford shirt of pair of navy blue dockers in my wardrobe. furthermore, while i thought cowboy boots with slacks were the "bomb" in 1995, i wouldn't be caught dead "duding up" now.
4. my failure to make the varsity baseball team is up near the top of my list of regrets. i can live without conversations about how i drilled fritz with 3 out of 5 batting practice pitches or about the time i got tossed out of edison field for using one of my favorite words.
5. i cannot endure another night of Bishop Kelley girls killing me softly with the blight on humanity that is known as karaoke. even if alcohol is involved...
at this point, i'm thinking that the cons outweigh the pros. but only time will tell how i will respond to that eagerly awaited invitation.
Monday, November 15, 2004
"There are two kinds of people in this world: Those that enter a room and turn the television set on, and those that enter a room and turn the television set off." ~Raymond Shaw in the original Manchurian Candidate
unfortunately, i am one of the latter. baseball tonight and back-to-back-to-back episodes of law and order are my kryptonite.
unfortunately, i am one of the latter. baseball tonight and back-to-back-to-back episodes of law and order are my kryptonite.
listening with a lump in my throat
as i settled into my cube this morning i instinctively reached for my pile of scratched cds. recently i have been relying on audiobooks to help wisk me through the day, but after a bad experience with 'sense and sensibility' (i know it's considered a classic, but my disdain for 20th century chick-lit apparently extends well into the 19th) i quickly returned to the tunes.
anyway, as i shuffled through the cds in a vain attempt to locate ben folds' rockin' the suburbs (i have been singing gone in my head all weekend), i ran across indelible grace, a cd that i lifted from a friends wallet sometime ago. indelible grace is a beautiful collection of reframed hymns (same lyrics with a new americana sound) that was crafted by the numerous musicians at Christ Community Church in jesusland, tennessee.
after the third track, entitled "i need thee every hour," brought tears to my eyes, i realized that, on this day, indelible grace was a sacrament i needed to receive. uncle buechner has always encouraged me to be aware of the times that i have a lump in my throat or a tear in my eye, for those are probably times that God is working. since the third track on the album inspired both a lump and the aforementioned tears, i listened to it again and again.
i thought you might find the lyrics of this old baptist hymn beneficial. then again, you might not.
i need thee every hour
I need Thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like Thine
Can peace afford.
Refrain:
I need Thee, O I need Thee;
Every hour I need Thee;
O bless me now, my Saviour,
I come to Thee.
I need Thee every hour,
Stay Thou near by;
Temptations lose their power
When Thou art nigh.
I need Thee every hour,
In joy or pain;
Come quickly and abide,
Or life is vain.
I need Thee every hour;
Teach me Thy will;
And Thy rich promises
In me fulfill.
I need Thee every hour,
Most Holy One;
O make me Thine indeed,
Thou blessed Son!
~Annie Sherwood Hawks, 1835-1918
may God grant us the courage to repent of our independent streaks so that we can grow into a deeper dependence upon Him and a deeper interdependence with one another.
as i settled into my cube this morning i instinctively reached for my pile of scratched cds. recently i have been relying on audiobooks to help wisk me through the day, but after a bad experience with 'sense and sensibility' (i know it's considered a classic, but my disdain for 20th century chick-lit apparently extends well into the 19th) i quickly returned to the tunes.
anyway, as i shuffled through the cds in a vain attempt to locate ben folds' rockin' the suburbs (i have been singing gone in my head all weekend), i ran across indelible grace, a cd that i lifted from a friends wallet sometime ago. indelible grace is a beautiful collection of reframed hymns (same lyrics with a new americana sound) that was crafted by the numerous musicians at Christ Community Church in jesusland, tennessee.
after the third track, entitled "i need thee every hour," brought tears to my eyes, i realized that, on this day, indelible grace was a sacrament i needed to receive. uncle buechner has always encouraged me to be aware of the times that i have a lump in my throat or a tear in my eye, for those are probably times that God is working. since the third track on the album inspired both a lump and the aforementioned tears, i listened to it again and again.
i thought you might find the lyrics of this old baptist hymn beneficial. then again, you might not.
i need thee every hour
I need Thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like Thine
Can peace afford.
Refrain:
I need Thee, O I need Thee;
Every hour I need Thee;
O bless me now, my Saviour,
I come to Thee.
I need Thee every hour,
Stay Thou near by;
Temptations lose their power
When Thou art nigh.
I need Thee every hour,
In joy or pain;
Come quickly and abide,
Or life is vain.
I need Thee every hour;
Teach me Thy will;
And Thy rich promises
In me fulfill.
I need Thee every hour,
Most Holy One;
O make me Thine indeed,
Thou blessed Son!
