"I laughed at myself while the tears roll down..."

The other day, whilst folding 1,400 newsletters, Nicky G. asked me what I was most afraid of as a child. I laughed, because I hadn’t thought about that in a long time. I was not afraid of dogs, or strangers. Monsters and ghosts held no sway with me. What was I afraid of? Three things: being murdered by an intruder, giant squid, and dying in a fire overnight.

The fire thing is fairly easy to explain. I was watching Rescue 911 (anyone remember that show? It came on right before Unsolved Mysteries. Another classic) and the story was about this family whose oldest son had gotten into trouble with a gang, and to prove a point, the gang set this dude’s house on fire. The two parents were killed, but the kids all got out. I can remember, to this day, the dramatized flames engulfing the living room, specifically the TV. I don’t know why that sticks out in my mind, but it does. For years afterward, I would obsess over whether or not our smoke detectors worked (they didn’t by the way. In 17 years living in that house, I don’t ever remember any operational smoke detectors). Thankfully, I have released this fear. Not that I am thrilled at the thought of tragically perishing in a fire. Needless to say, I have an operational smoke detector.

“Squid?” you might say. Seriously. They are vile. This also stems from a childhood experience. No, as you might have assumed, I have never had a Sperm Whalesque battle with a squid. I once watched this TV movie called “The Beast”. It was about this beach resort town that was held terroroized by a rouge, man-eating giant squid. They finally killed the squid, and realized in true melodramatic fashion, that it was a baby! Heavens to Betsy, we have now enraged the mother squid! Saints Preserve Us! It was pretty much a terribly filmed Jaws. Thankfully, they had the common sense not to name the film “Tentacles.” What horrified me the most was a scene wherein a diver went into the ocean for some reason, bubbles ominously appeared, the water turned red, and the diver’s wetsuit tragically floated to the surface. I was genuinely afraid that any body of water contained a giant squid, ready to feast upon my flesh. To this day, squid make me uncomfortable.

Intruders… I have no idea why I was afraid of being murdered. No one that I knew had been murdered, or even had their house broken in to. Yet still, it petrified me. I would practice waking up in the middle of the night and would keep my rate of breathing the same, so that infiltrator X would not know that I was awake and aware of his villainous presence. I slept with a racquet by my bed, just in case I had to fend off a violent serial killer. I would do weekly “murderer drills” just to keep my protective dexterity up to speed.

Today, thankfully, these fears have abated. We all face real fear in our lives, and it can be easy for that fear to become a defining feature of who we are. We are afraid of being rejected, so we never connect with people. We fear pain, so we stay in a protective emotional cocoon. We fear being inferior, so we do all we can to make ourselves the best and the brightest. Fear is a normal human emotion. It is a genetically hardwired protective response. But do we sometimes let fear control us? I know that there are things that I have missed out on, simply because I was afraid. I hate new things. I hate the unknown. I hate not being the best. All of those originate from fear. Quite simply, I am afraid of not being in control.

Paul told Timothy, in 2 Timothy 1:7, that God has not given us a spirit of timidity. That applies to us all. Thankfully, according to that same passage, we have been given a spirit of power, love, and self discipline. An interesting grouping of gifts. Everyone likes the idea of power and love. But who among us just pines after self discipline? It takes discipline to love that guy who once threw a bong at my head. It takes discipline to realize that fear can be conquered. It takes discipline. I have been watching Band of Brothers lately, and I am continually amazed at a soldier’s ability to do his job, despite the reality of a terrifying situation. They are able to operate functionally, because they have disciplined themselves. Because they are functional, doesn’t mean they are not afraid. They have learned how to control that fear to a point where they can do their jobs.

Fear is part of being human. Being able to overcome those fears, and be all that God has intended you to be, is part of having Jesus. Isaiah 41:10, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with me righteous right hand.” All those who have been called by His name have this spirit available to us. The spirit of Love, Power, and Self Discipline.

"Big Wheel Keep on Turning..."

Sometimes I come home from Sidewalk feeling excited about what God did. Sometimes I come home wondering what in the world happened. Working in the inner city is a constant up and down. Some days you are thrilled because it is evident that God is working on the hearts of a kid that you have poured into. Other times you have to threaten someone's life.

On days (like today) where you feel like you were fighting an uphill battle, Petra's "The Battle Belongs to the Lord" should play automatically. There are so many battles that we face, both in the physical and the spiritual realms, and if we try to stand solely on our own strength, we will fail miserably.

We are teaching this week about doing the right thing. Galatians 6:9 "Let us not become weary of doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest us we do not give up." There have been a few days as of late, where giving up sounded like a good option. Thankfully, I have this little nugget of wisdom to fall back on. Perhaps some of you out there in Yogurtville, USA are feeling that way. Maybe making those right choices is wearing on you. Showing up to do your part is beating you down. To you (and to myself) I say, don't give up.

"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." No. Life doesn't usually give you lemons. It squeezes lemon juice on your open wounds. When it does, keep walking. Keep standing. Keep serving. Paul said it best, "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed (amen. I am often perplexed) but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body." (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)

On days like today, when things stopped going my way (Not just children acting a fool. The program wasn't exactly a disaster. Other things didn't go as planned today), I made a choice to continue walking with the Lord. Not to look to the right or the left. Not to think, "Is this really my calling?" Not to decide that I needed to do something else. Not to wonder if I got off at the wrong stop years back. But to continue with what I know is to be true. That I am supposed to show up every day, and love those kids. That I am supposed to continue speaking life into people. That I am a servant of my friend Jesus.

"When the money comes in for the work I do, I'll pass almost every penny on to you"

In July of 2003, 9 teenagers (including me) arrived in Dallas to work at an (unknown to them) inner city ministry. We worked harder than any of us had ever worked. We cleaned, we sorted clothes, we famously sanded a bus, we taped newspaper over bus windows, we worked with kids at the old Frazier Courts, we passed out flyers, we did skits, we prayed with kids and teens... It was quite a week. We slept on the floor, ate Uncrustables with the Frazier kids, and learned more about ourselves than we thought we would. Nine of us went on that trip., 8 of us loved it. One of us thought those people who worked at Metro were out of their dang minds and hoped to never see that place again. God must have fell off his throne laughing at that thought.

Little did I know that only a year later, I would return to that place and have it become my home. 8 years after that unforgettable trip, I'm still here. The one who couldn't wait to go home. The one who thought people like Rickey and Crissy were crazy. Now I am among the ranks of the crazy and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Yesterday, we cleaned 1526 West Fort Worth Avenue for the last time. We hopped in the van and drove away. Forever. That building had been Metro's headquarters since 1997. Many incredible things happened there. Now, it belongs to someone else. Before we got in the van yesterday, we took a couple minutes to reminisce about our favorite memories in that building.

There was the day that Crissy and I played firemen and put out the fire that was burning dangerously under a plastic barrel of oil. There was the day that we hoisted a air conditioner onto the roof, using rope and scaffold (a guy had just joined the staff the day before. That was his last day). There was the period of time we had to park a bus against the chapel doors to prevent the recent serial looters from breaking in again. There was the HOURS of painting that we have done in, around and outside that place. (Trucks, every semester. Hallways/rooms, all the time. Chapel ceiling? Check) Breaking up a myriad of fights in the parking lot. Lock-ins, church services, small groups, the homeless... So many great memories. They will never be forgotten.

As that chapter of Metro's story closes, another opens. Beginning Sunday, our church will be meeting at a church in South Dallas. Our offices have moved to our apartment complex (My office is a converted bathroom) Our warehouse in in Cockrell Hill. All this spread apartedness is of course temporary. We have long term plans for building a center in South Dallas, but until that day, the work continues. We still will do Sidewalk, we will still have church. We will still work to impact the inner city. However, if you are like me, or if you are at least human, you can't help but feel a little nostalgic. That building was our second home. I probably spent WAY more hours there than I did at my actual home. I have seen a lot of faces come and go through those doors. Kids, teens, staff, street people... Life goes on, but a little peice of me will always remain at 1526 Fort Worth Ave. ("No sir, that is in Dallas. Yes, I know I said Fort Worth, the street is called Fort Worth. We are a mile west of Downtown. Downtown Dallas, not Fort Worth. Yes sir. We are right next to the Shady Oaks Motel. I promise, it is in Dallas."- actual conversation I had on the phone with a donor).

Very soon, someone else will work there. It will be a weird feeling to drive past there and not see buses and trucks. I wonder how many homeless people will go in there , only to be greeted with a bewildered receptionist who has no idea why all these dirty people keep coming in asking for food? Soon, someone will paint over my beloved green and blue walls in Kids Church. I managed to stay tear free, but walking out of there one last time almost pushed me over the edge. I was pretty attached to that room. Not the four walls, but the things that happened in there. It will be missed.

