Been taking the past two weeks off from working with Mike (The Asphalt Mariner) to take care of a few odds and ends regarding travel plans.
But otherwise, during an average work day I'd estimate Mike's cell rings about six time an hour, with calls ranging from owners who've locked themselves out of their boats to guys who'd love dropping $30,000 worth of iron hardware on their motor mounts because they heard somebody else talking about the latest-n-greatest new engines just out from the factory.
Sometimes Mike even fields calls from strangers who can't find their way to the lake, and takes time to do his best to help first-timers get their boats out on the water.
See, Mike's a marine technician ... and I'm guessing 80% of boat owners here at the marina have Mike's cell number near the top of their phone's speed dial. Not that they expect to be calling with an emergency any time soon (much less for solid advice about preventative maintenance) ... but it's reassuring to keep Mike's number handy for any unknown, unexpected Just In Case situations in the future.
Boat owners are human after all, and until something breaks there's a tendency to keep on driving a boat until the propellers fall off. That's usually when Mike's phone starts ringing, and folks usually expect him to drive right over and fix their problems Right Now because Nobody's problems are more important to me than mine.
Everybody wants their boat up and running in time for the big Fourth of July celebrations, so here's an entirely hypothetical situation. Let's say Mike's phone rang just a few minutes ago with an urgent call from an overwrought owner ... someone he barely knows, because this person doesn't call very often.
That is, unless he needs something.
This guy's voice is shaking, trembling badly, because he just realized his boat needs new red, white and blue pin stripes. And he wants them Hand-Painted. That's right, not the adhesive easy-to-apply stick-on kind like the factory uses. He wants his stripes hand-painted because nothing impresses like hand-painted stripes impresses.
Wow.
Free-hand paint striping is notoriously difficult and migraine-inducing work but he's already whining that his old stripes are peeling off, and make his boat look tired and filthy.
As though Mike didn't already know his stripes were peeling. Or that the reason the stripes are peeling is because the guy's been too busy eye-balling bikini waxes to think much about washing and waxing his boat.
Oh, and by the way. This guy says he's real busy right now, and it's too much trouble for him to trailer his boat out of the water. So he wants the new stripes painted on while the boat's still tied up in its slip. That's right, while it's bobbing around on a moving dock like a cork dropped into a washing machine.
Oops, there's just one more thing ... he wants those stripes finished and ready to go in time for the 4th, which is the day after tomorrow. Mike I know you're real busy, but I'm begging you.
This guy sheepishly admits he's "got company coming" and wants his boat "looking good."
Ah ... so he want to impress the newest girlfriend ... which also explains why he's already called Mike six times so far this morning. Look I know it's a lot to ask, but can you help me out just one more time?
Let's overlook for a minute that July 4th rolls around on pretty much the same day every year. And forget that the guy's known for the past eight months that his old stripes are fading.
Also please forget that the same guy called Mike three weeks ago because trash had somehow found its way into his head (toilet), clogged his pump, and his boat smelled like a sewer that's been flooded since the Middle Ages.
And finally let's not mention that besides a clogged toilet his boat is otherwise in great condition, absolutely seaworthy and entirely fit for service ... and that most folks at the marina would give their right rudder to have it.
Of course the guy had no way of knowing at the time whether Mike was already booked solid for the next 8 weeks, but surely he knew that Mike wasn't responsible for clogging his head with trash.
Instead, he just assumed that no other boat owner's problems were as important as his (or smelled quite so bad).
Maybe he was so insistent because he believed he'd actually done something for Mike in the past (besides burn up his air time moaning about his boat's problems), and so now Mike owed him one ... something really huge ... and Mike wouldn't mind driving across the county late on a Saturday night to spend four hours in a bilge filled with stink to unclog his toilet.
Nope, the only thing that mattered three weeks ago was that he had "company coming" (meaning a girlfriend) and wanted his boat to impress her ... which would be quite difficult, considering the splendid odors wafting from a commode that had been choking since Valentine's Day (when his previous girlfriend dropped by for a visit).
Funny, he didn't mention anything back then about needing new hand-painted stripes ... the idea hadn't even occurred to him: this guy's problem is that a week ago his neighbor got a newer, bigger, faster boat ... and now new hand-painted stripes seem like his way out.
Just one more thing to add about this guy: it's interesting how eagerly he shares details about his vast wealth and material fortunes, but once the work's been done and he's back out riding around the lake, this customer also just happens to be a bit forgetful about paying his bill on time.
Even though he's never forgetful about remembering Mike's number ... because a Just In Case might happen at any time, and usually when he leasts expects it.
So go figure.
---
Like I said, this is all just hypothetical and this customer doesn't actually exist, I promise.
But imagine you're Mike listening on his end of the phone, hearing this customer spill out the desperate, urgent reasons why he can't live without new hand-painted stripes in time for the Fourth. The guy has a hard time admitting he's jealous of his neighbor's bigger, faster, newer boat. Or that there's a new blond babe in a bikini he can't wait to impress.
Keep imagining that you're Mike, and that you've already taken a dozen calls from other boat owners facing real crises ... like structural damage caused by last week's storm, or an engine that's dangerously overheating, or a bilge pump that needs immediate replacement to keep a boat from sinking.
Where do you think Hand-paint new stripes is gonna go on your list of today's To Do's?
This customer and his situation is made-up, but in real life Mike always says exactly what he's thinking. So I can shimmy out on a limb and guess it's awfully close to what God might be thinking when he hears some of the urgent, desperate things ... not so different from new pin stripes ... we're used to asking for in prayer.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Monday, July 02, 2007
Haulin' Metal
What'd you pray for this morning?
Something important, maybe ... like help financing a new big screen TV? Maybe it's a promotion or a special favor from the boss at work?
Or was it something really important ... like a reward, and asking for an overnight delivery at your doorstep to help sort out your dating life?
Where's Asking God to put you in the place where you could impact the most people for Christ on this morning's list?
