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Thursday, May 21st, 2009
2:17 pm	ashamed so, since my truck "went" home to be with the Lord", I've been riding the train to and from work. Not every day mind you, but 2 or 3 times a week. Needless to say this 40% to 60% reduction in commuting has altered my "listening habits" some. I no longer get my news from local news stations as much as before. Of course the changes in that industry have made that more difficult anyway (more on that another time). I don't have to endure Charlie Steiner and Rick Monday on Dodger radio broadcasts from the East Coast. So there are some benefits! And if my listening to sports and political talk radio shows was sporadic, at best. before, it has been reduced even more so now. That is why all I say here comes with a proviso. My sampling is EXTREMELY limited! About 2 or 3 weeks ago I was driving home from work, and channel surfing, trying to avoid radio commercials as best I could. And I came across the local Christian talk radio show. I joined the topic in mid-discussion so I had to piece together what was being yapped about from what was said. Once again what was said before this and who proposed the topic I haven't a clue. This was during the whole flap over Miss USA candidate Carrie Prejean (is it Carrie? I really don't know. Didn't pay a lot of attention to the whole kerfuffle. I do know her last name is Prejean. It is a lovely name especially pronounced correctly and not Anglicized and butchered!) If you recall Prejean was being accordingly denounced and exalted for her stating she opposed gay marriage. Much to say there. The supposed defenders of "free speech" and "freedom of thought" exposing their own hypocrisy when it becomes obvious that what it truly means to them is "freedom" to speak and believe anything, as long as it agrees with them! But on the other side, I found it all quite interesting how Prejean became quickly adopted by the Right and those that oppose gay marriage, but then being put in the awkward position of "supporting" her once photos both risque and nude were "leaked" to the public. Made me wonder if the two issues had been reversed in their chronology would the support have been quite the same? I recall quite the flap when then beauty queen Vanessa Williams had some equally intimate photos released, and the "morality police" called for her crown for "besmirching the fair name of Miss" whatever beauty contest she was involved in. But that is not my real point here. The talk radio program was in mid conversation. The host was speaking to a woman, and she was quite concerned about the direction the country was taking. She must have said over and over, "we have to DO something. We have to DO something." And from the remainder of the conversation this I surmise is what she (and possibly the host and others) wanted to DO. It seemed that since Miss Prejean was being so roundly criticized for her views on gay marriage by those on the Left, that maybe in support of her views and to take a more proactive approach and to "send a message" by not supporting the (then) current American Idol front runner, Adam Lambert. Not sure how that would exactly work. I don't think you can necessarily "vote against" someone on Idol. Can you? Now I am on record of being either not interested in or caring less about the whole American Idol, Dancing With the Stars, Bachelor "thing". Check my last post if you think otherwise. But I really don't pay attention, watch or care. But I do "hear" things from other places, newspaper, radio and TV news, in regards to things like Idol. It really is hard NOT to. They are truly ubiquitous. I'd probably prefer the more antipathetic and pejorative, pandemic! So I was completely aware that Adam Lambert was not only considered at that time the odds on favorite to walk away with the trophy (do they get a trophy? I don't really know.) on this year's Idol. And I also know that he was not only known for his talent, but for his androgynous "look" and supposed "gender preference" or "sexual orientation". After finishing the call with the woman, the talk show host, summarized the issue with the question, something along the line of "what do you think? Should in support of Miss Prejean's stance about gay marriage and in answer to the attacks on her by "the liberal media" (that one is always in there!) should we vote against Adam Lambert on American Idol to prevent him from winning? What do you think?" The next caller was male and he started with "I disagree with the previous caller. (he may have added the host too, I forget) To me it is a singing competition, and should strictly be judged on the talents and singing abilities of the people in involved. It is not a competition in regards to the sexual preferences or habits of the contestants and that should not enter into our voting and thinking." Now what really surprised me was the response of the talk show host. He said, "Wow. I never really thought of that before." REALLY?!?! You never even considered that possibility? To let the competition be decided on the talents of the singers and not their social decisions and actions. You never thought of that as being a possible response? That whole idea of, "I'll show them! They criticized one of ours, I'll get back at one of theirs" sort of flies in face of that "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" thing Jesus mentioned. I found it some what interesting that the same radio program only weeks earlier was all a-twitter over the fact that one of the remaining contestants, I believe his name was Danny, was a professing believer. They even spoke to Danny's pastor who attested to his faith. He told how Danny led worship at their church and how he encouraged him to pursue the Idol audition. I shook my head in disbelief, but more than anything, I thought to myself "typical". It is EXACTLY what I would expect from those who link their politics and faith these days. I don't believe it shocked me at all. Christians, especially of the evangelical perspective used to distinguished by what we "theologically believed". Today it is more what we "socially or morally oppose." I didn't care much for what was being said, but I shook my head, turned the station and never mentioned it to anyone else before this. This morning I awoke to the radio news headline, speculating whether last night's American Idol winner, Kris Allen's, "Christian faith may have played a role in the voting and victory." Didn't really know Kris Allen was supposed to be a Christian, but then again, I don't really frequent the circles where something like that would necessarily come up. Think Danny's pastor mentioned another Christian still in the running when he was on the radio and how Danny "enjoyed the fellowship" with him. It may have been even more than one, I don't rightly recall and don't recall the name(s) he mentioned. All I had really been hearing was "Danny and Adam". Where this Kris guy came from I don't know. But the radio story basically said exactly what had been spoken before, that because of Adam Lambert's reported or supposed sexual preference, that Christian voters may have voted in strength for "one of there own" and not for someone whose look and orientation they found offensive. Now once again, all this is based on my limited sampling, the portion of a random radio broadcast. The allusion in a radio headline (I might add through a foggy mind that was in a body still in a prone position!). So my conclusions may not necessarily be accurate. The radio headline about Kris Allen's victory being more about his faith (and the faith of the voters) may not be true. Sometimes when we lose a supposedly "deserved victory" it is easy to find a convenient target in those we despise or hate. I recall in the days after the 2004 Presidential election how many Democrats found it easy to point the accusing finger at evangelical Christians and other citizens of "Jesusland" with their "hateful narrow-mindness" for 4 more years of George W. Bush. Easier to do that than look at a less than compelling candidate in John Kerry, I guess. But blaming and targeting another "group" is easy and not unheard of, whether that be the Jews, communists, Christians, liberal media, the Religious Right, corporate America, whatever. So that may just be it. Just because someone says it doesn't make it true. But it does bother me that it was proposed on the radio talk show, either by the callers or the host and that it was speculated about in this AM's radio headline. So much of what is passing for Christianity these days has more to do with "social engineering" rather than "sharing the Gospel". The idea that we have to remake our surrounding environment to match our own sensibilities and preferences. Not sure why these people feel that is necessary. It is as if they care little for the people who commit the acts, to reach out to them with the only thing that will truly transform them (the Gospel) they just want them to go away so they don't have look at them and what they do. More concerned with our own sensibilities and comfortability than the salvation of the individuals. It seems that unless our culture is remade in the image of the Eisenhower 50's (or the Reagan 80's) we can't be content or happy. Not sure 1st Century Christians thought that way, with their persecutions, both political and religious. Much of the same attitude was expressed in the past year's political campaigns. Those that supported Mike Huckabee's bid "because he's a Christian" and not Mitt Romney's "because he's a Mormon" or (now President) Barack Obama's "because he has an Islamic background and name." Heard someone say that they would only vote for Huckabee and not Romney or Obama because they "don't have the Holy Spirit" and God couldn't work through them. Really? Think Solomon in his wisdom might disagree with that thinking. Proverbs 21:1. "The king's heart is like channels of water in the hand of the LORD; He turns it wherever He wishes." Don't see nothin' about it being a "Christian" or a "believing" king in those verses. God can do whatever he wants, through a Pharoah or a president, regardless of their lack of or reality of regeneration. I have oft said here how I agree with Martin Luther's adage that I'd rather be "governed by a competent Turk instead of an incompetent Christian." And it is the same in these "singing competitions". Let the best "singer" win. Not really sure how "voting" establishes "talent" . More about "popularity" than anything from what I can see (from what I've observed, letting the American populace determine what is "talent" is a risky proposition at best. Popularity might be the WORST arbiter of talent!). If Adam Lambert was the better singer he should have won. Regardless of his sexual preferences and appearance. My sister-in-law, "the crazy one" ("the little monkey's" Mommy!) is a big fan of the show. She is about the only one here who weighs in on the subject when I bring it up. She says Adam Lambert is much more of a rock "screamer" ala Aeorsmith's Steven Tyler. Wouldn't know really. If that is true I don't think I'd be much of a fan. Never cared for Aerosmith nor Tyler. And this AM's highlights on the morning news shows had him singing with KISS last night. Don't win no points with me there neither. Not a fan. Heard a snippet of Kris Allan doing a cover of Bill Smither's "Ain't No Sunshine". Pleasant enough I guess. Doesn't really matter though. A presidential election is not a referendum on orthodoxy, theology or heresy. Neither is reality show singing competition a place to approve or disapprove of a person's sexual proclivities. Really, when it is all said and done, not voting for Adam Lambert because he might be a homosexual, says a lot more about you than it does him. I would think that the goal of every Christian would to be to be "Christ-like". Paul exhorts us to be imitators of him as he is of Christ. And Peter quotes the Old Testament, urging believers to "be holy as I (God) am holy." Well it seems to me that if we are supposed to be like Christ, and to be like God we can start by following James instruction "my brethren, do not hold your faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ with an attitude of personal favoritism (my emphasis)" James 2:1. Later he says, "but if you show partiality (once again the emphasis is mine) you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors (James 2:9). And Paul writes in Romans 2:11, "for there is no partiality with God." We shouldn't be biased toward or against anyone but let the competition be played out according to the specified criteria. But that wouldn't achieve the social and political solutions we desire. And that (sadly) seems to be all we are concerned about. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: dismayed (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 19th, 2009
3:50 pm	who wins tonights DWTS and tomorrows Idol? who cares? Current Mood: HUGELY apothetic (Comment on this)
Monday, May 18th, 2009
1:57 pm	"the lusty month of May. that lovely month when ev'ryone goes blissfully astray" so the line above is, as some may know, from the musical Camelot, a personal fave of "the lovely Mrs." The other night, picking me up from the train, "the lovely Mrs." said to me, "y'know how it is my tradition that every May I try to do new things and things I have never done before." Now to me "tradition" is one of those things that means something done over a long, established period of time. I sat there expressionless outwardly. Inwardly, I had this "deer in the headlights" look. I ventured a clarifying query. "Uh, what kind of new things have you tried in past May's?" EEEEEEEHHHHHHH! Wrong question! 'Cause the way I phrased it implied I may not remember these "new things". And my memory and "the lovely Mrs." got a "history". In her eyes I am a suspected Alzheimer's sufferer. She has more than once suggested I be tested for it. And she rolls her eyes when I head off to look for a list anytime she has given me more that 3 or 4 items to pick up at the grocery store. So in her eyes my memory is "suspect", "questionable", "faulty" and "unreliable", choose your adjective. Many, many times she has said to me "LIKE I'm gonna trust YOUR memory?!?!" I was glad when seemingly the subject was changed by the question, "do you feel like fish and chips for dinner tonight?" I must say I'm not much for fish as a rule. Oh, I like it well enough. Especially your fresh water fish, like trout and the like. More fresh water than salt. Snapper and mahi-mahi are fine by me. But given the choice twixt fish or fowl I'm landing in "fowl territory" most of the time. Big fan of fish chowders and soups too, Manhattan or New England (unlike baseball, it makes little difference to me) and a wonderful bouillabaisse-like dish called cioppino. Like calamari, and the like too, so I enjoy fish, just maybe not as much as other choices. There's that and there's the fact that if I'm having fish, I'd prefer it grilled as opposed to fried. In restaurants I have frequently asked if the fish in their fish tacos is grilled or fried. They usually say fried and I make a face and go back to the menu. Some times I just take it. More times not. But fish and chips is OK I guess. Don't have it much. Makes me think of my Mom somewhat, who enjoyed it. The fast-food, H. Salt variety. That was pretty much my first exposure to the dish, and she was the one who told me to put malt vinegar on it. So there is a nostalgia factor involved in some ways. If 30 plus years of marriage has taught me anything, it's that when they ask you if you feel like a certain dish for dinner, that is what THEY want and you best answer in the affirmative. Ocean dwelling, deep-fried or not, I gave a hearty "sure!" Seems the "lovely Mrs." had come across a coupon in a junk mail coupon clipper magazine we received, for a local establishment. Home to freshen up (a bit, not much) and then out again to look for this place that neither one of us had ever been to before. She had phoned the place to ask for a locations so she knew the vicinity and an address and that was about it. I think she was trying to surprise me. Told her "can you tell me the name of the place at least? It's easier to see a sign than an address", especially given the gloaming, and my aging work-fatigued eyes. A (legal) u-turn and we pulled into the parking lot of a mini-strip mall. The signs said parking was only for the (closed) decorator store but, hey they're closed so who's gonna complain! I still had no idea where this place was! It was about then she told me we were going to a pub. Walking from the parking lot, I saw one of those movable signs they put on trailers these days. Something to the idea of "authentic British food" Football (aka soccer) matches on TV. And I think she said something about advertising the "best fish and chips in town!" Skeptical cynic that I am, I thought, "says who?" I THOUGHT it, but (wisely) kept my question to myself. Now a few things. You can say "pub" all you want, but when you get down to it, it's a bar. And I'm not a big fan of bars, neighborhood or any other kind. My mom sent me into too many of them to fetch (and shame) my dad and tell him we were outside in the car. You can imagine that they are full of charming characters who spout Shakespeare and Yeats and refer to each other as "chap", "bloke" and "mate". But the truth is most are sad places full of equally sad and lonely people. So that's