Shoot The Moose

I am one of those people who, when setting out on a quest, needs a lodestar. I need a point of reference, something tangible to which I can turn.

Well, even though I know that the quickest way to hear the laughter of God is to tell Him your plans, I have some plans for the coming year nonetheless. I intend to lose weight and get in shape. But, I ask myself, what shall be my lodestar? What shall constantly be in front of me, a reminder of my quest, not to be discarded until the quest is complete?

I decided after watching one of my daughter's episodes of Hannah Montana. This year, I am going to shake things up. REALLY shake things up. I am going to do something, that for 99% of the world's population is unthinkable.

I have told a few, select friends; they recoiled in horror. The most common reaction has been along the lines of: "For the love of God, NO!" I have been reminded to think of the children. I have also been reminded that I will have a lot of trouble finding a professional who will be willing to perform the "procedure" I need to get started.

That's OK. If I can't find someone in Nashville, I'll go elsewhere. I'll even travel to Mexico if I have to. I'm a man on a mission. So, I'm sure you're asking, what on earth is it I am doing that has friends terrified, that will torture my children, that may even break up my marriage?

In 2007...

I am going to re-grow...

My mullet.

I want my mullet back. I'm tired of everyone telling me what's cool and uncool. God has blessed this 42-year-old with a full, bushy head of hair, still the original color, with a few random white hairs peppered in. I'm ready to re-live just a small portion of my youth - business in the front, party in the back. (I had a GREAT mullet. That's me, second from the right).

The mullet will serve three purposes:

1) It will be a constant, tangible reminder to me that I am on a mission; when I am weak, all I need to do is look in the mirror.
2) It will serve as a motivation for my family not to sabotage my efforts, as has been done in the past. The mullet stays until I reach my goals. It delights me to no end that my children are mortified.
3) It will be my own mini-mutiny. My mid-life crisis. My way of saying to the world, "I don't give a crap what you think!"

Brittney at Nashville is Talking, with her Waxing Vegan blog, has inspired me. I have created a new blog to chronicle my growing hair and shrinking waistline: Follow The Mullet. If you want to follow one man's struggle to regain his health and youth, check it out every now and then. My ultimate hope is to cut the back once I reach my goals, and donate the hair to Locks of Love or another such organization.

My family has been wondering why I skipped my last couple of haircuts. My hair is now to my collar in the back. I'm ready to trim the top/sides. Hopefully my usual barber will do it. I'll try to get pictures and post them at Follow The Mullet.

I may be insane, but I still wish all of you a happy and hairy 2007!

This will be your first reminder, and probably not the last. If you want to see Slartibartfast as you've never seen him before, make the drive out to Ashland City on Saturday, January 6th to see X-Alt play at the Truth, Beauty, and Goodness Coffeehouse.

X-Alt almost never plays a non-mission related gig anymore, so this will be your only chance to see us for a while. Unless you are in prison, or a nursing home, or your church has booked us for a service.

It is my understanding that we'll have the horn section for this show. This will be quite a treat!

I know every Christian band says this, but you have to take my word for it: our show is an incredible musical experience, whether you are a Christian or not. Half the set is Staxx Records - inspired soul. (My parents raised me on Sam & Dave and Otis Redding). The other half is standard Christian rock (with a little bluegrass and Zydeco thrown in).

And it might be a bold claim, but I'll stack up our harmonies against ANYBODY's in Nashville (hey, Sista - why don't you come see us and you can report back whether I'm exaggerating or not?)

The show starts at 8:00 PM.

For those of you who met me at the blogger meat-up, that reserved dude hiding behind his wife will be nowhere to be found; I get pretty wild once I get on stage. Well, for an overweight 42-year-old Methodist. Come and see for yourself!

If you miss this one, your next chance may be the festivals / fairs in the summer and fall.

The 2nd New Year's resolution I am making is the most cliche of all: to lose my excess weight and get healthy. I seperated them in deference to Katherine Coble, who feels very strongly that the two are not neccessarily related. I remain undecided - my life experience tells me that there may not be a causal connection, but when you do the neccessary things to accomplish one, the other seems to fall into place.

Hoo-boy, this is going to be a long post.

In order for you to understand where I'm coming from, It's extremely important for me to take a step back and tell you my life's fitness history. For the first 22 or so years of my life, I was quite skinny. Not in a good way - most people (and my doctor) thought it was unhealthy. To give you some idea how skinny I was: in high school, I was a wrestler. I was in the lowest weight class, and I won half of my matches by default because the other school usually didn't have anyone small enough to fit into that class. I drank the weight-gain shakes, but it was to no avail. I only tell you this because I want you to know that I am NOT trying to reclaim the wonderfully healthy body of my youth, because it never existed.

Marriage cured me of my skinniness (it always does, doesn't it, men?). I gained steadily till I quit smoking in '92, then (here's another cliche) I sort-of ballooned. Since then, I have yo-yo'd, and I mean in an EXTREME way. I have lost (and gained back) over 50 pounds 3 different times. I am an expert at losing weight, and an absolute amateur at keeping it off.

The last time, I got serious. It was (surprise!) a New Year's resolution, and I studied every weight-loss and fitness book I could find. It pleased the engineer in me to discover at the heart of weight loss lies a simple logic formula:
If (calories eaten < calories burned) then weight loss occurs. It doesn't matter HOW you do it, but it all boils down to this formula. So, I took the reccomendations (2000 calories a day for a man my size), and ramped them down to 1400 a day, no exceptions. Then, I did something unconventional.

The Sirius Cybernetics Corporation (SCC) has exercize facilities in the basement of my building. There is a large room for exercize classes (provided by SCC at no charge), and a weight room. The women of SCC did the classes, and the men would pump iron and preen in the mirrored weight room. I had done my share of weight training since the previous fall (like a man, with no instruction or guidance).

After New Years, I walked into the weight room as usual, then kept going to the classroom. The men gave me funny looks as I passed by, but the women really did. I was invading their space, I guess. I think the instructor sensed this, and she proceeded to try to kill me with that day's toning workout. She almost did. Men are used to doing small amounts of reps with large weights; in women's toning classes, they do high reps with lower weights.

Dear. God. I was not prepared for how much I hurt the next day. But, to everyone's surprise, I came back for the next class. I wasn't going to let that woman defeat me! After a few more classes, she stopped trying to kill me. It was obvious that I wasn't going away (Later, we became good friends). The other women got used to me, and realized I wasn't there to ogle (that would have been quite embarrasing - I was in gym shorts and it was a long walk to the men's locker room).

It started getting easier, and after a few months, I added a couple of cardio classes to my weekly routine. Once again, it nearly killed me, but I came back time and again. I raised my calorie intake back to 2000 because I was burning an incredible amount by that time. The weight continued to peel off, and this time, something different happened. I had developed a real man's body for the first time in my life. In my late 30's, no less! The men in the weight room stopped laughing at me,and several joined me. We had learned that to get a decent man's body, you have to work out like a woman.

This was the glory time, just a few short years ago. It is amazing how differently everyone treats you when you're in shape. Spouses, family, co-workers, even strangers are nicer to you and treat you with more respect. My doctor said I had the resting heart rate of an Olympic athelete. I'm sure Lintilla thought that I was going through a mid-life crisis, and that a sportscar and affair couldn't be far behind. I got the sportscar, but I could never, ever betray Lintilla. It was enough for my ego just to, for once in my life, be considered attractive. (BTW, women, you aren't as discreet about these things as you think you are. There were a few times when I wanted to say "My eyes are up here!")

Well, I have rambled too long so I'll get back on point: later that year we went on vacation, and I got out of my good habits. Eventually, I gained back all the weight I had lost, and then some. I could have rejoined the classes at any time, but after gaining about 15 lbs, I felt like I had let the ladies in the class down. I didn't want them to see me in that shape. I figured I'd go back once I had lost some of the weight. I never did.

Then, this past year, I resolved to lose it again. I figured it would be a piece of cake, I had learned the secret, and it would just be a matter of doing what I did last time. But this time, I failed completely. I learned that there is a HUGE difference in metabolism between age 37 and age 42. I learned that it's not easy to eat healthy when you have two school-aged children whose friends "get happy meals all the time". I learned that I have filled the God-shaped hole in my soul with a lust for food.

