Love That VH1

Before we head off to church this evening, we're getting some Saturday chores done while the tv is on. On VH1 right now they're playing a show called the 40 Least Hip Hop Moments; I'm loving it. Making the list was Will Smith's "Getting Jiggy With It" and Kris Kross's backwards clothes wearing habits. I can't wait till they pull out the Color Me Badd.

Remember years ago when VH1 was the "uncool" music network? It was music for old people. Then came Behind The Music and they've been getting younger and younger in the music they cover. They making a living out of these culture and list shows [I love watching Best Week Ever]. Unlike MTV, at least they have actual music on their station.

I have to admit, it's one of my favorite tv channels. But maybe it hasn't changed as much as I've gotten older.

A NEW BEIT CARR

I decided that six months in, I needed some kind of change with the blog appearance. There's not much to chose from when it comes to Blogger [whose server space I use] so until I go big time with this thing and start paying for server space, I'll take what they give. I played around with some other free templates, but they had these little glitches that were driving me crazy, so here's the new look. Hope it works for you.

I Need Your Help

I have a social experiment I want to conduct.

I'm the webmaster of our church's website. Recently I've been accessing the stats on pages views, to see where people go when they come to the website. Just for fun, we checked out the staff bios that people check out. Here is the ranking of the ministers:

1. Tom Moll [obviously, he's the man]
2. Troy Clark
3. Mary Jane Burgess
4. Nate Grella [the newbie minister]
5. Howard Pauley
6. Me
7. Max Boothby
8. David Lautzenheiser
9. Mike Allen

Sixth place, people! Sixth place in a nine man race! That's just not acceptable. So here's the deal: there's no way I'm going to surpass the hits that Tom gets [everyone wants to know about the preacher], but second place is definitely attainable. Go to the staff page on our church's website [http://www.ccmason.org/staff.htm] and click on my bio on the page. Do it once or twice a day for the next couple of days. I'm betting if all of you reading this just went and did it, I'd be right behind the boss in no time.

Some of you might think this is the stupidest request in the world but hey, even the newbie is getting more hits than me. I just want to see what effect me posting this on my blog has on my hit counter. And I know some of you will feel guilty about poor little Mike Allen being in last place, so go ahead and click his bio too. Just don't do me wrong here. He can grovel for his own support on his blog.
I'm going the distance! Rudy! Rudy! Rudy! Remember the Titans! Nobody puts Baby in the corner. Peace in the Middle East.

"Whoa, we're halfway there . . ."

I was thinking about this blog this morning and I looked back into my previous posts . This past Monday was the six-month anniversary of Beit Carr**. I guess since I've made it this far, I'm in it for the long haul.

My wife told me this morning that I inspired yet another convert into the kingdom of blogdom. This is only the second person I know about that started because of me, but I swear, we're starting a revolution [Jesus only started with 12 people, so poop on you skeptics. NOT THAT I THINK I'M JESUS. I'm just making a numerical point here. I think I'm losing my mind]. Anyway, I left a post on Brynn's new blog to get things started for her. Here's part of what I wrote:

I love the bloggin'. Not only has blogging helped me learn more about who I am, but it introduced me to a brand new audience of people I can offend. I've only been at it six months, but here's my simple advice for a good blog.

1) Be careful who you bash. There are tons of bloggers out there who make a living ripping on other people. That's the epitome of uncreativity. Nobody likes hanging around a critic because they never know if they might be the next one criticized.

2) Watch your p's and q's. Even though I use spell checker, I still mess up grammar every once in awhile. There's nothing more painful than to look back at something you posted the day before and read something stupid you wrote like, "I is for me tummy."

3) Don't try to hit a home run every time. It's tough to manufacture humor and depth everyday, so sometimes I just throw stuff out there that is neither. You'd be surprised how interesting a short post on paper cuts can be.

So hopefully you enjoy the stuff I'm putting out there. Even if you don't, I'm not sure that I care. I'm just trying to be me, man- keepin' it real and gettin' paid. So here's to another six months of this great social experiment playing out before the masses. Who knows where it'll take us.

