Shoot The Moose

I'm fairly alarmed right now.

In The Year From Hell, I contracted Bell's Palsy. For those of you unfamiliar with this particular illness, it's basically paralysis of half the face. In my case, I lost any use of, or sensation in: my left eyelid, my left cheek, my left nostril, the left side of my mouth. I also lost all sense of taste.

Eating/ drinking becomes a challenge when your mouth doesn't close. Even if you use a straw, you still have to tilt your head to one side and let gravity do the work, or whatever you're drinking ends up in your lap. I had to wear an eyepatch because I couldn't blink on the left side. Of course, speaking under these conditions becomes a challenge as well.

I had the worst of it for about 3 months. I never completely recovered - to this day I cannot purse my lips well enough to whistle, and when I get tired, my left eye droops, making me look like an idiot, or at least like Sylvester Stallone.

In The Year From Hell, the precursor to the Bell's Palsy was a severe sinus and ear infection. The doctor theorized that the infection got to my cranial nerve, triggering the palsy.

I've been very lucky, because reoccurances are common.

Well, I've been quite sick with some kind of very strong head cold the last few days.

Sometime today, I noticed that the tip of my nose is numb. I'm faily alarmed. I ran to the mirror, and everything is still working correctly. I did the "raise both eyebrows" test, the "smile with mouth closed" test; it's all still working.

But last time, it hit overnight. I just woke up, and my face had stopped functioning. I have no idea how long it took for the paralysis to kick in: I was asleep.

I'll let you know tomorrow whether I've once again become a drooling, drooping, incomprehensible fool. Some of you probably are thinking to yourselves, "How will we notice?" That's not funny! Well, yes it is, but like I said...

I'm faily alarmed right now.

Microsoft Word's spellchecker gives me the little red squiggles for:

Zaphod
Trillian
Lintilla
Slartibartfast

However, there are no "you can't spell, you dumb dope!" squiggles for:

Gandalf
Aragorn
Galadriel
Frodo

I know geeks. I am one of their High Priests. But I can tell you, the ones in Redmond need to expand their horizons a little.

Labels: Pet Peeves

Katherine Coble is wondering why we have to talk about football in church. Great question! Let me give it a shot, from a lay-preacher point of view. Just from small clues I've picked up here and there, I'm guessing that you (Katherine) attend some kind of "high" church. We Methodists haven't been "high church" in quite a while, so hopefully we won't be talking past one another. I might also add that I'm only speaking for me, I represent no one.

I think, Kat, that you may be complaining about football banter that is outside of the sermon (probably in the announcements). I'm not too crazy about using this time for good natured ribbing either (leave more time for the SERMON, dude!), but even with that I think it serves a purpose: letting visitors know that the congregants are real human beings with real lives, who don't go around saying "thee" and "Thou" all the time. But, I could go either way on the subject. I'll let others speak to that. But I can tell you why I believe referencing football in the middle of a sermon is not only allowable, but a good idea.

One of my favorite "great thinkers" of all time is Ravi Zacharias. I learned from him that there are three levels of philosophical discourse:

1) High-level, theoretical, the kind they talk about in graduate courses in ivy league universities.
2) The Arts and popular culture.
3) "Kitchen Table" talk, or daily life.

According to Zacharias, the most effective way of driving home a point is to argue at level 1, illustrate at level 2, and apply at level 3. Conversations that stay at level 1 may be interesting to eggheads, but you'll lose the masses quickly. For the Christian, level 1 is theology, and all those "isms" that they talk about in divinity school. Levels 2 and three are extremely important (especially 3), but they need to be grounded in "higher principles" before they are useful. So, I have adopted this three-tiered model in all of my sermons. It is important to note that scripture is used in all three levels.

Now, back to football. In the south, football is very much part of the popular culture. It is perfect for level 2 (illustrating through popular culture). I once preached a sermon based simultaneously on Psalm 116 and The Music City Miracle, and I'm told it went over quite well. It also brought Psalm 116 to life.

We must be able to apply the "high thoughts" and concepts to things we know. Jesus gave the woman at the well the New model for worship: spirit and truth. Art and science. Hearts and Minds. Scriptural discourse becomes quite dry when left by itself. The heart must be stirred as well.

There is no better way to make scripture apply to our daily lives than by illustrating the underlying concept through movies, sports, television - things people know and interact with every day. More importantly, things that stir hearts. Plus, it's quite easy to slip into having seperate "church life" and "Life life". Many people only think spiritually in church. Pop culture references help us see God in everything we do and see. I've lately been exploring the theological allegories in Charlotte's Web. It's not very "churchy", but God lives beyond the walls of the Sunday Meeting House.

Now, football illustrations would not work with you, because football isn't your thing. But in the south, a preacher can pretty much connect with 90% of the congregation with a football reference. Movies and television references would work with you most likely. My latest sermon was called "Extreme Makeover, Soul Edition", on the subject of Sanctification. That one was fun, and it really seemed to connect with women in the congregation.

In short, I guess what I'm trying to say is that a good preacher sees God in everything, and tries to guide the congregation to see God in everything, too. Because football is so big a part of daily life around here, it's an obvious choice to accomplish this.

I do feel like I've missed the mark on the original question,and I'm sorry for that. But I can only speak of what I know.

I wasn't going to post about this, but Sista Smiff's wonderful recounting of her own story of Santa doubt and belief has compelled me to share this.

Lintilla and I have been wondering for a while if this is going to be "the year". By "the year", I mean, will this Christmas be our first without Santa Claus? All the signs have been there: Zaphod is in 4th grade, and many of his friends have fallen away. He is "Mr Logical", and we thought last year he would have brought the subject up, but seeing as he did not, we were sure this year he would. Trillian is only 15 months younger than Zaphod, so we've always assumed "as Zaphod goes, so goes Trillian". The kids made a wish list and and gave it to US, and didn't mention a thing about Santa. There are almost no toys on the wish list (which is kind of sad in it's own right).

We prepared our speeches, and waited for the inevitable question to come up. But something weird happened: the question DIDN'T come up. We started to get nervous. Here we were, all prepared for that uncomfortable "talk" that would be a precursor to all other other uncomfortable talks, and our kids weren't cooperating.

So we forced the issue. This past weekend, while watching "The Santa Claus" (which is a perfect movie for this subject, BTW), we slyly asked Zaphod what his friends thought of Santa's existence. He then proceeded to astound us.

He said that many of his friends don't believe in Santa anymore. "But", he said, "God does wonderful and miraculous stuff all the time, and many people don't believe in Him, either. But we know He exists. So, I believe."

By the way, he really talks like that, but that's for another post.

We were speechless. I can't tell you the pride I felt at that moment. It's hard to type this now without getting misty-eyed. Logical Zaphod, my son, cut to the heart of the matter and not only gave a well though out answer, he applied philospy. A 10 year old philosopher? Wow.

I know I'm awfully hard on Zaphod, I know Trillian has me wrapped around her little finger, and Zaphod resents it. Parents are always tougher on their firstborn, but that doesn't make it right. I must try to do better.

Moments like these remind me just what a wonderful son I have. Every now and then, a window opens up and I get a fleeting glimpse of the man my son will grow up to be. I look forward to shaking that man's hand, taking him out for a beer, looking him in the eye.

And telling him I love him and I'm proud of him.

So, I've been waiting for the right moment to post this, but since it's about Nashville weather, there is no way to predict the "right moment". With a teeny-tiny chance of snow later in the week, I thought "what the hey". So, if I've got everything right on a technical level, I'm posting my first "song" post to Shoot The Moose, in the form of a podcast.

Earlier this year, I wrote a song about the madness that happens in Nashville every time it snows. I made the song about a generic southern city, because the same things happen in all southern cities that get the occasional snow. "The weatherman", at least the one in my head, is a composite: the attitude of WSMV's "panic sisters", Tim Ross' face, Davis Nolan's authoritative way of speaking.

Anyway, here's the usual caveats. It's a home studio recording, so you may have to turn up your volume a bit. Yes, I'm slightly off key at the beginning, but give a boy some props, I did play all the instruments. I'll post the lyrics at the end of this post, but you really need to hear the song to get the humor. To any industry types who know "the perfect artist" to record this one: I'll be right here, just comment.

So anyway, here it is:


Click here to get your own player.

The Great Southern White-Out

©2006 Slartibartfast's Alter Ego (Love Never Ending Music)

Style: Up-Tempo Country-Punk

Lyrics:

The weatherman was nervous, sweat rolled down his brow.
It was bad enough to interrupt the Days Of Our Lives
He said folks, this is important, you better listen to me now
The day that we’ve all been dreading, I'm afraid it has arrived.


We've got an artic blast coming down from Canada,
And a lot of moisture floatin' up from the Gulf of Mexico.
Batten down the hatches boys, we've got the perfect storm
Everybody, go insane, when I say the word "snow".

It was almost more than anyone could take.
They closed the schools at the fall of the first flake…

Chorus:

It was the Great Southern White-Out.
The storm of the ages
The paper had a special pullout
It covered seven pages.
The old folks like to tell the tale
When the young folks gather round
Of the great Southern White-Out
That paralyzed this town.

There had been eight hundred accidents by the time an inch had fallen
And abandoned cars were on the side of every major road.
The Yankee Transplants laughed at us, till they'd hit a patch of ice
And redneck boys in four wheel drives offered them a tow.
The gov'nor called the National Guard to defend the milk at Kroger.
It seems a housewife had pulled a gun over the last loaf of bread.
By the time we got four inches, they had closed I-65
And the state homeland security had taken us to red.