~Annie Sherwood Hawks, 1835-1918
may God grant us the courage to repent of our independent streaks so that we can grow into a deeper dependence upon Him and a deeper interdependence with one another.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
well slap my ass and call me sally
mrs. howland always said that we deserved it. between lectures on the phallic symbolism in candide and chastizing us for improper use of the thesaurus, she reasoned that if she had to settle in the stirrup chair at least once a year, then men should have to deal with the magic fingers as well.
we always laughed at her. she was always talking to us about such things, which perched on the edge of sexuality without actually taking the leap, and we loved her for it. she was nearing forty and had a five year old son as well as a bespectacled, c.p.a. husband, but to us she was lady godiva. we openly proposed that she leave her husband and shack up with us. she laughed at us before taunting us with yet another explication of the sexual tension in ibsen.
she wasn't kidding about the pain of the magic fingers though. we should have seen the lust for revenge in her eyes. today the doctor had me drop my shorts, lay on the examination table, pull my knees up to my chest and put a quarter in the magic fingers machine. the result wasn't pretty.
damn you mrs. howland! after all that talk all you put out was a cold dish of revenge.
mrs. howland always said that we deserved it. between lectures on the phallic symbolism in candide and chastizing us for improper use of the thesaurus, she reasoned that if she had to settle in the stirrup chair at least once a year, then men should have to deal with the magic fingers as well.
we always laughed at her. she was always talking to us about such things, which perched on the edge of sexuality without actually taking the leap, and we loved her for it. she was nearing forty and had a five year old son as well as a bespectacled, c.p.a. husband, but to us she was lady godiva. we openly proposed that she leave her husband and shack up with us. she laughed at us before taunting us with yet another explication of the sexual tension in ibsen.
she wasn't kidding about the pain of the magic fingers though. we should have seen the lust for revenge in her eyes. today the doctor had me drop my shorts, lay on the examination table, pull my knees up to my chest and put a quarter in the magic fingers machine. the result wasn't pretty.
damn you mrs. howland! after all that talk all you put out was a cold dish of revenge.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
"sir, it's mega-maid. she's gone from suck to blow!"
insert rant about your meaningless job here.
draw a parallel between your professional life and that of Joe (who eventually mustered the courage to take on the volcano).
finally, speak melodramatically about the way that your outdated, piece of shit terminal is sucking your will to live.
once you have completed template, hit "publish" four or five times (unsurprisingly, the damn server isn't working again).
and there you have it. your mid-week, vocational lament is complete.
insert rant about your meaningless job here.
draw a parallel between your professional life and that of Joe (who eventually mustered the courage to take on the volcano).
finally, speak melodramatically about the way that your outdated, piece of shit terminal is sucking your will to live.
once you have completed template, hit "publish" four or five times (unsurprisingly, the damn server isn't working again).
and there you have it. your mid-week, vocational lament is complete.
Monday, November 08, 2004
opening a vein
i decided not to preach last weekend. the first sunday of every month you can find me at hill memorial baptist in allston, massachusetts. at hill memorial i preach a twenty-five minute sermon, preside over communion, drink a couple cups of colon-cleansing coffee, listen empathetically to a couple of stories and collect a $100 check (which is subsequently applied to my comcast bill). the congregation is filled with lonely middle aged and elderly women who seem to enjoy my company and have found a way to endure my idiosyncratic preaching. as far as supply preaching goes, hill memorial is easy pickin'.
i usually look forward to my two hours at hill memorial, but last week, i avoided its approach like the plague. after failing to frame a sermon out of wood that was long since hewn, i put out an anxious s.o.s. to the other prospective preachers at cbd. i carefully sculpted my e-mail to make the preaching slot sound like a wonderful opportunity. but, as one of my friends realized after lightly scratching my surface, i was absolutely desperate for relief.
being vulnerable in the pulpit is unquestionably valuable. but, as my old prof would be quick to remind me, bleeding all over the pulpit is another thing entirely. sunday would have been an exercise in the latter. right now, my heart is a cracked desert, my mind looks and sounds like a snowy television screen and my eyes are threatening to reach flood stage.
why am i telling you all this? i am asking myself the same question. i guess the most basic reason is to remind us both that even depression is a sacrament that we need to receive. as saint john of the cross, henri nouwen and others would remind us, depression is not a detour from the spiritual life, but a road that we must all endure. so, by God's grace, i pray that we begin to view depression not as an opportunity to retreat into the fetal position, but as an opportunity to deepen our faith. furthermore, i hope that the cliche that "the darkest hour is always before dawn" is indeed true. finally, instead of falling into the self-destruction of sin during these times or relying on our silly, external crutches (such as my cigarettes), i hope that these dark times lead us into a deeper dependence upon our Savior, who in the midst of the greatest depression found the strength to submit to God's will and a more tangible interdependence upon one another. friends, this is a road that we all walk. but there is no reason to walk it alone.