**Something I never knew until my wife made aware to me a few months ago is that my blog's name is in the Bible in I Samuel 7:10,11:

"While Samuel was sacrificing the burnt offering, the Philistines drew near to engage Israel in battle. But that day the Lord thundered with loud thunder against the Philistines and threw them into such a panic that they were routed before the Israelites. The men of Israel rushed out of Mizpah and pursued the Philistines, slaughtering them along the way to a point below Beth Car."

"Beth" is the NIV way of spelling out "Beit," the Hebrew word for "house." I didn't know it was in the Bible when I named my blog. But I think that just reaffirms my spiritual depth as the Bible pours out of me even when I don't know it. I guess it's interesting that a slaughter took place there. Sorta sounds like my style. Welcome to Beit Carr.

About Kentucky . . .

WARNING: This post will get me in trouble!

Howard Pauley [our Seniors Minister], Mary Jane Burgess [our Childrens Minister] and I are heading down to Louisville tonight to see Drew Humphreys [longtime CCM intern] get ordained. Actually we're not going TO Louisville. We're going THROUGH Louisville to New Albany, Indiana. But honestly, it might as well be Louisville since it's right across the Ohio River.

Louisville is a nice city. As a University of Cincinnati fan, I have strong disdain for the Louisville Cardinals, but I'm cool with everything else down there. Interestingly enough, Kelly and my's first vacation after our honeymoon was a couple of days in Louisville checking out the interesting sights around town. There's Churchill Downs, a beautiful riverfront area, good restaurants; overall it's a cool place to be. If you're ever down there, just make sure you pronounce the city's name correctly: it's Lou-uh-ville. Seriously, the locals will respect you for it.

I'd like let those unfamiliar with Kentucky and Kentucky living in on a little secret. If I were to ask you, "In what state are Louisville and Lexington located?" you would probably answer, "Kentucky." I would then tell you that you are wrong. Louisville and Lexington might be located within the state boundaries, but they're so not Kentucky, just like Northern Kentucky is not Kentucky. Trust me, my family roots are from Kentucky, I married a Kentucky girl- I know what I'm talking about here.

Yes, there are pockets of true Kentucky within these urban areas- just visit a Wal-Mart[but then again, if you visit a Wal-Mart in Hamilton, Ohio, or even off Fields Ertel road, it'll feel like Kentucky, so that proves nothing]. Louisville and Lexington are far too refined to be considered Kentucky. These are places with the latest stores and restaurants. The people dress in the latest fashions and drive beautiful cars. There are certain stereotypes that we Northerners keep concerning Kentuckians [shoeless, toothless, mullet laden] that are completely absent from these metro areas. I SWEAR, IF YOU SAW ONE OF THEM ON THE STREET YOU WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO POINT THEM OUT BECAUSE THEY LOOK JUST LIKE US! I know I might take some grief from my in-laws and wife for stating this, but it's all meant to be a compliment. Any of you could easily pass for Northerners . . . well, except for the accents.
This isn't just mindless Kentucky bashing- I really love the Bluegrass State. I'd much rather drive through Kentucky than Indiana [don't get me started on them stinkin' Hoosiers]. I just thought it was about time that someone set the record straight. Maybe they can finally fix those geography books and claim Lexington, Louisville and Northern Kentucky as what they really are: Kentucky territories. Let's leave the designation for true Kentucky places like Maysville, Pineville, Grayson and yes- Hazard [insert General Lee Horn sound effect here].
Dang it! I forgot my passport! Guess I'll have to run home and get it before heading south.

Best TV moment of the month

We're sitting here watching the Amazing Race. One of the leading teams has been a dating couple named Ron and Kelly. Kelly was a former beauty queen, and Ron fought in the Iraqi war and was taken as a prisoner of war in the conflict. Kelly begins a tirade on how Ron never finishes anything. The conversation goes as follows:

Kelly: That's your problem. You don't commit.
Ron: Sure, that's my problem. I only committed by joining the military.
Kelly: Yeah, and you found a way to get out of that.
Ron: What do you mean?
Kelly: You were a POW, so you didn't have to finish.
Ron: That was my plan all along. Get taken prisoner and be tortured so I could get out of the military.

Classic.