one thing. The other was the signs reference to "authentic British food". Back when I was in school, high and college I always enjoyed the books of Colin Fletcher, who wrote warmly of his travels afoot in things like The Man Who Walked Through Time (I believe that was the title, it's been nearly 37 freakin' years!) and others. And when I hear a reference to "British food" I always recall Fletcher's quote (his or his own I do not know), "hell has been best described as the place where the politicians are German, the generals French and the cooks are British!" And Fletcher was from the Isles himself though he would quickly correct you were to call him a "Brit" by saying "Welshman!" Either way, the land which gave us the Magna Carta and things as stellar as diplomacy and Parliament comes woefully short in matters culinary! There were four tables outside the establishment surrounded by chairs, but dining outside amidst exhaust fumes and whizzing traffic held little appeal. We went inside. Two things I noticed immediately; one was the jukebox (or whatever device they used) was blaring Oasis doing "Wonder Wall" at a decibel level slightly less than lethal. OK, I'll give you that one. Your music is technically British. The other thing was the dart board we passed as we entered. It appeared to be an electric or computer one from my surmise, out of the corner of my passing eye. Sort of loses points for charm, no? We found a table near the back, and we didn't have to walk very far. The place is small. There were a few TV's around the place. A larger, flat screen behind the bar and at least one smaller one in the corner. Yeah, sports. A couple things about that. From the sign out front I fearfully imagined they would be showing a soccer match. People I don't know (& care less about!) playing a game I don't understand (and care less about) But my experience is some of these Brits REALLY care about their football! Once again we can dream of people having the height of civility in places like this, but some of them can be closer akin to characters like Daphne's ne'r do well brother, Simon on "Frasier"! I've sat next to one of these soccer hooligans at a Dodger game, and not only was his slurred speech enough to make Keith Richards sound erudite, but he ended up in a melee for a foul ball! Showed me his scars and residual effects of past fracases, his wheezing laugh punctuating his own attempts at humor. Guys like that eat me for lunch! I would try to be on my best behavior. Thankfully the sports for that evening was the Lakers-Rocket basketball game. Which posed another quandary. Yes, I do care about that game but I also know "the lovely Mrs." desires (and deserves) my attention. She graciously offered me a seat where I could easily watch the screen behind the bar but I (wisely) declined. It would prove to be too much of a temptation and distraction, and like Paul says in Romans, it is best to "make no provision for the flesh". I took a chair with my back to the bar. Of course I could see a reflection of the flat screen in the glass of one of the many framed pictures and plagues that hung on the walls and if desired a quick upward glance to my right would give me a shot at one of the other TVs in the corner. I was covered but would have to exercise some discipline and discretion. From out behind the bar came the patron who handed us menus, and asked if he could bring us some drinks. The "lovely Mrs." ordered an ice tea (I believe) and as is my wont in most of these situations went for the inexpensive water. The bartender departed to get our drinks and give us time to look over the menus. It was pretty much what you would expect, typical British fare, with things like bangers and mash, Shepherds pie, and for dessert, Spotted Dick. And of course the sought out fish and chips. They offered 1/2 and full portions. About this time the "lovely Mrs." asked me, "would you like a beer?" Yeah, me, "the lovely Mrs." and beer. That's a "complex situation." You see "the lovely Mrs." comes from a family of tee-totalers, where there was no drinking, and their fundamentalist leanings frown upon drinking alcohol as less than desirable, unnecessary and in many cases down-right sinful. I think I have only seen her parents have one drink in all the many years I have known them, and that was a celebratory glass of wine at dinner after "precious daughter's" wedding. 37 years, two parents and ONE drink between them. There may be others but I don't recall them, and as "the lovely Mrs." would say, "you THINK I'm gonna TRUST YOUR memory?!" But there is also the idea that she has implied that I may have a "problem" with the bottle. The genetic factors from my Dad, but also that alcohol may have effected my behavior in the past, and not for "the good" either. So I try to watch it out of respect for her opinion and her feelings. I think I'm OK, but then again so probably did my Dad. And I think she believes that beer-drinkers are somewhat plebeian. Of course she realizes I am certainly "beneath her",but that doesn't exactly comfort her in that knowledge. Might be different were I to sip wine and martinis or something more sophisticated, but I'm certainly UN-sophisticated. But I DO like my beer! I've reigned it in certainly. The six packs I used to buy no longer happen. I save it now for special occasions. When we go out. A few weeks back we went out and she asked me that same question, "would you like a beer?" I foolishly tried to make a joke out of it to the waitress and say "I have to ask her permission to have a beer" and she was (rightfully) embarrassed by my attempt at humor. I would not make that mistake a 2nd time. It's just that beer goes so well with some foods! Beer and hot dogs in the bleachers! Beer and pizza with friends. Beer and fish (grilled!) tacos. Beer and corn flakes (the REAL "breakfast of champions"!) Beer solo post-marathon. And one of the other things beer goes real well is fish and chips. Though I've never shared the Brits fondness for room temperature beer. Call me an unsophisticated "Yank" but ALL beer should be COLD! There can be NO exceptions to this! The bartender returned to take our orders. The "lovely Mrs." produced her coupon and we both ordered a 1/2 order of the fish and chips. The bartender informed us of two facts; one, they had just run out of fish and chips and had to send out for more so it would take a little longer than usual. I thought to myself "how does a pub that prides itself on it's fish and chips run out?" I thought it, but once again, until I firmly established the absence of any "British soccer hooligans" I was holding my tongue! No worries, governor. We came for your fish and chips and for your fish and chips we shall wait. Now my preferred drink is Samuel Adams dark ale when it is available on tap. I had looked over their menu and did not see Sam Adams listed there. That is when the bartender informed us of the 2nd fact. In order to take advantage of the coupon, we would have to order TWO drinks, my water would not qualify. Once again, this was not an issue, I spoke up and said I'd have a Guinness. To which he countered, "Oh, we're all out of Guinness." (silent pause for dramatic effect) "WHAT KIND OF FREAKIN' PUB ALLOWS ITSELF TO FREAKIN" RUN OUT OF FREAKIN' GUINNESS?!?!?!?!?!" Once again I THOUGHT this. The bartender offered a list of choices he had, most of which were unfamiliar to me. I "settled" for a Bass dark. Since we had to wait for our fish and chips we started to look around the joint, ERRR, establishment. "The lovely Mrs." pointed out the fact that our table sat beneath a plague mentioning "Dubliner". The girl does like to revel in her Irish "roots" (when she isn't reveling in her Jewish roots!). Me? I just noticed it was advertising Guinness. Which I wasn't getting! There were between half a dozen to less than a dozen people in the pub, scattered around either at tables or the bar. Some were talking amongst themselves, with others keeping to themselves. Some were working on laptops and others watching the Lakers and Rockets. The bartender (I learned his name was Joe, the appropriate name of any bartender!) was not British, speaking and sounding like someone you might meet anywhere in the Valley. He was very nice and friendly. There was another older man, seated on a barstool who possessed a British accent (along with forearm tattoos) and Joe spoke with him about business matters. My assumption was he was the proprietor of the place. He too seemed to be the genial sort, though for some reason his tattoos intimidated me in my meekness. But everyone there seemed pleasant enough, and I was glad there wasn't a hint of "hooliganism" (soccer or any other type!) in the place. It appeared I wouldn't have to bleed all over anyone tonight. My ale arrived with an appropriate head, but our fish and chips remained no where to be seen (Did they have to go out and CATCH it?!) Made me wonder if they were sending out to get some fish already made or fish to make? This posed a problem. Did I start putting the Bass away or hold it in reserve until our dinner arrived. I mean if ale goes with fish and chips, what sense does it make to polish off the drink and have nothing left when dinner comes? So I decided I would ration my sips. Guess my beer was gonna be warm whether I wanted it that way or not. The "lovely Mrs." mentioned there was supposed to be a dart board and I told her that I had seen the electronic one as we entered. I caught a few passing glances at the Lakers-Rockets in the darkened picture glass. Not real clear and reversed but the TV above clarified any questions I might have had. The Lakers were leading handily (if ANY Laker lead this season can be considered handily!) so I could relax some. Some. Our fish and chips arrived (after what I might consider an extended wait, but when it comes to food I can be the impatient sort). A large piece of fish, generous amount of fries and a equally heapin' helpin' of green peas. Never really consider peas British but it seemed to be the accompaniment to every menu item. Didn't really care. NOW I could REALLY drink the Bass! I reached over to a neighboring unoccupied table to borrow their malt vinegar squirt bottle. We only had mustard. "The lovely Mrs." wanted ketchup for her chips. Some "Yanks" just don't know how to eat fish and chips! The fish and chips were indeed very good! Perfectly fried with a light batter. The chips could have been crisper but they were very good none the less as were the peas. The only thing wrong with the Bass was it could have been colder! But hey, when in Rome...... The "the lovely Mrs." was unable to finish her dinner, which was fine with me because my rationing of the Bass had left me with ale but no more fish and chips! I really think that is why she keeps me around, save use on the garbage disposal at home, and doggie bags when we are out. We finished our dinners and asked for the check. It was reasonable I think, even without the discount coupon. The people were genial enough both those that worked there and those that were being served. Food was certainly good, even though we had to wait for it longer than I cared, but I'd cut them some slack. The decor might not have been exactly top of the line, but I really am not much for places that spend all their funds on decorating and leave nothing for service and food. That certainly couldn't be said about this place. Given the desire and right circumstances I would not hesitate to return to this establishment. We walked to our car in the dark of a warm evening. The "lovely Mrs." would drive us home. It was part of the conditions of me getting the ale. So that "month of May tradition of trying new things" worked out pretty good for me. What's next? Bungee jumping. Chesed. Late. (Comment on this)
Friday, May 8th, 2009
1:56 pm	3 quick comments on Man-Ram's 50 game suspension so as stated above; 1) Unlike others I have to admit to being "shocked". I think I am with the author of a recent book written about Manny Ramirez, that I figured if he was gonna test positive for anything it would be weed! I think it says more about my own naivete when it comes to the baseball era in which we live and the physiology of 36 year-old professional athletes and their capabilities than anything. 2) On the subject of saying more about me, what does it say that aside from the considerable hole Manny's suspension leaves in the lineup, the clubhouse and as a marketing ploy, it probably bugs me the most that rat, freakin' Jose Canseco was right AGAIN! You move on though and I think Torre is already shown how he plans to adjust, batting Pierre ninth in front of Furcal and Hudson for a few weeks now. Run, run, run them into the ground! I really think I'd bat Kemp 3rd and take advantage of the speed on base in front of him. He won't see many breaking pitches with either, Pierre, Furcal or Hudson on base in front of him or they might steal 2nd AND 3rd. It negates his major weakness, breaking pitches and plays to his strength, hitting a fastball hard and far. I'd put a lefty next, Ethier or Loney, most likely Ethier and sandwich them around Blake or Martin. I love Martin but I might lean toward dropping him to 7th in front of the pitcher because of his penchant to fatigue as the season progresses. And if I'm Torre I never, NEVER rest Martin, Furcal and Blake on the same day again. Stagger the days off. You will need all the offense you can generate now. The pitching is not nearly as good or deep as it was last season and we all remember what it was like before Manny showed up. 3) Just my own VERY limited observation, but it seemed to me as I walked, rode the train and bus today and just being out and around, that I saw more people wearing Dodger paraphernalia than I usually do. At least I seemed to notice it, when before I hadn't maybe. It was like they were saying, "we are not a one man team. We weren't before Manny came here and we won't be when he moves on. The players come and they go, but the Dodgers remain. The names on the back of the uni change, but the script on the front stays the same." Like I said, a very small sampling but I guess maybe that's what I hope they were saying. Y' all have a nice weekend. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: longing for simpler times (Comment on this)
Wednesday, May 6th, 2009
10:48 am	"part man, part monkey!" - Bruce Springsteen so it's funny how titles and terms morph and change over the years. Take my sisters-in-law. When the "lovely Mrs.", after several opportunities save herself the grief and opt out, finally (and foolishly) said "I do." I immediately garnered for myself two sisters-in-law, her two younger sisters. One was the quiet sort. The other leaned toward the crazy. Not institutional "crazy" mind you. More fun "crazy". So these designations, my sister-in-law "the quiet one" and my sister-in-law, "the crazy one" sufficed for the better part of two and a half decades. Then here about four years back, "baby brother" took a bride. No problems. I had gained another sister-in-law, but she could easily be distinguished from the other two by simply referring to her as "the married one." Ahh, but the only thing constant is nothing is constant, and save God, His creation "changes". Last summer, my sister-in-law, "the crazy one" took the plunge, got hitched, pick yer euphemism but she went and got herself married! Still we were OK,though because she remained "crazy". But then, in a post here I referred to my sister-in-law, "the married one" and there was a murmur of protest raised by my sister-in-law, "the crazy one" who (rightly) countered, "I AM your sister-in-law. And I too AM a married one!" True dat. But as I told her that, "the quiet one" remains quiet, "the married one" remains married, and though she too was married, she also remained "crazy". To try to correct would only lead to unnecessary confusion here. She shall still remain my sister-in-law "the crazy one" (albeit married) As is so often the case, as in the taunting childhood rhyme, "love" and "marriage" can be followed by a "baby carriage" and my sister-in-law "the crazy one" (albeit married) brought forth a son, hence to be referred to here as "the little monkey." Simple really. She herself has been referring to him by that term on her own blog in that manner, even with accompanying ultrasound photos. Confusing though, to me anyway. Last week in talking to her on the phone, I asked her how she was doing, only a few days prior to giving birth. She told me that she felt like she was "carrying a bowling ball". I didn't quite understand. I told her "for months now you've been telling us you were going have a "little monkey". Now it sounds like you are going into the sporting goods distribution business." She's a little thing, petite and my constant prayer through this thing, after the health and safety of "the little monkey" was for an easy delivery for her. The Lord knows what is best and is needed and always does what is right and good. But it wasn't exactly the delivery I had prayed for. After struggling in labor for nearly 27+ hours they decided to proceed with a C-section. This little "fact" no doubt shall be brought up regularly to "the little monkey" by my sister-in-law "the crazy one" as the years go by on things like Mother's Day and birthdays, but especially when "the little monkey" doesn't live up to her expectations and treat her with proper kindness, attention and respect. It will go something like this; "Twenty-seven PLUS HOURS of hard, HARD labor with you, and THEN I end up having to go through a C-SECTION! And THIS is the way you TREAT ME?!?!" But she is doing fine, and so is "the little monkey". Gramma saw him yesterday for the first time and says he has my sister-in-law's "the crazy one's" "nose". To which I replied, "how's she gonna breathe now?" Any wonder "the lovely Mrs.'" countered with "just as long as he doesn't have YOUR MOUTH!" I could have replied that would be a genetic impossibility but I was in too deep already and wisely kept that aforementioned "mouth" shut. "The lovely Mrs." and I stopped by the hospital room yesterday to see my sister-in-law, "the crazy one" and "the little monkey." He was less that 8 hours old at the time, being born on Cinco de Mayo. His birthday will (rightly) be a blow out affair from now on, celebrated with appropriate revelry and merry-making. And we both got to hold "the little monkey". "The lovely Mrs." dreams of him being a "carpenter", following his father in a profession of where one constructs and knows which end of the hammer you hold. Unlike the man she married. Both the "lovely Mrs" and I couldn't get over something. How I had lived for 54 plus years (and she for an undetermined amount of years that wisdom and safety preclude me not revealing!) and had never been an uncle or an aunt. Given the various couplings and un-couplings and begetting that can occur, some children are actually aunts and uncles on the day they are born! Not us. We waited. And waited. And waited. Then, in the span of less than three and a half weeks, we have become aunt and uncle twice over. First "pony boy" and now "the little monkey". Twice over and millions of times blessed! I thought about that. How "pony boy" and "the little monkey" have two things in common. One their menagerie derived "nom de blogs" here. They also have a common favorite uncle. Just ask them. Next stop; grandparent! (hint, hint, wink, wink, nudge, nudge) Chesed. Late. Current Mood: giddy (and grateful)! (Comment on this)