Two things will not be missed. The stairs to the loft, and the 60,000 doors. Never will I have the chance of meeting my death while retrieving a hockey table from upstairs, and not for a while will I have to deal with a door every 6 feet. Locking up the building was always such a hassle to make sure all the doors were locked. I won't get too comfortable. The next building I'm sure will be door-tastic. The current office has a million light switches. Some things change, but not much.

Random thought for the day: I was watching the news last night, which is of course nothing but Super Bowl preparation coverage. A rather impolite winter storm hit us last night, causing massive icing of roads. Two things popped into my head. 1. Thank goodness the Super Bowl is providing a distraction to the upcoming weather. It is a gift from the Lord not to have to watch hours of "Winter Blast 2011" coverage. 2. Why is Janet Napolitano discussing what the weather might do to Super Bowl activities? Does the Secretary of Homeland Security not have anything more pressing and nationally vital to do than A. Be in Dallas a WEEK before the Super Bowl (why is she even here anyway?) and B. Comment on canceled events due to winter weather? I was, frankly, embarrassed. Not only is a global event coming here to which will now showcase our absurd reaction to snow and ice, The GREEN BAY Packers and PITTSBURGH Steelers are here. What a better way to welcome them (who are based in a land where ice and snow is a way of life) to Texas than to show them that freezing precipitation brings our city mercilessly to its knees. Good job DFW.

"From Lake Geneva to the Finland Station"

One word has entered our venacular as of late, and it drives me bonkers. "Creeping." Not creeping in the sense that I am a burglar, trying to stealthily enter your home without your express written permission. Creeping in the sense of someone "violating one's privacy" by looking through one's Facebook profile. Really? Privacy? On Facebook?
Let's examine what Facebook is. It is a website, wherein we store personal information; information that can be entertaining and condemning all at once. We can post pictures, connect with old friends, avoid old friends... The Facebook possibilities are endless. However, we need to remember that it us a PUBLIC website. You are not jotting your thoughts down in your Lisa Frank journal. You aren't storing your pictures in a Swiss Bank account. You are putting them online for all of your "friends" to see.
When people accuse someone of "creeping", they are generally insinuating that said creeper is violating their privacy by looking and commenting on their posts, pictures or links. If you don't want someone to look at your stuff, WHY ARE YOU PUTTING IT OUT THERE?!?! By adding someone as your friend, you are giving them access to your information. If Jaquan looks through his friend Shonquivette's pictures, THAT ISN'T CREEPING. However, if Jaquan looked through Shonquivette's attractive sister Yuinique's pictures, with whom he is not friends, THAT would be creeping.
Is it annoying if someone comments on a status you posted during W.'s administration? Yes. Annoying but not creeping. I understand, there are people who spend WAY too much time on Facebook, but if you are friends with someone, don't get offended when they comment on every one of your pictures. If you don't want to be friends with someone, DON'T ADD THEM AS A FRIEND. When creepy cousin Mel wants to be your friend, say no. You have that power.

Random thought for the day: I think Super Bowl Sunday should be declared a national holiday. People already get together; there is food; you can't wait to get away from creepy cousin Mel... It already has that feel. Come on Congress, one little pen stroke... Oh wait. I forgot. You're too busy proving to the entire world that your preening "I'll show them!" partisanship can bring the world's foremost democracy (Republic actually. We aren't a democracy, despite people's delusions to the contrary) to a screeching halt.

"She went to hug me and she spilled her purse, and we laughed until we cried."

I love my cat, but at times we don't get along. She gets whiny, she wakes up early, she insists on sleeping on my legs... At times I enjoy exacting revenge on her. The following is a list of things I have discovered she doesn't enjoy.

1. Meowing in the manner of an angry cat. Her ears fly backwards and her eyes widen to a ridiculous width. She also leans back on her hind legs rather comically. Perhaps she had a mother with rage issues and I am bringing back terrible memories for her.

2. Using her as a piano. She actually tolerates it for a moment, but when I break into jazz piano speed, she flips out. Glissandos really make her mad.

3. Giving her fake CPR. During compressions, she simply glares at me, but then when I "blow" on her stomach she loses her wig.

4. Vacuuming. She HATES my vacuum. Whenever I pull it out she hisses and scrambles for safety. I have never tried to vacuum her. I think she might have a heart attack. Then I would have to some actual cat CPR.

5. Having handkerchiefs tied to her. She is not destined for a future as SuperCatface. She tries to crawl out of it, so she winds up walking around the house in a crouched position.

6. Being rolled up in a rug like a burrito. Enough said.

She is a funny cat to have around. Any future cats I have will have a really high standard to live up to.

Random thought for the day: I have never in my life been inside a Bulgari store, but I HATE the way they stylize their their name. Bvlgari. Really? Are we in ancient Rome? Is Julius Caesar around the corner? Are we about to run to the Forum to hear some invigorating debate from the Senate? It makes me angry to see their logo. Not to mention that their store at Northpark is right next to those horrific gigantic statues that mechanically move their hands that are holding hammers. I refuse to walk between them.

"I want to know if you're letting me in or letting me go- don't lie..."

I really hate doing things I am not good at. It stresses me out. Example: today, I had to put together a simple 60 piece puzzle for Sunday School. This wasn't exactly a difficult puzzle, but I am TERRIBLE at puzzles. I don't have good spatial cognizance. So as I am standing in the truck, struggling to put this stupid Tinkerbell puzzle together, I found myself becoming overly stressed. It was a puzzle. Come on. How hard can it be? No. Because I wasn't having immediate success, my head started hurting. I became frustrated and annoyed. "I hate Tinkerbell. She is so stupid. Who decided that she should be popular, anyway?" were the thoughts running through my head. I finally got it finished in a rather embarrassing amount of time.

I think I have never gotten into playing sports because it doesn't come naturally to me. "You want me to make this ball go where? With a certain motion? Heck no." I love to excel, but I can't excel at everything. It is a legitimate struggle. I want to be the best, and I can't always be. It is something I am dealing with right now.

I am a rare breed in my group of old friends. Single. Most of the people I hung out with back home are either married, engaged, or childrened. I am quite happy as a single man. Life is good. However, It does make going back to El Paso feel strange. I am now the 17th wheel.

17. That is a good prime number. I have previously expressed my affinity for prime numbers. That hasn't changed. I wish I could spread the cheer that a good prime number gives me.

Speaking of cheer, I am having a really difficult time not listening to Christmas Music. I specifically want to hear "Marshmallow World" by Dean Martin. I LOVE Christmas. I love decorating, music, gifts, lights, spending time with family... The list goes on forever. I can't wait for the day after Thanksgiving when I can put up all my decorations. It's gonna be Christmassy then a mug.

Random thought for the day: In my opinion the most useful line from Aladdin: "The finest merchandise this side of the river Jordan..." I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I have added "this side of the river Jordan" to the end of a phrase describing something as the most abundant/best/silliest, etc. Thank you Disney!

"Siam's going to be the witness to the ultimate test of cerebral fitness..."

This morning I taught Pastor Clay's class, with the topic of "Setting up Children to Win." I have worked at Metro for over 6 years now, and I have believed in children my whole life. For me, I just expect people to succeed, but unfortunately, success isn't something that the kids I work with really understand. They understand a life of poverty, crime (surrounded by it, at least) and in many ways, neglect. It kills me sometimes to see the kids I love so dearly simply walk away from God. However, one of the students asked me today how you keep going when that happens. I answered as honestly as I could, but it wasn't an easy answer. I told him that I have to remember that God has asked me to invest in these kids, and to plant His word in their lives. When they go their own way, I have to trust that God will, at some point, send someone their way that will have the right word, and will cause that deeply buried seed to burst into life. As I answered him, I saw faces of many kids and teens over the last 6 years that have moved on, and not moved on to a good place. But then, I remember my purpose. To invest in kids lives. There are a couple young men that hang around me now that have incredible potential. I believe in them 100%. I also know that at some point, I may lose contact with them. That is a hard thought to entertain, but it spurs me onto do everything I can to set them up to win. For as long as I am here at Metro I have to make the conscious choice to invest in someone's life every day. Otherwise, I have failed at my mission. God had allowed me to be here to be His hands and feet. I love what I do.

Some people ask me, "Why are you still there? What is the next step?" I just "kicked" a group of brand new 6th graders out of Kids Church. They are the first group of kids I have worked with for a complete elementary cycle: Kinder-5th. Why should I move on? What about the next group of Kindergarteners? Who will be there for them? Why do they not deserve to have someone stick around and love them? That is why I'm still here. There are still so many kids out there to be reached. There are more Ricky's and Timothy's and Gustavo's. There are more Peanut's and Biggie's and Jessie's and Smally's. I can't move on now! God isn't through with me here.