---
I only know what I read, and you can read what I read here, posted on 2 July.
Norm's been following Christ and is a key volunteer at his church. But before he received Christ, Norm committed some crimes ... and now he's facing five years in prison.
Just before his sentencing, Norm's pastor asked what he needed praying for.
Norm didn't ask for prayers not to be sentenced to prison. Nor did he ask for better grades, a pay raise, a job promotion, a new house or car nor for God to upgrade his dating life.
Norm asked instead that "God place him where he could tell the most people about Christ. If that was prison, so be it."
Ok, that's some weight right there.
Because Norm's haulin' metal ... big time.
Something important, maybe ... like help financing a new big screen TV? Maybe it's a promotion or a special favor from the boss at work?
Or was it something really important ... like a reward, and asking for an overnight delivery at your doorstep to help sort out your dating life?
Where's Asking God to put you in the place where you could impact the most people for Christ on this morning's list?
---
I only know what I read, and you can read what I read here, posted on 2 July.
Norm's been following Christ and is a key volunteer at his church. But before he received Christ, Norm committed some crimes ... and now he's facing five years in prison.
Just before his sentencing, Norm's pastor asked what he needed praying for.
Norm didn't ask for prayers not to be sentenced to prison. Nor did he ask for better grades, a pay raise, a job promotion, a new house or car nor for God to upgrade his dating life.
Norm asked instead that "God place him where he could tell the most people about Christ. If that was prison, so be it."
Ok, that's some weight right there.
Because Norm's haulin' metal ... big time.
Sure seemed like fun at the time
"Irrelevant Personal Experiences: this post is worth skipping" Department
A 4th of July fireworks display was scheduled near the Hartwell Dam on Saturday night, which inspired me to give mental birth to the spectacularly stupid idea of driving Calypso over to Horseshoe Island and anchoring out for the night, to avoid the inevitable dockside craziness sure to accompany the party fleet's return to the marina (surely a few would still be sober enough to find it).
Trouble was, I had no idea what time the fireworks actually started or ended.
Once I'd left the marina and was merrily underway, what I cruised into instead was the Drunkenly Blind Armada (a moniker I made up myself to include every houseboat, Go-Fast boat, over-powered bass boat and mid-life crisis cruiser aimed at high speed in my direction, intent upon running me aground or otherwise scaring me silly with their ineptness) on their way back from the show.
Yikes.
I tried counting all the red and green lights whizzing around me but gave up soon as I started. Yes there were that many ... at least 50 boats heading in 360 different directions all at the same time, at speeds varying from I think my engine's broke all the way to I'm outta beer and the nearest store closes at 11.
Yea it was stressful.
At one point I literally had to drive into four feet of water on the inside of an orange Danger: Shallow Water buoy to avoid a possible collision with a sport cruiser whose driver seemed determined to blind me with his search light so I couldn't ID his hull number and lodge a complaint.
Or maybe he thought I was one of the UFOs you hear about people spotting on the lake after dark. After the beer's all gone.
In the background the VHF radio slowly filled with a breathless exchange between a man and a woman that became so luridly salty (that's a nautical term) and explicit in detail [I woulda switched off the radio, except that by law boaters are required to monitor Channel 16 while underway] that DNR actually came on the air and made firm, "All stations, be advised this channel is reserved for emergencies."
So that ended that: DNR's not known for fooling around or giggling a whole lot at sexual innuendos on busy 4 th of July boating weekends.
The inlet at Horseshoe was empty when I arrived so I weighed anchor, tuned in to Sss's grumblings on the FM for a few minutes before nodding off, and enjoyed three hours of fitful, miserable near-sleep in the sauna of Calypso's 90+ degree heat (gotta see about getting that generator fixed one day) before driving back the next morning in time (barely) for the 11:15.
Anyway the point is, now that the stress of being surrounded and menaced by simpletons steering small ships is behind me, seeing the green, red and white lights whizzing past was pretty cool ... a lot like riding a golf cart through a tunnel filled with technicolor fireflies might be like.
But neither Saturday night nor even a Star Wars jump to hyperspace could match the time my old friend Don & I were on motorcycles roaring down from the mountains, east-bound on I-70 heading into Denver at night ... just in time to catch a late-season snowfall.
Piloting a motorcycle through falling snow at interstate speeds at night sure sounds like utterly reckless nuttiness right now ... but it sure looked cool at the time.
A 4th of July fireworks display was scheduled near the Hartwell Dam on Saturday night, which inspired me to give mental birth to the spectacularly stupid idea of driving Calypso over to Horseshoe Island and anchoring out for the night, to avoid the inevitable dockside craziness sure to accompany the party fleet's return to the marina (surely a few would still be sober enough to find it).
Trouble was, I had no idea what time the fireworks actually started or ended.
Once I'd left the marina and was merrily underway, what I cruised into instead was the Drunkenly Blind Armada (a moniker I made up myself to include every houseboat, Go-Fast boat, over-powered bass boat and mid-life crisis cruiser aimed at high speed in my direction, intent upon running me aground or otherwise scaring me silly with their ineptness) on their way back from the show.
Yikes.
I tried counting all the red and green lights whizzing around me but gave up soon as I started. Yes there were that many ... at least 50 boats heading in 360 different directions all at the same time, at speeds varying from I think my engine's broke all the way to I'm outta beer and the nearest store closes at 11.
Yea it was stressful.
At one point I literally had to drive into four feet of water on the inside of an orange Danger: Shallow Water buoy to avoid a possible collision with a sport cruiser whose driver seemed determined to blind me with his search light so I couldn't ID his hull number and lodge a complaint.
Or maybe he thought I was one of the UFOs you hear about people spotting on the lake after dark. After the beer's all gone.
In the background the VHF radio slowly filled with a breathless exchange between a man and a woman that became so luridly salty (that's a nautical term) and explicit in detail [I woulda switched off the radio, except that by law boaters are required to monitor Channel 16 while underway] that DNR actually came on the air and made firm, "All stations, be advised this channel is reserved for emergencies."