There is an Arby's commercial where construction workers are sitting on a ledge, and a series of beautiful women pass by. The men say nothing. Then, a balding man, carrying an Arby's sack and drinking a shake passes by, and the construction workers start their catcalls. It's hilarious, and it rings true. This is where I am at in my life. Sometimes I think that if Shania Twain was standing naked before me, saying softly, "I want you!", I would be totally unaffected. UNLESS she was holding a supersized Big Mac combo - THAT might get my attention. I say I subscribe to Good housekeeping for the articles, but I swear, if they had a chocolate cake centerfold, I'd hide it under my bed. THAT's how much food has a hold of me right now.

I've gotten a little too personal, haven't I? I'm just so frustrated right now; I feel like Charlie Gordon in Flowers For Algernon, when he realized he was reverting back to his old self and would never recapture the glory he had most recently experienced. I really am stumped about my own behavior. Just like the apostle Paul, I know what is right, yet I don't do it. My problem is now spiritual, but it would feel funny to pray for a hot bod, and I'm a little too old for that kind of foolishness anyway.

But I do know this: you never see a fat 90 year old. So, I think I'm at a crossroads in my life. I either get this under control while I'm still young enough to do something about it, or I resolve myself to weight/age related illnesses for the next 20 years, followed by an early death. I do not fear death, but I do think it would be neat to dance at my grandchildren's weddings.

So I know what I must do. I must find a way to give food it's proper place in my life. I have to swallow my pride and get back into the toning and cardio classes. AND, most importantly, I need to finally, finally figure out a way to make it permanent. Of corse, saying it and doing it are two completely differnt things.

By the way: I had originally included in this post a swimsuit image of the "in shape" me, because I know those of you who have met me might find my description of this time unbelievable. I just can't bring myself to include it, though - I don't want to give the impression that I'm an egomanic. I'm really not. I just look at that image and have a hard time believing it's me, much less me from just a few years ago. But, if y'all demand proof, I'll post it. But understand, even though I'm quite proud of how I looked then, I'm not really sure I want a swimsuit photo of myself plastered all over the tubes. Would you?

Here's some various and sundry images from the past couple of weeks. Click any to embiggen.

We were some of the very first people to cross the BRAND NEW I-10 bridge. Remember when it was destroyed by hurricane Ivan?


Not much to look at, but I can tell you, to northwest Floridians, it's a thing of beauty. Speaking of:



Trillian at the beach. Her brother:

What light beyond yonder window breaks? Here they are together, in their usual position:



I can tell you, right now, I'd rather be fishin'



Oh, and for those of you familiar with northwest Florida, a rare sight, indeed:



...a completely empty Fudpucker's. Only in December!

But enough about the beach, let's look at Christmas!



I think Santa did pretty good:



A good time was had by all. Even though we forgot to light the most important candle of all!

I've always felt that NOT doing something just because it is popular or cliche is just as shallow and superficial as doing something just because everybody else is doing it. (Have you ever noticed that even non-conformists seem to have a dress-code?). As a result, I've never joined the "I don't do New Year's resolutions because I'm smarter than the unwashed masses" crowd. I do them, and I do so proudly. It doesn't matter that 90% of them fail. You can't score if you don't shoot the puck.

So, I'll be posting my resolutions for the new year, one per day. Today, I turn my attention to this blog. My resolution is two-fold.

First, I'm going to move my posting times to the nighttime or early morning. I post (and read other blogs) WAY too much on company time. Although I could rationalize it and say it isn't affecting my work, that doesn't make it right. The Sirius Cybernetics Corporation does not pay me to read and post on blogs. (I still reserve the right to do so on my lunch hour, though).

The second part of the resolution is more vague: I want to figure out just what it is I want Shoot The Moose to be, and make it that.

I feel as if I have been missing the mark. Don't ask me exactly what that means, I'm not sure myself. It's more of a feeling than anything. I'm still an amateur at this; I don't know what I'm doing half the time.

Have you ever been at a party and told what you thought was a funny joke, but it received no laughter, just uncomfortable stares? That's how I feel in the aftermath of about 50% of my posts. My attempts at humor seem to fall flat, as do my political posts. And I obviously broke some kind of unwritten rule earlier this year when I posted one of my own songs. No reaction but crickets. Being a musician, I can tell you that the absolute worst response to a creative endeavor is a non-response. I know the blog world works differently, but I haven't gotten used to that part yet.

During my break, I seriously considered shutting down Shoot The Moose altogether. Not in a hissy fit, taking my ball and going home kind of way, but in an admission that it had been a failed experiment. But I know I can't do that. I write. That's what I do, what I have done from a very early age. My preaching, songwriting, even my style of web programming, all of it springs from that creative writing spark that God put in my soul - it's who I am. Prose is what I do, and Shoot The Moose is, short of writing a book, the best outlet for my desire to write and write often.

Also, at the risk of giving myself a little too much importance, the composite of Nashville area blogs has a distinct lack of voices from southwest Davidson county. This is not to take anything away from Kerry, Lindsay, or Holiday Grinch, (or anyone else I've forgotten) but each of them has their own "thing", and I am the only person I know who is presumptuous enough to claim to be the "voice" of anyone, much less a part of town. So, I'll take that mantle till somebody kicks me off of it.

So my task in the coming year is to figure out what I do best, do that, and drop the rest. The shotgun approach isn't working anymore. I'll still post the Ugly Betty recap/reviews, because I enjoy writing them and almost nobody else does it. Daddyblogging seems to be my strong suit right now, so I'll continue doing that. Whenever I get the chance to write in the point of view of a southwest Nashvillian, I'll try to do that, just because I think SOMEBODY ought to. That means that evey now and then, I'll still write about politics, but hopefully from a previously unheard perspective. I'll continue to write theological posts also, because I love bouncing "deep thoughts" off of Kat.

Everything else is up for grabs. I may leave humor, sports, and overt politics to others, because they do it far better than I do. However, I could change my mind. Like I said, these are the initial impressions I've gotten from my soul-searching; it could turn out that I'm totally wrong.

But my mission in the coming year is to find a focus (or two or three) for this blog. Y'all will help me, right?

...can you please tell it to call me?

I haven't thought about "work things" in almost 2 weeks, and this blog hasn't gotten my attention for quite a few days. I guess I really put my heart and soul into doing Christmas.

Speaking of which, I've never seen so many perfect gifts for each member of the family since I was a child. The highlights:

I played it safe and got Lintilla chocolate, and a hefty gift card for Land's End. She had already gotten the Corelle wear she wanted, because she just couldn't wait.

Santa brought Trillian a metal detector, skate shoes (tennis shoes which have retractable wheels in them - she hasn't taken them off since she got them), and Nintendogs (more on that in a minute).

Zaphod is getting to that age where Santa gives him fewer gifts because his wish list is quite expensive. He got a digital camera, a NEW Nintendo DS (with a note asking him to give his old one to his sister), and another game.

Finally, I mostly got things for the kitchen. I've never understood why common knowledge say not to give anything to a woman that involves housework or cooking. I am the primary cook / house cleaner in our family, and I must tell you the kitchen gifts I got this year couldn't have been more perfect. I wasn't offended in the least. I've always wanted one of those "stick" mixers, and I finally got one! I also got a device called "The Kettle" which deep frys, steams, and slow cooks. That, combined with various and sundry kitchen gadgets and a few items of clothing, meant I got far more for Christmas than I deserved.

Back to the kids, I must say that Nintendogs may be one of the coolest things ever. The children won't even play with the REAL dog anymore!

All in all, we've had a wonderul time, both on our trip to Florida, and in celebrating Christmas. I hope y'all had as blessed of a time as we did.

Now, back to normal life!

...If you are going to rob my house. We'll be home tomorrow.

The pre-Christmas trip wrap up:

Our visit with the folks was wonderful. Mom even surprised us last night with Christmas dinner!