I doubt that Kelly will be speaking for any veterans' gatherings in the near future. Hence the beauty of reality TV. People say the darndest things and we get to watch.

Rainy Days and Wednesdays . . .

I didn't go to work today. No, I'm not being rebellious. Tuesdays are my day off. Life in the ministry is a little different, having to work weekends, so I get a day off during the week to make up for it. When I was first in the ministry [the Madeira Church of Christ, in case you're wondering], I took Fridays. It was pretty cool because Kelly was finishing up at Northern Kentucky University and for one semester she didn't have classes on Fridays. And since we didn't have services on Saturdays, we were able to spend two days together without having anything to do. It was a great way to start off our marriage.

While working at Cincinnati Bible College or Cincinnati Christian University or wherever the crap I worked, I worked Mondays through Fridays which gave me the taste of how real people live. I actually had a weekend. If we wanted to run away for a Saturday and Sunday there was nothing stopping us. It was sort of liberating, but since we were heavily involved at Oak Hills Christian Church, we really didn't run away that much. But still, Friday nights were great, as the weekend was ahead of me and Sunday nights were dreadful, as the work week laid waiting.

Since I've come to CCM, I take Tuesdays off. Some people are surprised that I chose that day, but I really was just being flexible. Those staff members who have families like to take Friday to give them some kind of weekend feel, so I just picked a day the "family guys" don't take. Since all of us are in on Mondays for our staff meetings, I was left with Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. Of these three days, which day did I least want to be in the office? Tuesdays.

I love Tuesdays. They're awesome. Tuesdays are my Saturdays. And Mondays are no longer bad because Mondays are my Fridays. I guess that makes Wednesdays my Mondays, but honestly they don't feel like Mondays. In case you're wondering, Thursdays still feel like Thursdays and Fridays still feel pretty Friday-ish, but not so much. And forget about Sundays- I have no idea what those are like.

So if I ask you what day of the week it is, it's not that I'm absent minded. I'm just on a different calendar.

For My Wife

I could tell Kelly wasn't sleeping well last night. And I knew this morning when she wasn't getting up that she was out of commission. Yep, I have a sick wife at home.

Now I'm not trying to cause any trouble with my fellow men-folk, but it seems that we of the testosterone-driven persuasion handle illnesses worse than them estrogen-laden creatures do. I know, this is me releasing a stereotype to the general public, but I believe it to be true: men milk sickness for everything it's worth. My saying this might be breaking some sort of man code of silence about the issue, but we should fearlessly admit our short-comings so we can meet the future head-on! Trust me, men! We must diffuse this weapon of mass destruction that women can [and have been able to] use on us. Let's get it all out on the table: We're babies when we're sick. We want women to sympathize and take care of us. It's tough being a man! Now get me some stinkin' chicken noodle soup!!!

Case in point: the week before last I had some kind of ear infection type thing that gave me the sniffles for a few days. One of those days I had to go into work while I had a fever. I claimed victory over the sickness, unwilling to let it hold me down. My temperature was a blazing 99.1 degrees, but I was able to persevere. Just to keep people informed, I sent around one of those prayer emails that read like this:

"Please keep me in your prayers today as I'm suffering with some sort of severe illness. I'm not sure exactly what I have but I refuse to seek medical attention for it, as there are other people in more dire circumstances than I. I do not know what will happen as a result, but if the Lord calls me home today, don't feel bad for not taking me seriously. I find inspiration from the words of the great poet Gloria Gaynor: 'I will survive.'"

I installed a web cam in my office so people could monitor my progress throughout the day. Channel 9 News did a story on my entitled, "The man who refused to quit." By the time I got home that night, Kelly had seen "Save Steve" spray painted on the Warren County water tower and knew my condition was serious. She waited on me hand and foot the remainder of the evening; the chicken noodle soup flowed like water in a flash flood, my friends! Luckily, I survived.

Conversely, I find reactions to illness to be different with most women. My mother would be sick about two days a year and she usually faked being well so she could get stuff done. I honestly can't remember a time where she was sick for consecutive days; I'm sure she was, but never let it show. I think the day after my sister was born she left the hospital and proceeded to build our house with her bear hands. Kelly's cut out of the same mold. That's why I know she's not feeling well today, because she'd be at work if she could. She's gotta have something like malaria. Is that contagious?