Monday, April 27th, 2009
3:06 pm	que' es mas macho? Loco? so some new neighbors moved in about a year and a half back. For many, many years, especially during "precious daughter's" elementary school years, our neighborhood was both relatively quiet and stable. Retired couples both across the street and next door. Another couple on the other side, their daughter grown, married with children of her own. In some ways we actually longed for some "young blood" in the neighborhood, at least some that would give "precious daughter" more options for local playmates. There didn't seem to be that many at times. Certainly not as many options as I and "the lovely Mrs." recall from our respective youths. But it WAS quiet, and for the longest time very, very stable. But like all things in life neighborhoods, morph and change. Market values rise and fall accordingly, making selling attractive (and lucrative) at certain times. Sadly the retirees passed on. The older couple moved. We looked up one day to realize that the neighborhood we had moved into some 20+ years ago no longer really looked like it once had. Of all those in close proximity when we moved in on that August day, only two remain. A retired widower and his son, two doors down, and a hearing impaired couple, across the street and down a door. That's it. Everyone else is "new". One of the "dreads" many of our neighbors have expressed to me, (one I share too) is the influx of "renters". The fear being they will not keep their houses "up" the way an owner will. But also because of our proximity to the college, that it is attractive to 3 or 4 students to rent a home. For a semester, a year, or just as long as they are attending school. In my mind I debate which would be worse, a house of 3 or 4 college age boys, or a house of 3 or 4 co-eds. I usually come down on the co-eds, thinking that the boys will be buzzing around the place like bees anyway. But we hold our collective breaths each time a For Sale sign appears or a moving van backs up. Who will it be? Sometimes we are relieved to see a young family with children. Other times anxious to see a group of 20 something males, unloading their futons, a stereo systems on cinder blocks and planks. 'Course that means little. The families can have their rows and parties too. The students may actually study. It's a crap shoot really. You never really know. Next down currently we have a young couple with 3 children. Nice people, really. Admittedly it is refreshing to hear young children laugh and play in our neighborhood. Seems it has been awhile. Course it make our backing out of the drive-way a bit more cautious, but it is a trade-off I am willing to make. About a year and a half ago, some people moved in two doors down from us. In some ways it was pleasant at first. The house had been vacant for months. The previous occupants were renters or owners that lost the home in foreclosure, we never really did get a straight answer on that one. But they didn't really take care of the house either way. Our first introduction to these new neighbors was unique. One evening "the lovely Mrs." and I were dealing with dinner, either it's preparation or clean-up, but it was dark. Up to our door strode a young 20 something male, and knocked on our door and introduced himself and handed us a letter. He and the letter informed us that he was the new owner of the house and included his home phone and cel phone numbers, he said he was going to be having some construction done to repair some things, but that he would keep the clutter and noise to a minimum, and assured us it would all be temporary. He said he was a recent graduate of the near-by college and that if we had any problems to contact him on one of the phones provided. I must say I left the introduction impressed and hopeful. The fact he was showing consideration for his new neighbors, the provision of the phone numbers to deal with "issues" and the fact he was the owner (albeit a decidedly young one!) made me feel somewhat better about the future. That was about a year and a half ago. Since that time we have had to endure nearly monthly "parties". That doesn't include other celebrations of "holidays" like Memorial Day, 4th of July and Labor Day. They have a pool so that makes the place all that much more attractive to their many, MANY friends. Lots of noise and shouting coming from their backyard. Lots of girls screaming too. These are not female screams of fear or danger, more of exaltation. "The lovely Mrs.' describes the cheers as those you would hear with people doing "beer bongs" or "chug-a-lugs". I readily admit, it doesn't effect me nearly as much as it does her. I have been blessed (cursed?) with the ability to sleep through nearly anything. Of course this fact doesn't make her feel very secure. But I fall asleep and it takes something pretty earth-shaking to wake me once I'm gone. Like the earth-shaking. But she is and has always been "a night person". She is awake for all this clamor and raucousness. And it prevents her from hearing the TV, falling asleep, or merely relaxing in her own home with the windows open. Me? Double paned windows and a clear conscience makes me oblivious to almost all of it. Their parties also involve many cars parking in front of our house and along our street. These are BIG parties. They've moved our trash barrels to park in front of our house, and believe it or not parked blocking the driveways of some of our neighbors. The nerve of some people! The son of the widower works security for the college, and he is not hesitant to call tow trucks to remove the guilty parties. Other times neighbors have confronted them when their party it too loud or too late. And we have called the police more than once. Some have speculated that this may be an unregistered fraternity from the college. Don't really know. More than anything, they appear to me more of the drama/music crowd from high school and college. Not really "tough" but loud and inconsiderate none the less. Too make matters worse there is ANOTHER house of college age male renters directly across the street from us. These guys don't seem to make as much noise, but they do tend to park in front of our house instead of in their own drive-way. This all came to a head this past Saturday night. I had been suffering from a migraine for a few hours. All I wanted to do was eat dinner, take a few aspirin and go to bed in a dark room. Eating dinner, watching the last outs of the Dodgers-Rockies, the migraine blurred the numbers on the TV screen graphics. I finished dinner, ashewed my usual chores of dishes, litter boxes and trash and went to bed, clothed and on top of the bed spread. I woke a few hours later, the migraine still present, undressed and climbed under the covers and returned to sleep. A few more hours later I awoke. It was after 2:00 AM and I was aware of voices, muffled but voices none the less. At first it was hard to tell whether they were from the TV in the next room or live, but it quickly became apparent they were live, male and argumentative. "The lovely Mrs" doesn't watch TV shows that use language like that. "F***in' bitch" seemed to be a favorite of the guy. I laid there for a few moments taking it all in, trying to figure out what was happening. "The lovely Mrs." appeared in the darkened doorway and told me she was feeling sick and that there was an argument going on outside between a guy and possibly a girl. I got out of bed, hurriedly threw on a pair of shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, slipped on my sandals that were just outside our front door. I walked down our driveway and across the street, and down a door or two to the scene of the incident. Walking up, this is what I saw. Standing outside the open drivers door of a Jeep Cherokee was two or three college age males. Inside the vehicle there was a blond female illuminated by the dome light. There may have been another female inside and another guy on the passenger side of the Cherokee outside. Unclear because I was still half asleep and bleary eyed. And there was another guy sitting in the drivers seat. I walked up to the two or three standing in the drivers doorway and said forcefully, "THIS ALL STOPS NOW! RIGHT NOW! Now, you woke me up and you woke my wife up and she's sick! Now get out of here now!" One of the guys tried to protest and say they were trying to leave, but I interrupted, "I don't care! I want you gone NOW! Now I'm going back inside and if I don't see your brake lights and hear you driving away by the time I'm there, I'm going to call the cops! With that I turned and walked away. I should say that while this was going on, "the lovely Mrs." was standing on our grass shouting "I'm calling the police!" a couple of times. She told me later she did that because she wanted them to know there were witnesses there. Back inside, I reached for my cel phone to call the police. Didn't hear the engine, only the voice of one of the males saying "he said he was gonna call the cops!" Still bleary-eyed, and adjusting to the newly added area code overlay in our area I struggled to dial the front desk of the local police station. "The lovely Mrs." said "they're leaving" The call to the police was not completed. "The lovely Mrs." said, "I didn't expect you to get so close to them. I thought you would just yell at them from our driveway or the sidewalk." I told, "I figured there was enough yelling going on and didn't want to add to it. Also I was mad and wanted them to know it." I calmed her down, comforted her a little and went back to bed. There was another shout about 5 minutes later, but that was it for the evening. Or at least until I fell back asleep. In the light of morning, my mind clearer, I had some time to think about the events of only few hours earlier. My first thought was how silly I must have looked. Some old dude walking up on this group of youngsters young enough to be my grandchildren. How foolish I appeared, my hair, (what is left of it) unkempt and gray. My smallish frame, anything but imposing. How foolish I had been to walk up on as many as a half a dozen guys each of which could take me down with one swing. I thought back to the college level criminal justice courses "the Tennessee stud" and I took some 35 years ago, how we learned the dread law enforcement officials had in confronting domestic disputes and situations like this because of their potential to turn ugly very quickly. My cowardice is pretty well known, especially to "the lovely Mrs.". I thought "yeah, that probably wasn't very smart what I did." I didn't know these guys. I didn't know what they might be carrying. I didn't know what they might do. I also thought about the young blonde in the car. I never really did see her face. Or possibly the other girl who may or may not have been there. I never checked on her (them) to see if she was OK or needed some help. I never asked if she needed my protection. I just told them all, to get out of there, return our neighborhood to quiet and allow me to go back to sleep. I thought of how I told them I wanted them to drive off. These altercations are usually fueled as much by alcohol as they are youthful male hormones. And I'm telling these guys to "drive" off. To where? Into whom? I obviously didn't think that one out to well either. I really hope I didn't endanger someone else just so I could go back to bed. But warped individual that I am, I also had two more thoughts. The first is a realized I had committed tantamount to plagiarism with my opening statement to these boys. I realized I was channeling Kevin Costner's portrayal of Wyatt Earp in the movie of the same name. Coming through the swinging saloon doors, with a sawed off shotgun to put down a rowdy group. He says something along the lines of "IT ALL STOPS HERE!" Dude, I wasn't even original! And lastly and most depraved of all, I played a little game of "I should have said". See I thought about my comment about wanting to "hear their engine" and "see their tail lights". My revised statement should have been "I want to see asses and tail lights!" Made me sound "tougher" Yeah, dude, your REAL tough. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: casper milqtoast-ish (Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 21st, 2009
4:04 pm	3 questions for conservatives, Republicans and the Right so answer me, a solid Republican voter of last 36 years, a believer in small government and low taxes, and a Right-leaning centrist, this please; 1) where were these "tempestuous Tea Parties" when the last occupant of the White House escalated the deficit alarmingly by prosecuting a War of dubious legitimacy and thinking? Where were the cries of "socialism" when he invested heavily in private corporations with tax-payer dollars in bailouts that Solomon-ically chose which businesses would be allowed to fail and which would be rescued? 2) where were the self-righteous outcries of "tyranny" when he conveniently suspended things like due process and habeas corpus, signed off on wire-taps on his own citizens, and approved torture of mere (untried, let alone un-convicted) suspects? Are "tyrants" only the ones that want to limit your access to assault weapons you desperately need to pick off a chipmunk and leave a smear? Why do you need these weapons that you cling so tightly to in your "cold dead hands"? A militia? To protect you from whom? Drug cartels? Terrorists? Your own government led military and law enforcement? Are you saying our military and law enforcement officers can't be trusted to "protect and serve" and do what is right? Are these the same fighting men and women you salute and defend unswervingly when "the liberal media" happens to question their actions occasionally? Are these the same law enforcement officials you support 100% when they are accused of something like "excessive force" and "police brutality"? Can the military and police only be trusted to do the bidding of a Republican president when they are overseas but when they serve a Democratic commander-in-chief they become the opposition to (well-armed) citizens at home? 3) when did dissent become only the Constitutionally backed right of conservative Republicans? Why are you free to criticize EVERY move a President of less than 3 months makes simply because you didn't vote for him, and rap yourself in The Constitution, yet for the past 8 years, anyone that didn't fall in perfect lock step with the Administration was told "they were either with us or with the terrorists" and their patriotism questioned? Is it only those that question Republican presidents who are to be accused of treason and have their movies and music boycotted? Why is it unfair and mean for late-night comedians to portray a Republican president as either ignorant or evil but you are somehow "witty" and "noble" when you question the patriotism, nay even the citizenship of the current occupant of the White House with signs that read "don't blame me. I voted for the American"?. Special bonus question - these new and higher taxes you are protesting, the ones that have not even taken effect yet. Which services are you willing to part with if your desired tax cuts had their way? The public schools your children attend? The military that protects you from the terrorists? The border patrol that guard your boundaries? The fire departments that protect your home? The police that keep you safe from the criminal element? The highways on which you drive? The Medicare that helps pay your medical bills and Social Security that secures your Golden Years? The parks in which you recreate? Do you really think you would find better options with a lower price tag were these things to be privatized? Chesed. Late. Current Mood: taxed AND represented! (Comment on this)