I believe that if you are going to be successful somewhere, it takes time. I'm not saying that I believe you have to commit your entire life to one place. But I think that in order to make a real difference for God, you have to be willing to stick it out for the long haul. That long haul is different for everyone. Investing is a long term thing. You don't see a return overnight, and in some investments, the next generation will be the ones to see the return. The same is true in ministry. That's what I believe, anyway.

Random thought for the day:
I love the words plethora and intrinsic. I don't get to use them often, but when I do, it is always a good day.

"...with two cats in the yard. Life used to be so hard."

I ran across a letter I wrote a few years back and realized, “I was a punk!” I’m not sure what was wrong with me. I always talk about how I was once a jerk, but I can’t remember clear details, until I read something like that. Thank God that He has delivered me from all that jazz. To those of you that I was jerk to, I’m sorry. I was an insensitive (not that sensitivity is my middle name now) immature brat. I apologize to all of you who were mown down by my barbed words. I used to really enjoy hurting people.

I went to Austin yesterday. I saw Scott, Pedro and my uncle. All separately, all within a few hours. It was a whirlwind tour. As I drove down and back, my CD player kept skipping. This caused severe grief because the CD’s I played were not scratched in the slightest. I think that my stereo is finally giving up on me. I have had it for a number of years, so I guess I appreciate its long career. “Here’s to you, Mr. JVC. Jumpin’ Joe has died and gone away. Hey, hey, hey.”

Do you know what bugs me? (I know, that’s a RIDICULOUSLY long list, and it is nearly impossible to hit the answer on the head on the first try) When you order a drink at a fast food restaurant, and they push in the little drink markers on the lid. I HATE THAT! Leave mine alone, please! I understand if there are 6 drinks on one order, but you are filling up my Dr Pepper and handing it to me! Where can the confusion occur? Am I going to suddenly forget that I ordered a Dr Pepper? I don’t think so! I think it really bothers me, not because it’s unnecessary, but because it changes the symmetry and the undamaged state that a brand new lid look. It just looks bad. I physically cringe when they do it at Chick-Fil-A. My entire body tenses, and I wince. (I really like the idea of the wince. I feel like it’s the epitome of the physical expression of an emotion) I want to ask them not to do it, but by the time I think to ask, “pop!” There goes the depression. In the lid and in my heart. Is there anyone else who feels like this, or am I (like so many have earlier claimed) just crazy?

To rewrite the Matchbox 20 song, “I’m not crazy, I’m just a little over critical and overly analytical. I know, sometimes you can’t tell. But stay a while and maybe then you’ll see, a little more stable side of me.” I promise there is a less neurotic side of me. Well, it happens in months ending in ‘y’ and on a day that’s divisible by 13. And if the week is a prime numbered week. (Look it up, you’ll see how rare that is) If you note, 13 and the four months that end in ‘y’ are all prime numbers. I do love those prime numbers. They are the only non-even numbers that I tolerate.

Someone asked me how I get the titles to my blogs. Song lyrics. Google the title in quotation marks. It’ll pop it right up.

You'll be an Austrian Nobleman, commissioning a Symphony in C

Oh me hearties, it’s been so long. What a blustery month it’s been. From Stockings to Christmas Store, to a week in El Paso, to Staff retreat, it’s been quite hectic around these parts.

It has been really nice to have time off. We have had more time off than ever before. It was really relaxing. My sleep schedule is shot though. I tried going to bed last night at my usually sedate 11, but I couldn’t fall asleep until 1. I have to get back into the swing of things.

While I was off, I did a two-day, six movie Star Wars Marathon. The entire saga viewed in release order. I don’t care what you may say, I believe in watching movies in the order they were released, not chronologically. I think that if you were to watch them from Episode 1-6, you would loose the effect. I feel that the completion of Anakin’s angst in becoming Vader ends the series beautifully. My question is, how does Leia remember her mother, when Padme dies while birthing the “L” twins? It’s not like she had any time to become acquainted with the fair Amidala. Also, it’s pretty pathetic that she died of a broken heart. How un-forceman like of her. How nerdy am I?

My dearest Rangers have done it again. They have ostracized Michel Young, and now he wants a trade. Clay is threatening to boycott them for the ‘09 season. I won’t boycott. I’ll just be the one at the stadium booing the new shortstop and third baseman.

It’s amazing how passionate we get over a team. Barbara and Brent are die hard Mavs fans. Clay and I would take a bullet in the name of the Rangers. Well, a figurative bullet. What have these teams ever done for us? Nothing. Yet, for some reason, we are devoted to them like nuns to the Virgin Mary. I can dress head to toe in Rangers clothing. YES, head to toe. Literally. I even have a Rangers parking sign. It’s over my couch; it would get torn up outside. I used to try to figure out how I could meet and become Ian Kinsler’s best friend. I even suggested that Danielle should date him. He’s married, so that killed that plan. Darn you Tess Kinsler!!! My kingdom for a friendship with the Rangers Inner Circle!

I am, however, boycotting this wishy-washy January weather. It’s winter, it’s supposed to be cold, so STAY THAT WAY!!!! I get tired of people who complain bitterly about the cold. It’s January, and we are in a northern enough climate that it is appropriate for the temperature to be below 60 degrees. This isn’t L.A. Florida, the Bahamas or Puerto Rico. It’s not like there are Arctic conditions. 40 degrees isn’t that bad, and is seasonably appropriate. I HATE heat, but that doesn’t mean I act like it’s unusual in the summer. Kim was talking about her parents calling about the 20 degree high in Ohio. My eyes lit up. I can only dream.

Wild dogs cry out in the night

There are certain things that you are supposed to like, that I hate. You already know of my hate affair with monkeys, but the following are also quite difficult for me to accept.

1. Silent Night. I really don’t like this song. I really don’t like that the phrase “All is calm all is bright round yon virgin mother and child” are separated musically. Sing it. You will see what I mean. Think of how its broken up. All is calm all is bright | round yon virgin | mother and child. It doesn’t fit right.

2. Marshmallows. Am I the only one who doesn’t like them? I dislike the texture, I don’t really like the flavor, and they are so airy. I really don’t like airy things.

3. Beef. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the hamburger as much as the next American, but I don’t really like whole beef. I can eat the occasional steak (VERY occasional), but to be honest, I don’t really enjoy the flavor.

4. Corn in any dish. I love corn, but only by itself. Don’t even get me started on potato corn chowder. Corn in Taco Soup should be a sin.

5. Soup. I don’t like it. I’m sorry, but I don’t like eating soup under any circumstances. Unless, however, it is Golden Buddha’s hot and sour. It’s messy, runny and usually corn laden. Or vegetable beefy which is even worse. I don’t know why my mother tomatoe-d and green beaned everything when I was growing up, but she did. Consequently I have a very severe aversion to vegetable beef soup because t was always very green beeny/cornescent/tomatoesque. In my mind all soup are cousins to that mess, so I refuse to take part in any soupage. (Not to be confused with Arthur’s version of Qudditch)

6. Spoons. I really don’t like using spoons unless I’m stirring or eating ice cream or the rare soup. One of my greatest pet peeves is people who serve cake and ice cream, and expect you to eat it with a spoon. When that occurs, I won’t eat the cake. I hate eating things that should be eaten with a fork with anything other utensil. Lord, I’d rather eat using tongs.

7. Babies. I don’t think that babies are cute. I don’t think they are ugly, I just don’t look at an infant and think, “How adorable!” Not for me, thank you!

8. Lemon, lime, grape, watermelon or sour apple flavored candy. Why is apple inexorably linked to sour? I like sour things well enough, but not attached to fake apple. Fake watermelon has no taste resemblance whatsoever to real watermelon. Or grape for that matter. I guess fake grape just reminds me way too much of Dimetapp. Which is a thousand percent better than Triaminic. Which is a billion times better than Robitussin. Who decided that the Robitussin flavor should be legal? Seriously, that should be banned as an illegal substance. I can’t imagine any consumable flavor that is worse.

9. Getting clothes for a gift. If it is MLB/NBA related, bring it on. If not, I feel like clothes are too much of a necessity. And I am way too picky to be comfortable with someone deciding what I would like.

10. Drive thru’s. I really hate ordering into that little speaker. I hate trying to pull my wallet out of my pocket. I hate being passed a drink over that abyss between the window and my car. Give me a solid counter and a cash register I can see. That is how we do things in the Musyoki household. Well, the Dallas Musyoki household. My mom loved drive thrus.

There are so many more, but there isn’t enough time. For those of you that actually slogged through this blog, I applaud you and also kind of pity you. You had to hear more of my craziness than you probably bargained for.

A singer in a smoky room...

