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.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
"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.
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.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
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…
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…
Friday, August 8, 2008
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!”
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!”
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Oh come to the church in the ghetto, oh come to the church in the Cliff!
It’s funny how every so often God reminds you of the good you are doing.
There are many time is ministry, and especially inner-city ministry when you feel like you are doing nothing productive. There have been many days where I have gone home, convinced that I wasted my entire day, teaching kids who refused to listen. “Those stiff-necked kids!” I would exclaim to God. “They are driving me crazy!” There was one week in particular where I thought I was going to loose it on a little girl. The entire service she sat there talking, disrupting, and making fun of everyone around her. We were talking about forgiveness, which for reasons a-million is important, so I was really wanting these kids to grab a hold of it. It came time to pray, and this girl wigged out. She wanted to spit, she was talking at the top of her voice… Needless to say I was less than happy with her. If there is one thing you don’t do to Pastor James, it is talk while he’s praying. After service I let her have it. I grilled that girl (with as much love as I could muster) and dismissed her to her bus. I was annoyed. ‘Why?” I thought. “This girl DOES NOT LISTEN.” (This isn’t the first time that she has done this) I was pretty discouraged.
Earlier this week, I was working at my desk, going about my E-Newsletter business, when my phone rang. It was one of my kids, who is no longer a kid. This boy is pretty special to me. I have spent a lot of time with him, and have invested heavily into his life. A few months ago, he told me that he was possibly diabetic. He was really worried about it, and actually pretty scared. I talked to him about it, and reassured him that if you take care of it, diabetes isn’t that big of a deal. When he called me this week, he told me that he had just gotten home from the doctor, and that he was diabetes free. I was very happy for him, and told him so, but then he said something that almost made me cry. (For those of you who really know me, you know I don’t cry. It takes a lot to tear me up.) He said, “I wanted you to be the first one to know.” It made me realize that I am making a difference in kids lives; that I was in such a position in his life that he felt like he could share important news with me before anyone else. I’m not boasting, I know that I have only reached this place because God has directed it, but I am very appreciative that He has allowed to have such a role in someone’s life.
I love what I do. Many people still don’t understand why I do what I do. I do it so kids like the above boy can have a chance. I try to live my life in a way that glorifies God, and that shows who He is. The kids I work with don’t have a lot of positive in their lives, and very few have a lot of positive men. I felt a couple years ago that God wants me to be a big brother. Someone who cares for, protects and helps out others. Obviously I can’t be brother to the masses, but out the many, God brings just a few that I can really connect with and be a part of their lives. I want to teach these kids all I can about God. It’s really exciting because this generation knows so little about Him. I get to be a part of shaping a generation for Jesus. For the most part, I am a seed planter. I am the one who lays the basic foundation in kids lives. Every so often, I get to do more than just plant.
I do miss normal life sometimes, but then again, who is to decide what is normal? Metro is about to get super busy once again, but it will be good. There are some pretty exciting things in the works that I will get to share with you all soon. For now, all I have to say is,
“As the deer panteth o’er the water…” I hope that refrain gets stuck in your head!
There are many time is ministry, and especially inner-city ministry when you feel like you are doing nothing productive. There have been many days where I have gone home, convinced that I wasted my entire day, teaching kids who refused to listen. “Those stiff-necked kids!” I would exclaim to God. “They are driving me crazy!” There was one week in particular where I thought I was going to loose it on a little girl. The entire service she sat there talking, disrupting, and making fun of everyone around her. We were talking about forgiveness, which for reasons a-million is important, so I was really wanting these kids to grab a hold of it. It came time to pray, and this girl wigged out. She wanted to spit, she was talking at the top of her voice… Needless to say I was less than happy with her. If there is one thing you don’t do to Pastor James, it is talk while he’s praying. After service I let her have it. I grilled that girl (with as much love as I could muster) and dismissed her to her bus. I was annoyed. ‘Why?” I thought. “This girl DOES NOT LISTEN.” (This isn’t the first time that she has done this) I was pretty discouraged.