So that ended that: DNR's not known for fooling around or giggling a whole lot at sexual innuendos on busy 4 th of July boating weekends.
The inlet at Horseshoe was empty when I arrived so I weighed anchor, tuned in to Sss's grumblings on the FM for a few minutes before nodding off, and enjoyed three hours of fitful, miserable near-sleep in the sauna of Calypso's 90+ degree heat (gotta see about getting that generator fixed one day) before driving back the next morning in time (barely) for the 11:15.
Anyway the point is, now that the stress of being surrounded and menaced by simpletons steering small ships is behind me, seeing the green, red and white lights whizzing past was pretty cool ... a lot like riding a golf cart through a tunnel filled with technicolor fireflies might be like.
But neither Saturday night nor even a Star Wars jump to hyperspace could match the time my old friend Don & I were on motorcycles roaring down from the mountains, east-bound on I-70 heading into Denver at night ... just in time to catch a late-season snowfall.
Piloting a motorcycle through falling snow at interstate speeds at night sure sounds like utterly reckless nuttiness right now ... but it sure looked cool at the time.
In case you tried calling
My phone's dead b/c the charger's broke.
And it only took two days to figure this one out so see, I'm actually getting better.
And it only took two days to figure this one out so see, I'm actually getting better.
Dismal Performance?
I gotta admit I started off in a bit of a funk yesterday morning at the 11:15.
Arriving in the nick of time at 11:10 AM, soon as I stepped into the atrium I heard a woman's voice call my name. I looked up and down, to the left and all around, but never recognized a face or saw who it was.
Besides, I was hurrying because I was supposed to meet a guy (a NS member and volunteer; he's also got an awesome tattoo in Hebrew I might wanna copy for myself) for the service but he must've given up ... because he wasn't in the place where we'd agreed to meet. My baaaad.
So as the counter counted down and I settled into an empty seat all by my lonesome, as usual, and folks I didn't recognize arrived to sit on either side, I realized that my closest friends (and the ones I'm used to sitting with) all share something in common: ORP (who used Twelve Stages of Insistence to finally convince me to Just Go One Time), Fran, Valerie and Sss were all going to NS a long time before I was.
I should feel comfortable and be used to sitting beside folks I don't know or recognize after all this time, but not yet I'm not.
Hmmm.
I also realized that of all the folks I've invited to visit in the past 3 years only three have actually showed: TPW, her son Karl, and Kathey. Just three in three years.
My personal success (or failure?) record, considering the thousands of people who were there, seemed abysmal and disappointing because every Sunday there's more and people showing up with new faces. I glanced behind me and thought Well, maybe somewhere in those 2500 seats are some of the people I've invited, and I just don't know they're there.
But then it doesn't really matter very much whether people accept my invitation, or if my Personal Record of Invitations Accepted seems abysmal and discouraging.
What's important is that somebody's invitations are being accepted ... in HUGE NUMBERS from all over the Upstate ... and somewhere in those seats are people who're there not because of me or my invitation ... but because they needed to hear about accepting Christ's invitation instead.
So from where I'm sitting, whether with friends, acquaintances on staff or beside total strangers, in the balcony or in a folding seat in the atrium, what matters is knowing that God's there and about to rock somebody's world ... and not whether I know the name of whoever's there beside me.
---
I've got the attention span of a fly turned loose near the dessert table at an outdoor bar-b-q and if you're like me, grew up bored witless in church, thought worship music was borrowed from funeral parlors, hated dressing up to "look holy" and "fit in" or thought that preaching taught straight from The Bible was irrelevant, dusty and outdated, don't give up yet because there is something more... Just Go One Time.
Arriving in the nick of time at 11:10 AM, soon as I stepped into the atrium I heard a woman's voice call my name. I looked up and down, to the left and all around, but never recognized a face or saw who it was.
Besides, I was hurrying because I was supposed to meet a guy (a NS member and volunteer; he's also got an awesome tattoo in Hebrew I might wanna copy for myself) for the service but he must've given up ... because he wasn't in the place where we'd agreed to meet. My baaaad.
So as the counter counted down and I settled into an empty seat all by my lonesome, as usual, and folks I didn't recognize arrived to sit on either side, I realized that my closest friends (and the ones I'm used to sitting with) all share something in common: ORP (who used Twelve Stages of Insistence to finally convince me to Just Go One Time), Fran, Valerie and Sss were all going to NS a long time before I was.
I should feel comfortable and be used to sitting beside folks I don't know or recognize after all this time, but not yet I'm not.
Hmmm.
I also realized that of all the folks I've invited to visit in the past 3 years only three have actually showed: TPW, her son Karl, and Kathey. Just three in three years.
My personal success (or failure?) record, considering the thousands of people who were there, seemed abysmal and disappointing because every Sunday there's more and people showing up with new faces. I glanced behind me and thought Well, maybe somewhere in those 2500 seats are some of the people I've invited, and I just don't know they're there.
But then it doesn't really matter very much whether people accept my invitation, or if my Personal Record of Invitations Accepted seems abysmal and discouraging.
What's important is that somebody's invitations are being accepted ... in HUGE NUMBERS from all over the Upstate ... and somewhere in those seats are people who're there not because of me or my invitation ... but because they needed to hear about accepting Christ's invitation instead.
So from where I'm sitting, whether with friends, acquaintances on staff or beside total strangers, in the balcony or in a folding seat in the atrium, what matters is knowing that God's there and about to rock somebody's world ... and not whether I know the name of whoever's there beside me.