One of the things that cracks me up about MySpace is people’s pictures. They take the same shot of themselves over and over, and they give them different captions. Cute, hot, serious, sexy, mad, me, me again, me looking fly, me looking amazing, me loking crazy… They are all the same face! I feel that the "me" is unnecessary. I mean, is anyone confused as to who the person in the photo is, especially when it is identical to the previous picture? It makes me think of a girl who came to church, and on the way home she would practice her different “Lips” in the bus mirror. “These are my cute lips. These are my pretty lips. These are my ‘that boy is tacky’ lips.” On and on. I used to make fun of her but making up ridiculous scenarios for my own lips. “These are my ‘that light better stay green’ lips. These are my ‘I want Chick-Fil-A’ lips.” She didn’t think it was funny.

I could eat Chick-Fil-A every day. There is no reason in the world that would make me like it less. I know I worked there. Perhaps it has seeped into my blood stream and has created a brand new addiction. I love their chicken, their fries, their honey mustard, their Polynesian sauce, their milkshakes… I love CFA. I do not like working there. That was deliverance from the Lord when I left that drudgery. Did you know that I worked there for two years and only made $5.60 when I left? Highway robbery. I made $6.50 when I started and Hot Dog on a Stick, and made $7.00 when I left 11 months later! I only made $5.35 when I started at CFA. Quite unbalanced. I did make more money than all of my friends did. Haha, suckers. I doubt that statement could hold truth today.

I am so close to completing my collection of Seinfeld. Only two volumes to go!

A boy called one of our volunteers “racist” the other day. I quickly put him in his place. I was not very happy with him, and quite bluntly told him the error of his statement. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him that she was married to a black guy…

You can dance, you can dance. Everybody look at your hands...

Lasik commercials drive me crazy. They make it seem like glasses and contacts are equivalent to having to bleach your hair hourly. “Putting on glasses and contacts every day is such a hassle.” Or my favorite, “The holiday season is coming up; there are enough distractions with family alone. Don’t let glasses and contacts be a distraction from your loved ones.” Really? They brag about how much time you will save. It takes me approximately 45 seconds to put in my contacts, and less than a second to put on my glasses. I don’t ever wake up and say, “Ugh! I wish I had Laser corrective surgery so that I could save this .564 second!” Nor do my glasses become a distraction from my family. “Hold on a second Uncle Dennis, I can’t talk right now. These time consuming glasses are very distracting!” Getting Lasik could save you over 319 hours over your lifetime from contacts! That is if you wear them every day for 70 years. Even better, a whopping 3 hours from glasses! How convenient! I will admit, it would be nice not to have to wear glasses or contacts, but neither are burdens. These doctors make it seem like it is some cross to bear, which I have never felt. I honestly don’t even notice my glasses. I have worn them for over half of my life, and except for when my prescription changes, or back in 1997 when I first got glasses, they have never irritated me. So sorry Dr. Boothe, you aren’t selling me on that tactic.

There is a campaign in Washington to help atheists feel more welcomed and included during the winter holiday season. To quote the spokesperson, "Our reason for doing it during the holidays is there are an awful lot of agnostics, atheists and other types of non-theists who feel a little alone during the holidays because of its association with traditional religion." I have no problem with atheists not believing what they don’t, but really? Am I supposed compassionate because they feel left out of the major holidays, which incidentally are all RELIGIOUS HOLIDAYS? Christmas? Christian. Hanukah? Judaism. Kwanza? Let’s leave that out of this. It’s good that they want to celebrate, but please don’t make it seem like the holiday season should disassociate itself with religion. Without the religion, there would be no holidays.

A little girl gave me a picture of Obama praying yesterday. How precious of her. It was cute. That’s all I can say.

There is some rodent that lives above me that apparently has track & field aspirations. It jumps and runs all day. Sometimes it misses the beam and falls. I always laugh at it when it does that. My cat gets quite worked up when Carl Lewis up there starts his morning calisthenics. She chases the sound every which way it goes. Much like the real Carl Lewis, I wish that it would disappear.

...I'd go downtown and buy a Mercury or two

Yesterday was a true joy. After Metro, I went to Chick-Fil-A and ate with Crissy, Ralph and Jessica. I then decided to go to the bank to deposit my check. I was near a Tom Thumb that has a Wells Fargo in it, so I went there. After depositing my check, I went outside to leave, and discovered my car to be completely dead. Not a smidgen of life. This stuck me as odd, because I have driven this car for over two years without a single problem of an electric nature. I called Brent, but he was quite unavailable, so Danielle came to help me. I jumped my car and that started it right up. Until I turned on the A/C. Then it died. I jumped it again and left the air off. We headed back to the apartments, but stayed on the access road. I was quite pleased that my car hadn’t died again, until we got to the light at Fitzhugh. It promptly died. This caused me a considerable amount of agitation, seeing as I was not stuck in a place where jumping was not an easy option. During a red light, I had Danielle pull up right next to me and jump the car as quickly as possible. I managed to speed off without causing any traffic disruptions. Luckily (or unfortunately, depending on how you see it) I have had quite a lot of experience with driving two-footed (Metro trains you in some weird ways) so I drove the remaining 5 or so miles while leaving my right foot ever-planted on the gas pedal. I managed to get home without any further incident, but I am now faced with the decision of what to do. Have I ever mentioned that my hood does not open when my car in on an incline? It must be either flat or on a decline. It is quite possibly the most finicky problem one could ever have with a vehicle.

I believe the problem with my car is the alternator. This is not the original alternator in the car. It has been replaced. The cause of death of these two alternators? Sub-Woofers. When I got this car there was a large pair of subs in the trunk. They had already killed the original alternator. Now they have caused the death of its replacement They are no longer in my trunk, however, their legacy lives on. I feel another grassroots activist group coming on. Oak Cliff Residents for the Prolonged Life of Alternators by the Reduction of Sub-Woofer Usage in America. OCRPLORSWUIA. It just rolls off your tongue!

I made my favorite cookies last night, but my oats are a little old, so they aren’t quite up to my standards. What a shock- something fails to meet my expectations. First my car fails me, then my cookies. What’s next, the Rangers? Wait, to fail my expectations, they would need to win the World Series. COME ON RANGERS, FAIL AWAY!!!

This is really an apt week for something like this to happen. We have talked all week about trusting God when hard times come. Well, here is a hard time! I have to decide what to do. I believe that God has something better for me, but I fell like He wants me to wait. God loves making me wait. I am the Wait King. When I do wait on His timing, things always turn out better than I expect. So for now, I will repair and wait. Who knows, maybe I will be able to bless someone with this vehicle when I finally get a new one! This car kind of fell into my lap. My Lumina (or the Beemer and I called it) was on its way to the grave and the opportunity to get this car came out of nowhere. If something like that happens again, which know how God works with me, it probably will, I would like to be able to give or sell this car at a very low price to someone who really needs it. I hope that opportunity is opened to me. We shall see.

Are you going to cruise the Miracle Mile?

I sat the other night on the newly fixed bench swing at the apartments. I was a little frustrated, so I pulled on a sweatshirt and grabbed my mp3 player and headed outside. As I sat there, a flood of memories came back. It was there on that swing where I grappled with God over my internship. It was there that God won. It was also there that I felt like God spoke on my duration at Metro. That was a scary conversation I had. Many angry and sullen nights were spent sitting out there. I looked down toward the Riverdale building and remembered all the stupid fights I had with Carl. The evenings that Jessica and I would talk about goals and dreams. I guess I attach places with emotions.

I went to vote on Monday. The place I went was surrounded by political sign that are not of the party I generally align myself with. Then I went inside with my voters registration card in my hand, and the official took my card, gave me a form to sign and sent me on to the booth without even looking at my ID! Obviously, I was using my own card, however, there are unscrupulous people looking for a way to subvert the electoral process. It would be quite simple for them to vote with fictitious names or cards. How disturbing.

The booth I went to was of the electronic nature. It was a touch screen, but the touch part wasn’t so responsive. I had to jam my finger onto the selection I wanted, which brought up the question, “How often does someone press this part of the screen?” Seeing as the names I selected were not of the previously mentioned party, I would hazard a guess and say rarely to never. Then, being the crazy person I am, I wondered, “When was the last time anyone cleaned these things?” It’s probably ok though- no one touched the parts of the screen I did.

I did go to the Fair again. I tried the Chicka-Mole bites. They were pretty good. I also tried the fried truffle and the Deep Fried Dinner Roll. All were delicious. The highlgh of the second trip was seeing the giraffe. I love giraffes more than any other living being besides humans. I like giraffes more than I like certain human beings. I certainly like giraffes more than I like monkeys.