i decided not to preach last weekend. the first sunday of every month you can find me at hill memorial baptist in allston, massachusetts. at hill memorial i preach a twenty-five minute sermon, preside over communion, drink a couple cups of colon-cleansing coffee, listen empathetically to a couple of stories and collect a $100 check (which is subsequently applied to my comcast bill). the congregation is filled with lonely middle aged and elderly women who seem to enjoy my company and have found a way to endure my idiosyncratic preaching. as far as supply preaching goes, hill memorial is easy pickin'.
i usually look forward to my two hours at hill memorial, but last week, i avoided its approach like the plague. after failing to frame a sermon out of wood that was long since hewn, i put out an anxious s.o.s. to the other prospective preachers at cbd. i carefully sculpted my e-mail to make the preaching slot sound like a wonderful opportunity. but, as one of my friends realized after lightly scratching my surface, i was absolutely desperate for relief.
being vulnerable in the pulpit is unquestionably valuable. but, as my old prof would be quick to remind me, bleeding all over the pulpit is another thing entirely. sunday would have been an exercise in the latter. right now, my heart is a cracked desert, my mind looks and sounds like a snowy television screen and my eyes are threatening to reach flood stage.
why am i telling you all this? i am asking myself the same question. i guess the most basic reason is to remind us both that even depression is a sacrament that we need to receive. as saint john of the cross, henri nouwen and others would remind us, depression is not a detour from the spiritual life, but a road that we must all endure. so, by God's grace, i pray that we begin to view depression not as an opportunity to retreat into the fetal position, but as an opportunity to deepen our faith. furthermore, i hope that the cliche that "the darkest hour is always before dawn" is indeed true. finally, instead of falling into the self-destruction of sin during these times or relying on our silly, external crutches (such as my cigarettes), i hope that these dark times lead us into a deeper dependence upon our Savior, who in the midst of the greatest depression found the strength to submit to God's will and a more tangible interdependence upon one another. friends, this is a road that we all walk. but there is no reason to walk it alone.
Friday, November 05, 2004
Thursday, November 04, 2004
enjoy
every once in a while someone sends me an article or a link that i find entertaining. here are a couple that i think are worth sharing:
a different take on those damned massachusetts liberals
the flying lawnmower
please note: the inclusion of these links is not a request for more forwards or unsolicited email. i get enough junk already.
every once in a while someone sends me an article or a link that i find entertaining. here are a couple that i think are worth sharing:
a different take on those damned massachusetts liberals
the flying lawnmower
please note: the inclusion of these links is not a request for more forwards or unsolicited email. i get enough junk already.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
receiving the sacrament
"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and the pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." ~Frederick Buechner
I've read this paragraph innumerable times, hoping that the nutrients within will sink down to the roots of my soul. today, this pregnant phrase, which is one of the most precious clues i have found to the great treasure hunt called life, is suggesting that every experience of life has the potential to become a sacrament.
for this reason, i believe that i can receive kerry's loss as a sacrament that is calling me to both identify my political idolatries as well as my trust in the 'chariots and horses' of the world in order that i can take one more step towards believing in, and living as a generative citizen of, the Kingdom of God. as i receive this sacrament, gracious God, i repent of my allegiance to the city of man and, begging the help of your Spirit, seek to live more fully within the sphere of your sovereign rule.
moreover, i am beginning to realize that the role of internet product editor at christianbook.com is a sacrament as well. by this means of grace you are teaching me the virtue of perseverance, as i deal with the fact that i push buttons for a living, leading me towards a more nuanced understanding of providence, as i struggle to believe that you can work through the life of someone who openly commodifies the gospel in order to preach and live a non-commodified gospel, and the value of solidarity, as i begrudgingly start to identify with my brothers and sisters around the world whose work seems to be devoid of any apparent meaning.
Lord God, thank you for the gift of life. please help me to realize that all moments are key moments and to receive such as a means of grace.
"Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and the pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." ~Frederick Buechner
I've read this paragraph innumerable times, hoping that the nutrients within will sink down to the roots of my soul. today, this pregnant phrase, which is one of the most precious clues i have found to the great treasure hunt called life, is suggesting that every experience of life has the potential to become a sacrament.
for this reason, i believe that i can receive kerry's loss as a sacrament that is calling me to both identify my political idolatries as well as my trust in the 'chariots and horses' of the world in order that i can take one more step towards believing in, and living as a generative citizen of, the Kingdom of God. as i receive this sacrament, gracious God, i repent of my allegiance to the city of man and, begging the help of your Spirit, seek to live more fully within the sphere of your sovereign rule.
moreover, i am beginning to realize that the role of internet product editor at christianbook.com is a sacrament as well. by this means of grace you are teaching me the virtue of perseverance, as i deal with the fact that i push buttons for a living, leading me towards a more nuanced understanding of providence, as i struggle to believe that you can work through the life of someone who openly commodifies the gospel in order to preach and live a non-commodified gospel, and the value of solidarity, as i begrudgingly start to identify with my brothers and sisters around the world whose work seems to be devoid of any apparent meaning.