---
I've got the attention span of a fly turned loose near the dessert table at an outdoor bar-b-q and if you're like me, grew up bored witless in church, thought worship music was borrowed from funeral parlors, hated dressing up to "look holy" and "fit in" or thought that preaching taught straight from The Bible was irrelevant, dusty and outdated, don't give up yet because there is something more... Just Go One Time.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Flying Pigs behind the horizon
7;47 AM
W 082 49 202
Have you been thinking So What? for the past 10 paragraphs? Have you been wondering, in this day and age, what demons have to do with anything? Maybe you don’t believe in demons, but maybe you do know a little bit about sin:
-all Scriptural quotes from The Life Application Study Bible, New Living Translation
Saturday, June 30, 2007
The Immersion Method ... and gettin' wet all over
The fastest way to learn a new language and culture is by The Immersion Method.
The Immersion Method literally means moving to a foreign country (where no one speaks English) where you speak but also think in that language ... and bypass the slow clumsiness of learning by translating grammar and new words, idioms and useful phrases (like, "Bwana, choo ni wapi?"*) back and forth from English ... like we did in high school ... which only taught us to HATE foreign languages.
It's called The Immersion Method, like duh, because you're submerged, completely covered, dunked, engaged and 100% occupied and focused on your new surroundings.
The Immersion Method is a lot like trying to negotiate your way across a pitching, unsteady dock, losing your footing and plunging over the side into a wet new world (yep, done that). Suddenly the clothes you were wearing no longer fit, no longer feel comfortable at all or look quite as good as you thought they did ... so you peel out of the old and change into something new.
The Immersion Method means Gettin' wet all over.
Trying to live life just getting by, enjoying the old customs and habits you were used to, or trying to keep in contact with your former language in situations where Everything's New, is like taking ten giant self-defeating steps backward.
That is, if you believe The Immersion Method really means gettin' wet all over.
* "Dude, where's the bathroom?"
The Immersion Method literally means moving to a foreign country (where no one speaks English) where you speak but also think in that language ... and bypass the slow clumsiness of learning by translating grammar and new words, idioms and useful phrases (like, "Bwana, choo ni wapi?"*) back and forth from English ... like we did in high school ... which only taught us to HATE foreign languages.
It's called The Immersion Method, like duh, because you're submerged, completely covered, dunked, engaged and 100% occupied and focused on your new surroundings.
The Immersion Method is a lot like trying to negotiate your way across a pitching, unsteady dock, losing your footing and plunging over the side into a wet new world (yep, done that). Suddenly the clothes you were wearing no longer fit, no longer feel comfortable at all or look quite as good as you thought they did ... so you peel out of the old and change into something new.
The Immersion Method means Gettin' wet all over.
Trying to live life just getting by, enjoying the old customs and habits you were used to, or trying to keep in contact with your former language in situations where Everything's New, is like taking ten giant self-defeating steps backward.
That is, if you believe The Immersion Method really means gettin' wet all over.
* "Dude, where's the bathroom?"
Friday, June 29, 2007
Fatigue is an enemy - updated 6:35am
"Fatigue makes cowards of us all."
It took four days to get there but I finally realized I've been sick.
I figured something was wrong when I started falling asleep in the middle of the morning, then again around 3:30 ,even though I was dragging myself to bed by 9pm and sleeping for 8 hours.
The symptoms, accompanied by some "gastric distress," kept up for days but I blamed dehydration, the heat, my own cooking, anything other than accept my strength had ebbed to dangerously low levels ... leaving me with only the strength of four men (when I'm used to having the Strength of Ten).
Probably just a low-grade virus and today I'm feeling much improved. But here's the dig:
I was too tired to read, too tired to work, too tired to watch TV or log onto the computer ... and by the end of a day doing nothing but sitting still I was literally too tired to walk to the back of the boat and lie down.
"It is not whether you get knocked down. It's whether you get up."
Man, your mind can wander around, and maybe even start doubting, your life's priorities when you're too tired to even turn off the TV.
"Dictionary is the only place where success comes before work. Hard work is the price we must pay for success. I think you can accomplish anything if you're willing to pay the price."
You start wondering what life would be like if your bleak outlook was permanent, instead of something temporary brought on by a tiny virus.
"The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather in a lack of will."
Fatigue can turn tiny inconveniences and annoyances into what feels like overwhelming burdens. "I'm too tired," "I'm not excited any more," "I've already done my part," "I'm not sure that's really important" and "What are you telling me for?" are all symptoms.
We might even feel too fatigued to notice it's happening.
"The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender."
So long as we're feeling good and the dice are rolling our way we feel capable of facing and handling impossible challenges.
"Some of us will do our jobs well and some will not, but we will be judged by only one thing- the result."
But what happens if we start getting feeling fatigued and tired along the way? What happens when we feel like quitting?
"Once you learn to quit, it becomes a habit."
We won't be defeated by obstacles or adversaries; we'll be defeated when we accept I Feel Tired as an excuse, and lose track of the most irreplaceable, precious thing we've got: time.
"We didn't lose the game. We just ran out of time."
If that's what we allow to happen, and let fatigue distract us or "modify" our goals toward what's easy, convenient and certain.
"Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection then we can catch excellence."
And isn't that worth working for?
-all quotes from Vince Lombardi, professional football coach
It took four days to get there but I finally realized I've been sick.
I figured something was wrong when I started falling asleep in the middle of the morning, then again around 3:30 ,even though I was dragging myself to bed by 9pm and sleeping for 8 hours.
The symptoms, accompanied by some "gastric distress," kept up for days but I blamed dehydration, the heat, my own cooking, anything other than accept my strength had ebbed to dangerously low levels ... leaving me with only the strength of four men (when I'm used to having the Strength of Ten).
Probably just a low-grade virus and today I'm feeling much improved. But here's the dig:
I was too tired to read, too tired to work, too tired to watch TV or log onto the computer ... and by the end of a day doing nothing but sitting still I was literally too tired to walk to the back of the boat and lie down.
"It is not whether you get knocked down. It's whether you get up."
Man, your mind can wander around, and maybe even start doubting, your life's priorities when you're too tired to even turn off the TV.