Dad got his own Christmas miracle of sorts - an offer for a real job doing real machinist work! He's been so disheartened being unable to do what he's best at for all these years. It's only part time, but he can now get his foot back in the door!

Prattville, AL reminds me of Smyrna.

I don't think I'll ever stay at another hotel chain besides Country Inn and Suites. Nobody comes close when it comes to comfort and service for the price.

Unfortunately, there's a mob of basketball players staying here tonight, and I think they're having practice in the room above ours.

If you decorate your house with kitschy beach-house kind of stuff like we do, there is no store like Bealls. Their home furnishings department is unlike any other.

Every town in the southeast has an all-Christmas station. Didn't our own 101.1 (when it was a Christian station) invent the concept?

This past year, I went fishing with my family a total of 6 times. Total fish caught: 0 . It was SOOO frustrating to actually see these huge fish swimming right next to the pier in Ft Walton Beach, with no bites whatsoever. So far, my kids associate fishing with standing and looking at water.

See y'all back in Nashville - have a Merry Christmas, or just enjoy yourselves with whatever you do!

So it has finally happened. The travesty known as the Duke Rape Case has been brought to a merciful end. I am so angry it is hard to type.

I know this case intimately from my hanging out at Free Republic. One of the long-time members was a court reporter from one of the nearby cities, and from time to time she'd post a little nugget of info (note: no laws were broken). Those who have followed closely know that it was a travesty from the beginning: the evidence didn't support the charges.

I am angry beyond words. Not at prosecutor Mike Nifong, I'll leave the outrage at him to others. Not at the accuser, what little I know about her just makes her pitiable. No, the object of my rage sits in the location of Duke University.

I am angry at Duke president Richard H Broadhead. Without hesitation he fired the coach and stopped the lacrosse program completely. I am angry at the so-called "Women's Study" types, who marched outside the homes of completely innocent people, plastering their pictures and names everywhere, yelling at them to "come clean". I am angry at Nancy Grace and her harping ninnies, who always assumed these boys were guilty. I am very angry at "the community" in Durham - I hope I never have to step foot in that God-Forsaken Hell-hole.

I don't care how brilliant my children are, Duke University will never see one cent from me. I'd rather my kids go to community college than go somewhere where they'll be left to twist in the wind at the first sign of racially and sexually loaded charges.

What we've had here, from the beginning, is To Kill a Mockingbird, in reverse. Had it gone to trial, I have no doubt that jury nullification would have happened against these "rich white boys", and they would have seen long jail sentences. (I have inside information about how things work in Durham - think Memphis Machine to a power of 1000). As it is, their lives are ruined. They will forever have the cloud over their heads of being accused of something incredibly heinous.

I swear, I now feel about Duke University almost exactly as TGW does about president Bush.

My new favorite basketball teams are Vanderbilt, and whoever is playing Duke.

Because I've been in a gloomy mood, and "need a little Christmas", I barge into the Christmas tag party from Amy via Katherine. Because it's all about meme:

Favorite Christmas Movie
The 1951 Alistair Sim version of "A Christmas Carol" called Scrooge. No other version comes close. Honorable mention: just last night, I saw Christmas with the Kranks. I liked it so much, I decided never to listen to reviews from the "cool" people I know - they don't know my tastes.

Favorite Christmas Song
Oh, Holy night. So much theology crammed into such a beautiful song. The two best versions I've ever heard were by family group The Martins and the understated version by Josh Groban. The song is VERY tempting to "over-sing", as evidenced by versions by Mariah Carey and Celine Dion. I prefer the focus to be on the song. Honorable mention: Witney Houston's version of Do You Hear What I Hear. I wish she's had a full choir backing her up, though.

Favorite Christmas Cookie
My daughter's sugar cookies. She has SUCH a big heart (she baked and sold so many last year that she was able to raise enough money for 100 "personal packs" for Katrina victims). She pours all of her heart into every cookie.

Favorite Christmas Gift Ever Received
The most excited I've ever been was the Christmas when I was 10 years old. I got a Toss-Across, Supertoe, and a Talking Monday Night Football game. But by far the greatest gift ever was the bag of toys given to us by our church after we lost everything in our house fire.

Least Favorite Thing about Christmas
That almost everyone gets stressed out because they set the bar too high for what they think Christmas should be.

Where Would your perfect Christmas be?
Some day before I die, I want to spend Christmas (with my family, of course) in some place "Bavarian". I don't know why I associate Christmas with Heidi country, but I do.

Favorite part of Christmas
Tie: The excitement of my children, and the way everyone at least TRIES to be nicer and more charitable.

Favorite Christmas decoration you own
We lost most in the fire, but Lintilla has some heirloom decorations that are over 50 years old.

When do you put up the tree?
If it's a "live tree" year, about two weeks before Christmas. If it's an artificial year, usually the first weekend in December.


Do you wear "holiday" sweaters/sweatshirts/T-shirts?
Lintilla does. Were I to do so, my brothers would beat me senseless.

I'm actually going to add one (can I do that?):

Open Presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas day?
We do both. Lintilla grew up in a Christmas Eve family, and I grew up in a Christmas Morning family. So, we split it up. It's a great testament to our marriage. The kids don't enjoy it as much as you'd think - they get clothes on Christmas Eve.

Anybody else want to take a shot at this?

Didn't go fishing yesterday - we still had too much shopping to do. A few observations:

Big buffets are the only place I can go that I don't feel fat.

I really wish Middle Tennessee had a Barnhill's Buffet. It's like a poor man's Golden Corral, and the food is always great. As it stands, the nearest one is in Jackson, TN.

I think I'm at a crossroads in my life healthwise, I'll tell you more about it next week.

Pensacola feels like Murfreesboro to me.

Did you know that former WKRN personality Tom Siler is the weatherman at the local Pensacola TV station?

OK, a new direction:

Sorry I'm late with this (as you can tell I've been a little distracted down here). All day yesterday I had this post by Katherine Coble running through my mind. A small quote:

There are no holiday songs about a scared twelve-year-old girl having her innards ripped out while lying in the stink of a barn. There are no joyful songs about cutting (or biting) the cord and looking for water to wash the gunk from the crying baby, about wrapping him in an old towel and putting him in an overgrown dog dish.

The rest is along the same lines. I want to make it perfectly clear, I am not criticizing this line of thinking (especially when it comes to the later suffering of Christ) - I believe that it is good to fully appreciate the sacrifice our Lord made for each of us. Many times we mouth the words, but we do not really give much thought to what it really means.

But the implication of this kind of thinking is that the faith of most who call themselves Christian is superficial or weak. As a friend of mine once said, "A mile wide and an inch deep". BUT, I think the need for stark realism when thinking of the life of Jesus, while admirable, is not a requirement for true faith, and I'll tell you why. I'm sorry if some of you might have heard these arguments before. Let's go back a few steps first, shall we?

When Mel Gibson released The Passion of the Christ, I noticed something very strange: most Christians were moved in a life-changing way, most non-Christians found the movie to be absolutely horrible. I asked myself "why", and the answer I came up with surprised me: vacation slides.

(I'm old enough to remember slides, if video works better for you, use that analogy). Have you ever noticed how, when you're watching someone else's vacation slides (or videos), it's incredibly boring? But the people showing them are all starry eyed, like they are watching an Oscar caliber performance? Well, that's because THEY have an emotional connection to those images: they feature people they know and love, a special time, a special memory. To outsiders, there is no such connection.

So it was with The Passion. For Christians, it featured someone we knew, someone we spoke to every day, some one who knew us more intimately than anyone else. We felt every emotion exponentially because we were watching it happen to a member of the family. (the very HEAD of the family, indeed).

That leads us to the question at hand. Thinking of stark realism when thinking of the birth (or life) of Jesus is unthinkable, because you just don't do that with Family.

When you celebrate your mother's birthday, do you reflct on how she tore up your grandmother's innards? Do you think of your siblings having bowel movements? Do you let your thoughts dwell on the thought of your own parents having sex?