So my wife's at home today feeling horrible and I'm at work feeling fine. While I do feel a bit guilty about not being sick with her, she'll have to go this one alone. Fortunately I just added Apple's Airport Express at home, so she can get on the laptop wirelessly while she's bed ridden and surf the web. And she'll probably get some work done this afternoon while, if I was home sick, I'd be messing around with fantasy baseball stuff. Yep, typical male.

Hope you feel better, baby. You're the champ. Promise I'll take care of you when I get home- and all the chicken noodle soup you want.

Can I get a refill?

Some of you remember a post I did a few months ago [February 21st to be exact] about my fountain Diet Coke obsession. I'd like to make an addendum to my list of best places to get a good DC fountain beverage. Allow me to introduce the Marathon Gas Station at the intersection of Route 42 and Snider Road in Mason. I was tipped off about it by some people in one of my Sunday School classes. They have Diet Coke and Cherry Coke on tap [mixed perfectly, they form a lethal combination] PLUS the small ice cubes that you find at Frisch's. Oh, it's just about perfect. I see only two draw backs: 1) Location. It's nowhere near the paths that I ususally traverse, so I have to make a special trip. 2) Styrofoam cups. I've never really liked styrofoam cups. There's something unnatural about it. Yes, it'll keep your beverage cold, a definite bonus. But if I accidentally scratch the cup with your finger nail, it's likely that I'll have goosebumps for five minutes afterward.

So give me a plastic up and relocate the place to Mason Montgomery Road and it'd be heavenly. I give it an eight on a one-to-ten scale. The place is right next to the post office there, so maybe I'll offer to make some mail runs in the near future. Me loves the Diet Coke.

Let It Snow? Part 2

Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow this year, and I was ticked.

Just in case you didn't know, if that stupid groundhog sees his shadow on February 2nd, there's supposed to be six more weeks of winter. This year he did. But I went back and checked the calendar and we're now twelve weeks removed from Groundhog's Day. So I'm rather confused that it's one week until May and there's snow on the ground.

So anyway, I'm usually out of the house by 7:00 on Sunday mornings. I like coming into church when everything is really quiet. And ususally this is the best time of year to do it with pristine spring mornings, soft sun rays peaking through the clouds, the sound of birds biding the day come as flowers and trees continue to bloom. And I stare out the window this morning, wearing a winter coat and a sweater, doing my best to stay warm. Kelly "changed over" her closet last week, packing away her winter clothes and bringing out the spring and summer attire. I didn't, so it was a piece of cake finding something appropriate to wear in these artic conditions.

I never considered myself to be one of those cold weather wussies, but apparently I am. I can handle the cold, but I prefer to wade into it rather than dive right in. And actually, it's not that cold out, but this stretch of warm weather we had makes it seem much colder than it really is. If it was January and we had this kind of weather, it'd be no big deal. But give me this stuff after a few gorgeous weeks of spring and I get downright bitter.

Stinkin' freezing weather. Makes you want to choke a groundhog, doesn't it?

You Never Know

I've been on this kick lately trying not to judge people's irrational and idiotic actions because I don't know what they've been through or are going through in life. Yes, I struggle with being judgmental. It really seems to come out when I'm driving. People's entire demeanors transform when they get behind the wheel of a car, and they do some ridiculous things on the road. So when some turd-bucket cuts me off on the expressway and proceeds to hit their breaks, I've tried to refrain from naughty words, telling myself "maybe they're going through a rough time." Don't get me wrong- I'm no saint; I'm still judgmental, but at least I'm working on it.

I went down to CCU this morning to play basketball again and, halfway down I-71, it started to pour. Since it was still dark outside, you could barely see twenty yards in front of you. By the time I reached campus I just wanted to find a parking place near the door so I wouldn't get drenched. There was an open space up front so I backed in, grabbed my stuff and ran inside- barely getting wet. By the time I left an hour or so later, the rain had stopped and it was lighter outside. I then discovered why the space so close to the door was available: it was a handicapped parking space. When I pulled in, it was dark and rainy and I had no idea I shouldn't have been parking there. Also, in my defense, they didn't have a sign up [it was only spray painted in white in the actual parking spot] and when I attended/worked there it wasn't a handicapped spot. All morning, though, I've been feeling like a jerk. I'm pretty sure no one needed the spot because it was pretty early, but you know someone drove by, saw my Explorer without a handicapped parking permit, and had the urge to slash my tires. That's how I feel when I see people who do what I did.