And the TV tried to warn all of the masses
Stay off the bridges and the overpasses

Chorus:

It was the Great Southern White-Out
A storm to remember
The wooly worms tried to tell us
Way back in September.
The old folks like to tell the tale
When the young folks gather round
Of the great Southern White-Out
That paralyzed this town.

[Guitar Solo]

Slower:

Dad tended to the fire, and I built myself a snowman
We all marveled at the snow just hangin' on the trees
My sister made snow angels, and momma made hot chocolate
Winter in the southland Can be a sight to see

We enjoyed it while we could, till the next day
The sun came out – and it melted all away…


Chorus

So, Thanksgiving went wonderfully (although my version of my mother's famous roll recipe turned into overcooked little dough-balls), the bird turned out to be the best I ever had (thanks Alton Brown), black Friday was uneventful. Saturday, we head to Opry Mills to look at something at the Corelle store, only to find it's been closed for some time (we don't get out much). We got in a good walk though.

Sauturday, I notice a "tickle" in my throat; by Saturday afternoon, my fears were confirmed: I could start to feel the aches all over my body. By Saturday night, the fever hit. The chills were awful; I begged Lintilla to finally put the electric blanket on the bed. Thank God for NyQuil. I slept pretty hard.

Anyway, to the point: I knew I wasn't fully better Sunday morning. So, I skipped church, and gave my Titans tickets to my Nephew as an early birthday present.

Let me say that again: I gave my Titans tickets away.

Of course, by the time kickoff happens, I feel almost 100%; I feel like I could have gone. Nothing like infecting 67,000 of your closest friends, right?

So, I miss the greatest 4th quarter comeback in Titans/Oilers history. The greatest comeback by a rookie quarterback ever. The game when VY and Pacman turned the corner and started to come of age. The game where Rob Bironas misses an important field goal, only to redeem himself with the game winner.

Oh, I watched it on TV, but it's not the same. You see, game-for-game, hockey is a better "live" experience than pro football. But when things like this happen, being there at LP field can be glorious. I, along with the 200,000 other people who claim to have been there, witnessed the Music City Miracle live. What I remember most about that moment was that I hugged a policeman. And he hugged me back. I'm telling you, there is nothing like it, being there.

But as they say, C'est la vie ! Sometimes you're there, sometimes you're not. At least I didn't have to fight parking lot traffic. But here's to the Titans, one Manning down, one to go! I'm going next week, if they have to haul me in on a stretcher.

So, the boss sent me home early, and I'm here preparing the brine for the turkey. My daughter is psyched about helping me cook. It now officially feels like Thanksgiving. I feel compelled to outwardly express my gratitude to God for the many blessings in my life.

I am most thankful that Jesus Christ stepped out of Timeless Eternity and suffered what should have been my fate. He spun a web, so the Father could see, that said "Some Man", saving my eternal life - and it took His earthly life.

I am thankful for my parents, who sacrified much to raise my brothers and me, and provided the perfect model of lifelong Love.

I am thankful for my brothers, who share an unspoken bond with me; yet our differences, despite our shared DNA, must give delight to my parents.

I have the deepest gratitude for Lintilla, who has shared my life these past 19 1/2 years. She gives so much to the community, and still is able to be the kind of wife every man dreams of. God, as usual, knew what He was doing: our seperate peculiar quirks made each of us incompatible with anyone, but each other.

I am thankful to the core for Zaphod and Trillian. I have learned more from them than they will ever learn from me. They fill our home with laughter, and joy. There is sadness and concern as well, but the laughter and joy overwhelm everything else.

I am thankful for, and to, Zaphod and Trillian's birth mother. I hope I am doing a good enough job to make you proud.

I am SO thankful that I am allowed to be part of the incredible things God is doing through X-Alt Rhythm and Praise. Y'all are my best friends in all the world, and we have the special bond that comes from being present when God visibly displays His majesty. We've been through the Wars together; we've seen some incredible stuff this year. You guys rock!

I am very thankful for the Nashville blogging community for taking me in, or at least putting up with me. As they say, "Fools rush in", and I'm the biggest Fool of all. I'm thankful Brittney at Nashville is Talking didn't tell this very peculiar conservative to just go away - but she's "Stand Up", and I have utmost respect for her. I am especially thankful for, and to, Katherine Coble, who has, for lack of a better phrase, taken me under her wing. It is tough and scary being the new guy, and having someone who is already "in" watch your back and show you the ropes is invaluable. I will NOT forget.

I am thankful to Belle Meade United Methodist Church, forever. While not yet a member, I lost everything in a house fire. You took me in, clothed me, made sure my family was fed, even collected toys for my kids. Yes, you have hurt me bad this past year, but God turns all things to good, and nothing can break the gratitude I have for your graciousness in my time of need.

I am thankful for my employer. They have given me every opportunity to succeed and hopefully, I have risen to the challenge.

I am thankful that circumstances have allowed this son of a working man to live in a neighborhood I never would have dreamed I belonged.

I am thankful for a full cupboard, a big yard, and all my "stuff".

I am thankful for my life. Thank you, God.

Others have posted, quite eloquently, about the anniversary of the death of president Kennedy. Their words speak for me; I want to let it be known right away that I fully agree with their sentiments and I understand the solemnity of the occasion.

But, at Shoot the Moose, there is always a bizarre angle to every story, and today is no different. My connection to the assassination of president Kennedy is, to say the least, strange. I mean no disrespect, but every year at this time, I have to giggle just a little.

I was born in mid-August of 1964. I was a preemie, about a month early - give or take a week. One year, I did the math, and what I found shocked me. I was conceived in

"late December, back in '63..."

Oh.My.God.

This knowlege ruined a perfectly good Frankie Valli song for me. EEEWWWW.

What the DEVIL does this have to do with JFK? Well, according to my parents, the remainder of 1963, starting with November 22, was solely and completely about JFK. Think about the months following 9/11. Things that normally happened continued to happen, they were just not reported on the news (rightly), because Bigger things were afoot. My parents tell me that there was 24/7 coverage of this tragedy for weeks. That was extraordinary - the TV stations were not geared for the 24 hour news cycle back then.

Now, perhaps, I was a "comfort" baby. Maybe, my parents were so distraugt that they found solice in, well, "making" me. More than likely, they were Democrats at the time - they were young and southern, and back then, that meant "Democrat". So they would have been double-distressed. But, knowing human nature, that's probably not the case.

My mom was 18, my dad, 21. (Hey, it was 1963 - don't be judging the 'rents!). They were young parents, and probably by this time, bored. I am thouroughly convinced that I am here blogging before you today because there was nothing on TV. Oh, what a night, indeed.

The end of the last post was kind of fun. Liberating in a way. I'm going to see how many "facts" I can list about myself. I'm not one of those people who can make it to 100, but I'll free-associate here and see what happens.

I was a DES baby. This caused the next several facts about me:

I was rejected by Uncle Sam to serve in his army in 1983. This fact gives me "checkenhawk immunity" :)

I have slightly higher estrogen levels than most men, which means I get weepy watching movies and Extreme Makeover, Home Edition, I write oh-so-sensitive poetry, and I actually enjoy cooking and housework. Do NOT get the wrong impression, however. I also like football, Nascar, hockey, heterosexual sex, Salma Hayek in a pushup bra, and war movies. I guess that makes me hormonally ambidextriuous!

One label I will never have is "Babymaker". This, in the end, turned out to be a blessing.

I am proficient in 6 programming languages.
I can play 7 instruments on a basic level, 4 (piano, guitar, bass, mandolin) well enough to brag about it.
Lintilla and I stopped at Krystal in full dress and tux after our wedding.
I spent my youth and young adulthood worrying about being underweight (sigh).

Here is a major fact about me that even I don't understand: I am simultaneously paralyzed by shyness in one-to-one situations (especially with females), yet I am fearless speaking or performing in front of a crowd. I have NEVER had stage fright, even in front of a thousand people, even preaching. But get me alone in a room, and you'll be hard pressed to have me look you in the eye. I guess, as long as I'm in a situation where I can 'hold forth', I am in my element. I must be a psychopath.

I got a perm in my long-ish hair in 1984. I think I thought it would make me look like Young Springsteen, but with my wispy mustache and glasses, I looked JUST LIKE Weird Al Yankovic.
I am left handed.
I write with my right hand, however. (Thanks, stupid kindergarten teacher!)
I, like all the men in my family, have a phobia about talking on the phone.
My dad never quite knew what to do with me. He could handle my older brother, he was just a hellraiser. But I was weird.
I was once sent home with a report card that had a single comment: "Strange behavior"
I know this fine person.
Lintilla and I lived between Smyrna and Murfreesboro from 1989-1992. We sold our house right before the boom.
My family moved a LOT when I was a kid. By the time I graduated high school, I had lived 10 different places, all in middle TN.
I saw Rick Springfield/Til Tuesday at Municipal Auditorium in 1985. Nothing like being surrounded by 12,000 hot & bothered women.
When I was 19 and semi-living-at-home, my parents' house was destroyed by fire. I lost everything I owned.
In 2002 (which must be refered to on this blog as "the Year from Hell"), we lost our house to a fire. We lost almost everything we owned, except, miraculously, the boxes and boxes of pictures and momentos.
I also had Bell's Palsy in the Year from Hell. I still can't whistle.
The state of TN and the FBI have a 'file' on me. This was long before the Patriot act; if you adopt, especially internationally, you have no secrets.
I have Titans season tickets.
I am a lifelong Vanderbilt football fan. This prepared me to be a Titans fan.
My best friend is the guy who says "This portion of Channel 4 News brought to you by..." He also is the 'voice' of most of the locally produced ads at WSMV.
I have never been west of St Louis.
Before this past summer, I had never been north of Bowling Green, KY, or east of Asheville, NC.
I have a fear of heights.
I have been an on-screen personality in an infomercial.