No - this is what we do with those we love - we idealise them, we never dwell on those base things that are part of being human. We acknowledge the humanity of our family, but by no means do we dwell on it. Certainly by the time they are gone and we remember them, the parts of their lives that make them fully human are long forgotten, only the idealised memories.

And this is a good thing.

So, although I sort of agree with Kat, I thought I'd offer an explaination why people do this with Jesus. I hope I've been coherent. I haven't yet had enough coffee.

About to leave to go Fishing in Fort Walton Beach - if there are any pictures, I'll post 'em later.

So the Zoo was nice (the weather was San Diego type perfect). My memories of the place must be failing me, because it seemed much more rundown than I remember. Perhaps they still haven't recovered from hurrican Ivan, but I have to say that Nashville's Zoo is MUCH nicer. They just have a few (important) animals we don't, like the lions, and gorillas. But, I'm convinced that with time, Nashville's will be one of the finest in the United States.

So, yesterday, the day is almost done, and we're wandering over to see one last area. We hear what sounds like a raspy voice saying "Wow. Wow. Wow." over and over. We turn the corner, and this is what we see:

Potentially NSFW?


Of course, "He" seemed oblivious to us ("she" seemed oblivious to "him"). Both Zaphod and Trillian seemed to understand what was going on - I advised Zaphod to tell them to get a room.

Forget the birds and the bees - we've got photographic evidence.

Anyway, we go fishing this afternoon - most likely the photos tomorrow will be a little more traditional.

Hope y'all are having a great week before Christmas!

Very light blogging for now. I debated in my mind whether to follow the example of Katherine Koble and not let anyone know that I am out of town - but since my house is guarded by an overenthusiastic paper-eating next-door golden retriever, I think things will be all right.

We're visiting my folks in the wonderful metropolis of Milton,Fla (home of Titan hero Cortland Finnegan). It's in the mid 70's and gorgeous, and we're going to the zoo. For those of you who don't know, the zoo in Gulf Breeze, FL, known simply as "The Zoo", is one of the coolest in the southeast. Unfortunately, right now, it's light years ahead of Nashville Zoo when it comes to the animals themselves.

I'll have oodles of photos tonight, and I'll post the best of them.

Oh, and if you ARE going to rob my house, I'm afraid you'll have to take all our old stuff. All the presents are down here. Just make sure to turn the lights off when you leave, and give Dooley (our next-door-dog) a treat.

See y'all tonight!

As much as I would have liked to wacth the rerun of 'The Box and The Bunny' episode of Ugly Betty, I came across something last night on Turner Classic Movies that I couldn't resist. I even made the kids watch, much to their initial chagrin. We watched the 1941 classic Seargent York.

I hadn't seen it since I was a kid; I had forgotten just what a well made film this was. Gary Cooper won an Oscar for his portrayal of one on Tennessee's favorite sons - he even beat out Orson Welles' performance in Citizen Kane. All I can say is that this movie stands the test of time. My kids wanted to stay up for the end (you have no idea what a big deal THAT is when dealing with an old, black and white movie). That's how good it is. A few observations:

We tend to think that attention to historical detail in film is a modern concept, invented by Ron Howard. Not so. This movie had so many things right, including the proper names of cities and towns, WW I battles, costumes. I loved how they had the old 19th century Baptist style church, with men on one side and women on the other (they even had seperate entrances). Then there's the dialect.

This brings up a stickler. The dialect in the movie, we modern city folk feel, HAS to be exaggerated. Well, I've run into a few old timers from Fentress County - it's not too far off. Certainly the pronounciation 'Agin' for against, and wide use of the phrase 'I reckon'.

The whole "folks on the bottom look down on folks at the top" thing is ABSOLUTELY accurate. In farming, it's much easier to work flat land (and bottom land is much more fertile). The poorer you were, the higher up in the hills you were.

At the beginning of the movie last night, I told Lintilla, "This would be a great movie to remake". After seeing the movie to its completion, I can say with all seriousness, that when it comes to remakes of Seargent York, I'm agin' it.

There is no way they couldn't mess it up. The first half of the movie is York's conversion to Christianity story. There is NO WAY they'd handle this part with the gentle care it was given in the first movie. Also, with today's mores, something tells me that no modern filmmaker is going to spend a full hour on a conversion story.

There's also no way a modern director could not inject the modern anti-war sentiment into the parts about York's status as a consciencious objector. They are two totally and completely different mindsets. I'd hate to see Alvin C York become Abbie Hoffman.

Then there's the battles themselves. I don't want to see this lovely story of conscience get overshadowed by a Spielberg-like quest for 'realism'. A side note for directors: We are not stupid. We know war is graphic, and tragic, and horrible, and 'All Hell'. You don't HAVE to show us. Please treat us like adults.

I can't tell you how weird it was, but at the end of the movie, starting with when York turned down Cordell Hull's offers for all that money, I was overcome with local pride. I related to York in so many ways: devotion to God over all else, a strong sense of duty, being a Tennesse boy and understanding the culture and history.

If you haven't seen this movie (even if you haven't seen it in a while), this is a great one to add to your collection. I know I'm going to.

Update One thing I forgot to mention. If you do happen to watch this movie, look closely at the character 'George' (Alvin's younger brother). He is played by Dickie Moore, and his resemblence to Leonardo DiCaprio is almost scary.

Here is a brief recap of the conversation on our commute home today:

Trillian: Dad - that girl from the twelve days of Christmas had a stinkin' rich boyfriend.
Me: How do you mean?
T: Well, think about all the guy gave her. There were a total of 12 partridges in pear trees.
Me: well, yeah, but that wouldn't bee TOO expensive.
T: Yeah, but it keeps going up. He gave her 22 turtle doves. Starting on the second day, he gave her two for 11 days.
Zaphod: I wonder how much turtle doves cost in today's dollars...
T: It gets worse. I mean, he gave her FIVE golden rings, per day.
Me: Yeah, but he didn't start till the fifth day.
Zaphod: So, you'd use the distributed property. (12-4) * 5 .
T - That would be 40! Have you seen how much those things cost at Kay Jewelers?
Me - That's a stinkin' rich boyfriend. She must be a babe.

Trillian is now in her room working out the math on all the other gifts.

I'd ask her to go play with Barbies, but it wouldn't do any good.

Funny thing about the title of this post. It's what I was going to name the book I was going to write when I turned 40, laying out what little wisdom I've gained about life in general. Alas, I never wrote that book. Life got in the way.

However, I'm not only at the halfway point in life, but also in child-rearing. Yes, yes, I KNOW that my children will remain my children throughout my life, and that in actuality I'm still only at the beginning. That may be so, but they'll (hopefully) only be under my roof another 10 or 11 years, and since they are 10 and almost 9, I think it's safe to call this the "halfway" point.

I have some advice for those who are expecting their first child, or those who one day want to have a child. I give this advice from many lessons learned the hard way. It may be the most important parenting advice you ever receive. It'll certainly save your sanity. It has two parts:

First, while Mom is still pregnant (or, if adopting, while you are preparing for the child to come home), get a copy of What To Expect the First Year. It will be there as a reference, and, trust me - there will be a time at 2 in the morning when you're frantically trying to figure out why baby is making that noise, or what that green stuff is coming out of her body. I can't tell you how many times our fears were allayed by "looking it up in The Book".

That being said, I advise you ignore half the book. Only take the reference parts to heart. Any time it seems to be "advocating", close the book, and DO NOT agonize over the fact that you are doing something differently.

This dovetails in nicely with the second part of my advice: Don't let ANYONE tell you how to raise your child. Follow your gut. People have been doing it for millennia, and amazingly for millennia children have been turning into normal adults.

Funny, this is the ONLY time you'll ever hear me preach moral relativism. When it comes to child rearing, I am a Unitarian Universalist. All roads lead to well-adjusted adults. Now, we all know there are certain things you shouldn't do as parents. Leaving your child in a hot car in August while you go into a bar to throw down a few is a good example. Chaining your child to a bed is not a good idea. Any kind of abuse is a definite no-no.

As an aside, don't let anyone else widen the definition of "abuse" for you. Use the law and your conscience as your guide. This is not anyone else's child.