I HATE monkeys. I don’t like looking at them, I don’t like thinking about them. I don’t think they are cute, I don’t think that are funny, I don’t think they are are anything but disgusting. I used to pretend when I was a kid, but as an adult I will speak my mind. I might even start a grassroots movement against them. Kenyans-Americans for the Reduction of Primate Infatuation in America. KARPIA. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? Much nicer sounding than my earlier attempt to wipe out the love of pears and bananas. “El Pasoans Against the Proliferation of Pears and Bananas in Southwest Regional Markets.” EPAPPBSRM. It sounds a little like a test for some disease. I’ll be a “community organizer,” if you will. Then when I’m 35, I will be qualified to run for president too.

Even if, even if, you don't love me anymore...

I went to the State Fair of Texas today. I personally love the fair. I find it to be a refreshing change from normal hum-drum life in Dallas. Not that life is really that hum-drum, but it does get to be pretty typical. Each year, the Fair holds a fried foods contest, encouraging vendors to create new grease-saturated concoctions. While some find it repulsive and revolting, I find it delectable and quite endearing. I feel that my state certainly holds its own when it comes to submerging various foods in 400 degree grease. For today’s trip, I tried the Chicken Fried Bacon. It was alright, but it was entirely too crunchity. Then I moved around to Chocolate Covered Strawberry Waffle Balls. CCS’s, dipped in waffle batter, and fried to a golden perfection. It was beyond words. The deep-fried grilled cheese was alright, but a little too greasy. We searched for the Chick-A-Mole bites, but the stand was closed. When I have tried this delicacy, I shall report it’s deliciousness.

I think it would be incredible to be the voice of Big Tex. This year he seemed a little wheezy. You know, like an 87 year old who has had one too many Marlboros trying to walk up a flight of steps? Like that. Perhaps Big Tex needs to lay off those Newports. Pleasure? Yes. Emphysema plagued 60 foot cowboy? Not good.

As a former smoker, I don’t find smoking entirely repulsive. All throughout high school, and during my first couple months here I smoked. I know, not the smartest thing ever. It is something that I never should have started and am glad I no longer do. While it was never an addiction for me, it ensnares so many so easily that it dictates where people go, and what they do. That is the problem with smoking. Anything that causes you to change the way you act and creates an addiction is wrong. Anyway, some people accuse smokers of having a dirty habit, but I don’t really think it’s that dirty. Obviously some take it too far and smell like a tobacco plantation, but light smokers don’t gross me out. Unless you smoke in a certain way. People that don’t expel their smoke quickly, but let it linger around their mouths repulse me. I don’t really know why, but that image of smoke floating in a dense cloud around someone’s face makes me ill. I hate it. There is a picture of a famous rapper where he is smoking in such a fashion. I CAN NOT listen to his music. Not that I would want to, but when I hear his songs, that image pops into my head. It makes me want to squeeze him like a chew toy and yell, “BLOW IT OUT!!!! IT’S NOT FEBREEZE TO SAVOR!!!!”

I have found that I get a better night’s sleep when my cat sleeps on my bed. It’s odd because when I turn over, I have to wake up to push her out of the way, yet I feel more rested when she is on the bed.

Her actual name is Shambrylle, but I usually call her Cat-Face. I feel that she is more responsive to this nomenclature, and actually prefers it. Perhaps she likes the positive reinforcement, and is grateful that I am acknowledging that she is feline in nature. Who knows, maybe someone once called her Hyena-Face, and she never did quite recover…

Side note. I invite you to name the songs which my postings are titled. Leave a comment with the song title and the artist, along with your name. The person who answers the most first will receive some form of prize. I also have to know you. If I don’t know you, how will I give you your prize? This will run from now until Dec. 31, 2008. Seriously, it could be fun. Also, the person who can tell me what song I modified in the posting, "Oh come to the church in the ghetto, oh come to the church in the cliff" will reveive a bonus prize... Danielle, it would be slightly unfair for you to take this prize.

Wake me up before you go, go...

The last couple weeks have been very interesting. Not only has the economy turned sharply south, but Wall Street is falling apart. No matter the financial calamity, I am pretty peaceful. I know that God is going to take care of us. He hasn’t set up this ministry to collapse just yet. It may be a little tighter around here, but things will be ok.

I am not necessarily opposed to change, I just want to know exactly why change should occur. I am against progress for progress’ sake. Why? Because I am fundamentally against needless change. The next few months are going to be challenging, because we are up for some big change. Some change I understand and support, others I am sure will not be easy to accept. I have learned a system, and lived it for four years. A new system is about to put into place, and I’m sure I am going to be quite frustrated at times. I know that all the changes will be for the betterment of the ministry, yet I am comfortable with the way things are. I know, it’s when you get comfortable that you become stagnant, but I am still having a hard time with the thought of some of the oldest systems in place being replaced. In hindsight, I’m am positive that I will see the benefits, yet in foresight, I am a little cloudy. Not to worry, I will make it. I will charge through the fray, and succeed in accepting the inevitable. I just keep in mind, “It’s all for the glory of God.”

On Monday I finally finished setting up m new apartment. I have lived there for three weeks. Sad that it took so long? Yes. Do I care? No. I moved upstairs and two apartments over. I am now directly over Tim and Rachel, and beside a shade giving tree. I haven’t lived above anyone since JB moved in 2005. My bedroom floor is ridiculously squeaky. Unfortunately, it is directly over T&R’s bedroom. I guess they will get over it, if they haven’t already. My carpets are no longer stained red around the edges. I’m not really sure how that happened. I also don’t have a hill in my kitchen floor. Its nice to be able to leave my windows open without fear of break-ins or death. My cat likes it there. She seems much happier. Thank you to everyone who helped me- Brent, Crissy, Abi, TJ and Cory. You are greatly appreciated and are heroes.

The thing I hate about moving is getting used to the shower taps. In my old apartment I could set the water to the perfect setting while doing anything in the world, including writing a 38 page thesis on bio-mechanics. In this apartment, I haven’t quite gotten it yet. I either burn myself or freeze. Not the best way to start the day.

After waiting over a year and a half, I have finally gotten a DVR. I am very excited. I can now record X-Men every night. I loved that show when I was a kid. I can also record Survivor and the Amazing Race so that I can watch it even if Crissy is unavailable. Or random documentaries on the History Channel.

...To the hills of Tennessee...

I looked at my blog today and I noticed that someone asked what Alien Night was. If there is anyone reading this who participated in Alien Night, shout out. Alien Night was a youth event in 2001 or so, where the theme was emphasizing that as Christians, we are not of this world. I was in SIL (Student Impact Leadership) at the time, and was therefore heavily involved with the preparation of the event. We built a spaceship, and several of us dressed up as aliens. Two things were remarkable about our costumes: 1) Dominique made the gloves, and 2) She didn’t make enough, so we painted Marisa’s arms green. WITH LATEX PAINT. It was hot, it was uncomfortable, and it was forgettable. Along with many of the theme nights we had. Pig Fest, on the other hand, was amazing.

I told of my quest to loose weight. On Sunday, one of the teenagers told me that I had lost weight. Score. I shall continue to run, and drink a percentage of diet sodas.

September 11th is coming up in a couple days. I watched a documentary on the myths and conspiracies surrounding that day. I also watched United 93 last night. It’s hard to believe that it’s been seven years already. I remember everything about that day so clearly. The thing that really resonates in my mind if the absolute fear that gripped the entire nation. We had no idea what was going on. I remember one of my friends who called me that afternoon. He didn’t want to go to class because he was afraid that someone would attack his school. While I understand the apprehension that Americans had that day, I wasn’t very supportive of his fear. “Chach,” I said, “I doubt that anyone will attack El Paso Community College. I think there might be bigger targets out there.”

The truth is- we had no idea. In an instant, the world changed. We had no idea when or if the attacks would stop; we didn’t know if we would ever be safe again. I remember taking a shower that morning, and as I prayed for the people trapped in those towers, I realized, “America is now different.” The world I grew up will be a different one than the one my children will know. This was the defining moment for my generation. My parents had JFK’s assassination; my grandparents had Pearl Harbor. We have September 11th. This is the thing that our children will ask us where we were. Everyone knows what they were doing, and where they were when they heard the news. I saw the live shot of the second tower being hit. I saw the live shot of the towers collapsing. Those images are burned into my mind. Not the endless repeats from later on, but the actual occurrence. Those are the instances you tell your children. I have heard my mom’s story of where she was when Kennedy was shot. I will tell my children where I was when the world changed.

A couple weeks ago, the staff went to an office building downtown that has a public lobby on the 40th floor. My roommate from Nigeria and I were talking about what it would be like to fall from that height. Suddenly I remembered seeing the people jump from the Trade towers. He had not seen any of the footage. That was a moment that altered my young perception. I used to think that nothing was bad enough to cause you to kill yourself. But as I saw those people plummeting toward the ground, I thought, “How bad is it up there that the better option is to jump from 80 or 90 stories up?”

I have the El Paso Times from September 12th. It is full of speculation and theories. It’s further proof of how little we knew.