Friday, April 17th, 2009
2:16 pm	going to extremes so I have written before about my "extreme friend". He has taken his love for things like marathon running, trail biking, combined it with his desire to minister to others in the name of Jesus Christ and see them come to a saving knowledge of Him. Not content to serve just in his neighborhood, he has traveled the globe. He has gone to the region near the Pakistan-Afghanistan border to minister relief to earthquake victims. It's an area the U.S. State Dept would just as soon see him avoid. Hence their request to sign a waiver relieving them of any liability or obligation should he find himself in trouble there. He has traveled high up in the Andes of Peru to assist churches and orphanages that try to protect children exposed to incest that is culturally systemic. This brings him in proximity with those that perpetuate these crimes and the Leftist guerillas know as "Shining Path". Once again, the State Dept wishes he wouldn't. He has traveled the Amazon, and crossed crocodile infested lakes in Uganda. India and Mexico too. His latest efforts are directed in trying to help the women victimized along the Aids Highway that runs nearly the length of the Africa continent. He has produced a short video about those efforts Feel free to lend him support. Either monetarily or especially with your prayers. He leaves for Guatemala next week. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: lazy and useless (Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 14th, 2009
10:22 am	titles so, initially, I was just a "son". Oh I'm sure you can make the case I simultaneously became a "grandson" and a "nephew". But really those are just variations on the same theme. For what is a "grandson" if not the "son" of my child? Or a "nephew" if not the "son" of my sibling? "Son" pretty much covered it. And I guess technically I was also at that moment a "half-brother", my father having a daughter from a previous marriage, but lets stay on point. I guess the next title I garnered was "friend". It came after I had acquired some semblance of social skills. Like not punching people who took too long playing with my toys and biting playmates. This took some time. Some would claim it is still a work in progress. Six years hence my debut I became a "brother" upon the birth of "baby brother", an event memorialized by myself as crucial in my life. Any time prior to his arrival I refer to as "the golden years" (just Mom, Dad and me, with no one to share them with!) From that point on life has just gone downhill. Took a spell before I took on any new titles. The next would be nearly two decades later when I became a "husband", "the lovely Mrs." foolishly saying "I do" at the least opportune moment. Someone should have warned her she would rue the day! Once again, their were "riffs" on that theme, mostly followed by the modifier "in-law". But a "son-in-law" is just another way of saying "loser that married my daughter" That continued for another 5 years when I became a "father". I prefer "dad" really. Father sounds rather stodgy and intimidating. It carries an air of dignity. Something I sorely lack. I think "precious daughter" preferred Dad too. Easier to spell for one thing. Just those three little letters was all she needed to refer to me. Just an A and a T and an M. But that was it. A son, a friend, a husband and a dad. With no change in my status for over a quarter of a century. Then came last Friday, April 10. Good Friday on the Christian calendar. GREAT Friday in our family, for you see last Friday I for the first time in my life became "an uncle", "baby brother" and my sister-in-law, "the married one" adding to their family a bouncing baby boy! Hence forth to be referred here to as "pony boy". Of course we knew this was going to happen. Hard to keep things like this quiet. There was a shower a few weeks back for one thing. And they got a lot of stuff for a baby there so I just put those facts together and came up with unclehood! "The lovely Mrs." and I went for a walk Friday afternoon late, to mail a bill at the post office and on our way home we stopped off at a fast food place for a snack. Sat inside and talked for a half hour or so and talked about the anticipated "blessed event". Our theories and hopes for this child (still yet unborn) and genderless to all save "baby brother" and my sister-in-law, "the married one". Those two can sure keep a secret. Upon leaving the fast food place, I checked my phone, more for volume than anything, to turn it up from it's vibrate mode that I prefer in restaurants. Saw I had just missed a call from "baby brother" and I mean JUST, like a minute before so I hurriedly called him back. You could hear some caterwauling going on in the background and it sounded too youthful to be my sister-in-law "the married one" in labor. "You hear that?" said "baby brother". "That is the sound of your new nephew." Hokie smoke, Bullwinkle! I'm an uncle! A while later, at home, I received an cel-phone notification that someone had texted me a picture. Now "texting" is something of which I do very little. I think my mechanic texted me once to tell me my truck was ready. Why, I don't know. Other than that about the only texts I ever get are from my cel phone provider wanting my money. And how one goes about getting a PHOTO I am clueless! So I called "precious daughter" more so to find out if she had sent it to me. When I asked she said, "yeah, you can't get pictures on your phone." There was laughter in the background. She explained it was "the geek-in-law" laughing that I had a cel phone so antiquated it could not receive photos. He quickly corrected her for true reason for his mirth. "He said he was laughing because "baby brother" could be so foolish as to THINK he could send you a photo on your antiquated cel phone!" But anyway, obviously she had not sent me the photo so I asked if it had come from "baby brother" and she said it had and she had received it too. "I know you are not going to think these two sentences go together, Dad, but 1) he's SO cute! And 2) "he looks just like "baby brother." To which I replied, "what? Bald and with a big nose?" See for yourself here: http://pictures.sprintpcs.com/?mivt=oEormTJim5kVqhak0Qfh&shareMameHMS_frsthg1 In another phone conversation with "baby brother" the following day, I inquired of him. The legend in our family has grown up around his birth that immediately upon exiting our "sainted mother" he chose that moment to void his bladder. Supposedly the attending nurse exclaimed, "what a brute!" So I asked him if "pony boy" was able to maintain bladder control better than his dad had. He said, "no he was going from the other end." My response was, "well that's just plain rude." "That's my boy!" replied "baby brother" "The lovely Mrs." and I trekked down to the hospital on Saturday afternoon to check out this latest addition to mankind for ourselves. We were somewhat later than intended, thanks to my failure to master our numerical freeway system. They will always be the Golden State and Harbor to me and less "the 5" and "the 110" respectively. Note: our Eastern friends derisively chide us for adding the definite article to those numbers. They correct us and say "you don't take THE 5, you take 5!" Whatever, but had I been more numeric-geographic savvy I would have gone a completely different way and avoided sitting in traffic! I apologized to "baby brother" for my tardiness (after I blamed him - "you know I hate the San Diego, ERRRR 405!") but then playfully told them both that actually "the lovely Mrs" wanted to stop off at Target and bring "pony boy" a gift. I nixed the deal, because I didn't want to be later than we were going to be already, explaining why we were empty-handed. "Besides", I added, "it's really hard to find a USC football this time of year." Posh digs! New hospital and my how things have changed since my baby making days! For one thing, my sister-in-law "the married one" works for a healthcare provider. So unlike most newborns and mothers she was not booted out of the hospital mere hours after giving birth. They were going to let her stay until Sunday. In her private room, no less. I said to her (she is a Disneyland-phile) "you must have got the Deluxe Park-hopper Passport!" Now my stoicism is well known. Ice water in the veins. Shed not a tear for "precious daughter's" birth or nuptials. Observed "the lovely Mrs" C-section with detached implacability. Unemotional some say. She says "dead inside" But I must admit when my eyes fell on "pony boy" for the first time, laying there beside his mother, I misted up more than I could ever imagine. Did you know babies can be real small?! Guess I forgot over the years. But I pretty much lost it. To think something like "pony boy" could ever come from "baby brother." "The lovely Mrs." was the first to hold him. "I'm an auntie!" she exclaimed for "baby brother's" video camera. I had asked her earlier if she was going to be an "auntie" or an "aunt" (pronounced ant) or an "aunt" (pronounced Ont)? Best I can tell if you use Ont, you have to correct "pony boy's" grammar when he gets excited. She foolishly said to "pony boy" "Oh, I'm gonna spoil you!", "baby brother's" video camera capturing it all for the kid to refer back to when her birthday presents don't quite measure up to his standards. "The lovely Mrs." claims she can see some of both "baby brother" and my sister-in-law "the married one" in "pony boy" And a little of my dad. I wouldn't know. I'm terrible at those things. Seeing "someone" in a baby or a child. I see Matthew McConaughy in "meine Deutsche freund" and everyone goes "huh?" So I see things that AREN'T there and am oblivious to the obvious. Sort of a metaphor for my life. I was a little more hesitant to hold "pony boy". Been awhile. And even when it was "precious daughter" I was only slightly more confident. My thinking is if you drop and break yours, yeah it's bad, but you drop and break someone else's it's downright embarrassing! They wisely convinced me to sit down before I held him. And so I did. Looking at his perfectly round face, his full head of brown hair (more than his father!), that little tongue that would dart out occasionally between well deserved yawns (already the kid thinks I'm boring!) I couldn't help but praise and thank God for His goodness and His answering our months and months of prayers. He occasionally would open his eyes (they appeared to be blue to my undiscerning observation) They tell me that babies only see shadows and blurs so soon after birth. And that their field of view ends only inches from their face. I wouldn't know. But I got the feeling he knew he was looking upon his favorite uncle. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: bouncin' off the walls! (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 19th, 2009
9:45 am	"baby, I'm on fire" - Bruce Springsteen so I recall, reading about, either when I was growing up in the 60's or in a biography I read in the last 5 to 10 years, (I forget where I first heard about this - the mind is starting to go!) about what the great Sandy Koufax had to go through in order to pitch through the pain in his incomparable left arm. Seems I recall hearing one of the treatments involved rubbing in an ointment called something like Butazolidin. It's primary use was in the treatment of thoroughbred horses and their legs. It was a simple theory really. If the aching in the horses legs (and Koufax's arm) was too intense, simply distract the body with a burning sensation so bad that it would make you completely forget about that throbbing pain that was threatening your livelihood! The equivalent to dropping an rock on your foot to make you care less about that headache. One of the ingredients in this Butazolidin was capsaicin the same stuff found in chili peppers that gives it that lethal burn. The stuff they warn you not accidentally get in your eyes after handling the peppers. Or on your skin. The story was told that one time a teammate of Koufax's accidentally put on Koufax's warm-up jacket or maybe it was a sweatshirt, but whatever, the "Bute" as it was called had leeched into the material of the garment so much that when it came in contact with the skin of the unwitting teammate, he about came unglued. He couldn't believe Koufax would put himself through that burning, blistering, searing pain, intentionally! The saga of my injured shoulder continues. After about 5 plus weeks post-injury I returned to the doctor. My thinking was it had been misdiagnosed. Just couldn't believe that a bruise, even a severe one, would continue to bug me for this long. Still stiff and tight. Still aches. Not constantly, but sporadically. It was certainly better than it had been days after the foolhardy dive that caused the injury in the first place. But it seemed to have plateau-d after a week or so with little progress since then. Still dropping my arm about 2 miles into a run because the ache was too pronounced. Silly sight. A man jogging along, his left arm pumping, but his right arm dangling at his side. Still didn't have full range of motion. Wasn't pain so much as just the tightness and stiffness that restricted some movements. I figured somehow the doctor had missed something in her original diagnosis. So I returned to her. She was surprised that I was still dealing with it after nearly 6 weeks. She put me on a 6-day steroid treatment. Great. Now even if I COULD continue to play softball through the pain, all of my offensive statistics would no doubt be "tainted" by my association with "performance enhancing drugs"! Of course that would necessitate me actually HAVING some offensive statistics this season! Alex Rodriguez' cousin assistance was not necessary. I took them orally. And she sent me to have the thing x-rayed. She really didn't think it would show anything, just possibly some calcification at the point of injury. Sure enough the x-rays of my shoulder (like my head) showed nothing. And she told me she wanted me to start on 3 or 4 weekly sessions of physical therapy and then return to her for re-evaluation. The physical therapist was booked solid so I had to wait almost two weeks before I could get into see them for the first time. In the meantime I started to see some improvement! Incrementally small. Little things. I could run a bit further before I had to drop the arm. Little by little but before long I was able to complete my run without dropping the arm. Also I was able to stretch my oblique with my right arm behind my head. What was once too stiff and painful to do, was now do-able. Not without stiffness OR pain, but just not so bad that I couldn't tolerate it for a few minutes. So there was a little improvement. Still there were self-imposed restrictions. Haven't lifted weights of any sort since the injury. And most frustrating of all I have not attempted to play softball either. This has it's benefits, though. The team seems to perform better without me in the line-up. (SURPRISE!) Sort of "addition" by "subtraction". Another treatment I started, was taking Aleve. The doctor had recommended Advil as an anti-inflammatory. I did that for about a week or so, but then I happened see a commercial on TV about an old guy who took Aleve and it allowed him to continue to play basketball. Figured if it helped THAT old guy it might helped THIS old guy. So I took Aleve for a few weeks. Used to take it's prescription equivalent for my back in the late 70's early 80's so I figured I could handle it. The "lovely Mrs." chipped in with her recommendation. Icy/Hot rub. Now growing up, our family always used Ben-Gay, and I'm loyal to a fault. I also had a coupon for Ben-Gay! Used up a tube of Ben-Gay in a week or so but then decided to give "the lovely Mrs." suggestion a try and picked up a tube of Icy/Hot. I should also mention that I was experimenting in WHEN I would apply these rubs. Before leaving for work in the morning and before bed at night. Thought it would help some if I applied it before a run, and I think there may have been some temporary relief. They all act about the same, warmth for 10 to 15 minutes and then it fades. Not sure why it took me so long to think of trying it, it was after I had used up the Ben-Gay and switched to Icy/Hot, but I decided to apply some after showering, post-run. Interesting. It seems that upon stepping out of the shower the pores in your skin are opened wide to take in whatever is on the skin. I rubbed it on my bicep and shoulder and then started to blow dry my hair. And here it came. It starts slow but builds. Growing progressively warmer and warmer. I remember thinking, "wow this getting sort of hot. I wonder how much more of it I can take?" Now I'm sure it didn't come close to what Koufax (or his unwitting teammate) experienced. About the time I thought I couldn't stand another increase in temperature, it seemed to ease. But it was definitely weird. After a few days I strangely looked forward to feeling that burn after showering. Not sure why but it doesn't seem to be as intense as it once was. Gotten used to it? Maybe. Maybe there is some sort of chemical "tolerance" involved. Had my first session with the physical therapist today (Wednesday). He diagnosed it as something akin to "biceptal tendonitis". So I guess it has a name, at least. He manipulated and pressed and all (as the doctor had before him). He recommended I ice it about 15 to 20 minutes each evening. "Ice is a natural anti-inflammatory" he said and then cautioned "don't freeze it. Just cool to the touch, like glass." And then he did something that has now put me on the cutting edge of sport medicine. He had me recline and he brought over a patch. He told me it was something that had just come out around the 1st of the year. It is a microprocessor which somehow "injects" an anti-inflammatory drug into the injured tendon at the point of injury without breaking the skin! He rubs a catalyzing agent on the skin, places the patch with the microprocessor (he beeped it to activate it) over the area of the tendon injury. He covered it with a cold pack and left me for about 5 to 10 minutes. He said I would probably feel a "prickly sensation" (which I did) as the drug moved through the skin. Told me to leave the patch on for 2 hours. When I asked, he said it would be no problem if I ran, sweated or showered with it on. Back for two more sessions next week. Who knew I was so "high-tech!?" Chesed. Late. Current Mood: mendin' (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 12th, 2009