"But", you might ask, "won't our child turn into a maladjusted nutbag?". It depends. If YOU are a maladjusted nutbag, chances are your child will be too, regardless of the parenting philosphy you employ.

You see, the white hairs on my head were not caused by my children. They were caused by my own agonizing over the fact that we were "doing it wrong", which seemed to be what everyone was telling us from every corner. We didn't "attach" - adoption puts you at a severe disadvantage in that department. They come to you "unattached". We [gasp] Ferberized, in fact we did it sooner than most parents. Both of our children were in "big beds" (we skipped toddler beds altogether) at 15 months. Don't worry, we put the mattress on the floor and had bed rails.

We [gasp] didn't breastfeed. Once again, adoption puts you at a disadvantage in that regard. Believe it or not, there were some people that actually advised us to do it anyway (there are ways to get a woman who was not pregnant to lactate that I had never heard of, and really freaked me out). We used soy food, which I've now learned should make my son gay. We had the kids on solid food before the recommended time. We let them go outside without shoes on.

We were criticized for not introducing enough Korean culture to them, and we were also criticized for introducing what little we did. We used strollers, "the leash", baby gates, and there were times we actually were sitting down and not holding them.

For those who are squeamish, please look away now.

We spanked.

Ok, the horror's over - you can look again.

We never spoke to the kids in "baby talk", we didn't do Baby Einstein (in fact, we let them listen to country music). We sat them in front of the television to watch Blues Clues while we did the dishes. We, to this day, allow them up to 3 hours of television/video games a night. We put a PC in each of their rooms. We let them eat fast food.

We send them to a Catholic school. This is criticized 1) because we are not Catholic, and 2) because we aren't exposing them to enough diversity. In fact, at my kid's school, they ARE the diversity. We don't have the kids in many extracurricular activies. They are each allowed 1 at a time, and it has to be their idea. Trillian takes piano lessons, and Zaphod plays baseball. I know the lack of extracurricular activities will prevent them from getting into Harvard, but I've never really liked Harvard anyway.

There's lot's more, but my hands are getting cramped. Trust me when I say, we are HORRIBLE parents, according to, well, almost everybody. We're pretty much doing, and have been from the beginning, everything wrong.

When pondering this sad state of affairs, I took some time to just sit back and examine my children. Granted, they are a little weird, but in a GOOD way. They are witty and resourceful. My son has a strong sense of morality, and my daughter has a strong sense of empathy. Yes, they appear to be highly intelligent - their standardized test scores are off the charts. But Lintilla and I try to keep it in perspective. We have a family motto: Smart is Easy. Good is Hard.

I went to hug Zaphod last night, and he shrinked away. A little voice inside my head said "See, you should have done attachment parenting! He's a few steps away from becoming a serial killer!" But then I took a step back. So, he shrinks away from signs of affection, expecially in public. He also likes pizza and booger jokes. These are what we call "normal", for a 10 year old boy.

There are two broad schools of thought when it comes to parenting. The first views the child as a building under construction, with the parent the architect. The child is molded, shaped, and built, all according to the will of the architect.

The other views the child as a flower, the parent as farmer. All the farmer can do is give the plant a good environment to grow. He cannot make it into something it is not. All he can do is watch it grow, keep it straight, and be proud of the bloom, whatever it looks like.

I choose the latter, but if you choose the former, I'm sure your kids will turn out just fine.

But the most important thing you can do as a parent is: find your path and follow it. Don't let anyone else tell you you're on the wrong path. Save yourself the grief. You'll need it when the kids become teenagers.

I realize this jeapordizes my semi-anonymity, but when I saw this in the paper today, I just about burst with pride:

St. Bernard's Project Runway uses recycled items

My daughter not only won the third grade contest, but was chosen for the Davidson County contest (only 3 from the entire school had this honor).

If y'all could only see how talented and artistic Trillian is! When the contest is over, I'll photograph and post her entry (a statue of liberty outfit).

Go Trillian! Go Trillian!

Labels: Kids

It says here in my copy of Blogging for Complete Morons* that

...Parent bloggers are allowed, in fact it's a requirement, to post complaints about how their kids are getting assigned too much homework in the months of September and October. Posts of this nature at any other time are considered bad form.

Any time is a good time to post about the dearth of non-skanky clothes for tween girls, however.

Well, dang, I'd really like to complain about Zaphod's 4-5 hours of homework a night, but it does seem kind of silly to do it in December. But watching Zaphod struggle with a particular book report this week, something else occurred to me; something that would be appropriate any time of year.

Zaphod is an accelerated reader. He's in 4th grade and reads at an 8th grade level. I'm not telling you this in a "My Child is an Honor Student at..." way; this fact is very important to what I'm trying to say. Anyway, St Bob's Academy really pushes their accelerated reading program, and for that I'm thankful.

However, this brings up an interesting problem. This year we have been putting middle school / high school themes and thoughts into a 10-year-old mind. He just finished doing a report on an old book called "The Machine Gunners". He's a 10 year old boy, of course he was attracted to the subject matter. When I asked him what he thought of the book, he said "It was depressing". I can't tell you how weird it is to hear your 10 year old son say those words.

Looking through the book, I realized what he was talking about. It was written in 1975 (and was there ANYTHING written in the mid-70's that wasn't depressing?). This book had it all: death, betrayal, personal agony. I thought to myself, isn't it a little soon to be introducting this kind of stuff?. But alas, we have no choice.

Think back on the books and short stories they had you read in middle school and early high school. I don't know about you, but the assignments I had were ALL DEPRESSING! The Lottery, The Scarlet Letter, The Stone Boy, The Grapes of Wrath (and for some reason, they all had titles that started with 'The')

It's a wonder I didn't slit my wrists in 8th grade.

Now, here's an intersting chicken/egg thought. We all know that kids in 7th,8th,9th and 10th grades are filled with angst and are generally sullen, meloncholy creatures. How much of this attitude is actually caused by their school reading lists?

*Blogging for Complete Morons is not a real book.

Found this little nugget while searching for old photos for the grandparents. For some reason it tickles me silly. Trillian's look is almost as funny as Zaphod's.

Click to embiggen

I'm going to be very careful about this, since I recently learned everything I ever wanted to know about libel law. But if this didn't really happen, you'd think Bill O'Rielly made it up.

As most of you know, I play in in a Christian band. We market ourselves as such. We take bookings with that assumption. Even our name (X-Alt) gives away what we're all about.

So, we had booked, some time ago, an engagement at a local, shall we say, "shoppin' place". The management of said shoppin' place has since changed hands. Last week, the new person in charge of bookings at the shoppin' place calls Ford Prefect (our bass player and booking guy) to confirm the gig. The conversation went something like this:

Shoppin Place Manager: Y'all are still coming to play, right?
Ford: Well, we have to get around a few conflicts, so I'll call you back about that.
SPM: One more thing: y'all are a gospel band, right?
FP: Yep.
SPM: Could y'all, like lay off the religious stuff and play more generic 'holiday' music?
[silence]
SPM: Well?
FP: I tell you what, let me get back with you...

It would seem our list of non-mission related venues grows thin.

OK, now that my boss has finally left my office for her own, I have a few minutes to post some final thoughts about the meatup this past Saturday. I'm going to forget somebody, so apologies in advance.

John H is one cool dude. I wish I could be as friendly and extroverted as he seems to be. It's also good to see another long-suffering Vanderbilt fan.

To Katherine Koble: thanks so much for the generous gift. It'll wake up my Disney jones once again. It was great meeting you and hubby. I TOLD you Lintilla was the talkative one (well, I guess WARNED was the appropriate phrase).

I'm glad Brittney got to stick around. She always seemed to be at the center of everything. She was much more gracious to me than I deserve.

There is not one ounce of pretension in Ivy. What you see (in blog and in person) is what you get.

So, I had just finished checking on the kids when I walk past Kat, Aunt B, Ginger, my wife, and a few other female types (with Sarcastro chiming in as well), and they're having the weirdest, but most serious conversation, one I'm assuming was based on this post over at B's. I hear my wife tell her absolutely ancient 'foreskin'* joke. It was at this time that I decided it would be a good time to go get another beer.