2006 has been the best year of my life.

There's a lot more, but then I wouldn't have anything to blog about, would I?

That was fun.

Labels: Me

// posted by Slartibartfast @ 8:58 AM 4 Comments

There was something about Thomas McKenzie's post about anonymous blogging that really got to me yesterday. Normally, I love his writing, but something about this post had a neener-neener quality to it, and I think it's quite unbecoming.

What the post said made sense on some level:

It seems the internet is full of people who are creating alternative identities. I don't have to give you any evidence of that, you might well have an alternative identity yourself. Perhaps you are anonymous on the web. I don't know, and I don't mind. I understand the impulse. However, there is a sense in which anonymity only further fosters the break-down of community, real relationships, and accountability.

I want my blog to be a place where I can be better known, and I can better connect with others. My blog is a hobby, and its also a document of self-exploration and self-expression. But its also a forum for real connection. And because I am accountable to "real-world" people, its a place where I can further develop integrity.

Certainly lately we've seen examples of problems when anonymous bloggers are outed when they don't want to be. I don't know if these latest dustups are what Thomas is talking about, but it is an interesting coincidence.

The problem, though, is that McKenzie only gives one reason why someone would blog anonymously: to create an alternate identity where one can say things they wouldn't say in "real life". I'd like to help him out, and let him know that there are other reasons. Here are a few:

Some of us are just geeks. As you can tell, I am a Douglas Adams geek. Sometimes, to the geek mindset, it's just cool to see how many references you can put in one place to whatever it is you're geeking over (in my case, "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"). Sometimes, believe it or not, it's just a way of having FUN.

Some use it as a marketing tool. I first found, and got interested in Busy Mom because of the name, and the way she had named her entire "busy" family. She drew me in. That's good marketing. I can't tell you how many people have come here and asked "I saw you over at NIT and had to come here to ask: You didn't REALLY name your son Zaphod, did you?" Well, if I do a good job, I can win them as a loyal reader. But they never would have come in the first place, if the name(s) didn't make them curious.

Some of us have children, who made us promise we'd never mention them by name. I took a little heat for discussing my son's weight problems here. And I NEVER would have done it if I had to use his real name. But you know what? I asked for help, and I got some incredible suggestions that are WORKING as we speak. Sometimes, anonymous posting is quite helpful, especially when speaking about third parties.

Some of us post to our blogs (gasp!) while at work, and we'd like to keep our jobs. I never post about the company I work for, but I do occasionally (well, more than occasionally) post while "on the clock", as it were. Yes, I know that somewhere in the bowels of the massive net logs produced at my very large company, there are records of me posting to Blogger. I have no intention of helping them out, though. Is it wrong? Probably. I never said I was perfect.

I am very much aware that many people blog anonymously so they can say outlandish things and not get called on it in real life. That's not me, I blog semi-anonymously for all the reasons listed above. And I'm not very anonymous at that: I post pictures of my children, and make no bones about the fact that I play in this band, and I've left countless other clues that one, if they wanted to, could piece together and "out" me.

I'll give you a few more:
I graduated from Hillwood High School in 1982, it would have been Bellevue HS, but desegregation forced the closure of Bellevue in 1981. I live in West Meade and attend a nearby United Methodist church. I played in the praise band there until earlier this year, till we got fi...er..the church went in another direction. But they STILL let me preach every now and then. I played in a Hair Power-Pop band in the 80's. My kids go to a Catholic School, located in a part of town with a lot of "War is Not the Answer" yard signs. My dad was a machinist. My younger brother has muscular dystrophy. Heck, even the name of this blog gives away who I am to people who know me. This ought to be enough.

Take this info and do with it what you will. Me, I NEED the thin veneer of semi-anonymity for the reasons I listed above. Rest assured, Slartibartfast is NO different in what he says or how he says it than the "real" me.

Labels: Blogging

// posted by Slartibartfast @ 7:20 AM 5 Comments

Considering the yardwork that still isn't done, the preparations still ongoing for Thanksgiving, UT/Vandy, Titans on Sunday, and our 65% full DVR, you would think this would have been a horrible weekend to spend the greater part watching movies. But somehow, that's how it worked out (maybe it was the weather). All in all, a very good weekeend.

Friday Night, Lintilla was having a girls night out with a good friend, and the kids talked me into going to Blockbuster. We decided on Click for Friday night. Let me tell you, Click is a perfect example of why I'm getting myself a ClearPlay for Christmas. Here was a movie that had a wonderful message, the kind of message you want to pass along to your kids, but also had boatloads of stuff you'd rather the kids NOT learn, like language. Objectionable stuff aside, Click is one of the best movies I've seen all year. The previews give you no idea that there are some pretty heavy tear-jerk moments in this film.

I got up early on Saturday, and I wasn't in the mood for the weekend morning news with my coffee, so I checked out what was out there in OnDemand land. I have no premium channels, so it was Encore, or pay for it. Well, Encore had one of my all-time favorite movies, so I gave it a whirl just as Trillian was coming downstairs. She decided to join me instead of watching cartoons.

While You Were Sleeping is my all-time favorite "chick flick". Trillian had never seen all of it, so she watched, too (loved it!). You see, Sleepless In Seattle seems too contrived (except for the part where they're making fun of chick flicks) - AND I can't stand Rosie O'Donnell. When I examine the kind of romantic movies I like, it seems I have a thing for "quirky" families. My favorites are Moonstruck, My Big, Fat Obnoxious Greek Wedding, strangely enough, Only the Lonely, and the best of them all, While You Were Sleeping. Sandra Bullock was adorable as Everygirl. Her love story with Bill Pullman was almost beside the point - she was saved from her loneliness by being taken in by this strange, wonderful family. Gets to me everytime.

Next on the list was the one we had been waiting for: Happy Feet. This movie did not disappoint. Everything about the film was stunning, especially the big dance numbers. The "Boogie Wonderland" scene alone is worth the price of admission. I WAS worried about the subplot of humans decimating the food supply with overfishing (could Al Gore be too far behind?), but this was neccessary and handled beautifully. From the POV of the penguins, the humans were not evil, they just didn't know what their actions were causing. This prevented many "man is the root of all evil" conversations on the way home.

There was a little disappointment in the one scene I was looking forward to, the "Somebody to Love" number. I actually thought it was done better in Ella Enchanted. Something about it seemed empty and soulless. Perhaps it was Brittany Murphey's voice, I don't know. Maybe I just set my expectations too high. But it was still jaw-dropping.

The film borrowed quite a bit from other films (in a good way). I saw pieces of The Ten Commandments, Footloose, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Fame. Robin Williams, though reserved, was wonderful, as was Hugh Jackman's Elvis-type character. All in all, I left the theater with, well, Happy Feet. Right-brained Trillian loved it. Left-brained Zaphod, not so much. You can't please everybody, I guess.

Finally, Saturday night found us watching another Blockbuster rental, Nacho Libre. I was expecting another Napolean Dynamite, but I can't tell you how bad this movie was. Awful. It was off the suckage scale. The plot was so simplistic it was boring, the only funny moments were slapstick. None of us liked it.

As a side note, we are all looking forward to Charlotte's Web. We will probably also go see The Nativity Story.

Labels: Movies

Just Damn ...

Hold me
Even though I know you're leaving
And show me
All the reasons you would stay
It's just enough to feel your breath on mine
To cool my soul and ease my mind
You've go to hold me and show me love

Give me
Just one part of you to cling to
And keep me
Everywhere you are
It's just enough to steal a heart and run
And fade out with the falling sun

Oh, please don't go
Let me have you just one moment more
Oh, all I need
All I want is just one moment more
You've got to hold me and keep me

Tell me that someday you'll be returning
And maybe
Maybe I'll believe
It's just enough to see a shooting star
To know you're never really far
It's just enough to see a shooting star
To know you're never really gone

Oh, please don't go
Let me have you just one moment more
Oh, all I need
All I want is just one moment more

Oh, please don't go
Let me have you just one moment more
Oh, all I need
All I want is just one moment more
You've got to hold me and maybe I'll believe

So hold me
Even though I know you're leaving
-Mindy Smith, "One Moment More"

If the 11/16/06 Ugly Betty ("Four Thanksgivings and a Funeral") is any indication, this show is in for a good, long run. The comedy is back! There were two moments where we were laughing so hard, we missed something important and had to rewind (more on that later).

Granted, the drama was still there (Betty and Hilda REALLY get into it, bringing back way too many stressful holiday memories for me), but this week, it wasn't the whole show.

It'll be hard to tell you about the two best moments without giving too much away, but here goes. As was set up last week, Justin's father comes over for Thanksgiving dinner (in return he agrees to provide the $5000 Hilda needs to retain the immigration lawyer for her father). He brings Justin a gift of an entire New York Jets uniform, whick Justin misconstrues as a "costume". There is something SO funny that happens with the "protective cup", all I can say is you HAVE to go to ABC.com and see this episode for this moment alone!