It’s a little weird to hear about our kids learning about the 11th in history and social studies. To think that this is the only world they will know, unless, something else comes along and changes it again, which inevitably it will. To only know a post 9/11 world? It saddens me. There are those older than me who would say the same to me, but I grew up in a small window of relative domestic peace. The Cold War was over and The Gulf War was fairly brief. I remember having a parade in my school, and singing “God Bless the USA” the day the war ended. The 90’s were prosperous though scandal filled. Then came the first year of the new millennium, and that all changed. No longer were our biggest concerns a puny southeastern European country, Executive unfaithfulness, legal ights of Cuban castaways, and hanging chads. All of that no longer mattered. In my childhood, the largest media circus was the OJ trial. Today’s teens had months of 9/11 reports.

Unimportant sidenote: The Album, “Satellite” by P.O.D. came out on 9/11.

We will all blink, and we will be honoring the 30th anniversary of 9/11. Life moves so quickly, and soon there will be children who will not learn of the attacks until they get to late elementary school. The Trade Center will be rebuilt, and finally New York will be able to move on. The war will end, and we will be so far removed from 9/11, that it will only be mentioned in yearly anniversary specials. That is if they still do them. We are already nearly there. One of my teens told me about one of his 8th grade history classes.

“James, I’m going to do something that my history teacher did in class. See if you get it right. Tell me if there is any incorrect information in this statement. ‘In 2001, a plane carrying Aalyiah was flying toward Los Angeles. Aalyiah decided that she wanted to go to New York instead, and she got into a fight with the pilot, and the plane crashed into the World Trade Center.’” I cleared up the statement, and I asked what happened in his class.

“Only me and three others said that there was incorrect information.”

Don't stand so close to me

There is so much talk about this upcoming election, it’s almost uninspiring. I heard on the radio this morning a discussion on the race. They were debating whether or not personal attacks were necessary to win the presidential spot. One DJ said, no, to which the lead DJ said, “Please Kellie. This is America.” That lead me to think about how absurd the campaign really is.

What good does the campaign really do? It lets you know where the candidates stand, but it also reveals the sliminess of human nature. Mudslinging, attack ads, retaliation. All of the most unpleasant qualities about humanity, thrust upon a national and even global arena. I grow weary of it all.

I know who I’m voting for, and why. The question is- will this election be decided by wrong motives? Will the real result boil down to a) love for a certain race, b) dislike of a certain race, c) love for a certain gender, or d) lack of respect for a certain gender? I would be saddened to know that my candidate won or lost because of unfair bias that has nothing to do with partisanship.

Judging by the outlandish reaction to Obama’s nomination (as though it were some great shock), I would wager to guess that if he is defeated in November, it could be interesting in our neighborhoods. Shoot, if he wins, it will be REALLY interesting. BTW, the first interesting was a euphemism for “dangerous”. The second one was a euphemism for “lavish parties and overly dramatic celebrations”. November is coming. I look at it with a little apprehension.

Sunday is the day where we kick all the new sixth graders out of Kids Church. I think that for the first time since I have been Children’s Pastor, I’m not really excited. Usually I’m counting down their days in March. There are a couple in this group that have been with us for a long time, and so I’m a little sad to see them go. We will give them one last goodbye, and kick them out forever.

Is there a song that you really love, but is generally regarded as cheesy? I have come to appreciate several over the last couple years. Up to and including such artists as the Bee Gees, Neil Diamond and Don Henley. I really like the song, “I am I said.” I even titled my last entry as such. I am also a big fan of “Staying Alive.” I always have. I’m not sure why, but it just appeals to me. Maybe it speaks to my muse. Maybe my muse is fluent only in sad and cheesy.

Is there anyone else besides me that hate comic misunderstanding (Cmi) in movies? It stresses me out when a) someone has to lie because someone else made a stupid assumption, and b) whenever there is a character that just can’t be understood, and is constantly in trouble. I don’t like it. I know it’s a huge part of the comedy genre, but it bugs me. It also really annoys me that the only path to a CMi’s resolution is the “serious repentant sacrificial resolve.” You know the whole, “I lied, and I lost the girl/friend/son/father/mother/boy/husband/caterpillar that is so close to me. I guess I have to show them my sensitive understanding of their CMi induced melancholy/anger/grief/suicide and give up my friend/lover/sport/music/silk weaving to appease them.” This is why comedies don’t really appeal to me. I prefer the “everyone dies, and/or doesn’t get the girl” genre. I don’t need everyone to die, but I like it when tragedy strikes, such as sickness, death or maniacal loom burning.

"I am" I said to no one there. And no one heard at all, not even the chair

As I sit to write today, I realize, I have nothing to say. No quippiness, no philosophical thought, nothing. That could be because I have been editing all day. Word to the hopeful curriculum publishers of the world: EDIT. Nothing has infuriated me more over the last few weeks than having to correct silly fifth grade English mistakes. It’s spelled alley, not ally. You walk down an alley, you have an ally. Hurricane is not a proper noun, unless it is in conjunction with a specifically named hurricane, e.g. Hurricane Andrew. Otherwise, it’s just a regular old improper noun. How would you like to be a regular noun? If proper nouns are proper, are regular nouns unusually uncouth?

My cat loves to wake me up at 7. This isn’t usually a problem, however on the weekends (Which are Sunday and Monday) I don’t particularly want to wake up at 7. I find myself purposely annoying her, “to get back at her”. How lame have I become when the highlight to my evening is taking revenge on a cat?

While we are on the subject of weekends, I would like to say that really enjoy having Monday off. It sucks that the rest of the world is working on my day of… Who am I kidding, I hang out with people I work with, almost exclusively. My one outside friend is a teacher. Our schedules don’t mesh well. Anyway, I like that I can go places without having to deal with crowds. I like that I can go places during rush hour on Monday, and not get stuck in traffic forever. I like that Wal-Mart isn’t overly crowded. I like that I can got to a mall if I need to, and not be inundated by thousands of high school mall-groupies. Instead I get inundated by thousands of retirement home mall-groupies. I like that I can wake up late on Monday morning, and laugh at the rest of the city, because those poor schmucks have to work! I like going to a park and there not be 37 different little league soccer games going on.

The park I go to is in Highland Park. It is an independent city surrounded by the city of Dallas. Mean income? A lot more that I will make in about 16 years. I like going there because it’s still urban, but it’s not busy. Unless you go on a Saturday. Then every investment banker in town is there supporting their kid’s little league soccer game. Or is it lacrosse this time of year? Going at night is nice because it’s one of the few areas in the Metroplex where it is safe to walk at night. Not only are you free from the danger of murder, you are free from the danger of prostitution. Always a bonus.

When I moved here, Ft. Worth Ave. was a lot busier at night. It really was dangerous to be outside after about 9. Even in the apartments, you went inside because there was a good chance a shooting would take place at some point. There used to be a large wooded area behind our apartments where the homeless would live. That was a little unnerving when you were sitting out there, and a head would pop up over the fence asking for change. Even the prostitution has lessened. There are only a few around these days, which is good. One of them, her name is Mona, comes into Metro and talks to us. She always waves at us when we drive by. I really wish that she would let us help her. It breaks my heart every time I see her get into some John’s car.

I began running on Monday. I realized that I am not loosing weight by doing absolutely no physical activity. I have also worked in Diet Coke. JTTW. I’m trying to reduce the amount of Dr Pepper I drink, and I WILL NOT drink Diet Dr Pepper. (BTW, I love that when you type Dr in Word, it recognizes it. I wish the East Coast would recognize it) Despite their advertising, it tastes nothing like regular. I am an expert. I had a picture of Dr Pepper on my phone for almost 3 years. I have a Dr Pepper beanie. I have been several times to the Dr Pepper museum. I would know. So I am resigned to drinking Diet Coke. What a travesty. I have also increased my salad consumption, and decreased my fried deliciousness consumption. I really don’t want to end up extremely over weight. If I have to sacrifice my taste buds in order to prolong my health, I will. And don’t even lecture me on the fact that I can eat healthily and deliciously, because I can’t. I could if I didn’t want electricity on in my house.

The Olympics are over. How sad. I really love the Olympics. It was almost a religion in my house. Along with complaining about the stupidity of the opening ceremony. I was the heretic in that matter. I have always enjoyed the OC’s. (I actually like acronyms that are unusual) I was relieved to have beaten China in the medal count, which brings up the questions, 1.What happened to Russia? We usually are in direct competition with our Eastern “allies” (Please. Anti-communism still reigns, even though they are a federation) and 2. What are we going to do as a nation to secure our top spot, and take back the top gold spot from China? 2012 is around the corner people! We have already given up a lot of our global prestige in the political arena; I for one am not willing to go second to a country like China! We would become even more the global laughing stock! Don’t even get me started on Chinese Olympians. I have NEVER supported them. Ever. I have always rooted for someone, ANYONE else. Probably because of my staunch anti-communist beliefs.