Note to John Lamb: You look like somebody famous. I just don't know who it is. Keep coming here and I'll post Ugly Betty reviews every Friday after each new episode.

I forget sometimes how unbelievably close to a Republican cliche my wife and I are, until we mix and mingle amongst people who are anything but. Trust me, we aren't as button-down and unhip as we appear. Or maybe we are...

We did bring too much dessert, but being Methodists, we think that life is a potluck.

Lintilla really hit it off with the lovely Mrs Wonderdawg. I think she's the extrovert in their family, too. What an incredibly nice couple!

Ginger and daughter are both adorable.

Kate O oozes hip and chic. She was also quite friendly and gave me some new 'Slartibartfast' catch phrases.

Sista Smiff: what can I say? I'll bet she's the life of every party. She's one of those people that raises the enthusiasm of everyone in the room.

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn't add that JJ is irresistably cute. If Lintilla wasn't reading, I'd say the same about Linda...

...whomp...

[picks self up off floor]

* The foreskin joke, as best as I can remember it:

Many rabbis are starting to save and reuse the foreskins from circumcisions. They make wallets out of them.

And if you rub them real hard, you get a suitcase.

[rimshot]

To everyone else: thanks so much for having us. We had a ball.

ONE VERY VERY VERY LAST UPDATE: I forgot to mention this, but Lintilla and I are going to have to figure out a way to talk about what she does for a living (home hospice caregiver), without sucking the life out of a room. If anyone has any suggestions, that would be nice. We don't WANT to be the Schleprock's of the party, y'know!

Here's the vegan brownie recipe (I brought them to the MeatUp this past Saturday). I thought better of including the pecans; you never know who has a nut allergy. It's a VERY simple recipe, so give it a try:

Monas Chewy Good n Gooey Pecan Brownies

Just a quick post before I leave for church about last night's Nashville Blogger Meatup at Mothership BBQ. Everyone was so gracious, and I felt right at home. It was great to see so many people I "knew", and the biggest compliment I can give is that everyone, to the person, turned out in person almost EXACTLY as I imagined them. That says a lot about the honesty in everyone's writing.

Ginger's daughter hung out with my kids, and Zaphod said as we were leaving "let's do that again!" - which I NEVER expected. Ginger, I think Zaphod taught your daughter a rap about how "cats suck" - sorry about that. Otherwise, they had a marvelous time hiding from the rest of us.

Most asked question of the night: "How do you pronounce your name?"

The food was wonderful. We'll definitely be back.

I'll post more in-depth later (I may even have some pictures). It was so much fun meeting everyone!

So, John H is having trouble getting my name out of his head. Allow me to make a suggestion:

What you do is try to think of the name with a British accent - it's not nearly as funny or catchy that way. If you say the 'ar's like the vowels in 'ought', you just might get it out of your head.

Or maybe a Boston accent...

But with a southern or midwest accent, pronouncing the 'ar's like 'R', it's hopeless.

BTW, the name of the blog is the only thing here that has nothing to do with Adams. 'Shoot The Moose' was a suggestion for an album title I threw out in a drunken band brainstorming session in the 80's.

It's a shame too - the album cover would have been so cool. I was planning on getting some mousse (the hair stuff, not the dessert; this was the 80's after all), and, well, shooting it. A shotgun would have made a wonderful, moussey mess. Very Spinal Tap like.

Alas. The band, for some strange reason, decided to pass, so I claimed the name for myself.

Other discarded titles from that night:

Shut up and Eat Your Taters
Men Without Foreskin

I can't remember the rest, because it WAS a drunken brainstorming session, after all.

Lintilla braved the cold this morning and took some photos of the hoar frost in one of our gardens (we haven't weeded out the leaves yet)

The works of art provided by nature astound me. Click to embiggen.




Update: Lintilla discovered by looking it up that what is pictured here is not hoarfrost, but frost flowers. You learn something every day!

Now that I've become the unofficial spokesperson for all things Yuletide tacky, I might as well go all the way.

As everyone knows, there are two types of Christmas songs: songs about the birth of Jesus and songs about the Christmas season. I would not be a very good Christian if I didn't say the former is my favorite type. Oh, Holy Night is my absolute favorite.

But, of all songs about the Christmas "season", one stands apart as my absolute favorite: Rober Earl Keen's "Merry Christmas From the Family". I know this sounds crazy, but this vulgar, tacky song actually gives me the warm fuzzies.

Why? I know these people. I guess you can take the boy out of the trailer park (and stick him in West Meade), but you can't take the trailer park out of the boy. All the folks Keen introduces us to in this song are people who have a parallel in my circle of friends and family.

And we HAVE made store runs on Christmas day for "ice and extension cords, a can of bean dip and some Diet Rites". I'm not so sure about feminine hygene products. Certainly Marlboro Lights.

I probably should feel guilty for loving this song so much, but I don't.

Halleluia, everybody say cheese!

All this time, and I've never introduced you to Missy. Yes, that's her real name, because I can't remember a Douglas Adams character who was a dog.

Missy is a Cocker, we THINK she's an English Cocker Spaniel. She's a nice old lady that puts up with a lot.

Trust me, she's glad to meet you! (You can click to make bigger)

With all apologies to Peter King:

1) I think that my copy of Blogging for Complete Morons says that "you must at least dedicate 1 post every December 8th to the memory of John Lennon.

2) I think that there are 4 types of people in the world: John people, Paul people, George people and Ringo people. Susan Sarandon is a John person. Richard Gere is a George person. Paris Hilton is a Ringo person. Most bloggers are John people. I am most definitely a Paul person, and that colors everything I say from here on out.

3) I think John people look down on us Paul people. They see us as empty and shallow. Instead of tring to change the world, we're making money and listening to "silly love songs".

4) I think Sharon Cobb's description of "Imagine" was incomplete. She said it "a prayer for world unity". I think a more apt description would be: "A prayer for world unity through communism and atheism". Not that there's anything WRONG with that...

5) I think everything about Yoko Ono is beyond my understanding. I'll never "get" her. As a Paul person, it's my job to blame her for breaking up the Beatles.

6) I think every decent band with more than one songwriter has a John and a Paul. Don Henley and Glen Frey. Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie. Big and Rich (no, I'm not kidding).

7) I think John people make their biggest mistake by announcing that they're going to change the world. True world-changing events take the world by surprise. Announcing your intentions just makes the world recoil and get defensive. Don't TELL me, SHOW me.

8) I think John was one of the 10 greatest songwriters of all time. Most of his greatest songs were written BY. (Before Yoko).

9) I think songwriting is a craft more than an art form. (I guess I live in the right town for that mindset). Therefore, Paul is ranked a little higher than John on my scale. The mystical, imaginary person "JohnPaul", who wrote their collaborations, is the greatest songwriter of the recording era.

10) I think the world misses John Lennon. He was a defining force of his time and he was taken too soon. Were he here today, certainly he'd be leading the anti-war movement. I'd much rather have a person of his intellectual heft be the musical face of the anti-war movement, rather than that vapid front woman of an ex-country trio, who has, you know, like, a hard time forming a cohesive thought.

John, even though we never saw eye to eye, I miss you!

It's Busy Mom's fault!



Click to embiggen. Make your own here.

Here at the corporate offices of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, in the restrooms they have installed those automatic towel dispenser thingies. I just noticed the weirdest thing:

In the lobby men's room, the motor of the towel dispenser emits a high pitched whine every time it kicks in. If you stand in front of it, close your eyes, and wave your hands in front of the dispenser, you'll notice one unmistakeable fact:

This particular towel dispenser makes the exact same sound as Godzilla.

This is one of the most important facts about me: I hate snobbery in all its forms. Fashion snobs, literary snobs, class snobs; Nashville is crawling with music snobs. Mention Toby Keith in certain company and see the looks you get. The very last time I cracked open a Nashville Scene was quite a few years ago; it was the "You Are So Nashville" edition. One of the winners that year: "You are so Nashville if you think Olive Garden is an Italian restaurant". Someone thought that was funny, and the folks at the Scene liked it enough to give it a prominent place in the article. Goodbye, snobs!