Earlier this week, I was working at my desk, going about my E-Newsletter business, when my phone rang. It was one of my kids, who is no longer a kid. This boy is pretty special to me. I have spent a lot of time with him, and have invested heavily into his life. A few months ago, he told me that he was possibly diabetic. He was really worried about it, and actually pretty scared. I talked to him about it, and reassured him that if you take care of it, diabetes isn’t that big of a deal. When he called me this week, he told me that he had just gotten home from the doctor, and that he was diabetes free. I was very happy for him, and told him so, but then he said something that almost made me cry. (For those of you who really know me, you know I don’t cry. It takes a lot to tear me up.) He said, “I wanted you to be the first one to know.” It made me realize that I am making a difference in kids lives; that I was in such a position in his life that he felt like he could share important news with me before anyone else. I’m not boasting, I know that I have only reached this place because God has directed it, but I am very appreciative that He has allowed to have such a role in someone’s life.
I love what I do. Many people still don’t understand why I do what I do. I do it so kids like the above boy can have a chance. I try to live my life in a way that glorifies God, and that shows who He is. The kids I work with don’t have a lot of positive in their lives, and very few have a lot of positive men. I felt a couple years ago that God wants me to be a big brother. Someone who cares for, protects and helps out others. Obviously I can’t be brother to the masses, but out the many, God brings just a few that I can really connect with and be a part of their lives. I want to teach these kids all I can about God. It’s really exciting because this generation knows so little about Him. I get to be a part of shaping a generation for Jesus. For the most part, I am a seed planter. I am the one who lays the basic foundation in kids lives. Every so often, I get to do more than just plant.
I do miss normal life sometimes, but then again, who is to decide what is normal? Metro is about to get super busy once again, but it will be good. There are some pretty exciting things in the works that I will get to share with you all soon. For now, all I have to say is,
“As the deer panteth o’er the water…” I hope that refrain gets stuck in your head!
Friday, August 1, 2008
Bleeding brain...
I don’t know about you, but there are certain commercials that I hate. They make me want to cause severe physical harm to my person. In contrast, there are some I love, like the Discovery Channel commercial with the singing astronauts. I love that song. I sing it sometimes. (see below) I know, I'm a looser. I know this, reminding me doesn't make it any more true. Anyway, my lameness is not what this entry is about though.
1. The Dump.
I HATE these commercials. If you don’t live in Dallas, you are blessed. If you do, is there anyone who likes those? “To the Dump, to the Dump , to the Dump, Dump, Dump!” The man who voices the commercials uses this noxious enthusiastic voice. Kill me, please.
2. Sleep Experts
They are all moderately irritating, but the one with the barbershop quartet drove me crazy. “Twin, full, queen, (high pitched now, all together!) or king, for one low priiiiiice!” Seriously?
3. Sprint
“I think I’m falling in love… with a phone!” How disgusting have Americans become that we would enjoy seeing a woman talk about having an affair with an inanimate object? It just gives me the creeps every time I see it. I wonder if the marketing executives thought they had a winner on their hands…
4. Sonic
The couple makes me mad. The woman is a jerk, and the guy is a idiot. “You don’t know what you want.” How rude can you get?
5. Great Wolf Lodge
AHHHHHHH!!!!!! I want to hit my radio every time one of these plays. It has a folksy tune, mixed with jingly saccharine sweetness. Then there is the wolf howl at the end that makes me want to burn down the Great Wolf Lodge. (Deep voice) “They’ve got... (Woman) “Lots of water…” (Deep voice) “They’ve got... (Woman) Lots of fun…” (Deep voice) “They’ve got... (Woman) “Lots of everything for everyone!” Gross.
6.Geico Cavemen
Enough Said.
7. PedEgg
This is possibly one of the most disgusting commercials ever. It is a foot shaver. Bad enough? Not yet! First they show these funky feet in sandals, and they demonstrate using a traditional foot shaver. Of course the woman can’t use it. (What is it with informercials making it seem like traditional tools are harder to use than a slide rule?) On a silky pedestal appears the PedEgg. They show a group of women happily PedEgging their feet in a large group. Do any women actually shave their feet in a group? I doubt it. Then to make things worse, they talk about how “traditional shavers make such a mess” (the shavings are flying everywhere with a woman looking very frustrated). Then the announcer boasts that the PedEgg “keeps all the shavings contained!” So what do they do? They promptly dump the shavings out on a black towel! I think that they took it too far. Blasted PedEgg.