12:27 pm	Blogspotting - "the sky is falling" so just a quick one but I found these two posts of extreme interest. One is Phil Johnson's comments at Pyromaniacs dated 03/10/09 entitled, Evangelicalism Down The Drain? found here http://teampyro.blogspot.com/ The other is the thing commented upon, Michael Spencer's commentary from the Christian Science Monitor entitled, The Coming Evangelical Collapse, found here http://www.csmonitor.com/2009/0310/p09s01-coop.html I don't agree with everything they both say (more of Johnson's than Spencer's) but I do agree with much of it. For so long evangelicals were distinguished by what we believed. Today it is more how we vote, our economic philosophy and our spirited actions. We sold our theology for a mess of pottage, consisting of right-wing politics, laissez faire capitalism and enthusiasm. Orthodoxy consisted of our theological distinctive's, while peripheral matters (politics, economics, and styles) were left to the individual to decide for themselves, between them and their god. But evangelicalism, especially the contemporary American form of it, has flip-flopped that, at least in my eyes. We must toe the line, in our support of the Republican Party platform, higher corporate profits (and lower taxes) and worship that is considered relevant and within a contemporary context. That is now consider "orthodox evangelicalism" Believe that and you are free to embrace just about ANY theological tenet out there, whether it may be historically heretical or not is immaterial, and still be able to call yourself or be called "evangelical". Sad to say I think much of what Spencer and Johnson is true, either already happening or coming to past in the near future. I may only see the birth pangs of these things in the few years I have left. My main concern is for "precious daughter", "the geek-in-law", their progeny (if any) and those who are just now coming of age or yet to be born. They most likely will see it's fullness. I hope they will always know and remember, it is not our politics, our bulging pocketbooks and relevancy, that distinguishes (distinguished?)us as evangelicals, it was what we knew and what we believed. I have the feeling the genie is out of the bottle and there in no way of reversing what is inevitable. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: saddened (Comment on this)
Monday, March 2nd, 2009
12:47 pm	"it helped me make it through some lonely nights" - John Denver so I said good bye to an old friend a few days back. I'm not the sentimental type. I recall when "baby brother" and I had to sell the home we grew up in after the death of our parents. He found it hard. But not me. Months, even years later, "the lovely Mrs." asked me if I drove by to look at the old house from time to time. Both received the same answer. No, the only thing that ever made the place special was my Mom's presence there. With her gone it just became four walls and a roof. I'm not sentimental when it comes to inanimate objects. I know "the lovely Mrs." named her vehicles. Her 90 Plymouth Voyager carried the moniker of something akin to "Blue Belle" or the like. Her current one, a 2005 Toyota Sequoia goes by the name of "Ruby". Because of it's color. When I drive it I simply refer to as "the Beast". Because of it's size. I know John Denver, James Taylor and Neil Young have memorialized their guitars in song, such is their affection for their respective instruments. And Neil Young wrote about his car (a storied hearse!) in the song "Long May You Run". But I'm not that way. Never named my cars or trucks. I parted ways with my truck last week. A '92 Dodge Dakota. I believe I'm accurate in saying that I had that truck longer than any vehicle I have ever had in my life. Got it in August '97 so something close to 11 1/2 years. Little unsure of that because "the lovely Mrs." had a '76 Datsun when we married and we kept it until just before the Dakota came along. But "technically" it was "her" car when we married and remained "her car" until I swapped my '77 Dodge 1/2 ton pickup with my Mom and Dad for a Chrysler Cordoba. Long story. The Datsun had no air conditioning. The Dodge 1/2 ton did, but had a manual transmission which made it difficult for "the lovely Mrs." to drive. "Precious daughter" was but a tot at the time, and my Dad had been greedily eyeing my pickup truck since the day I drove it off the showroom floor. Little hints like him always referring to it as "my truck" tipped me off. So a trade was made, "the lovely Mrs." got the Chrysler Cordoba my Mom was parting with anyway, Dad got "his truck" and I became the primary driver of the Datsun. That was around '84 or there abouts. So maybe in calendar time I DID have the Datsun longer. But in mileage it wasn't even close! I got the Dakota when it had 47,500 miles on it. It was hauled away with an odometer reading 217,800 miles. But that number is not accurate. When I bought it, it had a faulty odometer. The seller agreed to have it fixed but I drove it for a least a few days if not a week or so with the odometer not budging off 47,500. And then one autumn day driving outside of Toronto (more on that later) I looked down to notice the odometer was not working. How long it had not moved before I noticed I have no idea. Minutes? An hour? Don't know. Pulled off the highway but just as quickly it sprung back to life and never gave me a problem again. But there was more miles on it than it registered. Paint had been peeling for years. So much so that the name of the previous owner, an auto parts store in a neighboring valley, could be clearly seen on the tailgate as the paint fell away. Death was "natural causes" I guess. Really no front or rear suspension to speak of. Needed rear brakes desperately. The gas gauge quit working a few years back. The needle either jumped around like a ferret on crack or just laid on it's side, pointing way past either full or empty. Tailgate hadn't been able to open for the last few years, so "loading" anything of weight was problematic. Handle to the emergency brake broke off last year and in my typical futile attempt to "fix" something mechanical, I Super-glued it so you couldn't pull it to release it. Had to reach down and manually pull on the mechanism to release the brake. "The lovely Mrs." figured that one out. She's the "mechanical" one in our marriage as you can tell. It has been burning or leaking oil for a few years now. Had to add a quart or two about two thirds of the way between oil changes to keep the crankcase close to full. Probably bad valves as my limited mechanical knowledge would lead me to believe. Then it started to have compression problems. Needle would drop dramatically when the engine idled but come back to life as the RPM's increased. Once again I figured it was the valves. Had a slow leak in the front right tire. The ceiling liner was drooping down dramatically, tickling my thinning hair as I drove. And then the battery died. So, it was time. About the only things of value left were two "fairly new" tires and the 12-disc CD changer with radio and cassette combo. Even that was not quite what it should have been. Dash display no longer lit up so time and radio stations were only known by "faith and not by sight". But I'll miss that CD changer most of all. Some nice memories. My Dad pointing out the flaws in it when he saw if for the first time. The water spots in the upholstery that I had never noticed before. Or how someone had tried to repair a nick in the paint with what appeared to be White Out. Or my Dad smoking cigarettes and sitting in his lawn chair while I washed the truck in his drive way, and him pointing out the spots I had missed. I think I see a "trend" here. But more than anything I'll cherish the memories of two special trips that truck and I took. Both just the two of us alone. The first, at a time of turmoil and pain, a trip back to Tennessee and Michigan in the autumn of '97, in search of some sense of peace and stability. And then a marvelous trip to hit 8 different big league parks in the summer of '99. Just me and that truck, seeing games, country side and listening to tunes. I think that is what really made that truck "special" in my mind. Those two trips. 90+ mph much of the time (only pulled over twice and cited once!) running in every city I stopped to see a game, spending more time in Canada than I ever had before. Eating the unique "local ballpark fare" in each stadium, visiting churches in Michigan and Arizona on the Lord's Day. FINALLY getting to visit "the friendly confines" of Wrigley Field, after dreaming of it for so many years. Seeing games in Milwaukee and Detroit in parks that soon would fall to the wrecking ball. Finding out after wonderful days in Toronto and Chicago, that maybe I'm not as "anti-big city" as I once thought I was. Surviving the "marathons" that driving 900 miles in a day can be on more than one occasion. That truck and I saw it all. It got me through lightning, hail and fog near the Kansas-Colorado border. It kept me warm and toasty in the early morning chill of an Oklahoma autumn. It greeted me when I returned tired and sweaty from runs along the shores of Lakes Michigan, Ontario and St. Clair. It silently listened to my kvetching, off-key singing and opinions without comment or complaint. What more could you want? Hope you find someone that treats you nice. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: untethered (Comment on this)
Friday, February 27th, 2009
1:05 pm	quickie RE-definitions so............. "bipartisanship" - doing what I want you to do. "partisan politics as usual" - NOT doing what I want you to do "being the noble opposition" - ME NOT doing what YOU want me to do "selling out" and "caving in" - HIM doing what I DON'T want him to do "stimulus package" or "bailout" - using someone else's taxes for MY new government programs and plans "socialism" - using MY taxes for YOUR new government programs and plans "a courageous and bold move necessary to preserving and stabilizing our economy" - voting for a bailout or stimulus plan proposed by a Republican president according to a Republican "dangerously increasing the size of the Federal government loaded with pork and spending and tantamount to the end of civilization as we know it" - voting for a bailout or stimulus plan proposed by a Democratic president according to a Republican "uncooperative" and "road blocks" - you NOT doing what I want you to do "change" - same ol' same ol' Y'all have a nice weekend. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: deja vu - y (Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 18th, 2009
9:34 am	"any further than my own back yard" so I think that is the quote from the close of The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy says the next time she goes looking for something she won't go any further than her own back yard. I have recently found that to be true with my radio listening. I have posted of KCSN, the local college radio station, the college a mere block or two from "my own back yard". The same college which employs both "precious daughter" and 'the geek-in-law" and from where they both graduated. I had posted KCSN had The Dylan Hour on Sunday evenings, playing Dylan music, usually centered around a common "theme". It is no more, but that is hardly sad. A few months back it became The Dylan HourS, expanding to 2 hours now. This past Sunday's theme was songs that mentioned the word "heart" given the "holiday d'more" the previous day. But I have discovered other programs on KCSN to my liking over the past few months. Driving home from softball games KSCN has a program called Tangled Roots, playing "roots" music with artists like Lucinda Williams, Steve Earle and the late Townes Van Zandt. The station even calls itself Arts and Roots Radio. Recently KCSN has gone to playing "Americana" from 6:30 PM until 6:00 AM weeknights. Now the distinction between "roots" and "Americana" is an extremely subtle one. I'm not sure if I heard one song whether I could tell you if it was "roots" or "americana" if you put a gun to my head! The terms are nearly synonymous. Many of the same artists and even same songs can be heard on the different programs. All I know is it is "good music". My kind of music. Also they play bluegrass on Sunday AMs. And there is a blues program on Saturday afternoons. The signal is not a strong one. Driving back from "baby brother" and my sister-in-law's, "the married one" a few weeks back the signal was faint at best, blown out all together most of the time by other, either stronger or station signals in closer proximity. Even at the other end of the San Fernando Valley the signal can fade in and out as you drive. But what it does more than anything is give me one more alternative to what I can listen in my car or at home. Should The Sound LA start up with a Bowie, Talking Heads, Genesis or Peter Gabriel tune (I am not a big fan of any of them!) or sports talk drift off into inanity (as it frequently does) or whatever station I happen to be listening to at that moment goes to a commercial (as they ALL do!) to pay their bills, I know I can switch over to KCSN to most likely hear something nice. It's nice to have options! Chesed. Late. Current Mood: undecided (Comment on this)
Thursday, February 12th, 2009
1:02 pm	"I'm getting too old for this s***!" - Danny Glover in "Lethal Weapon" so the softball season has resumed. Or as I'm beginning to refer to it, "my long, personal nightmare." I have written of my woes both medical and performance wise in the first part of the season. The struggles I have experienced both in the field and at bat. And the hamstring pull I suffered in the very first game of the season. We took a break for the holidays. I think we were off from before Thanksgiving and returned shortly after New Year. The second half of the season! A rebirth! A clean slate to start afresh and wash the bad taste from my mouth left by a woeful 1st half! All that hope and optimism! Why it was like Obama had gotten elected all over again! So about the 2nd week of the New Year, I asked Coach "geek-in-law" if softball was gonna start soon to which he replied, "this week. We have a bye." (sigh) You get all fired up by the halftime pep talk by the coach only to discover someone locked the locker room door. So much for momentum. The first game back, not sure now if it was the first or second at bat, but I tapped weakly back to the pitcher (different half, same results) and while running down the first base line felt an old familiar grab in the back of my left thigh. Repeat after me - different half, same results. This was not nearly as bad as the first pull. I would describe it as a "tweak" more than anything. Played the rest of the game without much incident really. Was able to move - somewhat. In fact the only time it really bothered me much was when I bent over to field ground balls. So in that I am very thankful. Then there was the rainout another week. Wasn't raining really. More due to wet grounds. It's a very nice field and the church (rightly) wants to keep it that way. Which brings us to Super Bowl Sunday. Super Bowl Sunday has been deemed "our great secular national holiday". It is so revered and in grained in the National psyche that kickoff time is scheduled for something akin to 3:23 PM Pacific time. 3:23 PM. Not 3:15 or 3:30, not even 3:22 PM. But 3:23. Game time for our game that day was 3:15. WHAT IDIOT SCHEDULES A CHURCH SOFTBALL GAME FOR SUPERBOWL SUNDAY?!?!?! No worries. My thinking is this is why video tape was invented. My old school ways are showing. Notice I did not mention Tivo or DVR. I really had my concerns given the game time and Super Bowl if there would be enough players on either team to play the game. My understanding is that a minimum of 8 players on a team must be present for a forfeit not to be called. Game time neared and our opponents were well stocked at somewhere in the vicinity of 10 or 11 players. We had ........8. Still no problem really. At least we would play. Called for some adjustments. We played with 3 infielders at time or 2 outfielders depending