I'll tell you a quick story. In high school, I didn't lack for friends. But looking back, I realize that all my friends were misfits, the "weird kids", all those people who did not fit into any of the social groups that high school society tries to force people into. Back then, it was the jocks, freaks, brains, preppies and the "band people". None of my many friends fit into any of these categories. And, I see now, for some reason they looked to me as some kind of de-facto leader. I guess I've always been overprotective of the victims of snobbery.

Back to the here and now. Lately, I've been noticing a lot of blog posts about "bad" or "tacky" Christmas decorations. This seems to be the current trend in snobbery. Those rubes! They have a lit, hollow plastic Joseph and Mary! A Rudolph inflatable snow globe? Save us from Dollar General! Too many lights, too many cheap plastic Nativity scenes, unmatched colors - these are mortal Christmas light fashion sins, apparently. I feel like I'm in high school again.

If you want to complain about the commercialization of Christmas, or the effect of all those lights on the environment, that's one thing. I might even agree with you. But that's not the tone I'm hearing. No, most of the posts about "bad" Christmas lights seem straight out of the Nashville Scene. You can almost hear the snicker.

Each snicker target has a human being behind it. Perhaps their intention was to out-do the neighbors, but that's not for us to say. All we know is that they spent a lot of time setting up their tacky decorations because they wanted to expres...something. I refuse to doubt their sincerity.

I could go all "Christmas Shoes" on you; I was told a story last night about one of the people that seems to go overboard (in decorating their house) that would absolutely break your heart. But I'd rather appeal to your better nature without applying guilt trips.

Look at it this way: if you take a 4 year old child to see some of these houses, what is their reaction? Do they recoil in horror at the tackiness of it all? Or do their faces light up as bright as the decorations themselves, as they say in a half-whisper, "wow...".

Maybe the children have it right, and maybe that's why they seem to enjoy Christmas so much more than the rest of us.

Aunt B has one of the funniest stories about race and middle management at large corporations I've ever seen. She speaks of some idjit who claims he's not racist because he drives down Jefferson Street. In other words, he's not a racist because he actually allows his car to go through a predominately black part of town.

After I finished laughing, I thought of something that creeps into my mind from time to time. Nashville has a "black" part of town, as all southern cities do. But, if you travel any to other mid-to-large cities in America, you'll notice that Nashville is different. We are not segregated culturally.

There is no "Little Italy". No "Chinatown". No Irish enclaves, or Korean, Turkish, Indian, or Ethopian. Some would argue that Nashville has a "Hispanic/Latina" part of town, but I'm not so sure. Our Hispanic population seems pretty widespread throughout Davidson county - even though there does seem to be a cultural concentration in the south Nashville/Nolensville road area.

Nashville's Asian population is about 2%, yet can anyone identify an "Asian" part of town? Same goes for any other nationality/culture besides African American and (possibly) Hispanic.

My question is, is this a good thing? I say it is. Other cities can have their segregated, rich cultural areas. I like our intermingled diversity.

This shows how out of touch I am. I just found out that my kids' absolute favorite attraction at Walt Disney World has been totally revamped. I know, I know. Disney does this sort of thing on a constant basis. And, if it weren't such a beloved memory in my family, I could probably agree that the place needed a remodel. As it is, I'm quite meloncholy.

What is it? An old classic like Pirates of the Carribean or Spaceship earth? Tower of Terror? Space Mountain? Test Track? No, my kids' favorite part of Disney World wasn't even a ride, per se. It was a little, hidden out of the way, living advertisement for CocaCola called Ice Station Cool.

Huh? Well, these are not YOUR children. I don't get it either. But when we went to WDW in 2003, they insisted we go back to Ice Station Cool 3 times. And when we made a return trip in 2004 for my 40th birthday, ISC was the absolute first place they wanted to go when we got to Epcot. As any parent knows, anything that beloved by your children is beloved by you (except Spongebob).

Ice Station Cool was just a room accessed from a winding hallway. They kept the room at what seemed to be 45 degrees or so. Shaved ice was on the floor of the hallway. You don't know HOW GOOD this blast of cold air felt after being in 95 degree weather most of the time! I could have stayed there all day.

Once you got through the pretty nondescript hallway, you ended up in a wide room that had "stations" all around - each with 5 or 6 taps dispensing CocaCola products from around the world. As I recall, they were all pretty good, except the "Beverly", which tasted like sassafrass and licorice. Finally, there was, of course, a big CocaCola gift shop. (Everything at WDW begins with a line and ends with a cash register).


OK, so, for some reason this morning I was feeling nostalgic, I do a search on Google, and what do I find? They've revamped the place into some swanky looking hotspot called "Club Cool". It has a futuristic feel, kind of like the work set of Ugly Betty.


IMHO, all of the hokey, quaint, tacky charm of Ice Station Cool is gone. It just looks so "hip" - and if it's one thing my family is not, it's hip. My kids will be devastated.

But then again, maybe not. We're planning on going back in 2009 to get the whole "going to WDW with teenagers" vibe. More than likely, the teen Zaphod and Trillian duo will not have the same loves and passions that they did when they were young children. I can envision us passing by Ice Station Cool, feeling nostalgic, and saying to the children

"Come on! Let's go into Ice Station Cool!"

"Dad - that place is so lame"

"But you LOVED it last time we were here! I couldn't drag you away!"

"Dad, I was seven years old. I'm almost grown now. Hey, let's head to Test Track!"

I'm almost grown now... Ouch.

Maybe Disney saved me a little parental angst, after all.

Trillian was all upset last night because we have not yet put up the Christmas tree. I have many legitimate reasons for this, but really such a transgression is inexcusable. I have children, it's Christmastime, and there is no tree in our living room.

I feel bad enough that we've switched to an artificial tree. Lintilla is a Real Tree kind of person, and although it's all the same to me, I've always made having the "real tree" one of my small tokens of love for Lintilla. But the last few years, we've had to leave town in the weeks around Christmas. Since my parents ran away from home again, we'll be spending a week in December in the shining metropolis of Milton, FL.

And there's no way I'm having a formerly live tree (ie, firewood with tinsel on it) in my house when I'm not there. One devastating fire is enough for one lifetime, thank you.

But like I said, not putting up even the artificial tree is inexcusable. I'll do it tonight.

No, I won't; I've got band rehearsal tonight. I'll do it tomorrow.

No, I won't; we've got church activities. I'll do it Thursday.

No, I won't. Zaphod and Trillian both have book reports due, and they always put them off till the last day. I'll do it Friday.

...

...

AHA! I am a PERFECT DAD!

Sorry I've been negligent in posting timely Ugly Betty reviews. Holiday schedules and the creeping crud are keeping me from normalcy. I'll probably get to it Friday, because that will be the first time I'll have to re-watch the episode.

I will say this though: there is no way Betty permanently moves to MYF . That would mean that all the current co-stars would no longer be co-stars, so I think something's going to happen to bring her back to working for Daniel.

This past episode also highlighted a philisophical argument I've been having with Hollywood and pop culture in general about the nature of love. I believe very strongly that love is and active verb, that love is something that we "do" - but Hollywood insists on portraying love as something that "happens to us". I blame the perpetuation of this myth for at least half the divorces we see today. But I'll save that argument for another, seperate post - probably around St Valentine's Day.

Finally, (and this may seem strange coming from such a right-winger), I'm convinced that Marc and Justin are the most entertaining cast members of all. Especially Marc. I LOVE the catty thing he does with his eyes to show displeasure or bemusement. Yes, the whole thing with Wilhemenia giving him the SUV was very predictable, but the way he hid from the supposed hit man was hilarious.

More on Friday...

Labels: Ugly Betty

So, I told Katherine Coble in her comments yesterday, that I would explain why I have a self-imposed ban on commenting about matters of race. Here's the weird thing: I've started that particular post 3 times, and each time as I developed my argument, I looked it over and said to myself, "This is stupid!". After the third time, I decided that maybe it wasn't just my argument that was stupid, but the underlying position itself.