8. Cialis
Two people sitting in a bathtub, on a hill? Do they realize how heavy cast iron is? How are Sally and unnamed guy supposed to drag those things out there, and fill them up? Who has two spare claw foot bathtubs? Who would want to go through the hassle?
9. Bowflex
One line- “I gave all my fat clothes to my fat friends.” !!!!!! Excuse me, but did you just call out your friends on national TV and accuse them of obesity? What a dipstick. I hope his friends dumped his butt.
10. A T & T
The one where “Jen” is hanging out with the “dorky boy”. All we need is to reinforce to teenage girls that it’s ok to be a jerk and look down upon people. Teenage girls are rude enough, so why not encourage them to be more so! Besides, “cute and popular Paul” will wind up addicted to Vicodin, an alcoholic and become co-dependant on his mother anyway.
Enough for today. Are there any you hate? Join the festivities.
Just for Fun
1. The Dump.
I HATE these commercials. If you don’t live in Dallas, you are blessed. If you do, is there anyone who likes those? “To the Dump, to the Dump , to the Dump, Dump, Dump!” The man who voices the commercials uses this noxious enthusiastic voice. Kill me, please.
2. Sleep Experts
They are all moderately irritating, but the one with the barbershop quartet drove me crazy. “Twin, full, queen, (high pitched now, all together!) or king, for one low priiiiiice!” Seriously?
3. Sprint
“I think I’m falling in love… with a phone!” How disgusting have Americans become that we would enjoy seeing a woman talk about having an affair with an inanimate object? It just gives me the creeps every time I see it. I wonder if the marketing executives thought they had a winner on their hands…
4. Sonic
The couple makes me mad. The woman is a jerk, and the guy is a idiot. “You don’t know what you want.” How rude can you get?
5. Great Wolf Lodge
AHHHHHHH!!!!!! I want to hit my radio every time one of these plays. It has a folksy tune, mixed with jingly saccharine sweetness. Then there is the wolf howl at the end that makes me want to burn down the Great Wolf Lodge. (Deep voice) “They’ve got... (Woman) “Lots of water…” (Deep voice) “They’ve got... (Woman) Lots of fun…” (Deep voice) “They’ve got... (Woman) “Lots of everything for everyone!” Gross.
6.Geico Cavemen
Enough Said.
7. PedEgg
This is possibly one of the most disgusting commercials ever. It is a foot shaver. Bad enough? Not yet! First they show these funky feet in sandals, and they demonstrate using a traditional foot shaver. Of course the woman can’t use it. (What is it with informercials making it seem like traditional tools are harder to use than a slide rule?) On a silky pedestal appears the PedEgg. They show a group of women happily PedEgging their feet in a large group. Do any women actually shave their feet in a group? I doubt it. Then to make things worse, they talk about how “traditional shavers make such a mess” (the shavings are flying everywhere with a woman looking very frustrated). Then the announcer boasts that the PedEgg “keeps all the shavings contained!” So what do they do? They promptly dump the shavings out on a black towel! I think that they took it too far. Blasted PedEgg.
8. Cialis
Two people sitting in a bathtub, on a hill? Do they realize how heavy cast iron is? How are Sally and unnamed guy supposed to drag those things out there, and fill them up? Who has two spare claw foot bathtubs? Who would want to go through the hassle?
9. Bowflex
One line- “I gave all my fat clothes to my fat friends.” !!!!!! Excuse me, but did you just call out your friends on national TV and accuse them of obesity? What a dipstick. I hope his friends dumped his butt.
10. A T & T
The one where “Jen” is hanging out with the “dorky boy”. All we need is to reinforce to teenage girls that it’s ok to be a jerk and look down upon people. Teenage girls are rude enough, so why not encourage them to be more so! Besides, “cute and popular Paul” will wind up addicted to Vicodin, an alcoholic and become co-dependant on his mother anyway.
Enough for today. Are there any you hate? Join the festivities.
Just for Fun
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