Lord God, thank you for the gift of life. please help me to realize that all moments are key moments and to receive such as a means of grace.
Monday, November 01, 2004
thank you for calling initech. just a moment
when you dressed up for career day in elementary school or talked to your high school guidance counselor did you have any idea that you would end up in your current job? me neither.
this question arose in my mind after i came back from a (thanks to my prostate far too frequent!) pit stop only to find my co-workers eagerly exhibiting their flexibility. apparently Art is double jointed, Christine, our middle-aged copywriter still has the flexibility of a freshman cheerleader and Dr. James is more pliable than your average yogi (bear).
don't get me wrong...i don't have anything against such exhibitions. i just find the office environment increasingly odd.
when you dressed up for career day in elementary school or talked to your high school guidance counselor did you have any idea that you would end up in your current job? me neither.
this question arose in my mind after i came back from a (thanks to my prostate far too frequent!) pit stop only to find my co-workers eagerly exhibiting their flexibility. apparently Art is double jointed, Christine, our middle-aged copywriter still has the flexibility of a freshman cheerleader and Dr. James is more pliable than your average yogi (bear).
don't get me wrong...i don't have anything against such exhibitions. i just find the office environment increasingly odd.
Friday, October 29, 2004
failed reality show pilots
on the border: cameras record the pitfalls and pratfalls of mexican immigrants as they struggle to make it to america. the show's host is chuck norris, fresh from walker, texas ranger and the tagline is "america the beautiful! are you in or are you out?"
the emergent makeover: viewers watch as graduates from evangelical seminaries try to establish emergent ministries in traditional churches. segments include:
on the border: cameras record the pitfalls and pratfalls of mexican immigrants as they struggle to make it to america. the show's host is chuck norris, fresh from walker, texas ranger and the tagline is "america the beautiful! are you in or are you out?"
the emergent makeover: viewers watch as graduates from evangelical seminaries try to establish emergent ministries in traditional churches. segments include:
- fashion: contestants decide what color to dye their hair, struggle to grow goatees and agonize over which body part to pierce
- theology: contestants try to find the one t.v. show, movie or music artist that will serve as a perfect illustration of the gospel. by the end of the show each contestant must publish a relevant book that is entitled: the gospel according to _______. as viewers quickly realize, filling in the blank is more difficult than it looks.
- liturgy: contestants struggle to develop the most creative worship experience. will they rent laser tag equipment and turn the gymnasium of generic community church into an arena for a lesson on spiritual warfare? will a skydiving adventure take 'trust falls' to an entirely new level? in order to teach compassion will the members of the community live on the front lawn of generic community church for a whole week with nothing but refrigerator boxes to call home?
have you heard of any intriguing, reality show pilots that didn't make the cut? if so, feel free to share.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
the cardinals are done. i can see it in their eyes. well done, boys, well done. not too bad for a team that had third place written all over them.
and congratulations to the red sox. i love being a sojourner in their nation and am glad that they are finally hurtling towards destiny. i only have one request for the sox: have buckner throw out the first pitch of the year next season. it would be a nice touch.
also, i would encourage you to read the sports guy as often as possible over the next couple of days. no one can explain the passion of red sox nation, or the measurements of lindsay lohan for that matter, quite like him.
i have reached catharsis. now, it's time for another cigarette.
and congratulations to the red sox. i love being a sojourner in their nation and am glad that they are finally hurtling towards destiny. i only have one request for the sox: have buckner throw out the first pitch of the year next season. it would be a nice touch.
also, i would encourage you to read the sports guy as often as possible over the next couple of days. no one can explain the passion of red sox nation, or the measurements of lindsay lohan for that matter, quite like him.
i have reached catharsis. now, it's time for another cigarette.
alex just called to tell me that last night he saw a church marquee that read:
"Jesus reversed the curse. against sin!"
that is my favorite marquee of the year. last year's best:
"warning: weapon of mass salvation found inside."
"Jesus reversed the curse. against sin!"
that is my favorite marquee of the year. last year's best:
"warning: weapon of mass salvation found inside."
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
the deconstruction of a cardinals fan
10:26 p.m.: calero just walked pedro martinez. first, he loses game one for us. second, he walks a freaking american league pitcher. kiko, you stupid bitch.