"Dictionary is the only place where success comes before work. Hard work is the price we must pay for success. I think you can accomplish anything if you're willing to pay the price."
You start wondering what life would be like if your bleak outlook was permanent, instead of something temporary brought on by a tiny virus.
"The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather in a lack of will."
Fatigue can turn tiny inconveniences and annoyances into what feels like overwhelming burdens. "I'm too tired," "I'm not excited any more," "I've already done my part," "I'm not sure that's really important" and "What are you telling me for?" are all symptoms.
We might even feel too fatigued to notice it's happening.
"The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender."
So long as we're feeling good and the dice are rolling our way we feel capable of facing and handling impossible challenges.
"Some of us will do our jobs well and some will not, but we will be judged by only one thing- the result."
But what happens if we start getting feeling fatigued and tired along the way? What happens when we feel like quitting?
"Once you learn to quit, it becomes a habit."
We won't be defeated by obstacles or adversaries; we'll be defeated when we accept I Feel Tired as an excuse, and lose track of the most irreplaceable, precious thing we've got: time.
"We didn't lose the game. We just ran out of time."
If that's what we allow to happen, and let fatigue distract us or "modify" our goals toward what's easy, convenient and certain.
"Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection then we can catch excellence."
And isn't that worth working for?
-all quotes from Vince Lombardi, professional football coach
Sure she's a brunette ... but what about trying a redhead instead?
Just Friday morning boat drivel, spilled over stale coffee and too many open Browser windows ...
Calypso is hot. I mean she's really hot. By the time Saturday night rolled around last weekend I started thinking she must be the hottest boat around. She's so hot it makes you start thinking about peeling off clothes and jumping over the side to cool down.
I mean she's hot like a Krispy Kreme oven is hot. Hot the same way a deep fryer is hot. I mean hot like you find out when you grab the skillet you left burning on the stove with your bare hands is Hot.
If she was any hotter I'm pretty sure I'd melt, drip down through her drains and get pumped over the side from her bilge.
That's the hot I'm talking about.
By 3:30 PM last Saturday the temperature inside the salon was a bacteria-killing 104 degrees F ... and stayed that way until well after 7 PM, when she finally cooled down to 98 F. Didn't even have to turn on the water heater to have all the hot shower I wanted.
I like to think one of the main reasons Calypso gets so hot is because she's a sexy (can I say sexy?) brunette. That is, she's got a black canvas top and that makes her a brunette.
But her stunning, head turning black coiffure works like an inverted convection oven in the summer, and starts cooking the interior contents (meaning, me) soon as the sun peeks over the horizon.
That she's so scorchingly hot isn't the only problem in our relationship: like so many other svelte brunette femme fatales, Calypso also tends to be something of a drip.
(Back in 1984 the textile industry was still in the infant stages of creating truly water-proof fabrics. Meaning that 23 years later, here in 2007 when it's raining outside, all you gotta do is step out into Calypso's bridge to enjoy an invigorating open-air Performance Shower that not even the boldness of Kohler can match.)
Her canvas top leaks like a cardboard aquarium is what I mean, and the briefest summer shower turns the helm into a floating fiberglass shower stall.)
I've toyed with the idea of replacing Calypso's canvas with one of the new wonder fabrics like Sunbrella (which wouldn't seem at all like an expen$ive extravagance if you've ever left the top at home and driven your Jeep back from Highlands in a rain squall. At night. On a first date. Which I have.)
Which finally steers me around to the point of what this unnecessarily long and drawn-out nonsense is all about: If I ever actually replaced Calypso's top, would I keep the same color? Or try going blond ... with a white top instead?
Can it really true that Blonds Have More Fun? Maybe ... but keeping a white top clean and sparkling with flocks of sea gulls circling overhead makes me much doubt it.
Never even considered going redhead until I saw this ... so whaddya think?
Hmmm. I kinda like the breezy, tropical "Let's Go to the Bahamas This Weekend" flavor ... but redheads can be notoriously ambiguous and a touch temperamental. (At least, based on my experience, uh oh :-)
You've probably lost all interest in this silly subject by this time and have already started reaching for the mouse to click yourself off to another page. That's why I saved the best for last, in case the free-spirits among you may already have asked: What about going topless?
Indeed. "Yaaa," sighed the train's Conductor, "that could be the ticket right there."
Not every boat has the shape to cruise around in public au natural with her helm exposed ... but I think Calypso's got the curves and the stuff to make it work and have every other middle-aged boat owner drooling with maritime envy.
Now all I gotta do is work up the nerve to try it, and hope the the weather cooperates with our plans.
ps. Of course once the top was off I could never figure out how to get the canvas snapped back on, not even with three helping hands and the Instruction Manual open for assistance ...
But Hey, Stay COOL yourself ... and Have A Great Weekend!
pss. Guzzling down beer because TGIF is stoopid. And forget about eating out tonight because all the restaurants in town will have waiting lines stretched out to Clemson Boulevard. Driving to Gville to go clubbing is for sorority pledges and mutt-hugging slick-haired wanna-be's. Add this to tonight's schedule instead ... it's for one of the best causes around.
And remember Papa loves ya, always ... but that's still only second best.
Calypso is hot. I mean she's really hot. By the time Saturday night rolled around last weekend I started thinking she must be the hottest boat around. She's so hot it makes you start thinking about peeling off clothes and jumping over the side to cool down.
I mean she's hot like a Krispy Kreme oven is hot. Hot the same way a deep fryer is hot. I mean hot like you find out when you grab the skillet you left burning on the stove with your bare hands is Hot.
If she was any hotter I'm pretty sure I'd melt, drip down through her drains and get pumped over the side from her bilge.
That's the hot I'm talking about.
By 3:30 PM last Saturday the temperature inside the salon was a bacteria-killing 104 degrees F ... and stayed that way until well after 7 PM, when she finally cooled down to 98 F. Didn't even have to turn on the water heater to have all the hot shower I wanted.