on the batter or situation. Actually made it quite fun. A challenge. Personally, it was a different experience for me. Coach "geek-in-law" has had me pretty much playing 1st or 2nd base this season. This is to hide my limited range due to advancing age and my hamstring issues. Oh I have played some catcher, when the hamstring was really limiting my movement. And there was the less than half of an inning I played in something called "right center" where the hamstring injury occurred in the first place. But basically it has been either 1st or 2nd, alternating with innings on the bench. I say he did this to protect my hamstring. Truth be told he did this to protect the team from MY DEFENSE! But with limited personnel, he was forced to adjust his defense somewhat and he played me at third. My first comment in taking the field at 3B was "you mean I have to throw it all the way over THERE?!?!" I must admit it was all quite fun. Certainly more action playing third that there was playing 2nd (that's the reason he had me playing 2nd!) so there was little down time. I continued to flail at the plate and embarrass myself. I have to admit I am clueless as to what to do to correct this. Nothing I have done seems to help. Being aggressive, being patient, pulling the ball, going the other way, etc. All seems to end up in dribblers to the infield. In the field, I had my struggles too. Limited range for one thing. Ground balls only 3 or 4 steps to my left or right went thru to the outfield. And with runners at 1st and 2nd with only 1 out, I fielded a grounder and stepped on 3B and turned to throw to 2B (ignoring our imploring SS's protestations not to) not realizing it was one of those moments when we had no 2B man! In my haste I had mistaken the runner moving from 1st to 2nd as a fielder. Fortunately, it was backed up and no one advanced. But it was embarrassing. And my "issues" with the umpiring continued. I was on 1st base one inning. Now my (limited) understanding of the rule in this league is on a grounder where a force or a DP is possible, the runner cannot interfere with the fielder. The runner must get down and slide or must veer out toward the OF. There was a ground ball to the left side of the infield and I was forced out at 2nd. As I ran toward 2nd I neared the fielder. Were this 35 years ago, he would have ended up going head over heels or blown into LF, but this IS after all a church league. I veered slightly toward RF and forced him to make his throw over my left shoulder. Proving that umpires are just as susceptible to the temptations of the flesh and faithlessness as some players can be, we only had one umpire that day. Normally we have 2, behind the plate and on the bases, but I guess a little football game was more important to someone than doing his duty. As I tailed off into RF I could hear the home plate umpire yell, "He's out at 2nd and the batter is out at 1st due to runners interference." Now if you need any proof that I have grown as a Christian, or an individual you need to look no further than my reaction. There was a time where a call like that would have been followed by a gigantic "WHAT?!?!?!" But I said nothing to the umpire. An inning or two later I approached him and asked him about the call. He told me what the rule states I have to do in that situation, get down or turn to the OF. I just told him that "had I got down like the rule states I would have cut his knees out from under him, and I had indeed veered toward the OF (the proof being he had to throw over my inside shoulder) but because he was behind the plate his angle prevented him from seeing it." I had had my say and left it at that. But for whatever reason, we were playing well. We were scoring runs (a rarity this season) and holding the opponents in check. They seemed to be hitting out of synch. There were some innings where they had 4 or 5 hits but would score only one or even no runs. Our defense seemed to hold them to running the bases station to station much of the time. Winning makes up for a great deal of personal poor performance and embarrassment. And that was the way it was. We had built close to a double digit lead as the game neared its end. I reached base late in the game (probably on a force out - sigh) and was on 1st with only one out. There is some debate as to what happened next. From my perspective at first base, it appeared there was a line drive back toward the pitcher which he speared as he was falling away toward 3rd. "The lovely Mrs." from her seat behind home claimed it was a lazy humpback liner back to the pitcher. She claims that the petite girl who was hitting behind me is physically incapable of hitting anything close to a "line drive". Whatever. But I started toward 2nd the moment she hit the ball and when the pitcher stabbed it knew I had to get back to 1st fast. I had made only 2 or three steps toward 2nd so I turned quickly and dove back to the bag. A poor play by the 1st base(wo)man was the only thing that prevented me from being doubled up. I felt the pain in my shoulder immediately. And then just as immediately it disappeared. Wasn't hurting as much as it just felt weak or stiff. Running the bases as the final out of the inning was recorded, the pounding as I ran caused some to the pain to return. As I took my position at 3rd I told Coach "geek-in-law" about my shoulder and told him to give me a few warm ups to see if I could still throw (it was my right shoulder). Pride prevents me from telling exactly which direction and how little my practice throw went from my hand. Needless to say "it weren't too pretty!" Coach "geek-in-law" moved me to 1st. I tried to roll some practice grounders to our SS and 3rd base(wo)man but once they saw how little I could put on it (and how little it would help them!) they just said "forget it!" I informed our sometimes 2nd baseman sometimes "right center" to stick close to me if I get the ball and had to throw it that I may need to flip it to him to make the throw because I couldn't. Never had to though, as that situation never occurred. I was called on to bat in our last at bat. That was interesting. My first swing sent the pain searing down my arm and the my top hand (my right) came completely off the bat on a foul tip. Figured swinging two handed was now out of the question so I decided to swing with only my left arm and let the right hand serve as a guide. The results were a dribbler back to the box. I defy anyone comparing the results of my previous (healthy, two handed) at bats with the results of my injured one-armed flail to tell the difference. It looks about the same. Pretty sad, huh? Our opponents managed a three run rally in their last at-bat but they came up short, something akin to 16- 9 or thereabouts. Aside from the injury (and even taking it into consideration) it was a pretty fun game. Being short handed made us have to be constantly adjusting to whatever the situation dictated. Playing 3B gave me more opportunity to participate. And given that EVERYONE bats in the lineup even if they haven't played in the field, there have been games where I have only been to bat twice (low position in the lineup, slow offense, etc.) But I must have gotten to the plate 5 or 6 times in the this game! Of course that can be a humbling experience. What does it say about you when you make the first AND the last out in one inning?! Then the pain began. My shoulder? Nah, the grief "the lovely Mrs." gave me for injuring myself in something as insignificant as a softball game! First it was not waiting to see if the "soft pop" the girl hit would be caught. Then it was not thinking and diving back into 1st. "You should think, 'I have a mortgage!" she said. Thought it but didn't say it, but I do these activities for the expressed purpose of FORGETTING I HAVE a mortgage! And my sister-in-law, "the married one" put it concisely when she heard of it, "y'know, you're not 23 anymore." Yeah tell me something I don't know. Anyway, "the lovely Mrs." really did take good care of me when I got home. Ice, heat, aspirin (for the headache she gave me!) she really does dote on people when they are sick or hurt. She is better than I deserve. A side note, "precious daughter" had been battling a head cold and was not at the game. When Coach "geek-in-law" got home he informed her saying "I think your dad really screwed up his shoulder diving back to first base." Her reply was "was he safe or out?" She tells me that Coach "geek-in-law" gave her a look as if to say, "I think you may have missed the point, I said he got hurt." Her comment was "if he was safe it won't as much. If he was out it will hurt more." I raised that girl right. Priorities. But resting it the next day or so gave me time to think (I couldn't really DO anything else!). I figured I had really screwed the pooch this time. My life has been so blessed health wise. Especially considering ALL those games for ALL those years. Sure I have had my dings and things. True my knees sound like cold milk on a bowl of Rice Krispies when I walk across a room. And I do resemble a rusty lawn chair unfolding as I rise from a chair, especially if it is from a Sunday pew after a Saturday of doing yard work. But never anything serious. Oh, I've sprained my ankles on the hardwood a time or two. And I've blown my hamstrings running out ground balls more than once. Had my share of stitches from baseball and basketball injuries too. Took a (deflected) puck to the mouth one time standing in front of the net. I went down, but my teeth stayed in. That is all minor stuff. You rest and it heals. But I've never broken a bone (that I know of) or had to have surgery. But I thought I had finally failed to dodge that bullet. I'm thinking MRI's and surgery, either arthroscopic or more. I figured I'd really done it this time. Went to a clinic near work on Tuesday and the news was amazingly encouraging. After she manipulated my arm in direction after direction and looked me over, her conclusion was that it was nothing more than a severe bruise. No rotator cuff tear! No ligament or tendon damage, no bones broken, just a badly bruised bicep. When I say badly bruised I mean from armpit to elbow, a most fetching shade of solid eggplant! Her advice? Rest and Advil, both in generous amounts. About the only negative I came away from was how uncomfortable I am being examined by young, attractive FEMALE doctors! To tell you the truth with the good news and the marked improvement the next day, I actually thought, "y'know if this continues to improve at this rate maybe I can play this coming Sunday!" Yeah, that's not gonna happen. For whatever reason it seemed to stop getting better on Thursday and after. Maybe stopped getting better is not accurate, maybe it was not getting better AS fast is more to the point. Doesn't matter. The game was rained out Sunday anyway. And more rain is predicted for this weekend. This season may NEVER end! Strange injury in that I can do some things but not others. Brushing my hair is not bad. Washing my hands was. Pulling hurt, pushing not so much. Reaching for something high made it yelp but nothing like rolling over in bed. Never knew how much your shoulder was involved in the simple act of rearranging ones position in bed. Must have woke up in pain more than a half a dozen times those first few nights just trying to go from my back to my left side. Never knew I moved so much in my sleep. Still hurts some. Can't lift weights (haven't even TRIED!) or do some stretches. It feels tight and stiff, something like our arms used to feel when we would really hammer the weights when we were younger, to the point of near complete muscle collapse and fatigue. Like if you stuck a pin in my arm it would pop! Only this doesn't seem to fade after a day or so. The bruise went from deep purple to splotchy yellow and is now completely gone. The only hint of the slide are the scabs on my elbow and knee that are dark, hard and itchy. Today my chiropractor gave my shoulder some electrical stimulation. Freaky feeling. Your muscle twitching and contracting uncontrollably like some freshly netted trout! Hope it helps. The other night I was talking on the phone with "the Tennessee Stud", telling him all I have written of above. He plays softball, umpires it too. He mentioned awhile back that his oldest boy commented to him on observing some of the quirky rules (two 1st base bags to avoid collisions, rules about interference, etc.) saying "what's up with THAT?!" He said, "we all have jobs we need to get up and go tomorrow." Maybe I should keep that in mind. Probably not gonna happen, but at least I could try. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: aching (Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 4th, 2009
10:45 am	"say WHAT?" so I engaged in a recent exchange about lyrics to songs with "meine Deutsche freund" For decades now the urban legend has grown around Creedence Clearwater Revivals song, "Bad Moon Rising", that the lyric in the song was "misheard" as "bathroom on the right" instead of "bad moon on the rise." Singer-songwriter John Fogerty now even acknowledges that mishearing when he performs the song live by smiling, pointing to his right and singing emphatically, the incorrect line "there's a bathroom on the right." John Prine has told the story in concert many times now about the time a person in the audience requested he do "that song of yours about the happy enchilada" Prine looked at her and said, "as far I know I've never written a song about ANY kind of enchilada let alone a happy one!" The woman persisted and sang the song back to him "it's a happy enchilada and you think your gonna drown." The song is entitled "That's The Way the World Goes Round" and the actual line goes "It's a HALF AN INCH OF WATER and you think your gonna drown." Great story. Funny story. Whether it is true I don't know. With Prine you are never sure. But that was what prompted the exchange between "meine Deutsche freund" and I. Lyrics that are assumed to be one thing. For decades even. So much so they are etched on our brains in an incorrect form and nearly impossible to change even when you are made aware of the corrected ones. What started it all was Neil Young's song "I Am a Child". Recorded originally when he was with Buffalo Springfield. Which places the song somewhere in the late 60's, so we are talking 40 years ago or so! I have long thought that he sings "I gave to you, now you give to me. I'd like to know you for awhile." That is the way I always "heard" it. And that is the way I had always sung it, my 8-track tape deck, cassette player, CD player or radio cranked up high, depending on which of those 4 decades happened to find me in my vehicle. "Meine Deutsche freund" covered "I am A Child" on his most recent home grown CD. On it he sings the line as "I'd like to know you're much obliged." Now I have great respect for "meine Deutsche freund". My assumption was he was singing the song correctly and I was the one who had misheard what was being sung. Also may have been an "alternate" lyric Young may have sung over the years. Some artists will do that. Change the lyrics to a familiar song, just to keep it fresh. I LOVE when they do that and I come across an alternate version or lyric. Like buried treasure! Dylan is legendary for tweaking his lyrics either in concert or in studio sessions. So I thought that had been the case with "I Am A Child" and "meine Deutsche freund" I checked the original lyrics (the Internet is such a WONDERFUL tool!) and they read "God gave to you, now you give to me. I'd like to know what you've learned." Now I was really surprised! Not only was I wrong about him singing "what you've learned" instead of my misheard "know you for awhile", but I had always thought he had sung the line in the first person singular instead of invoking the Deity! Yet I still persisted in believing "meine Deutsche freund" had simply used one of Young's "alternate" lyrics. So I asked him. And he responded that, no, it was just the way he had always "heard" the song and sang it that way when he recorded it. I've had several songs like that in my life. Songs where I have misunderstood or misheard the lyrics for many, many years. so much so that they have been ingrained in my memory, in their incorrect form. For one there is Bruce Springsteen's "Brilliant Disguise". This one is similar to N. Young's "I Am A Child" in that I "misheard" it on so many levels and places. Where he sings, "then it all falls apart when out go the lights" I thought he said, "then it all falls apart under the moonlight" OK, close enough I guess and it does work on some level, "lights out", darkness, night, "moonlight". But then he sings, "I'm just a lonely pilgrim I walk this world in wealth I want to know if it's you I don't trust Cause I damn sure don't trust myself" But I misheard him sing, "I'm just a lonely pilgrim I walk this world AND WHEN I want to know if it's you I don't trust Cause I've BEEN SO 'DON'T TRUST' myself" OK, first off mine (when and myself) don't even rhyme! I try to salve my ignorance by saying it was an inner aversion to swearing that prevented me from hearing the word "damn" but anyone that knows me knows how silly that idea is! I also try to give myself props for trying to go deeper and psychological in my "mishearing" thinking that it is because of his own feelings of "don't trust" toward himself that prevents him from trusting her. Yeah, no. I just screwed up and misheard the line. Another long misheard song of mine is Jackson Browne's apocalyptic "Before the Deluge". He sings, "Some of them were angry At the way the earth was abused By the men who learned how to forge her beauty into power And they struggled to protect her from them Only to be confused By the magnitude of her fury in the final hour And when the sand was gone and the time arrived In the naked dawn only a few survived And in attempts to understand a thing so simple and so huge Believed that they were meant to live after the deluge" But I heard "by the magnitude of her SPIRIT in the final hour" Close I guess, as an inner spirit can be displayed in fury. But then I misheard him sing, "and in attempts to understand a thing so simple and so FEW" OK, maybe that was subconscious thing. Seems there was a group or song called "Precious and Few" back in the late 60's. But obviously HUGE is a much better rhyme with DELUGE than FEW will ever be! And I misheard the lyrics to INXS' "The Devil Inside" They sang, "The Devil inside, the Devil inside, Every single one of us the devil inside" But I heard, "DEAD inside, DEAD inside Everyone single one of us IS DEAD inside" My excuse here is it was simply my Calvinism coming out in my mishearing. And I might point out that their line has no VERB in it! Just a preposition! At least my line used proper grammar! Of course a quick glance at the TITLE of the SONG would have given me a clue as to what the line actually was! Others too, but I think I've already humbled myself above enough. None of this would really matter. We mishear these songs and rarely display them for others, simply (incorrectly) reinforcing them to ourselves in the cocoons of our daily commutes. But then we slip, sing it in front of others who ask, "what did you just say?" Gracious types ignore our mishearing and our missteps in automotive karaoke. Then there are people like me. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: aurally challenged (Comment on this)