I sometimes feel like I was born in the wrong decade. I think that the 60’s would have been a better fit. The 80’s? I barely made a conscious scratch in the squiggly design decade. For one, I feel like I missed out on a lot, not living during the Cold War. I also really like the music from the 60’s-90’s. Once the new millennium began, music took a downhill turn. John Mayer? 50 Cent? Lord, give me the Beach Boys. I almost went to their final concert here in Dallas, but I couldn’t get past the fact that I would have been the youngest person in the room by at least 30 years. I also was fresh out of Hawaiian shirts.

That’s a period on my life I would like to forget. My fat, Hawaiian shirt wearing days at the beginning of High School. Jesus should have taken the wheel then. I would also like to forget my participation in Alien Night.

If I can make it there...

More adventures

Thursday, I went to Rockefeller Center. That was art deco to the nth degree. The view from the top of the building was quite panoramic, and not overly populated. We then went on a crash tour of buildings: UN Headquarters, Chrysler Building, Empire State. Then we went into Macy’s. THE Macy’s with Harold’s Square and all. 8 stories, one men’s bathroom. ON THE SEVENTH FLOOR. Really? What made them think that was a good idea? The escalators were wooden and from the early 20th Century. Rickety? Yes. Immense intrinsic value? Emphatically yes. It’s funny how big Harold’s Square seems when you see it on TV during the Thanksgiving Day Parade, but it really isn’t that big. I’m sure it is larger when there is no rush hour traffic. That evening I went to the South Street Seaport. It was pretty cool. Other that the rain, I had a really good night. I also went back to Times Square, so that I could take a better look around. I went into the Toys’R’Us, which is enormous. The scale models of the Empire State bldg, Statue of Liberty and the Chrysler Building were really interesting. They were really dirty from all the people touching them. Note to the germophobic: Don’t touch the scale models.

Friday! Oh, the day that will live in infamy. In my mind at least. I went back to Rockefeller Center to see more stuff. How descriptive, I know. I wanted to see the Today Show, but it was over by the time I got there. While enjoying my coffee and view of the Today studio, I had a revelation. Children’s Television Workshop has is in New York. I realized that CTW would be one of my dream jobs. Number 3 to be exact. 2? Work for Sesame Street. 1? Be a Muppeteer for Sesame Street. I franticly looked up the address, found out it was a block from Lincoln Center (schwing!) and off I raced. That was crap. I never did find the building, and Lincoln Center is being (surprise!) renovated. I was depressed, yet I was resilient. I confidently headed for Whitehall Station to take the Staten Island Ferry, to see (glorious music ) the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. My entire life I have dreamed of the day I would lay my eyes upon the magnificent wonder of steel. For those of you bridge newbies, The VNB, or Verrazano, is the longest suspension bridge in the United States, and the eighth longest in the world. The Holy of Holies of bridgedom. Forget the Golden Gate, over-seen highly sanctified… Uhh, anyway. I ride the ferry over, and hop assuredly on the train, and take it three stops down. I get off and walk briskly in a north-easterly direction, toward the bridge. An hour later, I am nowhere near it. Did I mention that Staten Island is very hilly? Very frustrated, I hop on a bus to return to the ferry station. I quickly identify the correct route (via a bus. Stupid James) and am on my way. I get off the bus at a National Park (? Who would have guessed?) and make my way to the viewing area. (Heraldic trumpeters announce my arrival at last) There she was. Standing blue and mighty, she welcomes me into her masterful watch, like the sentinels of… sometime. It would have been much better if my moment of visual perfection hadn’t been interrupted by some kids throwing a ball, and hitting me. Darn family-friendly area. Regretfully I must leave her alone. I will never forget that sight. Did I mention that this National Park was also home to Fort Wadsworth, and that the Battery Weed was below the viewing area for the bridge? It made for quite a duo.

I returned to Manhattan, where I went to the World Trade Center site. It was odd seeing empty space amongst giant financial buildings. You couldn’t see a lot because of the construction fences, but as I walked through I could almost get a sense of the chaos that reigned there 7 years ago. It was something I won’t ever forget. I hopped over Vessey Street and headed for Wall Street. I was first greeted with Trinity Church. I went inside and was yelled at by a security guard for daring to insult the Lord by wearing a hat. I quickly removed it but thought, “I’m not Episcopalian, I’m Pentecostal. We put hats ON.” I stood near the back to get a good full view, but again was yelled at. Apparently I was disgracing the Anglican way by not walking around. How dare I. I glared at him, and remained resolutely in my spot for another couple minutes. I was ready to walk up to the altar a few minutes earlier, but I wanted to spite the guard. Once I completed my assay inside, I went out and checked out the graveyard. It was pretty cool. I then walked down Wall Street to see all the hubbub. And what a hubbub it wubbub. Sorry, couldn’t resist. I took some pictures, looked at signs and got on the train for the Bronx…

Yankee Stadium! The highlight of my trip. It started as a lowlight. 1.) You have to go in the exact gate they want you to. None of this “I’ll go in here and walk over” business. 2.) No Bags. After finding the correct gate, I had to troop back around the stadium and cross the street to go to a bowling alley to check my bag. Once again, more yelling. This time I’m standing in front of the bag check table, and the entry guard insists that I need to move in. To where? Behind the table? Am I supposed to climb the wall to have my bag checked? Please. 3.) It was raining. I returned to my gate, and it was raining. I climbed the stairs (no escalators!) and it was raining. I got to my seat (some punk kids were in my seats) and it was raining. I sit down, and it is raining. Do you get the feeling that it’s raining? Not overly disheartened, I sit back and relax. In the rain. Some guys walk up the steps and loudly exclaim their disgust for my shirt. I wore Rangers gear just to return all the Yankees fans favor of doing the same at our stadium. The rain slows down, so I move up to my seat. I kick the kid out of my seat, and sit down. About, I don’t know 13.98786 seconds later the previously mentioned heckler turns to me and asks me about my shirt. Mind you all of his words are edited for my readers delicacies. He used a sufficient amount of expletives. Once I had made it clear that I wasn’t afraid of him, he asked me where the ____ I was from. “Dallas,” I said. We were instantly friends. He talked to me throughout the game, along with his equally intoxicated friend. I never got his name, but he just called me Josh Hamilton. I really was hoping to meet someone like him at the Yankees game, and I did. PTL.

Saturday. The day it all ended. Woke up, went to a park near the Queensboro Bridge, ate lunch, and headed for the airport. Not before I picked up some amazing Mets paraphernalia, a sweatshirt and a cup.

Here I am, after a great week, already thinking about how to top it next year.

Thank you Enobong for all you did throughout the week. I really appreciate it. You should really run a hotel.

Start Spreading The News

Saturday night I returned from vacation. It was incredible. I went to New York City, and had the time of my life.

I flew out of DFW Airport at 6:22 A.M. (Thanks Crissy!) The flight from DFW to Memphis was pretty average; nothing exciting happened. We landed in Memphis at 8:05, and I had a connecting flight leaving at 8:28. No big deal. When I walk out of the jetway, I was a little surprised to see the size of Memphis International. For a city of about 600,000, it was pretty big. Well over 60 gates. Anyway, I found my gate and got in line. I noticed something was wrong when it was 8:32, and only about 20 people were on the plane. Apparently NWA’s scanning system was down, so they had to manually input each boarding pass. It took forever. We get on the plane, push back, and taxi out to the runway. As we make the final turn to takeoff… the engines power down. Boo. “This is your captain speaking. Because of some heavy rain in the New York area, they are having some traffic trouble a La Guardia. We probably won’t be able to take off for about an hour.” Double boo. I have not mentioned that I had a ticket to see the Mets play the Pirates at 1:10. Our flight is supposed to land at 12:13. Do the math. So, frustrated, yet resigned, I pull out my iPod. (Thanks Danielle!) I made it through one song when a commotion from the front of the plane caught my attention. A man, of unknown mental stability, was trying to JUMP OFF THE PLANE. The flight attendants subdue him, using quite a lot of physical force, and restrain him against the wall. As they have him pinned, he starts having a seizure. The pilot zooms into action and rushes us back to the gate. An hour and a half later, after much luggage drama from that party, refueling, and another 45 minute New York area ground stop, we are in the air headed for the Big Apple.