10:48 p.m.: at this point, i am so glad that i did not have enough money to go out to st. louis. i would probably be kicked out of a good, clean midwestern park on a night like tonight. i am such a hard hearted bastard. at this point, i'm just glad that the sox won't have the opportunity to clinch in boston.
10:58 p.m.: as rick just noted, the red sox feel so confident that they just dropped ortiz in favor of mienal;skjq3w4ei. that's just depressing. it was good to commiserate with a fellow cardinals fan though. we moped together for 45 minutes. come on reggie! can't you give us a meaningless homer here?
11:06 p.m.: if larussa leaves the cardinals i would like jocketty to interview the following candidates: larry dierker, jim leyland, terry pendelton and sweet lou.
11:09 p.m.: least favorite product placements in the world series. tom hanks pitching polar express, jimmy fallon pitching fever pitch (which promises to be the worst nick hornby adaptation yet), thousands of unwitting fans popularizing 'slama-lama-ding-dong,' and a farcical 'interview' with 'leon' of budweiser fame.
11:32 p.m.: at least we won't be shut out. thank you mr. walker.
11:35 p.m.: i would like to thank the red sox for the beating and wilco for the theme song. my heart is broken.
10:26 p.m.: calero just walked pedro martinez. first, he loses game one for us. second, he walks a freaking american league pitcher. kiko, you stupid bitch.
10:48 p.m.: at this point, i am so glad that i did not have enough money to go out to st. louis. i would probably be kicked out of a good, clean midwestern park on a night like tonight. i am such a hard hearted bastard. at this point, i'm just glad that the sox won't have the opportunity to clinch in boston.
10:58 p.m.: as rick just noted, the red sox feel so confident that they just dropped ortiz in favor of mienal;skjq3w4ei. that's just depressing. it was good to commiserate with a fellow cardinals fan though. we moped together for 45 minutes. come on reggie! can't you give us a meaningless homer here?
11:06 p.m.: if larussa leaves the cardinals i would like jocketty to interview the following candidates: larry dierker, jim leyland, terry pendelton and sweet lou.
11:09 p.m.: least favorite product placements in the world series. tom hanks pitching polar express, jimmy fallon pitching fever pitch (which promises to be the worst nick hornby adaptation yet), thousands of unwitting fans popularizing 'slama-lama-ding-dong,' and a farcical 'interview' with 'leon' of budweiser fame.
11:32 p.m.: at least we won't be shut out. thank you mr. walker.
11:35 p.m.: i would like to thank the red sox for the beating and wilco for the theme song. my heart is broken.
yet another narcissistic running diary
a number of you have emailed or called me, wondering about my thoughts concerning this god-awful world series. well, tonight i hope to provide some answers along with a side dish of sarcasm and other unconstructive thoughts.
before i start, please note that i fully realize that: (a) running diaries are even more narcissistic than blogs (if you think the latter aren't an example of narcissism, at least to some degree, you're kidding yourself and (b) that this format is a complete rip-off of the sports guy's work (i, along with Jesus, consider imitation to be the supreme form of flattery).
8:08 p.m.: i realize that equality requires that we have women sportscasters. i even appreciate the work of, um...thinking, at least one such sportswriter (jackie macmullen of the boston globe) i can't think of one female sportscaster who's even remotely watchable. in short, i think hannah storm is awful. not only does she spout out meaningless drivel, she isn't even that hot. note to the networks: if you're going to sell us on the idea of female sportscasters, select ones that look like reese witherspoon, keira knightley, or, if they're a little older, frances mcdormand.
8:14 p.m.: for everyone who's tried to encourage me by speaking of this situation as a "win/win" for me. let me provide one point of clarification: you're off your freaking rocker. i was literally raised at busch stadium. at different points in my life i have had extended conversations with enos slaughter (whose 1946 mojo we could use a lot of tonight) and lou brock and have met almost every living cardinal great you can think of. i will never, ever root against the cardinals nor will i delight in their demise. whether by curse, scratch hits or, god-forbid, adequate pitching performances, i hope that the cardinals crush the collective heart of red sox nation.
8:22 p.m.: hearing the anheiser-busch anthem played at a world series game reminds me of the pre-game in the 1987 series when one of the budweiser clydesdale's took a giant dump on the artificial turf. instead of dispatching one of the groundskeepers to go clean it up with a shovel and a bucket, they sent out the artificial turf vacuum cleaner to clean it up. bad decision. as a result there was a 15 foot shit stain in right field for the rest of the evening.
8:32 p.m.--it's funny. due to their cardinal credentials, mccarver was a member of the 1967 cardinals who bested the red sox in 7 games, and buck is the son of the cardinals legend, you would think that i would love this broadcasting team. but nothing could be further from the truth. when mccarver isn't kissing yankee ass, he's making some kind of insightful comment that i made 30 seconds earlier and buck has been completely co-opted by the fox mission of providing less substance and more style. announcers i would rather hear this evening: jon miller, uecker, vin scully, al leiter, mike shannon, hell, i'd even take the understandably biased rem-dawg over these guys.