The other wonderful moment involved Amanda and Marc. Amanda had nowhere to go for Thanksgiving (her "date" had to do something silly like be with his wife and kids), and Marc really didn't want to go home to his family because apparently he's still in the closet and didn't relish the thought of spending the weekend talking about his non-existent girlfriend. So, the two of them decide to sneak into Wilhemina's office, get drunk, and watch the Macy's parade.

This sets up an incredibly funny sequence where both of them are trying on designer dresses and dancing around the office. I can't describe how funny this is, you'll just have to see it.

In the meantime, Daniel is pining over Sofia (Salma Hayek), and apparently "something happened" between them that has not been shown on screen (I actually like this). But Sofia has a boyfriend, the absolutely perfect "Hunter". Daniel actually agrees to go to his father's Thanksgiving get-together because he knows Sofia will be there (unfortunately, with Hunter). The rest of the episode has Daniel trying to compete with Hunter, which of course is impossible when you're dealing with a hunky, Scandanavian model who works with the Peace Corps.

Finally Wilhemina has a sweet moment with Nico, who comes back to New York for the holiday. She makes a home-cooked meal as a surprise; in order to accomplish this she calls Martha Stewart for directions (Please, producers, don't do this again - it really seemed out of place!)

Two things happen that advance the mystery backstory: 1) Marc and Amanda, in their drunken stupor, call the "mystery lady", mistakenly thinking she's Wilhemina's lesbian girlfriend. Now, mystery lady and Wilhemina both (mistakenly) think that somebody is onto them. 2) Bradford hires a second hit man to dispose of the first hit man, which he does by "burying" him alive in Faye Summers' crypt, which they have discovered, is empty.

All in all, this was the best episode so far - it hit all the right notes and had a great mixture of drama, comedy and mystery. The producers are being pretty daring, going from a 'Devil Wears Prada' feel, almost to a 'The Birdcage' farce. The over-the-top comedy carries the risk of offending both gay and religious sensibilities, but they pull it off. My stomach still hurts from laughing.

Episode Parental Advisory: The "gay" theme was in full force, although, as usual, only implied. I can't tell you how masterfully they straddle the line (and believe me, I'm Mr right winger - I'd cut my kids off in a second if the line were ever crossed). Marc and Amanda wonder out loud if Wilhemina is a lesbian. There, again, is one usage of the word "B**ch" (is this like a drinking game thing? There has been exactly one "B**ch" utterance in every episode. Do they have a quota?). Marc and Amanda spend almost the entire episode drunk. You may also have to explain to the kids why Justin is mistaken about the protective cup.

Labels: Ugly Betty

Anybody been to Disney World in the last few years? I'm just wondering if this crazy, fearless squirel is still hanging around next to the fish and chips place in Epcot. He was as relentless as I am in getting paws on a french fry!





Yes, I know he's vermin and could have given us a disease. But how could you NOT reward such brazenness?

Labels: Pics

Negative.

No sweeter words, ever.

They had called Lintilla back to the Dr. to get a second mammogram - there was "something" they needed to take a second look at.

Lintilla was nonchalant about it, so I played along like my usual goofy self.

But I was terrified.

Negative.

I can breathe again.

Labels: Family

Sean Braisted got me to thinking of Billy Joel with this post: Nashville for the 21st Century: Sad .Sean is upset that the newly elected Dems seem to be putting power grabs ahead of their agenda. You can almost see the fringes of disillusionment that eventually hit everyone.

But why Billy Joel? I'm glad you asked. At this point in my life, my favorite Joel song is "Angry Young Man". This song used to really p*ss me off when I was a young idealist. Now I just think it's true. Check out the lyrics of the bridge:

I believe I've passed the age
Of consciousness and righteous rage
I've found that just surviving was a noble fight.
I once believed in causes, too
I had my pointless point of view
And life went on no matter who was wrong or right.

To think that Joel was in his 20's when he wrote this is amazing.

Politicians grab power and hold onto it for dear life. That's what they do. Their "agendas" are just window dressing to get votes. Oh, they'll enact a watered-down version of their agenda to throw a bone to the base, but nothing - and I mean NOTHING - is more important to a politician than holding onto power. Democrat, Republican, it doesn't matter.

And it's not their fault.

Whenever a politician does get idealistic and tries to change the world, he gets crushed underfoot. Oh, we say we want change, but what happens when someone REALLY tries it?

Hillary Clinton's push for health care reform ought to give you pause.
Even George Bush, who idealistically attempted to totally remake the Middle East, in a (many would say) foolhardy "democracy breeds peace" scheme.
And just watch and learn next time someone REALLY tries to reform social security.

I'm not saying we should all disengage politically. What I am saying is that maybe we should lower our expectations of our elected leaders.

After all, they're only politicians.

Testing to see if my posts are even making it to the NIT aggregator. Yes, I switched to blogger beta. However, I did have one post show up after the switch, so I think it's just a Zionist plot.

Does anyone know how to embed an mp3 on a blog? By "embed", I mean an easily-recognizable link that streams when the user clicks on it? (Like they do with YouTube video). Having a link and asking the user to do a "file/save as" seems a little clunky. Plus the darn file is nearly 10MB, and I don't want to have people cursing me everywhere.

I want to post a demo of what some have called "the greatest song I ever wrote". It's the one time I quit being so serious and tried to be funny. I'll post the lyrics as well, but you really need to hear the demo to get the full effect.

Any help by you young whippersnappers would be appreciated.

UPDATE: I must add that I have a place to host the file, I just have no idea how to stream it.

Last night, after a bad day, I turned on the television and saw an amazing sight. I saw an aging ex-football player achieve a state of grace.

Yes, I watch Dancing With The Stars. Can a man be a fan of the NFL, Nascar, AND DWTS? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Mario Lopez can dance. He has always been the best pure dancer on the show (I'm sure he's had extensive training). It's almost not fair to NOT give him the top prize.

But to see the former Cowboy getting his old-school groove on, doing a better M. C. Hammer than Hammer does, and just plain having FUN, well, I smiled and laughed despite myself. The joy just bubbled up.

It's funny that so few of these kind of moments come from modern television, it's even funnier that one would come from THIS show.

Vote for Emmitt!

Labels: DWTS

You Are 48% Open Minded

You aren't exactly open minded, but you have been known to occasionally change your mind.You're tolerant enough to get along with others who are very different...But you may be quietly judgmental of things or people you think are wrong.You take your own values pretty seriously, and it would take a lot to change them.

Almost open minded enough for my brains to fall out.

Labels: Memes

Since my kids are 'tweeners, I've been feeling pretty wistful about how much of their childhood is over. My son's 10th birthday was spent at Chuck E Cheese's (not the indulgent $20 per kid party, we were just eating pizza and hanging out). Most of the kids there were younger than Zaphod. I spent the whole time thinking to myself "This is it. Next year, he'll want to go to the mall or something."

Zaphod asked me for a digital camera for Christmas. It took a while for that to sink in. He didn't say, "I'm going to ask Santa for a digital camera", he asked me directly. I'm kind of in a mild panic about it. Does this mean we have to have that long-dreaded conversation about Santa before I'm ready, or is this his way of letting me off the hook? Regardless, it's another milestone I'm really not ready to face.

Then last night, I got a reprieve of sorts. At bedtime, the kids wanted to hear a chicken story.

That's right, I said "chicken story".

When the kids were little, we read to the children at bedtime each night, just like the 10-second celebrity PSAs told us to do. But Thursday nights were different. In old time storyteller fashion, I would weave a tall tale, telling it with as much flair and over-the-top drama as I could muster. Because the kids liked animals, and because I love the alliteration in the word "chicken" (just the sound of the word is comedic), I told the stories about a family of chickens on the Johnson farm.

Zaphod and Trillian sat on the end of the bed mezmerized by stories of Rooster Red, Henrietta Hen, and their favorite, Farnsworth the Flatulent. The latter was able to save the whole chicken coop from a fox attack by strategically eating a big Mexican dinner for lunch. Lintilla was none too pleased that I told that story.

As time passed, it got harder to make things up on the spot. Since they were little, for a while I was able to get away with retelling famous movie plots with chickens as the lead characters. But as time passed, they caught onto this too (plus, I was running out of movie plots). I started making excuses not to tell the stories, they became more infrequent, then stopped altogether, even though Zaphod and Trillian would beg for one every so often.

It hit me a couple of days ago that I had been channeling the ghost of Harry Chapin. How stupid of me! I had blown off a major part of my kids' childhood, and now it was gone! They are getting too old to want to hear "those" stories any more.

Then, last night, Lintilla was sick, so she couldn't read to Trillian (who still likes to be read to in bed). I offered to read, but Trillian asked instead for a chicken story. When I said "OK", Zaphod, to my surprise, rushed over from his room to hear the story. It was hard, because I'm out of practice. Since they are currently doing book reports on historical fiction, I weaved up a civil war era chicken story. Things were a little different - they kept interrupting me to correct some fine historical point - yet they listened to the end and made me promise I'd give another next week.

It is comforting to know, if we pay attention, that God eases us into these things. Hyperbole aside, our kids do not go overnight from dolls to makeup, from toy cars to real cars. I will hold this time and cherish it. Perhaps, it is the best time of all.

Labels: Kids

This year's crop of Holiday season movies was looking to be one I'd prefer to miss, until this past weekend when the kids wanted to check out the Comcast On Demand previews for "Happy Feet" .

Now, I'm excited. This is one movie I want to see opening day.