I like to think one of the main reasons Calypso gets so hot is because she's a sexy (can I say sexy?) brunette. That is, she's got a black canvas top and that makes her a brunette.
But her stunning, head turning black coiffure works like an inverted convection oven in the summer, and starts cooking the interior contents (meaning, me) soon as the sun peeks over the horizon.
That she's so scorchingly hot isn't the only problem in our relationship: like so many other svelte brunette femme fatales, Calypso also tends to be something of a drip.
(Back in 1984 the textile industry was still in the infant stages of creating truly water-proof fabrics. Meaning that 23 years later, here in 2007 when it's raining outside, all you gotta do is step out into Calypso's bridge to enjoy an invigorating open-air Performance Shower that not even the boldness of Kohler can match.)
Her canvas top leaks like a cardboard aquarium is what I mean, and the briefest summer shower turns the helm into a floating fiberglass shower stall.)
I've toyed with the idea of replacing Calypso's canvas with one of the new wonder fabrics like Sunbrella (which wouldn't seem at all like an expen$ive extravagance if you've ever left the top at home and driven your Jeep back from Highlands in a rain squall. At night. On a first date. Which I have.)
Which finally steers me around to the point of what this unnecessarily long and drawn-out nonsense is all about: If I ever actually replaced Calypso's top, would I keep the same color? Or try going blond ... with a white top instead?
Can it really true that Blonds Have More Fun? Maybe ... but keeping a white top clean and sparkling with flocks of sea gulls circling overhead makes me much doubt it.
Never even considered going redhead until I saw this ... so whaddya think?
Hmmm. I kinda like the breezy, tropical "Let's Go to the Bahamas This Weekend" flavor ... but redheads can be notoriously ambiguous and a touch temperamental. (At least, based on my experience, uh oh :-)
You've probably lost all interest in this silly subject by this time and have already started reaching for the mouse to click yourself off to another page. That's why I saved the best for last, in case the free-spirits among you may already have asked: What about going topless?
Indeed. "Yaaa," sighed the train's Conductor, "that could be the ticket right there."
Not every boat has the shape to cruise around in public au natural with her helm exposed ... but I think Calypso's got the curves and the stuff to make it work and have every other middle-aged boat owner drooling with maritime envy.
Now all I gotta do is work up the nerve to try it, and hope the the weather cooperates with our plans.
ps. Of course once the top was off I could never figure out how to get the canvas snapped back on, not even with three helping hands and the Instruction Manual open for assistance ...
But Hey, Stay COOL yourself ... and Have A Great Weekend!
pss. Guzzling down beer because TGIF is stoopid. And forget about eating out tonight because all the restaurants in town will have waiting lines stretched out to Clemson Boulevard. Driving to Gville to go clubbing is for sorority pledges and mutt-hugging slick-haired wanna-be's. Add this to tonight's schedule instead ... it's for one of the best causes around.
And remember Papa loves ya, always ... but that's still only second best.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Big Software News
GPL 3 will finally be released tomorrow, months after the original March 15 deadline. And I say it's about time.
The other thing I say is, What the heck is GPL 3???
The other thing I say is, What the heck is GPL 3???
It's not gonna hurt to laugh every once in a while ...
Fun with Words Department
Back in my days as a private pilot I noticed no one ever used words like "Crash." The official terminology for such an incident was "an Off-Airport landing."
The most important thing to remember about flying is Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.
Similarly, in Formula 1 motor racing what we'd call an accident is instead called a "shunt."
So there ... doesn't that make everything better? :-)
PS. No matter what you may have heard, Driving a boat is much safer than driving a car.
Back in my days as a private pilot I noticed no one ever used words like "Crash." The official terminology for such an incident was "an Off-Airport landing."
The most important thing to remember about flying is Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.
Similarly, in Formula 1 motor racing what we'd call an accident is instead called a "shunt."
So there ... doesn't that make everything better? :-)
PS. No matter what you may have heard, Driving a boat is much safer than driving a car.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The end of intrigue?
I'd never heard of the idea of married couples having "Date Night" until three years ago.
Like all new ideas, "Date Night" took some time to work its way through the calcified neuron tunnels in my brain pan and even though I'm not married, Date Night makes such good sense I gotta wonder why nobody thought of it sooner.
---
Remember what romance was like back in high school? The thrill lasted for about five minutes after finding out that so-and-so really liked you, too. Then all so-and-so's flaws, irritating habits and clinging-ness dimmed your starry-eyed pulse and Restlessness began clawing its way through your daydreams ... and forced you to confront the realization that, "Hey! He/She's boring and irritating to be around ... and now I know I can do a lot better!"
Romance tended to wear think pretty quickly back then.
And so the search started all over again for someone "better" who's not only more attractive, but more intriguing, more mysterious and perhaps even more elusive ... someone who'd not only start our hearts a-fluttering, but also someone with the juice to keep the fluttering going and going and going, in ways we never get tired of enjoying.
---
Do we really fall in love with a person, or with the ooey-gooey way that person makes us feel?
---
Ugh, then along comes marriage ... usually for a barn-full of wrong reasons ... accompanied by a sense of finality, closure and uncertainty: I'm no longer single, no longer free to pursue romance, and no longer free to feel attractive or even desirable.
Sounds like an ALARM going off because the marital boiler lost all its steam.
The harsh, unavoidable realities of sharing life with another person sprout seed pods like kudzu in an untended tomato patch. Ignored and overlooked long enough, the spreading vines find nurture in the marital manure and reproduce themselves until the undergrowth becomes neck-deep ... and threatens to suffocate everything underneath ... including communication.
---
Mary Pickford was the original Queen of Hollywood. Newspapers called her "the most desirable woman on earth" even though she was married and, unusual for Hollywood, remained faithful to her husband, Douglas Fairbanks, until his death.