8:43 p.m.: i think i just threw up. somebody woke up manny ramirez.
8:46 p.m.: while i'm nervously trying avoid the t.v. let me offer one thought. as a former pitcher and a fan of pitching duels i think the armadillo size elbow pads that hitters (i.e. bonds, ortiz, varitek and pujols) are wearing need to be illegal. these pads are basically another offensive weapon that encourages hitters to dive out over the plate and drive the ball. it also makes them less vulnerable to the inside pitch. so, that's commissioner gentry's decision. elbow pads are verboten! either that or we raise the pitcher's mound back to its pre-gibson height of 16 inches. hitters, you decide!
8:55 p.m.: there is one out, walker is on first, pujols is down 0-2 and i am rocking back and forth like an autistic child.
whew, runners on first and second. one out. please, please, please stay out of the double play!
9:00 p.m.: pedro walked the bases loaded. now, edmonds, our one lefty who loves high fastballs is coming to the plate. please, please, please make a mistake. unfortunately, or fortunately considering your perspective, the world series came smack dab in the middle of one of my holidays from alcohol. on the dark side, it's also leading me to pick up smoking again. of course, i could buy a pack of chewlie's gum.
9:02 p.m.: when did jose oquendo turn into dale sveum? i cannot believe we ran ourselves out of that f*cking inning.
what are the odds of us winning if we go down 3-0? how about 1-237.
9:16 p.m.: you know you are idolatrizing baseball when:
1. you snap at your coworkers. i left an anonymous note on a double pahhked ford expedition today in the cbd lot today. the note read: "learn to park your suburban assault vehicle." i also almost killed an employee earlier in the week when he called me a "traitor" for supporting the cardinals. i have had to avoid other co-workers all week in order to stave off an outburst.
2. you begin to think your team is cursed. i can empathize with the pain of elderly or middle aged red sox fans, i really can. but when i hear red sox fans my age, especially those who are non-natives, talk with pathos about red sox woes it makes me want to wretch. yeah, they had '86. but i've dealt with a blown call in '85 that ruined a series, two game seven blow-outs and three flame outs in the NLCS. you want to see my scars? i'll show 'em to ya! on the bright side, i've been thinking about spinning the tarp incident into the genesis of a "cardinal curse." i could write a book about it, build a career as a post-dispatch sportswriter and send my kids to college on the royalties.
3. your wife threatens to leave you. fortunately that hasn't happened, yet.
9:36: at least suppan didn't spike himself. 2 outs between third and home before the fourth inning. we're going to give this game away. this is the worst fundamental baseball the cardinals have played all year.
9:59 p.m.: wow, where did the last inning and a half go? answer: a smashed fist against our faux wood paneling followed by a trip to the Hess for cigarettes and a trip to the bathroom that saved my pants.
10:03 p.m.: first and third and no outs. can we say 4-0? this has all the makings of a blow-out. time for another cigarette.
a number of you have emailed or called me, wondering about my thoughts concerning this god-awful world series. well, tonight i hope to provide some answers along with a side dish of sarcasm and other unconstructive thoughts.
before i start, please note that i fully realize that: (a) running diaries are even more narcissistic than blogs (if you think the latter aren't an example of narcissism, at least to some degree, you're kidding yourself and (b) that this format is a complete rip-off of the sports guy's work (i, along with Jesus, consider imitation to be the supreme form of flattery).
8:08 p.m.: i realize that equality requires that we have women sportscasters. i even appreciate the work of, um...thinking, at least one such sportswriter (jackie macmullen of the boston globe) i can't think of one female sportscaster who's even remotely watchable. in short, i think hannah storm is awful. not only does she spout out meaningless drivel, she isn't even that hot. note to the networks: if you're going to sell us on the idea of female sportscasters, select ones that look like reese witherspoon, keira knightley, or, if they're a little older, frances mcdormand.
8:14 p.m.: for everyone who's tried to encourage me by speaking of this situation as a "win/win" for me. let me provide one point of clarification: you're off your freaking rocker. i was literally raised at busch stadium. at different points in my life i have had extended conversations with enos slaughter (whose 1946 mojo we could use a lot of tonight) and lou brock and have met almost every living cardinal great you can think of. i will never, ever root against the cardinals nor will i delight in their demise. whether by curse, scratch hits or, god-forbid, adequate pitching performances, i hope that the cardinals crush the collective heart of red sox nation.