Monday, December 29th, 2008
3:07 pm	"..........but with an excuse, your Honor." so I guess everyone has "guilty pleasures". Those things we are rather hesitant to admit to enjoying, to others. Usually they are things some might consider "beneath us". The television snob that claims to only watch PBS programming but if backed into the corner would admit to chuckling frequently at "Gilligan's Island" reruns. The literary elitist who pride themselves in their knowing taste and discrimination, who keeps a dog eared romantic novel on their nightstand. The season ticket holder to the opera and philharmonic, with the windows sealed tightly in their Lexus, cranks up the volume on their teen pop queen CD and sings along, knowing all the lyrics. I admit one of mine is an indulgence in mindless TV sitcoms. I find great comfort in them even though I have seen many episodes scores of times. The familiarity of it all. I try to salve my conscience by telling myself that these are "high-end" sitcoms, your "Frasier", your "Seinfeld", your "Mad About You". There are many sitcoms of which I have never seen second one, considering them not worth my time. But when you get down to it they are all pretty silly in 30 minute bites. Another one of my "guilty pleasures" is a fondness for the Bravo series "Inside the Actors Studio". I stumbled upon this series some ten years back or so. It was much easier to make a habit of watching it when Bravo kept it consistently on Sunday afternoons. They have moved it about some in recent years so I don't get to see it nearly as much as did. But I consider this a "guilty pleasure" mostly because I continue to watch even though I don't have much fondness for its host James Lipton. You see I consider him a bit of a "pompous twit". Now I don't know the man personally, but I make this bigoted assessment based solely on what I have seen on the series. The fawning statements about his guests, the casually dropped French word or phrase in the conversation seems showy to me. Things like that. Yet I've continued to watch in spite of him. What I most enjoy about the series is listening to someone talk about their job or craft. It doesn't have to be about acting really. I find it fascinating listening to someone who is considered "great" or at the top of their profession describe how they go about doing what they do. It could be anything really, song-writing, swinging a bat, etc, and I would like to understand what makes them one of the best. Doesn't always pan out. Some people can do it, but aren't always the most articulate in telling you about HOW they go about it. And that has happened a few times in the series. I've seen it in other professions too. The song-writer who writes wonderful lyrics but finds it hard to express clearly the process. Plenty of great baseball hitters, but not many could explain the craft as well as Ted Williams. A phrase that is often used contemptuously about those that are relegated to teaching a craft or skill instead of making their living that way is "those who do, do, those that can't, teach." And I think I have some of that contemptuous thinking about Lipton. That if he is supposedly involved in teaching these young people about acting, how come he isn't some big fired up actor himself? What makes me bring this all up is, surprisingly, I find myself currently reading Lipton's memoirs "Inside Inside". And some of the things that make me care little for him are present in his writing. A certain pomposity and ostentatious-ness. He readily admits to not being the most modest person in the world. Also there is bit of name dropping going on, but I guess when you interact with these on a regular basis it would hard not to tell a story without doing so. But there are other things about him that I have found fascinating. Some are the contrasts. The pompousness he displays on the air (and in his writing) yet admitting admiration and affection and friendship with someone raised in a Kentucky holler like Loretta Lynn and her husband. The circles wouldn't seem to intersect. And the fact that he deals with the elite of the motion picture and theatrical stage, but speaks quite admirably about those that display their craft on afternoon television soap operas. His fondness for things like tattoos, flying planes and riding horses would not seem to be affections of someone who speaks as mannered as he does and studied ballet. A major surprise for me was his many, many accomplishments. I can honestly say I wouldn't have known James Lipton from Adam, prior to the Bravo series, and I hardly consider myself someone "uninformed". Yet he has had many different and fascinating experiences in the decades before starting Inside. He was a radio actor in Detroit. Studied acting in New York in the 50's and 60's which brought him into contact and relationship with many of the acting elite, Brando, Paul Newman and teachers like Stella Adler and Lee Strasberg. He lived a particularly interesting life in Paris for a time. He worked days as a actor on a soap opera (hence his affection for those that do!) while studying in the evening and performing on NYC stage. He is the son of the famous Beat poet, Lawrence Lipton, who published for some years the LA Free Press, a publication I read for a few years (more for the politics, dirty words and occasional naked girl I could find in it, than Lipton's poetry!). He is an accomplished producer, composer and director for the Broadway stage, having written scores and fronted productions. He is a published novelist and written another book on collective nouns. He has won blue ribbons as a competitive show jumper. He was for many years Bob Hopes' producer for many of Hope's TV specials. He has had close friendships with many of the eastern literary elite, people like Norman Mailer and George Plimpton and others. He has produced Inaugural galas and the like. Yet I never knew of him until just over a decade ago! Talk about flying under (my) radar! Other than Lipton, I have two criticisms of the series. One is that many times it seems that the guests don't really seem to merit an appearance on the show. I can understand actors and even directors being asked, but sometimes I have problems with people like comedians and musicians being invited. They seem out of place to me. Or even actors that have not been trained or are not known for studying "the (Stanislawski) Method". And the other thing is many times the guests presence on the show seems manufactured by their press agent to coincide with a soon to be appearance, performance or production . Lipton answers both of my criticisms ably in the book. I'm about 2/3's through "Inside" now and I think I'm going to enjoy the first part more than the last. The first part (dealing with before he started Inside the Actors Studio) was unknown to me for the most part before reading. The latter half seems to merely be a rehash of the various interviews that I have already seen. There may be a few interesting behind the scenes comments but for the most part I could garner just as much by watching the interviews again. And a "guilty pleasure" within a "guilty pleasure" I am forced to admit I do enjoy the questionnaire Lipton employs at the conclusion of each interview, the one developed by "Bernard Pivot the host of "Apostrephes" et "Boullion de Culture" In some ways it seems insipid and unsophisticated. So simple. Silly "little" questions. Yet I love to watch and see how the guests answer. I try to search for hints that they have "prepared" for the questions. I seem to enjoy it more when I feel they haven't and are surprised by it all. Too polished seems less honest to me somehow. And (sadly) I admit I gravitate more toward the question dealing with profanity (in all it's titillation) than I do the more theological one dealing with God. What I thought I would do here is allow us all the opportunity and sit in the chair across for James Lipton (and his blue cards) and answer the questions in the questionnaire. Simply cut and paste below and delete my answers before inserting yours. Get it? Here we go; What is your favorite word? For the longest time I could never think of one. Years. I thought I would have to settle for a favorite letter. H or maybe K. I liked the way they looked in cursive writing and how it felt to write them. But just in the last year it occurred to me what my favorite word was. It is grace. In all its many applications. Certainly and primarily, it's theological usage. God's undeserved favor (sillily turned into an acronym by some as "Gods Riches At Christ's Expense"!). But also how it applies to in physical movement or social interaction. Nominatively, it is my church home. What is your least favorite word? I think it is shrewd. I was in my college American Lit. class and we were discussing Hawthorne as I recall. And the professor, a dear man who ranks high on my list of favorite teachers, if not at the very top. Brought up the word shrewd. What I recall is how I had a negative reaction to it. It sounds harsh to me, to begin with. Certainly there is also Shakespeare's Kate, and the animal variety, in the beginning of the word. But it had the connotation of being less than forthright and honest to me, for ones own benefit. That is not the true definition, however. The professor and the rest of the class were perplexed by my reaction. They saw it as being sharp and knowing once again for ones own benefit. Felt somewhat like a cretin in everyone's eyes that night. And I guess it has carried over some. What turns you on creatively, emotionally, spiritually? I think it is anticipation. Having something "out there" just over the horizon to keep me motivated. It could be something as simple as the coming weekend or Sunday worship. Or as unique as a camping trip with friends, a concert or marathon. Just something I can look forward to. Something that causes me to say "if I can just make it to...." What turns you off creatively, emotionally, spiritually? I would have to say self-centeredness, in all it's many manifestations. In traffic, in conversation, in word or attitude. Something that is so focused on ones self, accomplishments, desires, pain, etc. as to be so oblivious to the feelings of those around you. Y'know, like these people who blog! What sound or noise do you love? There is a certain laughter of a child. It is not just any laughter, this one is unique. Children lose it once they move into the toddler stage or thereabouts. It is a laughter that is uncontrolled, so much so the child has a hard time catching it's breath. And it usually ends in a squeal of delight. There is something in that kind of laugh that just speaks of unadulterated joy to me. So pure. It can't be faked. What sound or noise do you hate? I guess the cries of a child. Not just any cries. I can hear a child cry in petulance, or in being disciplined or in disappointment. Those I see a place for. But a child crying because of physical pain just tears me apart. I feel so helpless. What is your favorite curse word? Shamefacedly, I must to admit to being a big fan of the "f**k". What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? This one has evolved as I have aged. From childhood dreams of playing professional baseball, to more concrete ambitions in practicing law or law enforcement, teaching or writing. It kind of ebbs and flows depending on what I happen to be doing. Currently, I would say I would love to have the ability to walk out on a stage with just an acoustic guitar and harmonica and be able to entertain an audience with music and conversation. Silly I know. But I have never left that childhood desire to play 2nd base (or catcher or center field) for the Los Angeles Dodgers. What profession would you not like to do? Anything that would have to do with math or accounting on a regular basis. Ironically, my current job is made up of approximately 85% doing that very same thing! If heaven exists, what you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? Nothing really special. I think what every sincere Christian would want to hear. "well done, thou good and faithful servant.......enter into the joy of your Master" (Matthew 25:23) Chesed. Late. Current Mood: embarrassed (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 25th, 2008
4:56 pm	for it all so one of my favorite verses, and it is somewhat overlooked if from I Cor. 4:7b. Paul writes "And what do you have that you did not receive?" Pretty innocuous really. Not a whole bunch of theological import there on the surface. But I like to drag it out when I start to get a little whiny about circumstances and life in general. Because his implied answer is "no". There is NOTHING that I have that I did not receive in someway shape or form. My health, my wealth (what little I have!) whatever I can think of, it all came from someone else's hand. My parents, my teachers, my coaches, my friends, my family, "the lovely Mrs." or "precious daughter" and ultimately God. There is not one thing I possess in this life that was not given to me by someone else. And because of that I should be grateful. For it all. That's why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, I guess. It forces me to remember how insignificant I am in making contributions to the blessings I have. It is all by God's grace, from my cradle to my grave. And I include this slide show set to Don Henley's "My Thanksgiving" to commemorate the day. Nice music, but better words. I like how he mentions that even the seemingly "bad" or "hurts" in our lives are to be given thanks for. Not because they are pleasant (they aren't) but they are beneficial and necesary to our growth. Chesed. Late. And thanks Current Mood: grateful (Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 19th, 2008