So, I hereby lift my self-imposed ban on race-issue commenting, because my reasons were, well, stupid.

Which leads me to an interesting question:

Have you ever talked yourself out of an argument or position through proofreading your own words? Have you ever looked at something you wrote (hopefully pre-post) and said, "This is stupid"?

So, I promised myself I wouldn't yell at all during the Titans game yesterday. After all, I've been sick the last week or so, and Saturday at rehearsal my voice was horrendous. Only a vow of silence for a week could repair things.

Going into the game I thought, "What could there possibly be to yell about? The Titans will let down after their great comeback win against the Giants - they're still a young team." When they carted PacMan off the field in the first half, I mentally made a checkmark beide the "game over" box.

I'll know better next time. Vince Young, PacMan, Travis Henry, and Ahmard Hall literally willed the team to victory. I include the latter because he is an absolute difference maker on the field; right now he's my favorite Titan. He is Lorenzo Neal with service medals. A 27 year old rookie who eats linebackers for breakfast.

Anyway, once we intercept Manning late in the first half and drive to score a touchdown, I gave up all pretense of saving my voice, and yelled for all it was worth. And the Titans kept giving me things to yell about. Reynaldo Hill and Lamont Thompson - the two weakest links on the defense - are playing WAY above their heads right now. I still hope they are replaced next year, but you have to hand it to Jim Swartz for designing a scheme that hides their weaknesses.

Peyton Manning hates 3-4 defenses. Most of his losses have been against them. The Titans run a 4-3, and you can't just change the scheme overnight. What the Titans did yesterday wasn't a 3-4, but a "3-4-like substance". Most of the game, it looked like the entire Colts offensive line lined up with no one to block. Manning had no idea who was going to pressure, and who was going to cover. This reminded me of the "8 defensive backs" scheme Gregg WIlliams designed in 1999 against the Rams. Brilliant.

When the final drive stalled and Fisher sent out the kick team, I told Zaphod, "Is he crazy? They have Peyton Manning and one time out!" When we called a time out and sent out the punt team, forcing Dungy to use his last time out, then sent out the kick team, I said "We're going to win!" I didn't think Baronas would make the kick (it was a 60 yarder for crying out loud!), but big MO was on our side, and I guessed we'd win in OT.

Well, the kick was good, and the place went nuts. I screamed so hard I literally lost my voice. Nobody wanted to leave. THAT was one of the most fun games I've EVER attended.

Now, I resume my vow of silence until the meat-up Saturday.

Labels: Titans

It seems like, regardless of matters of war and peace, religion, race, and economics, the one issue that seems to define our times is immigration. I've been struggling with this issue, because my middle-child instincts cause me to go back and forth. Finally, after months of wrestling with my own thoughts, I've developed the Slartibartfast Doctrine - a policy that is sure to tick off every person I come in contact with in one way or another.

First off: a little housecleaning. I am not a big fan of the term "undocumented immigrants". Not because I prefer the term "illegal alien", but because I hate euphamisms. Such phrases cloud the debate and leave us flailing at the wind; we refuse to name that of which we're speaking - and we end up talking past one another. I once heard an ER nurse joke that they refer to drug dealers as "unlicensed pharmaceutical distributors". This is the same thing, and just as ridiculous. The phrase is used to take the sting out of the unlawfulness of the person's actions. So let's take the middle way: I'll refer to them here as "unlawful immigrants". "Unlawful" has a little less sting than illegal, and "alien" is a little too dehumanizing for me. I'm not totally happy about the "immigrant" term, either (as I'll explain later), but it'll do for now.

Also, can we all agree that there is no inherent Human Right for each person on earth to be on US soil? This is a good starting point. If we agree on this basic principle, we can start to develop our framwork for the Slartibartfast Doctrine. It means, not everyone who wants to be in the US gets to be here. This is key. Human nature dictates that some people will try to come to the US without asking permission. We have to have some way of preventing this.

This is the paleoconservative part of my Doctrine. I am in favor of a fence, an impenetrable wall, 1000 feet high and 500 feet into the ground, with thousands of guards, and bazookas and William Shatner CDs blaring, and hundreds of sweaty football players with unbearable BO, and lots of guns, guns guns - you get the picture. I want impenetrable barriers at both land borders (this is important), and an armada at sea. Under the Slartibartfast Doctrine, the only way into the country would be through the gates. They would be BIG gates, but if you are a non-US citizen, and you want to get into the US, we need to know you're here.

Secondly (after this last paleo part, we're going to be getting a lot more liberal), we need to change one important demographic in the current immigrant wave. Uh-oh, you must be thinking, is Slartibartfast a racist? By no means! I care not what race or culture an immigrant belongs to. However, I think it's only fair, if we're going to call someone an "immigrant", that his intention is not merely to work here and send money back home, but to eventually become a US citizen. This, as I see it, is the most critical difference between this wave of immigration and the ones of the past: all the evidence seems to point to the fact that a huge majority of the people "immigrating" to this country are here merely to work; I don't see huge waves of people yearning to be US citizens. I'll be glad to look at any evidence you have to the contrary.

Sooooo, (switching gears to semi-liberal now), I propose we make some estimate of how many people are getting into the country, legally and illegally. This number is probably what the Market will bear. After the Impenetrable Barrier is built, we allow the same number to come here legally. The only difference is, I believe at least 80% should be here trying to become citizens. If this means we have to loosen up sponsorship and paperwork requirements, so be it. Remember, they're all coming through the front door. We can weed out the "bad guys". "The Wall" allows us to be far more liberal in oue entrance requirements.

Now, I tick off my paleo friends. What of those who are already here? Well, after the Impenetrable Barriers are built, what the heck: AMNESTY! Yes, we're rewarding unlawful behavior; however we wouldn't be encouraging others to come illegally - the barriers would take care of that. This wave of "illegals" would be the last. Welcome to America! If you want to become a citizen - no problem. If you don't, I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to leave. Of course, we would still deport the "bad" ones (criminals) as we find them.

Now two Impenetrable Barriers (north and south) would be INSANELY expensive. But the US is an incredible nation in this way: when we decide something needs to be done, we find the resources to do it. Just look at our history. WWII, the Space program, the ill-fated War on Poverty, and the (apparently) equally ill-fated War in Iraq. We have an incredible capacity to throw around incomprehensible sums of money when we put our minds to it.

When you think about it, the Slartibartfast Doctrine is really the current US policy toward Cuban refugees: we're going to do everything in our power to keep you from coming here, but if you make it, WELCOME!

The way I see it, our two options are the status quo, and the Slartibartfast Doctrine. Anything else is just playing around the margins and putting off the problem for the next generation.

The face is fine. Well, except for the fact that the chiseled lines of my youth have given way to the middle-age bowling ball look, but that problem's been around for a few years now. Thanks to all for well wishes and prayers. It appears Kat and Joe were correct - it's not a relapse, just a friendly reminder that the cranial nerve sometimes just wants to take a day off. I still have a little numbness, but it all works.

I got to thinking about it last night, and the main reason I was worried was because we are very soon heading into an extrememly busy time for X-Alt, right after the New Year. But the more I thought about it, I guessed it would be OK. An eyepatch would give me a cool Dr Hook vibe, and since I sing backup on all but one song, consonants are optional. In fact, I'll do this from time to time: when I forget the words to a song, I'll sing random vowels until I can find my place again. Singing harmonies has its priveleges.

I kicked Lintilla out of bed last night. Well, I don't remember it; I had taken Nyquil and was out like a rock. But apparently every fire truck on the west side of town went up our street at about 2:00 this morning, then Lintilla couldn't get back to sleep because of my snoring. So she headed for the couch.

I've offered for a week to sleep on the couch, because I know congestion makes me snore like the 3 Stooges. She'll have none of it, though. I'll bet she brings some Breathe-Rite strips with her when she comes home from work tonight.

The wind has been absolutely horrendous here. Some of my yard Christmas decorations ended up in the street. Maybe God is trying to tell me something.

Lintilla started reading this blog. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll talk her into commenting. Of the two of us, SHE'S the talkative one.

OK, enough randomness; my next post will be about something.