The point is that what made her irresistible to men wasn't her promiscuity, but her absolute fidelity. Every man on earth (especially those Lotharios brash enough to actually try) knew he stood no chance, none whatsoever. It was her total unattainability that made Mary Pickford so obsessively intriguing.
---
Especially in affairs of the heart, men seem helplessly lured and attracted to The Unattainable, Impossible Challenge. We can't help or deny it. It's in men's nature to try and test themselves, to succeed and satisfy his ego's questions and resolve any doubts about his abilities.
Men yearn to find a noble and perfect cause, to rise up from the anonymity of their peers, to take action and announce to the world, "Step aside, losers. I can do this."
And is there anything on earth more compelling and uncertain than pursuing a woman's heart?
---
Who am I to offer advice, particularly when it comes to marriage? Just seems to me that if a wife was worth pursuing once, she's certainly worth pursuing again and again for a lifetime. In part because men tend to forget
Young and ancient, innocent and corrupt
In every woman
A mystery.
- John Fowles, The Magus
A man might think he's caught a woman, but her heart isn't something he can keep and hold onto with his hands.
Like all new ideas, "Date Night" took some time to work its way through the calcified neuron tunnels in my brain pan and even though I'm not married, Date Night makes such good sense I gotta wonder why nobody thought of it sooner.
---
Remember what romance was like back in high school? The thrill lasted for about five minutes after finding out that so-and-so really liked you, too. Then all so-and-so's flaws, irritating habits and clinging-ness dimmed your starry-eyed pulse and Restlessness began clawing its way through your daydreams ... and forced you to confront the realization that, "Hey! He/She's boring and irritating to be around ... and now I know I can do a lot better!"
Romance tended to wear think pretty quickly back then.
And so the search started all over again for someone "better" who's not only more attractive, but more intriguing, more mysterious and perhaps even more elusive ... someone who'd not only start our hearts a-fluttering, but also someone with the juice to keep the fluttering going and going and going, in ways we never get tired of enjoying.
---
Do we really fall in love with a person, or with the ooey-gooey way that person makes us feel?
---
Ugh, then along comes marriage ... usually for a barn-full of wrong reasons ... accompanied by a sense of finality, closure and uncertainty: I'm no longer single, no longer free to pursue romance, and no longer free to feel attractive or even desirable.
Sounds like an ALARM going off because the marital boiler lost all its steam.
The harsh, unavoidable realities of sharing life with another person sprout seed pods like kudzu in an untended tomato patch. Ignored and overlooked long enough, the spreading vines find nurture in the marital manure and reproduce themselves until the undergrowth becomes neck-deep ... and threatens to suffocate everything underneath ... including communication.
---
Mary Pickford was the original Queen of Hollywood. Newspapers called her "the most desirable woman on earth" even though she was married and, unusual for Hollywood, remained faithful to her husband, Douglas Fairbanks, until his death.
The point is that what made her irresistible to men wasn't her promiscuity, but her absolute fidelity. Every man on earth (especially those Lotharios brash enough to actually try) knew he stood no chance, none whatsoever. It was her total unattainability that made Mary Pickford so obsessively intriguing.
---
Especially in affairs of the heart, men seem helplessly lured and attracted to The Unattainable, Impossible Challenge. We can't help or deny it. It's in men's nature to try and test themselves, to succeed and satisfy his ego's questions and resolve any doubts about his abilities.
Men yearn to find a noble and perfect cause, to rise up from the anonymity of their peers, to take action and announce to the world, "Step aside, losers. I can do this."
And is there anything on earth more compelling and uncertain than pursuing a woman's heart?
---
Who am I to offer advice, particularly when it comes to marriage? Just seems to me that if a wife was worth pursuing once, she's certainly worth pursuing again and again for a lifetime. In part because men tend to forget
Young and ancient, innocent and corrupt
In every woman
A mystery.
- John Fowles, The Magus
A man might think he's caught a woman, but her heart isn't something he can keep and hold onto with his hands.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
just LOST
Been catching up on season 3 of LOST.
There's been some great lines at places you'd least expect. Here's just one:
Kate- "Jack told me not to come back because he didn't want me to get hurt."
Juliet: "He saw you. You and Sawyer. The reason Jack told you not to come back wasn't because he didn't want you to get hurt. It was because you broke his heart."
There's been some great lines at places you'd least expect. Here's just one:
Kate- "Jack told me not to come back because he didn't want me to get hurt."
Juliet: "He saw you. You and Sawyer. The reason Jack told you not to come back wasn't because he didn't want you to get hurt. It was because you broke his heart."
I'll keep the change
Been noticing something peculiar over the past few weeks.
The times I was most likely to remember hurt came from gnawings of humiliation, wounded pride and self-pity. A convenient scrap book of memories with multiple pages devoted to stinging events like getting bullied in middle school, relationships that ended badly and suddenly, stupid goals and ambitions that seemed so CLEAR at the time & things I screwed up ... right on down to pets I've lost and still missed terribly.
Revisiting those chapters once or twice a year was more than plenty, thanks, and I learned to keep that volume tucked safely away on a shelf because those real-life situations were written in stone and no amount of wishful thinking could change the fact that they'd happened. Indulging in and re-living feelings of humiliation and helplessness was like opening an engraved invitation to Start the Personal Pity Party.
That's changed a little bit.
Now the times I'm most likely to feel helpless and notice my eyes blistering come while remembering seeing people I cared deeply about hurting, and being absolutely unable to do anything to make it stop.
Times when I'd willingly, even eagerly, have taken the hurt myself to stop what was happening to someone I loved. Because it tore something inside me apart to witness the pain caused to someone else.
---
By the time they're old enough to tie their own shoes little boys are taught not to cry when they're hurt. Only girls are allowed to cry, crying is for sissies and nobody wants to get called a sissy. But not crying ain't the same thing as not hurting ... so a man's unresolved hurts and feelings of helplessness learn to channel themselves into an incessant rage and willingness to strike back directed at the easiest, least-resistant target.
Himself.