I'm something of a a digital-animation movie nut. I can tell you that in this particular corner of the movie world, there is Pixar, then there is everyone else. Pixar, with Toy Story, found the right formula and has never wavered. Pixar films have real stories, the kind adults can enjoy even if they don't have children. I still contend that The Incredibles is the best movie EVER about the "middle age crazies". FAR better than American Beauty. In all fairness, Cars was not the best Pixar has done.

That being said, the other studios have had a hard time getting it right. They can make movies the kids like, but parents are bored. The one HUGE exception was Dreamwork's Shrek . Its sardonic attitude was just plain FUN, the music was offbeat and wonderful, and there was a real story. IMHO, Shrek was one of the 10 best animated movies EVER.

I did not see Open Season. The "animals go on an adventure" theme is old, I've already seen THAT movie. I was about to give up hope for any studio but Pixar to ever make an entertaining animated movie.

Then I saw the previews for Happy Feet. Unless I have totally been fooled, I can tell this is going to be a GREAT movie.

It's going to be a film based on Joy. Isn't that what we've been missing lately? Pure, unadulterated joy? Springsteen Jersey concert in 1978 joy. Church of God revival meeting joy. First love, first car, first kiss joy. I can't wait.

It appears to be a celebration of music and dance. It features the "sounds" of Sovian Glover, for crying out loud! The soundtrack , it's my favorite kind: new people doing old songs. The storyline is also my favorite: finding your place in the world.

I can't wait. Is it November 17 yet?

So, WSMV is bringing Bill Hall back for an interview, just in time for November sweeps. That ought to tell you something. Bill Hall is something of a Nashville icon. Nashville transplants may not understand when the word 'beloved' is tossed around whenever Mr. Hall's name is mentioned. We lifelong Nashvillians (all four of us) understand completely.

Bill (Mr Hall just doesn't seem right) is a throwback to the "old" Nashville; the one that was smaller and less important than Memphis (and had an inferiority complex about it), the small big town, or the big small town, the one whose tallest building was the L&C tower. Harvey's, Opryland, Cain Sloan, sold-out Vanderbilt football games: Bill is the symbol of the Nashville in which I grew up. It's kind of sad he's been put out to pasture. It's even sadder that I remember his first day on the Ralph Emery show.

It's only a matter of time, we'll see the other old icons go, too. They'll be replaced by generic anchors who are vying for a shot at CNN. I cannot imagine a Nashville without a Bob Mueller, Anne Holt, Cris Clark, Dan Miller (although we had that for a while), Hope Hines, even Demetria, who as a transplant is still one of the most iconic of Nashville news personalities. I refered to her only by her first name, and you knew who she was: that's an icon.

No matter where you went away, or for how long, you could come back and these folks were still here waiting. They "were", and "are" Nashville in that they retain the pleasant, friendly persona that was Old Nashville. We took them for granted. If you could time-lapse video from the 70's to the present, the passage of time could be marked by the lines on Chris Clark's face. I am sad that Nashville will, in the not too distant future, just become another mid-sized market, indistiguishable from Indianoplis, Charlotte, Columbus, at least as far as our newscasts go.

One final thing about Bill Hall: he may have been the world's most preeminent African American redneck, and that may be the biggest reason of all to miss him.

Now that we've established that I'm certifiably insane, let's move on to some more lighthearted stuff.

Zaphod is with the program. I am so proud of him! We've cut back portions, and obvious "bad stuff", and I've heard very little complaint. We've upped the activity, and he's gone for it 100% ! Yipee!

Part of our exercize program we just finished. Round three of the leaf wars is over, and we won! The two biggest oaks still have 50% of their leaves, but we hauled off a ton this afternoon. We'll get the last of it when the inevitable early-December warm-up occurs.

I'll get to the Ugly Betty review tomorrow. Too much to do today. Hint: this one got four thumbs up!

Finally, I LOVE living in West Meade (except for the leaf wars) . I just spent the last hour with my family, after the leaves were done, watching a family of bats swoop overhead, hunting misquitoes. It was fascinating, they NEVER stopped! It is so neat to have a little nature preserve to entertain us, right in our own yard. We have Fat Eddie (our groundhog who lives in our front yard), Chip and Dale (two chipminks that wake us too early on Saturdays, a family if deer that live in the woods behind our house, and countless squirrels and birds. We also have a pack of coyotes that lives near here, they made a heck of a lot of noise around midnight the other night. Regardless, it is so neat to have all this nature, and still be 5 minutes away from Kroger!

I'd like to introduce you to someone. He's a gangly 23 year old. Still reads Tolkien and Douglas Adams. Socially awkward, he still lives with his parents. Drifting, his current line of work is foodservice.

Oh, I need to mention, he's a virgin.

Quick! Play word association with me. Pick one word to decribe this young man.

If over half of you didn't come up with the word loser or some variation thereof, somebody's lying. I guess the more empathetic of you might have thought something like pitiful. Both attitudes about this young man are different sides of the same coin. One is cruel and one is patronizing. They are both quite illustrative.

I'd like to talk to you about a societal problem that you most likely don't even know exists. Those affected stay silent, or, more likey, they outright lie.

I'd like to talk to you about Incidental Virginity.

What a strange phrase! I struggled with that name, because I wanted to represent something very specific. Involuntary virginity wasn't quite right, that's more in line with chastity belts and the like. My working definition for now for incidental virgnity is: A post-pubescent person who inadvertently has not had sexual intercourse. The inadvertently is key to this discussion.

You see, there are two kinds of virginity in modern society. There is the purposeful kind for religious or political reasons, many times accompanied by outward signs and rituals. True Love Waits is probably the most well-known movement in this category. Most public-arena discussions about virginity center around this kind. Since its adherents are so public about their intentions, it's fair game. I want to make it perfectly clear that this kind of chastity is NOT what I am talking about.

Then there is incidental virginity. A person who would very much like to partake in the deed, but for whatever reason has not. In our society, it's the stuff of comedy. We all laughed watching The 40 Year Old Virgin, it seemed OK because Steve Carrell's character was such a good sport about the whole thing. Trust me, most incidental virgins are "good sports", outwardly. But there is another side to this kind of existence that they don't show you in the movies.

Let's give some background to this with a little history. In my parent's time, the societal expectation concerning sex was "wait till marriage". More importantly, this attitude was (generally) reflected in the peer society of youths as well. To get around this, many married young, some quite young, and this kind of arrangement seemed to work for everyone.

By the time I was in high school (1979-1982), that had changed somewhat. The sexual revolution had worked its way down from college to high school students. There was far more acceptance of teen/youth sexuality from society as a whole. But, as with all societal movements, youth sexuality (at least on a peer level) went from revolution to orthodoxy. There wasn't a religious "Chastity Movement" yet, so if you had made it into your twenties without having done the deed, there was something wrong with you.

I guess I should tell you at this point (if you havent' figured it out yet), the gangly 23 year old loser was me.

At the time of my incidental virginity, there were no less than 10 coming of age movies in which the central plot was the protagonist's quest to "gain his manhood". Virginity was a problem that needed to be fixed. And, if you happened to fall into this category, you had no right to be called a man. This is the implication of the phrase "make you a man", or "gain your manhood".

The incidental virgin dies a death of a thousand cuts. Society, through popular culture, tells him he is not complete. His adolescence is over, but he is not yet allowed to call himself a Man. (I assume women have the same attitude, I don't know). Friends inadvertently add to the pain, with a slap on the back and a jolly, "Boy, what's WRONG with you? We've got to get you laid!"

What's wrong with you?

The incidental virgin goes to sleep every night, asking this question. What's wrong with me? EVERYBODY's having sex but me! What am I, a leper? What's WRONG with me?

After a while, it just becomes too much. The tag of "loser" and "not-quite-a-man (or woman)" is a heavy burden to carry. For a man, it can become so overwhelming that turning to a prostitute actually becomes thinkable. As for me, that was something I ultimately could not do with good conscience, so I did what any reasonable person would do.

I made up a lie.

It was a good one. I chose the right time, then I told everyone I knew. A beautiful stranger had "made a man out of me". I had finally rid myself of my Shame (at least outwardly). I even told someone who I KNEW would tell my father. I actually thought he would think better of me if he believed I weren't a virgin. This is how bad the stigma (especially for men) is.

How strong is this stigma? It caused me to do something ridiculous: I carried the lie into my marriage. Lintilla had no idea she was my first and only until I "confessed" two years into our marriage. When we were dating, I didn't want her to think I was a loser. This is the society we live in today: I was ashamed of something that I should have been proud of. After all, there aren't many "one woman and only one woman for life" men out there - they could put me in a museum.

Looking back, I now know intellectually what caused my incidental virginity. Hopelessly romantic and socially awkward are not a good combination. Having no fashion sense probably contributed. And of course, the biggest contributor to the situation was probably the overwhelming fear of rejection that many young people have. I know all of this intellectually. Emotionally, strangely enough, it still hurts, after all these years. Even though I had a "happy ending": happily married, successful, living in a most desirable neighborhood. To prepare to write this, I took a good look at myself back then. Out of nowhere, I wept. It still hurts.

I know I've gotten extremely personal here, and no doubt many of you are calling me a "whiner" by now. I don't give a flip. If this is your attitude, I'm not talking to you right now. Go away. For the rest of you, I'll say: do not make your virgin friends feel like less than a person. Watch what you say and how you say it! Popular culture tells the incidental virgin he's a loser; don't inadvertently pile on.