Flight lands, I hop on a bus and race (figure of speech. What bus actually races?) to Shea Stadium, home of the Amazin’ Mets (until next season when they will move into the lovely, yet typicaly post-modern CitiField). I get in and find my seat. This is the moment I have been waiting for... to be thoroughly grossed out. Shea is in bad shape. The seats are tiny, the ground is dirty, the concourses are cramped. I could go on for hours. I was still excited because I love those Mets. Who lost. To the Pittsburgh Pirates. Suckiest team ever. Dumb Mets… It was cool. The fans are pretty intense. The umpire made a questionable call, and I seriously thought that everyone who was on the first base side was about to jump on the field. As a fan next to me said, “These fans treat these players like sacrificial lambs.” No joke.

After retrieving my luggage (which I left at the airport) I went to Enobong’s. We had dinner and went to Times Square. It’s big, it’s bright, and it’s busy. We went to Coldstone where I ordered a coffee caramel milkshake. The girl looked at me like I had just ordered a lobster dinner. She consulted the recipe book, and (mind you, it is sitting right in front of her) instead of using coffee ice cream, she used sweet cream ice cream. I gently corrected her (again, like I ordered a lobster dinner) and 10 minutes later, I had my shake. A lot of the excitement was gone by that time.

The next morning we went to Central Park. The zoo wasn’t bad, but unfortunately they were doing a lot of renovation (much like the ENTIRE city) so they only had cold weather animals (penguins, seals, sea lions, polar bears etc.). We went to lunch at Serendipity 3. Yes, like the movie. I have not seen the movie, but I was assured by several people and a wall plaque, that this was where a portion of the movie was filmed. The food was good. They had a mean raisin-pumpernickel. Their dessert was even better. Word to the wise: bring your wallet. Not exactly a low budget affair. Not extravagant, but not the most affordable joint either.

On to the Met. I was impressed with the size of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s big. Really, really, really, really big. Gargantuan even. I looked for the Kincaid children, but apparently they were hanging out at the Frankweiler’s. Kidding. But seriously, it’s huge. Word to the photographers: don’t use flash.

We tried to win the lottery to get into a Broadway show, well, two. Wicked and Rent. We didn’t win. Boo. These people from Scotland were next to us at the Rent theatre, and they won six. Lame Scotland. It started pouring, so we went home. We had some amazing New York pizza, which, did I tell you was amazing? It was amazing.

Wednesday, I adventured out on my own. I went to Battery Park, and waited for 30 minutes to pick up my ticket to go to the Statue of Liberty. Word to the smart: buy your ticket online. EARLY. I strolled around the park while waiting on my ferry. I had a hot dog, and some Snapple. I LOVE SNAPPLE. If you want to ever give me something, give me Peach Tea Snapple. Better than (I shudder in admission of truth) Dr Pepper. Digression aside. As I walked around, I noticed the Korean War memorial. As I read the inscription, I found myself choking up a bit. All those people gave their lives for what? The UN? Please. I know, it was for South Korea, but really, it was just an effort to stop the spread of communism. Political gripes aside. The monument was cool. It had the silhouette of a soldier, with the inscription, “The Universal Soldier”, which I thought was really powerful. It didn’t matter what nation they were from, they were all there for the same reason. No one country was glorified above another. I finally got onto the ferry, and sailed (or ferried) away to Liberty Island. I walked around the island for a little while before I went into the statue. Once I waited through a really long security line (complete with air puffing) I entered the pedestal. The original torch was set in the foyer, which I was very impressed with. The walk up the stairs to the top of the pedestal was really steep. I was a little winded when I got to the top. (BTDub, you can’t go inside the crown anymore. The highest you can get it the base of the statue itself) I thought the view from the roof of Fort Wood (the statue sits atop it) was the best.

The tour of Ellis Island is beyond words. When you walk into the Great Hall, you are first taken by the immense size of the room. Then when you think about all the millions of people who streamed through there, it’s… Well, beyond words. There is a huge exhibit on the third floor, documenting everything that new arrivals went through. That was cool.

That evening I went to the Brooklyn Bridge. As many of you know, I am quite terrified of bridges. I don’t like being on them, yet I love them. Walking across was not the easiest thing to do, but it was worth it. The idea that such a massive project was conceived and completed without any modern technological assistance was inspiring. To see those 125 year old cable stays… Thursday-Saturday’s adventures to come…

Beware the eight...

Poor grammar drives me crazy. When spoken, it doesn’t really bother me; I guess hearing it constantly from the kids has tempered my distaste. Poorly written grammar is unforgivable. We got some material for Sunday School last week, but it seems to have been typed by a 14 year old. Or perhaps a well meaning adult who has no basic understanding of the proper use of an apostrophe. Yes, I know I began a sentence with a conjunction, but that is for proper conveyance of my verbal style. Plural words need no apostrophe! An apostrophe makes a noun possessive. I don’t know how many times I have had to correct that in the last couple days, but I assure you it was more than necessary. A lot of my nitpicky-ness comes from my dear mother. She was a teacher, and holds two different degrees, so she made sure that Ruth (my sister) and I were properly trained in good verbitisation.

I have always had trouble with the IE-EI combination in spelling. I know, “I before E except after C…” That doesn’t always work. For example, “Their.” Where is the C? In order for the IE rule to work, it would need to be spelled “Thceirs.” Or “Tcheirs.” Or the ultimate of ridiculousness, “C’Theirs.” That is the way the word would have been spelled if it was born in Bonton, and it adhered to the IE rule. It’s silly, I know, and I can spell correctly, but I have to check myself.

Math is something that has always eluded me. Numbers aren’t my favorite thing. I remember in the third grade putting personalities to the numbers 0-9. I only remember a couple. I was really bad at the 8-times tables, so 8 was evil. 3 was 4’s little brother who wanted nothing more than to be a 4. 6 was whiny. 7 didn’t like anyone. It (for some reason) used to fascinate me that 6x4=24, and 8x3=24. I used to imagine that 8 was terribly jealous of 6 and 4’s friendship, and so to get even, he kidnapped 3 and forced him to become 24 with him. The fact that 6 and 4 didn’t care, infuriated 8. In retaliation 8 stalked 6 wherever he went… It was part of my crazy childhood. It doesn’t really make sense, but it did back then.

I leave on a note familiar to those who grew up watching PBS. “Come and meet the Letter People, come and visit the family! Words are made from Letter People, A B C D… follow me!”

Big 10

Time flies sometimes. Other times, it crawls.

It seems like a life has come and gone. 10 years ago today, I discovered what it was like to loose someone you are extremely close to. August 5, 1998, my two closest friends, Lydia and Ana Diaz were killed in a wreck on I-10. It seems hard to believe that a decade ago, right now, I was mourning the loss of three (including their mother) wonderful people. I know it all sounds very cheap, seeing as how people die every day, but it really did make a huge difference in my life.

I sometimes wonder what my life would have been had they not died that day. Their dad once showed me the plans he made for the wedding he had already decided would happen between Lydia and me. Lydia Musyoki? Ugh. What a gross name. Not that James Musyoki is much better. Had I been involved with her, would I have made the mistakes I did? How about this one, would I have wound up at Metro? Who knows. It doesn’t really matter, none of it happened. I’m here and they are gone.

I used to have a really hard time on the 5th. I didn’t really cry about it, but I always was a little depressed. The 5th is actually the reason why I’m so unemotional. Someone told me in the midst of my well reasoned tears that, “There is nothing to cry about. Stop being so ridiculous.” Being an impressionable 11 year old, I quickly locked up my feelings, and have never really let them out. I was working on a lesson of Sidewalk today about the tongue. The verse is Proverbs 18:21, “The tongue has the power over life and death.” That’s for sure. That tongue had the power over my emotional death. I don’t dwell on it, and I am much better that I used to be, but I am still extremely reserved.

The last four years have flown by. I look back on 2004, and think “That was already four years ago?” I look back on 1998 and think, “It’s only been 10 years?” I guess since I have changed so much over the last decade, I have lived two totally different lives. The person who I was then really died that day. There is very little about me that remains. I still like Cracklin’ Oat Bran, and I still enjoy looking at stars, but barring trivial things, I am a different person. Obviously a 21 year old is different from how he is when he was 11, but the people I know from back then are at least recognizable from their 11 year old counterparts. Unless you stuck a bowl of Cracklin’ Oat Bran (which is mighty delicious) with a star chart placemat under my nose, you couldn’t really tell that we are the same person. Well, maybe not. I’m still REALLY bad at small talk. At 11, I had aspirations of being a world famous chef, with a part time job as a biology (?!?) teacher. I rarely cook now. I don’t have anything to do with biology. I still have a severe aversion to semi-trucks. My heart rate races, I get nervous, and my hands grip the steering wheel tight enough to crush adamantium (shout out X-Men!).

10 years. Time crawls when you’re radically changing!

My sister asked the question for the ages. “Who put the bomp in the bomp-bo-bomp-bo-bomp?” I feel that the person who finally answers that question should immediately win the Nobel Peace Prize, and the entire Nobel system should be RETIRED. Even the prize for physics.