8:22 p.m.: hearing the anheiser-busch anthem played at a world series game reminds me of the pre-game in the 1987 series when one of the budweiser clydesdale's took a giant dump on the artificial turf. instead of dispatching one of the groundskeepers to go clean it up with a shovel and a bucket, they sent out the artificial turf vacuum cleaner to clean it up. bad decision. as a result there was a 15 foot shit stain in right field for the rest of the evening.
8:32 p.m.--it's funny. due to their cardinal credentials, mccarver was a member of the 1967 cardinals who bested the red sox in 7 games, and buck is the son of the cardinals legend, you would think that i would love this broadcasting team. but nothing could be further from the truth. when mccarver isn't kissing yankee ass, he's making some kind of insightful comment that i made 30 seconds earlier and buck has been completely co-opted by the fox mission of providing less substance and more style. announcers i would rather hear this evening: jon miller, uecker, vin scully, al leiter, mike shannon, hell, i'd even take the understandably biased rem-dawg over these guys.
8:43 p.m.: i think i just threw up. somebody woke up manny ramirez.
8:46 p.m.: while i'm nervously trying avoid the t.v. let me offer one thought. as a former pitcher and a fan of pitching duels i think the armadillo size elbow pads that hitters (i.e. bonds, ortiz, varitek and pujols) are wearing need to be illegal. these pads are basically another offensive weapon that encourages hitters to dive out over the plate and drive the ball. it also makes them less vulnerable to the inside pitch. so, that's commissioner gentry's decision. elbow pads are verboten! either that or we raise the pitcher's mound back to its pre-gibson height of 16 inches. hitters, you decide!
8:55 p.m.: there is one out, walker is on first, pujols is down 0-2 and i am rocking back and forth like an autistic child.
whew, runners on first and second. one out. please, please, please stay out of the double play!
9:00 p.m.: pedro walked the bases loaded. now, edmonds, our one lefty who loves high fastballs is coming to the plate. please, please, please make a mistake. unfortunately, or fortunately considering your perspective, the world series came smack dab in the middle of one of my holidays from alcohol. on the dark side, it's also leading me to pick up smoking again. of course, i could buy a pack of chewlie's gum.
9:02 p.m.: when did jose oquendo turn into dale sveum? i cannot believe we ran ourselves out of that f*cking inning.
what are the odds of us winning if we go down 3-0? how about 1-237.
9:16 p.m.: you know you are idolatrizing baseball when:
1. you snap at your coworkers. i left an anonymous note on a double pahhked ford expedition today in the cbd lot today. the note read: "learn to park your suburban assault vehicle." i also almost killed an employee earlier in the week when he called me a "traitor" for supporting the cardinals. i have had to avoid other co-workers all week in order to stave off an outburst.
2. you begin to think your team is cursed. i can empathize with the pain of elderly or middle aged red sox fans, i really can. but when i hear red sox fans my age, especially those who are non-natives, talk with pathos about red sox woes it makes me want to wretch. yeah, they had '86. but i've dealt with a blown call in '85 that ruined a series, two game seven blow-outs and three flame outs in the NLCS. you want to see my scars? i'll show 'em to ya! on the bright side, i've been thinking about spinning the tarp incident into the genesis of a "cardinal curse." i could write a book about it, build a career as a post-dispatch sportswriter and send my kids to college on the royalties.
3. your wife threatens to leave you. fortunately that hasn't happened, yet.
9:36: at least suppan didn't spike himself. 2 outs between third and home before the fourth inning. we're going to give this game away. this is the worst fundamental baseball the cardinals have played all year.
9:59 p.m.: wow, where did the last inning and a half go? answer: a smashed fist against our faux wood paneling followed by a trip to the Hess for cigarettes and a trip to the bathroom that saved my pants.
10:03 p.m.: first and third and no outs. can we say 4-0? this has all the makings of a blow-out. time for another cigarette.
Monday, October 25, 2004
the mad mission of patty griffin
it started out simple enough. after our saturday morning guy's group had finished a greasy breakfast and spent some time in prayer we headed over to the thrift store that is located in the musty basement of the episcopal church. after we descended the stairs and turned the corner into the small, cinder block room that houses the thrift store, i was immediately startled, for right there in front of me was an ex-girlfriend who i often refer to as "o'hare." as she alternately glared and ignored me, i tried to find something, anything, that would attract my undivided attention.
i found just what i was looking for on the cluttered south wall, which boasted one of the most eclectic music sections i have ever seen. on the cd shelf a brand new, unwrapped copy of r.e.m.'s out of time was located right beneath a worn copy of please hammer don't hurt 'em. on the other end of the shelf was an album by the artist who sexually stimulated millions of evangelical boys with her breathy hit "baby, baby," and an album by two dread-locked men who shuffled their way to an undeserved grammy. however, since my not-so-secret infatuation has moved from a Christian pop singer to a certain, unnamed middle-aged actress and if i want to celebrate lip syncing i can always watch ashlee simpson, i was more interested in the cassette tape section. it was there that i found, underneath a copy of the breakfast club soundtrack, a number of mix tapes that were worth purchasing. so it was that for seventy-five cents i picked up unauthorized copies of shawn colvin's cover girl, albums mark cohn and bruce cockburn that i have yet to digest and living with ghosts, an album by one of the first ladies of contemporary americana, patty griffin.