But maybe this is how God chose to reinforce the lesson he's teaching me. It's incredibly easy to point fingers of blame at people but sometimes you have no idea what's really going on. If I would only grant as much grace as I expect others to give me, I could turn out to be a good guy. So "judge not lest ye be judged yourself." Unless you're actually a judge. That would make it difficult for you to do your job if you didn't judge.

NO WIRE HANGERS EVER!

It's taken me almost thirty years to realize that I don't think like most people do. That's not a bad thing, but sometimes I'll try to explain a concept that makes perfect sense in my mind that apparently makes no sense in the real world. For instance, a few months ago I tried to relate the concept of wanting to be in "God's flow" to desiring to jump into a storm drain after a huge rain. "Haven't you ever wanted to do that?" I asked the class. Blank stares. It didn't register. But I felt a sense of vindication when we were in Israel and Kelly and I saw a fast moving stream and she said my concept of "God's flow" finally made sense to her. That's why I married her; she gets me. And when she doesn't, she lets me know it. That way I only look like a partial lunatic.

OK, so what was the point of that last paragraph? I needed to admit my personal weirdness so that you understand that I have random thoughts in my head. I sometimes ask questions that no one really cares about. The rest of this post is the result of one of those random questions, so bear with me.

At our house we hang all of our clothes to dry indoors because the fascist neighborhood association won't allow us to have a clothes line. This means we have hangers out the wazoo. Most of them are plastic, but the wire ones a perfect for hanging pants if you use a couple of clothes pins [Kelly taught me the trick when we were first married]. If you're ever over, you're bound to step on one because they're everywhere. So last night as I maneuvered through a mine field of hangers, I thought to myself "I wonder who invented the hanger." It's a genius invention, really. Very practical and it wouldn't have taken a huge budget to mass produce them. I'm sure someone made a killing on it. This morning when I came in I Googled "Who invented the hanger" and I found this website.

Apparently this guy named Albert Parkhouse was angry one winter when he came back to lunch and there were no more coat hooks left; he didn't want to have to lay his nice jacket lying on the floor. He worked in a business where people created inventions out of wire so he grabbed himself some and fashioned himself a hanger for his coat. A couple of months later, the company he worked for applied for a patent on the hanger and Albert, the guy who actually invented it, was never given credit. But when you walk into your closet today, I urge you to give a little shout-out to Big Al, who insured that slobs everywhere have no excuses for throwing their clothes on the floor.

Hang 'em high, my friends.

***By the way, if you've never seen the movie Mommie Dearest, you might not have understood the title of this posting. When we were at Spring Break in Panama City, Florida, a bunch of us college guys watched the movie. Yeah, there wasn't much on TV. But there's a certain scene in it that's just epic, and it has to do with wire hangers. If you know what I'm talking about [and even if you don't], then you must click on this link to this website. I was sadistically laughing to myself for minutes while letting it play. Could be the best website ever.

Habemus Pom-Poms

Here's my pope thought of the day, but I want you to think about something first.

Gerald Ford is the only person to be President of the United States without having been elected. True, there are a few Vice-Presidents who became Commander-in-Chief after the death of the previous President, but all those Vice Presidents but Ford were at least elected to be Vice next in line. Ford was appointed Vice President when Spiro Agnew resigned and then became President when Richard Nixon resigned. So the public never really chose Ford; he sorta slipped in there. Now I ask you: would you still want the job knowing that no one really wanted you there? I guess you would; you'd still get to ride around in limos and helicopters, and bands play intro music whenever you enter a room. And I hear the living arrangements are pretty sweet. All in all, I can see why you wouldn't mind. I just think it would be like the kid picked last for kickball getting to pitch and bat top of the line-up- a total sham.