Finally, something tells me there are quite a few reading my "testimony" and nodding their heads. If that's you, I want to say something directly to you:

There is nothing wrong with you.
Just be.
Don't let others define manhood or womanhood for you.
Others say hurtful things when they don't mean to. Forgive.
Don't rush; let "it" be right, and at the right time.
Don't let ANYONE define your worth for you.

There is nothing wrong with you.
There is nothing wrong with you.
There is nothing wrong with you.

Yesterday, at Nashville Is Talking, there was a discussion of "Purity Balls". In the comments, I made a complete ass of myself. After my second ridiculous comment, I had to take a step back and ask myself why I was behaving so irrationally.

What self-examination revealed was surprising. What had REALLY set me off was in the original referenced post at Women's Health News Rachel ahd said something I'm sure she thought was totally innocuous:

Now, it's not as though I think kids should be going out and having a ton of sex (although they will)...

The "although they WILL" reference had brought back some incredibly painful memories for me. I decided to write an explaination as a post, both to give context, and as a cathartic method to finally move on from something which I have never been able to let go.

Needless to say, I hereby will excuse myself from any political/social discussions about "virginity", I don't think I'm capable of rational discussion of the subject. I am very sorry for going off. Really, I am.

Fair warning, my next post will be extremely personal - if this makes you uncomfortable, I have lots of humor posts you can read instead. You have been warned.

If you, however, want an insight into a societal problem you've probably never though about before, stay tuned. It'll be in a separate post, because it's quite long. If I don't chicken out, I'll post it shortly.

I know y'all are like me in that you ravenously devour any Moose news:

Moose meat in space

Excerpt:

Christer Fuglesang, who is set to become the first Swedish astronaut to embark on a space mission next month, said Thursday he will bring a decidedly Scandinavian flavor to the food menu aboard the International Space Station.

Fuglesang will serve dried moose meat, crisp bread and gingerbread cookies, a Christmas favorite in Sweden, to his colleagues on one of the 12 days he is set to spend on the ISS.

I wonder if this was the same moose that bit my sister?

US Vote Not a Shift To The Left, Bill Clinton says

I have come to the conclusion that there is no earthly way to explain why one person is attracted to another. I touched on this long ago, in a previous incarnation of this blog. Some things are just meant to be a mystery.

How do you explain this ? Or this? There's just some things God meant to never be understood in this life.

So, I had to ask myself, do I have a celeb-crush that defies logic? Well, yeah. As long as I can remember, I've had a "thing" for Melissa Gilbert. Half Pint? The woman who beat out Rhoda for president of SAG? Lifetime movie queen? Yep.

Some of it is demographics. She and I are both 42, (she was born 2 months before me), we've "grown up" together. You know how when you look in the mirror, you never see yourself as the age you really are? Well, anytime I've needed a reality check, I check out Melissa. I must still look pretty good:



A little older, a few lbs heavier, maybe, but genuine, classy, dignified. I can't explain it, but I think she's absolutely beautiful. Not stretched, botoxed, nipped, tucked or plastic. And the way she carries herself is so un-Hollywood! (Kinda strange, for the president of the Screen Actors Guild, when you think about it). She married an older man (a Republican for cryin' out loud!), and stuck to it. In a sick perverted way, I find that sexy, too.

Oh, and there's this from her profile:

My favorite junk foods are, Krispy Kreme doughnuts and spicy, fried pork- rinds.

How could I not be smitten?

My biggest fear is NOT Nancy Pelosi. It's not terrorism, or gay marriage, or being accosted by the homeless. Death scares me not at all.

Fire, heights, and suffocation are pretty big fears, but they pale in comparison to my biggest fear.

My greatest fear is, and always has been, turning on the television and seeing myself portrayed as a Muppet without my consent.

Did I get the wrong ballot?

Maybe they didn't give me the special glasses that enable you to see the "hidden" parts of the ballot.

Somehow, I totally missed it. Apparently, yesterday, Tennessee banned homosexuality. At least that's the implication you have to draw when reading the hyperbole flying aroung the Tennessee blogsphere.

Like this. Here's a excerpt:

I mean, really, what harm are these people causing? What actual harm are gay people doing to you? Is the Gay Mafia causing you to go out and don some Gay Apparel?

Those precious ones over at TGW are making plans on leaving our hate-filled state . They apparently are expecting gay lynchings at any moment.

Take a deep breath. Let this old man cut through all the fog and tell you what really happened. Tennessee is NOT filled with clones of the Matthew Shephard killers. Those kind of people don't vote (heck they most likely aren't Christian either). What is IS filled with is little old men and ladies, who see stories on the news about gay marriage, complete with video of same-sex couples holding hands and kissing.

The little old people voted yes on Amendment One because they didn't want to see that video anymore.

For the record, I am in favor of a legal civil union that any two adults (including siblings - I mean ANY two people) can enter into. This ticks off my evangelical friends, but that's too bad. The unions I propose would have the exact same legal and financial benefits of marriage. It would NOT be called marriage though. As far as the government is concerned, it would be a totally platonic financial contract.

Why?

In the US, we still subscribe to the Romantic ideal of marriage. It's not just a business arrangement arranged by the families of the bride and groom, like in traditional and other societies. Oh, there's a financial/legal aspect to it. But it's also a societal validation of the Love of two people.

It's that second part that both sides of this debate have refused to talk about.

It's not about hospital visits.
It's not about inheritence rights.
It's not about equal housing, or fair employment, or joint checking.

I think most Tennesseans could agree to something that granted these things.

But giving a societal stamp of approval on the LOVE of a same-sex couple?

Old Gertie and Buford aren't quite ready for that yet.

Can we drop the hyperbole so we can have a civil conversation about this?

Or maybe they really did ban homosexuality, and I missed it.

Congratulations to the Democrats.

I am now a red person in a slightly blue country, as opposed to Tennessee liberals who are blue people in a slightly red state. Lots of angst to go around!

I'm investing in GlaxoSmithKline.

Only one snarky comment: Now that the Dems have won, why is it that the cries of "Diebold! Diebold!" have gone silent? If the machines guaranteed that the result would be tainted if Republicans won, the flaws that caused the original hypothesis still hold. Where's my paper receipt? Were the machines hacked? Count we count on Nancy Pelosi to launch an investigation?

It is 1985. Here are 10 things about me:

1) Favorite Song: "Kyrie" - Mr Mister.
2) I am one year out of tech school and one year away from crashing and burning at MTSU. 21 years old. What a dope!
3) I weigh all of 132 lbs. I am doing everything I can to gain weight.
4) I still maintain my "virtue". This is NOT by choice.
5) I have started my music career. I've written enough songs for our band to make a 8-song demo. It was pretty bad, but I thought I was the next Dylan.
6) I see "Back to The Future" about 10 times at the Lions Head Cinema.
7) I see Rick Springfield at Municipal Auditorium. What I remember most was being one of the few men in a sea of hot and bothered girls and women. Good Times. Til Tuesday opened up, and to this day I don't know if the bass player was a man or a woman.
8) Not wanting to go the Way of the Mullet, I go to the hair place in the 1st level of 100 oaks and get a perm on my quite long hair. I remember thinking it would make me look like a young Springsteen. With my glasses and wispy mustache, I ended up looking EXACTLY like Weird Al Yankovic .
9) I drive a 10-year-old, falling apart white Pinto. I took out the 8 track, put in a Pioneer cassette player. I was big stuff.
10) This "woman" shows up at a Halloween party the band is playing wearing a multi-colored sweater dress, leggings, high-heel boots and green and orange hair. She comes to a couple more shows (sans costume). Then, she starts showing up for breakfast at the McDonald's I worked at. I finally get the message, and I go on my first date with Lintilla late that year. We go see "Santa Claus, The Movie".

It's 1975. Here are 10 things about me:

1) Favorite song: Philadelphia Freedom.
2) I am in the 5th grade at Gower Elementary school.
3) Favorite hangout: Strike n Spare on White Bridge Road.
4) I saw 'The Apple Dumpling Gang' at the Plaza Theater on Charlotte Pike, and 'Return of the Pink Panther' at (I think) the Belle Meade Theater.
5) Bellevue was nothing like the sprawling craziness it is today. It consisted of a Kroger (where the Eckerd is now on Hwy 70), a McDonald's, and the Jr and Sr High Schools. Oh, and quite a few 'white flight' residents.
6) I start my writing career by writing a short story about a Russian invasion of America thwarted by some high school students. I am not kidding. It was set in Smith County TN, and my lead (in my head) looked NOTHING like Patrick Swayze. Somebody owes me!
7) By this time in my life, I have lived in 7 different houses. We moved a LOT.
8) Saturday Nights my folks let me stay up to watch Sir Cecil Creape.
9) I have a vivid memory of doing the "bump" with a girl named Tracy at recess.
10) They found Marcia Trimble. My mom wouldn't let me out of the house for weeks.

I have a question for you.

Let's say you and your spouse have settled into that suburban trap: living in an overscheduled, child-centered, "everyone's always tired" home. You feel guilty because you rarely have any time or energy for your spouse. Your new euphamism for sex is your "quarterly review".

Now, let's say lately you've made an effort; you're trying to do better. But the last few times you've put Marvin Gaye on the cd player and chilled some adult beverage, child 'x' and child 'y' took turns coming into your room.

"Mom, I can't sleep"
"Dad, I had a bad dream"

Etcetera, etcetera on and on for the required hours to make you sleepy and out of the mood. It's like they have some kind of "mood-sensing radar".