9:33 am	heads up! so, calling your attention to a few things you may want to check out (or may not) if you have any interest. Alistair Begg just started what I consider his classic series of sermons on the Ten Commandments this week. They can be heard at http://www.truthforlife.org/site/PageServer. I have heard this series several times now over the years but always find it compelling. The relationship of the evangelical church and even the culture in general to the Commandments has always been a bizarre one. From the secular cultures point of view, they seem to think they are a staircase to salvation, that in keeping them we can somehow earn God's favor and entrance into His heaven. The church's relationship has fluctuated much in my lifetime. For some the Commandments became something to be set free from, that they held little significance in the life of a believer after salvation, now that they were "under Grace and not Law." For others they became merely a set principles to be followed to lead to a life of prosperity and fulfillment. Sadly, for many evangelicals today, the Commandments seem to have become a political football, something to be legislated into concrete on the courthouse steps and the school room walls. Begg sheds much light on all of this as he takes on the individual commandments and how they apply today in the life of every believer. My personal favorite is his sermon on keeping the Sabbath. Though I have heard that message more than a couple of times I find it all fascinating, informative and especially convicting. Check it out if you are interested. The next two alerts deal with the radio station "the Sound" http://thesoundla.com/ and 100.3 FM in the LA area. Recently stumbled on something called "Peace, Love & Sunday Morning" Airs, as the title implies, on Sunday AM. Discovered it one morning while shaving and showering. What immediately drew me in was what seemed to be it's focus on the late 60's early 70's Southern California sound that I loved in high school and college. Things like America, Neil Young and James Taylor. I've since learned that it is not quite as chronologically narrow as that, that it does expand somewhat. But the music is consistently solid from my in and out listening over these past weeks. Last Sunday AM had a truly sublime set of Emmylou Harris' "Boulder to Birmingham" (quite possibly my favorite Emmylou tune) "Sandman" by America (rarely heard on the radio) "Wasted Time" by Eagles, Blind Faith's "Sea of Joy", "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" by Dylan, My Morning Jacket's "Golden" (for those that might think they had become stuck in some 35 years hence time-warp!) "Moonshadow" by Cat Stevens, Donovan's "Atlantis" (Donovan?) "Just for Me and You" by Poco (Good gosh! Poco?! On the radio?! One of my favorite songs by them too and a perfect fit with it's mention of "the morning sun") "Here I Am" by Lyle Lovett, "Isnt' Life Strange" by the Moody Blues and Buffalo Springfield's "I Am A Child" And that was basically in ONE hour! Goes from about 8 AM till noon (PST) which surprised me some because I thought it would be much shorter. Other artists featured this past Sunday included Jackson Browne, James Taylor (nice cover of Jimmy Webb's and Glen Campbell's "Wichita Lineman" from his most recent CD) Loundon Wainwright III, and something off of the "Twin Sons of Different Mothers" album by Dan Fogelberg and Tim Weisberg. Hosted by former KSCA alum Mimi Chen and sponsored by the same health provider that employs my sister-in-law, "the married one" (to who I gratefully tip my cap!) on a station that prides itself on playing deep into albums and CD's there seems to be even more surprises on Sunday AM. Always seems to include a tune from the late 60's San Francisco sound by Jefferson Airplane or Quicksilver Messenger, and down right quirky; nearly a weekly tune from Three Dog Night and I have heard more than one song by of all groups, the Monkees! Because of time constraints on Sunday AM and schedule conflicts I tend to be in and out and unable to listen uninterupted. "Meine Deutsche freund" and I have discussed in the past how our schedules prevent us from listening to radio shows we enjoy at times. He has said that they should invent an AUDIO cassette recorder that you can set and program like a VCR to record and then listen to when you want to. And I concur. Of course I guess that is what a podcast has become, no? Check out "Peace, Love and Sunday Mornings" if it sounds at all interesting. And the last one can also be found on "the Sound". This is brand new and too soon to tell if it will become worthwhile, but it sure sounds intriguing. Today, Wednesday 11/19, the Sound starts a thing called Album Side Wednesdays in which they are playing album sides in the their entirety, uninterrupted all day long. On vinyl! Now from what little I know about the recording industry, I would have to say that it is going to limit their play list somewhat. Just FINDING the vinyl copies is going to be difficult. And I am certain that there are many recordings in the past couple of decades that were never RELEASED on vinyl. I know occasionally you will hear of an artist or band (if they have enough weight to throw around) releasing their new recording in a limited number of vinyl records. But that is pretty rare. So I'm thinking they are going to be scouring their own collections along with garage sales for things to play. And they said they will be including all the pops, hisses and even skips that came from extended wear and play. Some songs I hear today in digital form always bring me back to the vinyl recordings I had, ones that I "memorized" with the skips included! Dylan's "Meet Me in the Morning" from Blood on the Tracks comes immediately to mind. But there are others too, that I "sing" with that vinyl "skip" included. Also seems somewhat risky in my mind. What if you don't happen to be a fan or that particular artist or album? With all the other options out there to listen to, it seems they may risk switching the dial, which won't exactly appeal to sponsors. But it does sound like a noble, if somewhat foolhardy experiment. So far today I have heard (one side only, sadly. Hearing something good leaves you wanting to hear more!), Bad Company's debut album, Warren Zevon's "Excitable Boy" and the Beatles, "Abbey Road" Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" so I would say so far, so good. So far. Currently they are playing side one from Springsteen's "Born to Run" So far VERY good! But they did play Genesis' "Invisible Touch" Not good (not a fan). Sadly I have been anticipating listening to this for nearly a week only to discover that for some contractual reason they are forbidden to stream album sides via the Internet! Go figure. Anyway, had to crank up my dust covered radio here at work and have been able to follow it. Thankfully it is on FM and not the nearly un-receivable (here at work) AM band. More than anything I like the "idea" of it all. Brings me back to the days when I would race home from the record store with my latest purchase,, place it on the turntable and drop the needle. And then lay on my bed to listen and stare at the album art (there is something we lost in a digital age!) or pore over the lyrics if they were provided. If it can bring back that "feel" even for only one day a week it might be something special. Time will tell. Chesed. Late. Current Mood: alertin' (Comment on this)
Monday, November 17th, 2008
1:48 pm	"Honey, take a whiff on me" - The Byrds so can someone explain to me how it is even POSSIBLE for someone to strike out in a slow-pitch softball game? I mean anyone with even a modicum of athletic ability and skill can put an aluminum bat on a pitch that is descending at a snail-like pace, right? But that is exactly what I did in yesterday's softball game! Shamefacedly I am forced to admit I fanned in my first at bat. First you start with the league imposed 1-1 count to begin an at bat. Then add to that my own decision to become "the anti-Nomar" and force myself to take the first pitch of an at-bat. This to "teach" me patience ("I want patience and I want it right NOW!") So, called strike two. Protecting the plate from the next pitch, I swung and barely tipped it foul, and I do mean BARELY! Like barely AUDIBLE! I must be honest that the delay the umpire had in calling the foul tip and the general attitude of disagreeing with almost EVERY call I have been involved in this season, gave me pause to wait for him to call strike three. Also given the ump wore a SF cap signifying his allegiance to the "the hated Ones" I figured I wouldn't be getting a fair shake from him. And given my nearly total ignorance of these rules I figure that in a expedited measure to speed up the play of these games, I was out with the tip. But I was given new life when he called the foul. Only delayed the inevitable though, as I swung and missed on the next pitch. Lunging at and flailing away off balance. Strike three, I'm out! I have never been what can be called a "good loser". The "Tennessee stud" can attest to that. More than once his uttering the phrase "checkmate" was followed by the flying of board, rooks, knights and pawns. Other games, different pieces, but same reaction. Becoming a Christian helped. Some. I realized that it was a sinful display of immaturity and pride to react in that manner. But I still struggle with that sinful flesh and reacting to defeat. Been awhile since I have thrown a bat or punched a dugout wall (I recommend NOT doing that, especially if the wall is made of concrete blocks! THAT, is a HARD lesson to learn) but that is more because of a lack of opportunity to do so than a reaching a certain level of spiritual maturity. I don't like to lose, as a team or individually and have never taken defeat well. But that is what happened yesterday. I lost, in that at-bat in striking out and we lost as a team, and neither set particularly well with me. Never can distinguish these things as being "for fun" or "church league" from my desire to compete hard and to emerge triumphant. I don't seem to have that switch that can be turned on and off for some reason. It comes out in different ways. My family has known for years now never to speak to me following a USC defeat in football. At least for a day or so. If it is to a Notre Dame or UCLA or a bowl game, add at least another day or two. And I have been told by some people, that I have competed alongside, that I get a look in my eyes or on my face when I am involved in competing that can be called "not good." It is a "darkness" to some. Others have said "they don't like it." It is for that reason that some churches avoid competitive activities all together. That it is just one more opportunity for the display of sinful flesh to be manifested and they choose not to "give provision to the flesh" as Paul wrote in Romans. I have seen it all in my Christian walk. Played a few years of semipro baseball for my church in a league that played against local semi-pro teams for the Mariners and "the hated Ones". We had a SS on our team, who I had known for years. We were both in the college department when I came to Christ. I always admired him for his athletic abilities both in baseball and flag-football. Saw him lose it one day at SS in a frustrating performance that resulted him throwing his glove in disgust and storming off the field to the dugout in a display of petulance more akin to a 4 year old rather than a guy (like me) who was pushing 30. I've seen pastors argue when they were called for charging in a church basketball league, when their sneaker prints on my chest would plead the opposite. And I've seen people take the carefree attitude that whatever happens, is OK for them because they are having fun and enjoying the fresh air. And I'm not comfortable in either camp. The difference is I "understand" the former more than the latter. Much more. I should be content, I know. I did get my first hit in the next at-bat, a hump back liner over the SS head into left center. Guess that assures I won't be going 0 for 2008. And walked on 4 pitches in my last plate appearance. Died on the base paths both times though. But in thinking, that is pretty typical for me, the heights of victory, individually or with a team, are never as deep as the depths of defeat. National championships for USC don't come close in joy, to the agony of 13-9 losses to UCLA. Kirk Gibson's HR didn't get me nearly as happy as Joe Morgan's HR made me sad. And no mere single and a BB could come close to making up for the failure of a K and a defeat. It is petty I know. I am expecting too much I think. I'm 54 and want to compete and perform like I did when I was 30 years younger. I still don't "feel" right. Not sure if it appears that way to others, but I know I feel awkward or maybe just "not fluid". Felt it some yesterday again. Playing first, on a ground ball between myself and our female 2nd base person" and getting myself in "no-man's land", not far enough over to make a play on the ball but too far over to get back to the bag for a throw (that never came). But probably most apparent (to me, anyway) was on a pop foul at first base late in the game. Back pedaling, I felt completely lost and uncoordinated. for all of me not unlike Joe Hardy going back on a fly ball and turning from his, deal with the Devil, young self to his old self, in Damn Yankees! I caught the ball, an easy "can of corn" that should have been another metaphorical "piece of cake", but no one was more surprised than myself! The Sunday afternoon game was, depending on how you look at it, a metaphor or the mountain peak of an entire weekend that left me both pissy and whiny. And none for good reason, as if there is ever a justified reason for being whiny and pissy. To demonstrate how deep my pettiness can descend, I was irritated and frustrated by the amount of soot and ash that accumulated on our front porch. People lost their homes and I'm put out because I have to sweep! Then there was the USC-Stanford game on Saturday afternoon. It was televised on the Versus channel only we don't GET Versus on our cable package! For the second year in a row I was unable to see this game, though it is easy to look back and say I was "spared" seeing last years devastating upset. To make matters worse, the radio station that carries the Trojan games signal really drops off in our area once the sun goes down. So I had no way of keeping track of the game, save highlights that broke into ESPN and ABC games periodically or what I heard driving around in my truck. Since I was unable to consistently follow the action, I decided to use the time to do some grocery shopping. "Baby brother" called me while I was in the store and asked me "is it hard for you to watch this team?" He was frustrated and they were tied at 17. I told him "No because I can't WATCH them AT ALL currently!" Also I found many of Saturday's college football games "frustrating". In a birthday call earlier in the day to "the Tennessee stud" we both commented how "lousy" the days games were, mostly for teams that we wanted to lose (Florida, Alabama, Notre Dame and in his case Texas, but not mine!) were all winning and would win. Kings lost to the Predators later in the evening to add to my bad mood. I can honestly say the hamstring that I pulled 3 weeks ago was a non-factor on Sunday. I was aware of it, but I don't think I felt it once, so that is a good thing. The bad was in favoring it in rehabbing it these past weeks I put strain on assorted other areas that I can most readily feel. Hips, groin, quadriceps, calves and back. None serious, just aches and pains. One thing I also noticed on Sunday, was how fatigued I became in warming up, either from exerting too much effort or because in spite of the blue skies, there were more fire related issues in the atmosphere than appeared. Either way I felt somewhat winded even before the game began. Most frustration comes from lack of being in control of things and I am no different. Example; while our opponents did a station to station cha-cha around the bases, ala a Bugs Bunny cartoon I felt helpless to stem the bleeding. To make matters worse they had a guy on their team who had perfected an inside out swing for launching his "Moon-shots" over the Chinese wall in right field. He did it twice with two on both times. I must confess a personal dislike for these guys and I have seen more than one in this league so far. They groove their swings for this one expressed purpose, to reach and clear the fence. It frustrates me because were this baseball, the pitcher would have some recourse with which to counteract these players. Pitch them inside so they can't extend their arms, keep it low, etc. Even pitch them inside to keep them from leaning into a pitch. But what do you do when a strike isn't high or low, in or out but merely "on". Very frustrating to me to just have to stand and watch it all happen. As "coach geek-in-law" said, "we were in the game if you subtract the long balls!" Post-game, the "lovely Mrs." had me run an errand to a local grocery store. This is one of those "specialty, up-scale" stores not a large chain, and I'm not totally familiar with this one. But it seemed to me to be unusually crowed when I got there at 5:00 PM. Not sure why, but all the check stands were open yet still each one had a good half-dozen or more customers in line, stretching back to the grocery aisles. And all the aisles were crammed with customers and baskets, weaving in and out of each other in some sort of poorly choreographed dance. Of course not being familiar with the store and where everything was made my search for the requested items that much more difficult and kept me in the masses that much longer. I couldn't for the life of me figure out while the store was so crowded and I was not alone. Standing in line near the entrance I heard more than one person exclaim upon entering, "Wow! Is everything half-price?!" or "Wow! I have NEVER seen it like this!" All I know is they ran out of baskets. I could have told them where they were. They were CLOGGING up the aisles! And all I could keep thinking in my sinful, petty, selfishness was "who ARE all these people and why are they all getting in MY way!?" All of this of course, is sin. The pettiness that focuses on my soot and not my neighbors housing loss. The frustration that begrudges the competence of my opponent at my lack of control. The impatience of having to wait a few moments in line when others are starving. The selfishness that complains about not being able to watch or hear a game I want to see, when I should be grateful that I can hear or see when so many others can't. And the self-centeredness of my own failures to perform, due to diminishing skills from age or disuse, rather than gratitude for being able to participate at all. All of it is sin to be battled against and resisted in the temptation stage, and confessed and repented from when it manifests itself in my life. Never easy to admit you fail, to yourself and to others. Hard to see how petty and small you can become at times. Hard. Just as hard as it is for me to utter that phrase. "it's JUST a GAME." Chesed. Late. Current Mood: ashamed (Comment on this)