In my opinion, this is what it's like with new Pope Benedict XVI. At the age of seventy-eight, he's the oldest elected pope since the 1700's. The word out on the street is that the cardinals knew anyone who would have to fill the shoes of John Paul II would have his work cut out for him, so they deliberately picked an older guy to be a "filler pope" for a few years; he'll be able to distance the next pope from JP2's popularity. Of course, this isn't how the Vatican is spinning things, but read between the lines. This is really what's going on. And it's a smart idea. I wouldn't be surprised to see Benedict pick some younger cardinal [in Catholic church years: a guy in his fifties] to be his right hand man to groom him to be next pontiff. It's all part of a plan. I'm sure of it.

But how do you feel if you're Benedict?* You're now in one of the most powerful positions in the world and the reason behind it is, "we picked you because you'll die soon." I don't know if I'd want that job under those conditions. But once again, I guess the perks outweigh the lame-duck status. Think about it: nice robes, lots of things to bless, Pope-mobile.

And he still gets to wear those hats.

*I do find it weird that for the past few weeks we've been calling this guy Ratzinger and now we're supposed to call him Benedict and everyone's going along with it. It took Prince years to get people to address him as that symbol and he finally gave up and went back to his old name. Anyway, I actually like Ratzinger better. He already has a logo! He could have a vicious rat put on all his robes. It would rock. What kind of logo can you make for Benedict?

Cradle to Grave

I don't know if there's a point to this, but I had a strange day.

This morning I conducted the funeral of my friend Sydney's father. This was the first funeral where I did everything- from conducting the message, all the way to the grave side. His name was Murray. It was tough because I only met Murray one time. It was a year ago while he was in a nursing home, just a shadow of his former vigorous self. I think I did as well as I possibly could.

Not to get too morbid here, but have you thought much about your funeral? What music you want included or what Scriptures you want read? Twist your mind around this thought: maybe the people who will be most important to you at the time of your death are strangers to you today [maybe they're not even born yet]. And how weird is it that someone that you don't even know could end up doing your funeral? I had nothing to go on in preparation; just a few stories from family members. Sydney's dad was actually born Jewish, so he might have always thought that a rabbi would've conducted the ceremony. Yet there I was, a Gentile, reflecting on the life of a person that I didn't even know.

There are many benefits to being in the ministry. You get to see people through the most important events of their lives. Sometimes you know them, sometimes you don't. But you're there.

Holy Smoke!

Part of my morning wake-up routine is to catch the first fifteen minutes of Good Morning America. Today they ran a short piece on how the conclave in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican will insure that they can produce the black and white smoke needed to announce that there's a new pope. As many of you probably know, after each vote by the cardinals, the ballots are burned in a special oven with black smoke meaning no decision and white smoke signifying "we have a pope." They used to burn wet straw to make the smoke black, but the color it produced was sometimes confusing. So they said they're taking steps to get the color just right.

So apparently GMA figured out that the sure fire way [pardon the pun] to get black smoke is to burn styrofoam with the fire. Brilliant. Last time I checked, burning styrofoam produced toxins in the air and, within a confined area [like . . . oh, I don't know, a chapel?], could very easily cause death. With the possibility that they could burn up to four groups of ballots a day for multiple days, we could have a room of dead red birds on our hands. Thanks Good Morning America and ABC News for launching an all out attack on Roman Catholicism. I'm not quite sure this is what they mean in journalism class by media impartiality. Killing of the remaining leadership of a world religion might appear to show bias. I think they just want Peter Jennings to become pope in order to boost their ratings.

I'm sure Dan Rather never would have done this.

I isn't as smart as I think I were

I don't know about you, but I always wanted to be smart. Not that I had to be the smartest, but I don't want smarter people to have to talk slow so I can understand what they're saying. I rescheduled my day off last week so I could attend a thing called the Stone-Campbell Conference at my alma mater. The conference is for academics within the Restoration Movement Churches [the churches like CCM in which I minister and where I grew up in] to discuss deep theological papers about a variety of different topics. I knew going into it that it would be a little over my head because I'm just a hack theologian/Bible scholar but hey, I've read a few books. I thought I'd be able to hang. But apparently I overestimated my ability.