Fast forward to the present. Late afternoon, your spouse gives you "that look". Whoopee! Tonight's the night!

Now, here's my question:

Do you give the children the adult dose of Benadryl at 6pm or 7pm ?

There is so much I could tell you about Lintilla, but I'll keep it short for now. She's 4 years older than me. In July of next year, we will have been married 20 years. Yes, we married in the Reagan administration. My Dad, who has never liked Lintilla, gave us six months. My brothers think I stayed with her all these years just to prove him wrong. They're wrong.

She was best friends with my best friend's girlfriend. They got tired of our whining, set us up, and created a Monster.

To tell you the most interesting thing about Lintilla, I'll first have to tell you a few things about me:

First, you have to know that I'm an attention hog. I've been in the music business as a struggling artist for 25 years. I've played before crowds of 5 and crowds of 500. I'm also a layspeaker (the Methodist Church's version of an amateur preacher). I've preached in small churches, and big churches. I'm also a writer, having been published here and there over the years. Everything I've done over the years appears like my main goal in life is to be recognized when Lintilla and I are out in public.

Well, that happens. Restaurants, WalMart, church functions, concerts, everywhere - people walk up to us and say "I know you!"

To Lintilla.

You see, Lintilla is a home hospice caregiver. And she doesn't treat it like a job, but a calling. She's not a nurse, but an aide, which means she takes care of the most basic needs of her patients, doing things many would call "gross". She always has a kind word as she helps people spend their last days in relative comfort and dignity.

If you've had a loved one die of a terminal illness in the Nashville area in the last few years, there's a good chance she's been in your home. Rich, poor, black, white, brown: her caring attitude never changes.

Oh, if you could only see the look in people's EYES as they recognize her! They walk up and hug her like one of the family. Sometimes, it seems like they don't want to let go. They look at me and say, "You've got a fine wife, here".

I know.

This is my first ever meme:

Top 5 Cheesy Songs on My Ipod:

5) Could It Be Magic - Barry Manilow (The piano geek in me loves this song).
4)Making Love Out of Nothing At All - Air Supply (They almost rocked on this one)
3) Seasons In the Sun - Terry Jacks (Ahh, nothing sets the mood for teenaged angst than a good death song!)
2) You Light Up My Life - Debbie Boone (30-something years of distance caused me to revisit this song from my youth. It's actually very well written)
1) Never Been To Me - Charlene (No comment)

Come here tomorrow for Shoot The Moose Election Day Madness!

No Politics. Very little seriousness at all.

I'm cramming for a corporate certification exam (in my world not passing costs money), but as time permits, I'll be posting ridiculous memes, jokes, observations, introduce you to my family, and who knows what else.

So, come on by tomorrow to escape the silliness with some REAL serious silliness.

If you call my house 3 times in one day, it means one of two things:

1) You're harrassing me, or
2) You need a new phone bank program.

I KNOW that Democrats have this inferiority complex about their "get out the vote" machine as compared to Republicans. Recent history says you have reason to be concerned.

But it's a very simple routine that can be added to the phone bank program to let multiple staffers know if a number has already been called. It also makes your GOTV campaign more effecient because you're not wasting time on ground you've already covered.

My freelance rates are quite reasonable.

Call me, Harold.

You ever have one of those days in church where you have a nagging little sin on your mind, and every single Bible verse, every single prayer, every single illustration in the sermon seems to be speaking directly to YOU? Well, I had one of those yesterday.

God is very good to me. Sometimes I deserve a kick in the butt instead of a gentle nudge, but the Lord gently tugs at my heart instead.

My temper tantrum on Friday was childish and uncalled for. Anybody that knows me knows that I abhor when Christians in the US act like victims, when the US is the most Christian-friendly country on the face of the earth.

One thing I am pretty sure of, Satan seems to do his best work in drive-time traffic. He found my button and he pushed it.

I apologise, for saying things I didn't mean, and for wasting anyone's time on Friday.

I will not take the original post down - I'll leave it as a reminder that I still have some growing up to do.

To the person in the Lexus who cut me off on White Bridge Road this afternoon:

I don't get your bumper sticker. Oh, I GET it, in that I understand what it says and the message it's trying to convey. What I'm trying to figure out is why the message was so important to you that you paid money for it, then potentially ruined the paint job on your expensive SUV.

All so you could tweak the sensibilities of any Christians that might be following you.

Why is it so important to you that I know about you that: I Was Born OK The First Time? I mean, as far as I know, there's no such thing as evangelical Atheism, or Buddhism, or Hinduism. So, if you aren't spreading your faith, or lack thereof, what exactly are you trying to do?

I don't get your bumper sticker any more than I get the Darwin Walking Fish. Do you get some kind of pleasure out of tweaking those ignorant Christians?

Why?

Aren't you secure enough in what you believe?

We'll leave for another day the discussion of why I see more cirle-and-line (meaning "No") W stickers on Lexuses and Range Rovers and BMWs and Mecedes Benzes than I do on old Caddilacs, or Tauruses or Chevy pickups. Party of the people, indeed.

But I really want to know why it's so important for you to get a rise out of Christians. Your answer will probably also give me an explaination as to why you cut me off.

Very little comedy in this episode. Instead the producers used drama to answer many questions and tie up many loose ends. There were three major storylines this week: Betty's Dad's immigration troubles (told you!), Wilhelmina's trouble with her daughter Nico, and a really good knock-off of Intolerable Cruelty involving Daniel and Salma Hayek .

The episode begins with an immigration lawyer telling the Suarez's that he might can help Ignacio, but it would take a $20000 retainer. This sets off one of the few bits of comedy in the episode, when Hilda convinces Betty to sell Herbalux at the Mode offices. At first she's ridiculed, but the prospect of "losing 10 ounds in 10 days" proves to be too much for the image-conscious employees of Mode to resist. Betty and Hilda get caught, however, and Wilhemina summons Betty to her office.

But, instead of punishing her, she attempts to buy Betty off. She gives her a check for $2000, and Betty knows that if she cashes the check, Wilhemena will "own" her.

Wilhemena has troubles of her own, as her 15-year-old daughter arrives and starts acting out in all kinds of embarrasing ways. Jowharah Jones, who plays Nico, gives the best acting performance seen on this show so far. A+ .

In place of comedy this week, we have a display of incredible tension between Daniel and what turns out to be a new Editor-In-Chief for Meade Publications (played by Salma Hayek). All I can say is Ms Hayek teases him, runs him through wash, and hangs Daniel out to try. It was a great comeuppance to see. (Along with, I might add, Ms Hayek in a pushup bra). This was transposed nicely against Daniel's horrible treatment of Amanda.

There were two major plot turns at the end, one involving Daniel/Amanda, the other involving Ignacio. The former was kind of a surprise, and the latter I saw coming miles away. But this show isn't about suspense, so that's OK with me. They also pretty much gave away the fact that the Mysterious Woman is Faye Summers, and she sort of shows up when Daniel's father is visiting "her" crypt.

One disappointment: no Justin this week. I'm sure he'll be back next week, as the previews reveal that next week's show will go full-bore back into the comedy. Whiney Walter was also AWOL. I was surprised at how many tears there were in this episode, but they were neccessary for plot and character development.

All in all, this episode was riviting, if anything because it was so different.

Episode Parental Advisory: Salma Hayek in a pushup bra. If you have any 14-year-old boys in the house, they're probably going to want to watch it again (I think I will, too :) ). There is one use of "b**ch" (in reference to Marc, of all people). We learn some pretty heavy sins of the past. Once again, we see Daniel/Amanda in bed. Strong sexual tension, a few double-ententres. However, there were, once again, good lessons about the consequences of using people. Your mileage may vary.

Let me get this straight. Saddam had no WMD program, especially nuclear (didn't Joe Wilson tell us so?). He had no knowledge or technology that, if passed to terrorists, could become dangerous.

However, that very same lack of knowledge, posted on a web site of translated documents, would be enough to give Iran the Bomb?

I know, I know, this news is supposed to hurt the president, and by extension the Republicans. Possibly.

But doesn't this qualify as "trying to have it both ways"?

Update
You may be wondering why I broke my own "enough with he politics" rule. It was simply out of frustration. I have known about these documents for months. After the initial document dump, a user at Free Republic who calls himself jveritas has been translating them, document by document. It was there for everyone to see: chemical, nuclear, bilogical programs that Saddam had his hands in AFTER 2000. Those of us who frequent the site wondered, "Why isn't anyone reporting this?"

Well, now we know. The NYT was waiting for a "gotcha" moment.

JVeritas has posted a pretty stinging rebuke to the Times here . This is major. Blockbuster. And it's about time.

I've been told by a few that airing my son's personal problems is quite cruel, and I've also been told that my posts about my daughter are far more positive. Therefore, in honor of my son's recent 10th birthday, and to kind of even things out, I submit for your reading pleasure an article I wrote in 1997 to celebrate my son's 1st birthday. It was originally printed in the Tennessean as a Nashville Eye column. Of course, I've changed the names to "blog" names.

I haven't seen these words in 9 years, and putting this together brough it all back for me. Here at the halfway point (at least while he's in my house), I recognize all of my dreams have come true. I couldn't help but give my son a good long hug tonight.