i was so excited about finding the patty griffin tape that i wasn't even bothered when i had to squeeze by "o'hare," whose vibe was unsurprisingly dissonant, to drop my 75 cents on the counter and make my merry way out of the store. later on saturday afternoon, while cleaning the toilet that the recently departed bastard defiled, i heard "mad mission" for the first time. this song rent my heart as quickly as the tracks on hiatt's meet the family. this song spoke, simply and eloquently, about the beating heart of the missional life and the ever-allusive beauty that is often found therein. when i realized that the song clarified the deepest intentions of my heart, i felt a lump in my throat. furthermore, as i listened to it time and again i was reminded of one mission (read: my relationship with o'hare) that i am glad i aborted.
all of this by way of introduction...here are the lyrics:
mad mission
We were drinking like the Irish
But we were drinking scotch
Bartender turned on a movie
Everybody turned to watch
And every single eye was gleaming
As he reached the final scene
Well, at least mine did
Here's lookin' at you, kid
It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up
I think I've seen the look before,yes,
it's kind of non-commital
It says come hither, baby, but then he's hard wood to whittle
it says it don't mean a thing, but still, somebody does
He'd like you to join the club that likes to say
there's no such thing as love and
It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up
Sometimes you find yourself
flying low at night
Flying blind and looking for
Any sign of light
You're cold and scared, and all alone
You'd do anything just to make it home
It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up
Sign me up
it started out simple enough. after our saturday morning guy's group had finished a greasy breakfast and spent some time in prayer we headed over to the thrift store that is located in the musty basement of the episcopal church. after we descended the stairs and turned the corner into the small, cinder block room that houses the thrift store, i was immediately startled, for right there in front of me was an ex-girlfriend who i often refer to as "o'hare." as she alternately glared and ignored me, i tried to find something, anything, that would attract my undivided attention.
i found just what i was looking for on the cluttered south wall, which boasted one of the most eclectic music sections i have ever seen. on the cd shelf a brand new, unwrapped copy of r.e.m.'s out of time was located right beneath a worn copy of please hammer don't hurt 'em. on the other end of the shelf was an album by the artist who sexually stimulated millions of evangelical boys with her breathy hit "baby, baby," and an album by two dread-locked men who shuffled their way to an undeserved grammy. however, since my not-so-secret infatuation has moved from a Christian pop singer to a certain, unnamed middle-aged actress and if i want to celebrate lip syncing i can always watch ashlee simpson, i was more interested in the cassette tape section. it was there that i found, underneath a copy of the breakfast club soundtrack, a number of mix tapes that were worth purchasing. so it was that for seventy-five cents i picked up unauthorized copies of shawn colvin's cover girl, albums mark cohn and bruce cockburn that i have yet to digest and living with ghosts, an album by one of the first ladies of contemporary americana, patty griffin.
i was so excited about finding the patty griffin tape that i wasn't even bothered when i had to squeeze by "o'hare," whose vibe was unsurprisingly dissonant, to drop my 75 cents on the counter and make my merry way out of the store. later on saturday afternoon, while cleaning the toilet that the recently departed bastard defiled, i heard "mad mission" for the first time. this song rent my heart as quickly as the tracks on hiatt's meet the family. this song spoke, simply and eloquently, about the beating heart of the missional life and the ever-allusive beauty that is often found therein. when i realized that the song clarified the deepest intentions of my heart, i felt a lump in my throat. furthermore, as i listened to it time and again i was reminded of one mission (read: my relationship with o'hare) that i am glad i aborted.
all of this by way of introduction...here are the lyrics:
mad mission
We were drinking like the Irish
But we were drinking scotch
Bartender turned on a movie
Everybody turned to watch
And every single eye was gleaming
As he reached the final scene
Well, at least mine did
Here's lookin' at you, kid
It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up
I think I've seen the look before,yes,
it's kind of non-commital
It says come hither, baby, but then he's hard wood to whittle
it says it don't mean a thing, but still, somebody does
He'd like you to join the club that likes to say
there's no such thing as love and
It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up
Sometimes you find yourself
flying low at night
Flying blind and looking for
Any sign of light
You're cold and scared, and all alone
You'd do anything just to make it home
It's a mad mission
Under difficult conditions
not everybody makes it
To the loving cup
It's a mad mission
But I got the ambition
Mad, mad mission
sign me up
Sign me up
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