They're were only about seventy of us dorks . . . er, I mean intellectuals, at the conference. I went to about six different sessions on Friday. Now this is how these sessions would work: You'd find out what the person did their paper on, go to their seminar, listen to them read it for about half an hour and then ask questions afterward. To give you an idea, here were some of the titles of these papers:

-asymmetrical Continuity of Love and Law Between the Old and New Testaments
-Discovering a Christology from Praxis
-Narrative Theology and the Eclipse of the New Testament Kerygma

Yeah, how 'bout dem apples? I did understand a few things that were said and found out some fascinating Biblical tidbits, but mostly I had not idea what the crap they were saying. For instance, I had to ask someone what an "aphorism" is [by the way it's "a concise statement of a principle"] because this dude used the word thirty times in his speech and I had no freakin' idea what it meant. Here's one of the phrases from these papers: "According to the 'prophecy historicized theory of Crossan, the generative force for the Christological convictions of the text- such as the innocent sufferer interpretation of Mark- is the 'Sitz im Leben' of the early church." Yeah. That's just one sentence. It led me to spontaneously shout out "BOO-YAH SUCKAS! STEP BACK!!!"

There was one session that, even forty-eight hours later, I still have absolutely no idea what was said. All I know is at the end of the seminar, during the Q&A time, people kept saying "great paper" like you'd tell someone "good game" after a sporting event. So as I left the room I told the guy who delivered the paper, "good game, G-dawg," spit my sunflower seeds on the floor and wacked him on the butt. Oh he knew what I meant. I think I heard him utter as I left the room " . . . it feels good to be a gangsta".

OK so I was out of my league, but that's OK. It's not so much that you understand what's going on, but that you're able to fake people into thinking that you understand what's going on. I accomplished this through active listening skills- then people have no idea you're clueless. Here are some practical things you can do just in case you're ever in a situation like I was in:

1) Maintain good eye contact with the speaker
2) About every three minutes, nod your head in agreement
3) About every minute after the head nod, jot down a few notes on a sheet of paper.
4) Pretend you're entering valuable info on your PDA [while you're actually playing Solitare]
5) If possible ask a question about what the internet has to do with the speech [that's a shout out to my buddy Adam Tornberg who used this method successfully when we were in college].
6) Always say "Good job with that" to the presenter when you leave the room.

The good news is, you can't tell how smart someone is just by looking at them, so there's always room to fake it. To make myself feel a little better I'm off to play Bible trivia with the 1st grade Sunday School class this morning. At least I can smoke them.

" . . . it feels good to be a gangsta."

Poor Little Critter

I used to think Canadian geese were majestic creatures. Then I moved to Mason. I've never seen a bird that struts around like it's better than you. For the past two days this goose has been perched at the top of our driveway overhang in the front of the church. And then about every half-hour he calls out. I would so like shoot at the sucker. I don't necessarily want to kill him, but I swear he's mocking me. He's looking at me right now. Shut-up goose!

Last night Kelly told me about this website they showed on NBC Nightly News earlier this week. Apparently this college kid [who's wisely keeping his identity a secret] found a rabbit underneath his front porch that was injured and he nursed it back to health. While he likes the little bunny, he claims that unless he receives $50,000 by June 30th, he's going to eat the rabbit, whom he's named Toby. It's all on this website: Save Toby. Included are pictures of little Toby, rabbit recipes and some of the hate-mail he's received from PETA members [what's interesting is they're trying to take care of it through legal circles, but there's nothing they can do. It's not illegal to eat a bunny]. Beware if you check out the hate-mail because the language is pretty hardcore.

I know it sounds cruel but it's a brilliant. You know the guy's not going to actually kill the bunny, so why not use the animal to make a little cash. I mean, what else can you do with a bunny rabbit? It looks like he ripped off the idea from a European website. And it's working. Through sales of t-shirts, mugs, and straight-up donations, he's raised almost $25,000. I'm just jealous I didn't think of it first.

Maybe a can develop a "Save The Stupid Goose From Steve Shooting It" website. But who would want to save a Canadian goose anyway? I hate you goose.