God Took Away With One Hand, Gave With Another
To my son:
On October 24, our family will celebrate your first birthday. Your mother and I are planning on a big party, with lots of guests, cake, ice cream, and ceremony. You see, this is a great cause to celebrate. The fact that you are here, crawling around my house, terrorizing the dog, and making a general mess is nothing less than awe-inspiring.
Our paths will forever be connected, but they did not start out together. As for me, I was a happily married man who was starting to feel the strong urge to have children. I will never forget the day the doctor called me into his office and said, "We have a problem". The news was bad: I could not conceive a child. I left his office feeling a deeper sadness than I have ever known. I wondered why God had singled me out for such misery, making me want a baby so bad, then taking away my ability to make one. Please forgive me for feeling this way, son. I didn't know what God had in store for me.
Your mother was my angel. She comforted me, then showed me the way. She was adopted by your Grandmother when she was a baby. "We could adopt, too", she said. Without knowing why, I said, "OK". We called Heaven Sent Children in Murfreesboro, and they sent Sheila Theopolis to our door . This special lady told us about adoption programs here in the US, and around the world. When she told us of Korea, without knowing why, we both said, "Let's do it".
We proceeded to fill out more paperwork than I ever thought imaginable. Over the next six months, Sheila guided us through the minefield of regulations for two states, two nations, the INS, the FBI, and DHS. On New Year's Eve 1996, Sheila called your mother with the wonderful news that you had been found for us! She told us how you were born in Pusan, Korea, and showed us pictures. We fell in love. We excitedly spent the next three months buying baby things, having showers, and getting your room ready. Then, they called and said you'd be coming home on March 21st.
That day dawned glorious and bright. Your Korean name is Kwang Wook, which means "glorious and bright". We stood at the end of the terminal, and you were last off the plane. Instead of crying, like we thought we would, we burst into joyous laughter. What a BIG baby you were! We have laughed more than anything else since.
On your birthday, we will have a traditional Korean celebration, known as Tol. We do this in honor of all of those in Korea who worked so hard to get you home. After that, we will let you decide how much we look back to the East. As for me, when I look at you, my dreams are very much American. I dream of long, lazy summer days throwing ball, interrupted only by the cry of the ice cream truck. Of crisp fall nights, roasting marshmallows. Of winter days, where fingers and toes stinging from throwing snowballs are soothed by a warm fire and hot cocoa. Of a spring day, where addressing graduating seniors, you say "I'd like to thank my Dad..."
I know that you're at the age that's easy on a parent. Let me resolve now to calmly ride out grocery store tantrums, to kiss all boo-boos, to defend you passionately when racism shows its ugly head. Let me promise to keep my emotions in check when, during an argument, you say, "you're not my real Dad". I promise to love you, even when you don't want me to love you. And let me swear that I will never lose sight of my main mission: to guide you to honorable manhood.
The other day, I was feeding you. As you sometimes do, you decided to blow all the food out of your mouth onto my face and clothes. My first instinct was to be angry. During the silence that followed, you gave me that infectious smile, and said "gup". Then you laughed. I laughed, too. I said "gup", back to you. We both laughed for five minutes. There we were, a grown man and a baby, with food all over both of us, laughing like hyenas and saying "gup" over and over. Suddenly, tears came unbidden to my eyes, and I wondered why God had singled me out for such happiness. My cup is truly running over. Every time I see you, I know God is giving me an advance on my heavenly reward.
Happy birthday, Zaphod.

My son is overweight. There, I've said it. He's not chubby, he's not plump, he's not "big boned", he's overweight. This is extremely hard for me to admit; it is my greatest parental failing so far.

Yesterday, Lintilla took Zaphod to the pediatrician for an unrelated problem. He weighed in at 120 lbs . He's 4 feet 11. The doctor said enough is enough, we've got to do something. Something is going to be tough, though, because he's only 10 and we're not allowed to put him on a diet, per se. We are not neccessarily supposed to help him lose weight, but the doc wants him stabilized, while he grows "up".

This is my fault, and my fault alone. I did everything you're not supposed to do: making food a reward, not giving him healthy alternatives, letting him lead a sedentary lifestyle (he turned 10 last week, his present was a Nintendo DS). Added to this is the fact that Lintilla and I have also let ourselves get overweight.

My whole adult life, I've yo-yo'd . I've lost 50 lbs 3 different times in my life. I'm such an expert at losing weight, I just took it for granted that I could do it forever.

Then I turned 40.

When I do exercize, it doesn't do as much good as it used to. AND, somehow, someway, I lost my willpower. My recent experience with diet and exercize is perfectly described by the Apostle Paul:

I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate. - Romans 7:15 (NLT)

It's weird, losing control like that. But, back to Zaphod. One thing of which most people are unaware is the fact that when you apply to adopt from Korea, you must be within a certain proportional weight. Apparently Koreans must have a genetic disposition to obesity, so the authorities want to place kids with families that have their nutritional act together. Well, we DID, 10 years ago.

Any strategies? Obviously, I have to get Zaphod more active, and somehow get him less calories without putting him on a "diet". Any "fun foods" that are more nutritious than pizza, hamburgers and chicken strips? I'm already rearranging our budget so we can join the Y, but isn't the Y's kids club a glorified day care? I need to get Zaphod active. (The only sport he likes is baseball)

An all the while, skinny Trillian is watching the 3 of us obsess over weight. So, I've also got the worry of letting her slip into an eating disorder.

Anybody have a suceess story to share with me? I can't do this alone.

Brittney at Nashville is Talking is the Queen of All New Media . She had put together a roundup of Nashville blogger's thoughts on the Kerry gaffe including mine. I read my own pull quote - and boy, what an eye opener - it appeared to be a full-on rant against the Left. The words were mine, but they were an illustration, not a theme. This was NOT Brittney's fault, I screwed up an left in a paragraph that could be taken the wrong way.

I left a comment, not neccessarily directed at Brittney, asking readers to read my entire post, mainly because I don't want to leave people with the impression that I'm a right-wing politics blogger. Brittney replied and actually added more to my pull quote, giving it context.

Thank you, Brittney, you are a true professional. Old Media, this is how it's done. Long Live the Queen.

By now, certainly you've heard of the incredible flap caused by John Kerry's words the other day. I'm going to break my self-imposed exile from political subjects to say a few things about this. However, my take is more philosphical, so perhaps I can be forgiven for jumping into the fray.

As you can tell from this site, I really am a Douglas Adams geek. The
Hitchhiker's Guide series of books were the only ones ever to make me laugh out loud (waking Lintilla in the process). One character I have never been able to get out of my mind is Agrajag . Agrajag is the large, mad, fat, bat-like creature, who was inadvertantly killed by Arthur Dent in every single one of his previous incarnations. For whatever reason, every single "life" of Agrajag was ended by Arthur.

This caused Agrajag to hate Arthur with the deepest, most seething hate ever seen. This leads to the funniest, most pathetic scene in the whole series (described here by the Hitchiker's Guide Project):

After Agrajag became aware of his many, many deaths, he diverted Arthur to a 'Cathedral Of Hate' in order to take his revenge.

He got it wrong, tho, and brought Arthur to the Cathedral before one of his deaths actually occurred. In his anger, he tried to kill Arthur anyway, and wound up dying. Again.

Sometimes, we let politics have way too prominent a place in our lives, and when we lose (as happens frequently in politics) we become Agrajag. Everything we do, everything we say, even think is another building block in our Cathedral of Hate. It overcomes us, makes us highly irrational, many times makes us do things that lead to our own undoing.

There was a time in 1998 - 2000 when we on the right became Agrajag. Bill Clinton had beaten us at every turn (we were the good guys in the government shutdown of 1995), and he turned it against us. To those of us on the right, impeachment seemed quite rational (he HAD broken the law), but, in retrospect, it was madness. To this day, conservatives cannot let it go.

Well, my friends, this is where the Left is today. Their hatred of George W Bush has consumed them. Every ounce of their being is dedicated to his demise. And, just as the Right did in 1998, the Left feels that the rest of the country shares the same passion of hatred. There are cathedrals of hate spread all over the internet, different denominations: Bushitler, Shrub, Chimpy, and the more general "Repug".

It was this mindset, I believe, that caused Senator Kerry to speak his mind. He was comfortable, among friends. I'll take him at his word: his intention was to insult Bush, not the troops. But his wording and phrasing caused the statement to be an incredibly stupid thing to say 1 week out of an election. It may be only a few words, but "Study hard, or you'll end up in Iraq" is loaded with all kinds of implications; Kerry cannot escape the "or". I really don't think he meant it that way. But I DO think his hatred of George W Bush caused him to say something that he now wished he hadn't.

Things have gotten completely out of hand. Politics has become entirely too personal. We should be brothers in arms, deciding on how we will handle a few policy disagreements. Instead, we call each other wingnut and moonbat, we call the First Lady a "Stepford Wife", and the former First Lady "Shrillary Witch". We have silly arguments over who loves God more. We have built Catherdrals of Hate so strong and high, I have to wonder: if a real enemy attacked the US, would we even defend one another? Have we, finally, lost "The Water's Edge"? I seriously don't know.

If you find yourself using terms like "moonbat" or "wingnut", if you would never socialize with a person on the opposite end of the political spectrum, if you find yourself getting physically ill whenever George W Bush or Ted Kennedy get on the television, if you find yourself spinning the recent words of John Kerry or Rush Limbaugh, I have some advice, from someone who's been there. My advice would be that of The Old Man in the Hospital to Larry Donner in "Throw Momma From the Train" :

The Hate is no good for you. Let it go. Or I'm leaving you.