You coulda done something to keep that from happening ... but you didn't. And while it was happening you still didn't do anything to make it stop. Feeling helpless creates a ravenous, seething rage that's forever marching inward, like an an enemy army that gives no quarter, takes no prisoners ... and never seems to get tired of attacking.
---
We feel most helpless when it comes to feeling helpless over someone we care deeply about. Even when we'd be willing to change places with the person who's hurting inside to make their pain stop and disappear, there's nothing we can do. We're trapped as witnesses on the outside, and instead of helping all we have to share is an awareness of our own helplessness.
---
Imagine, though, if you could change places with a friend or loved one who's hurting so much it seems like they're dying on the inside. You love that person so much that you'd gladly, willingly allow yourself to be hurt in their place - knowing their pain would instantly disappear. All they've gotta do is ask.
Imagine how you'd feel if they refused. Imagine if they said, "Nah, I don't believe you can do that," said they were "Too busy right now to stop hurting" or angrily explained, "I deserve feeling this way and besides, it's comforting because pain is all I'm used to."
What if they said, "You must want something from me in return, because nobody could possibly love me that much ... and I refuse to be in your debt"? Would you shrug and give up, turn your back and go on about your business, and be happy with looking the other way?
No, you wouldn't ... and neither does Christ. He already suffered and died in our place, and he's ready to make the guilt and pain stop ... right now.
It just seems there's one thing that's the hardest for people who've known nothing but suffering to get past: first you gotta ask.
The times I was most likely to remember hurt came from gnawings of humiliation, wounded pride and self-pity. A convenient scrap book of memories with multiple pages devoted to stinging events like getting bullied in middle school, relationships that ended badly and suddenly, stupid goals and ambitions that seemed so CLEAR at the time & things I screwed up ... right on down to pets I've lost and still missed terribly.
Revisiting those chapters once or twice a year was more than plenty, thanks, and I learned to keep that volume tucked safely away on a shelf because those real-life situations were written in stone and no amount of wishful thinking could change the fact that they'd happened. Indulging in and re-living feelings of humiliation and helplessness was like opening an engraved invitation to Start the Personal Pity Party.
That's changed a little bit.
Now the times I'm most likely to feel helpless and notice my eyes blistering come while remembering seeing people I cared deeply about hurting, and being absolutely unable to do anything to make it stop.
Times when I'd willingly, even eagerly, have taken the hurt myself to stop what was happening to someone I loved. Because it tore something inside me apart to witness the pain caused to someone else.
---
By the time they're old enough to tie their own shoes little boys are taught not to cry when they're hurt. Only girls are allowed to cry, crying is for sissies and nobody wants to get called a sissy. But not crying ain't the same thing as not hurting ... so a man's unresolved hurts and feelings of helplessness learn to channel themselves into an incessant rage and willingness to strike back directed at the easiest, least-resistant target.
Himself.
You coulda done something to keep that from happening ... but you didn't. And while it was happening you still didn't do anything to make it stop. Feeling helpless creates a ravenous, seething rage that's forever marching inward, like an an enemy army that gives no quarter, takes no prisoners ... and never seems to get tired of attacking.
---
We feel most helpless when it comes to feeling helpless over someone we care deeply about. Even when we'd be willing to change places with the person who's hurting inside to make their pain stop and disappear, there's nothing we can do. We're trapped as witnesses on the outside, and instead of helping all we have to share is an awareness of our own helplessness.
---
Imagine, though, if you could change places with a friend or loved one who's hurting so much it seems like they're dying on the inside. You love that person so much that you'd gladly, willingly allow yourself to be hurt in their place - knowing their pain would instantly disappear. All they've gotta do is ask.
Imagine how you'd feel if they refused. Imagine if they said, "Nah, I don't believe you can do that," said they were "Too busy right now to stop hurting" or angrily explained, "I deserve feeling this way and besides, it's comforting because pain is all I'm used to."
What if they said, "You must want something from me in return, because nobody could possibly love me that much ... and I refuse to be in your debt"? Would you shrug and give up, turn your back and go on about your business, and be happy with looking the other way?
No, you wouldn't ... and neither does Christ. He already suffered and died in our place, and he's ready to make the guilt and pain stop ... right now.
It just seems there's one thing that's the hardest for people who've known nothing but suffering to get past: first you gotta ask.
Monday, June 25, 2007
A bit rough around the watery edges
I heard that a tornado crossed Highway 187 this afternoon but dispersed before hitting the marina.
Dock 4 broke completely loose and actually came to rest against Dock 3. Dock 10 also broke loose and wandered around until finding the shore. Dock 6 broke loose and it's a big step up now to get to the ramp (I know this because I finally bought groceries).
Just happened to have a camcorder handy; you can see some of today's fun here.
Dock 4 broke completely loose and actually came to rest against Dock 3. Dock 10 also broke loose and wandered around until finding the shore. Dock 6 broke loose and it's a big step up now to get to the ramp (I know this because I finally bought groceries).
Just happened to have a camcorder handy; you can see some of today's fun here.
Meanwhile in Arusha ...
Forget for a minute that the weatherman says it's only 92 degrees here in The Electric City. Merely stepping outside for a minute will confirm there's a meteorological scandal cooking somewhere in the ionosphere ... because it sure feels more like 115 degrees to me.
What about Arusha?
Hee hee, at noon today the high was only 64 degrees F (that's 18 C) with a relative humidity of only 67% and last night hit 55 degrees F.
Man, you'd practically need a sweater.
But it would be cool ... sorta
Yesterday I watched a short part of the Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones speeder race on an awesome home theater system featured at a local retailer. With just three speakers the rumbling bass had my head swiveling around like a chihuahua caught in a fly swarm, uselessly looking for a (non-existent) subwoofer ... and as we left the store even Francis remarked that the impression of what I'd felt was still vividly visual on my face.
The first word in Home Theater is "Home" for good reason. Living on a 28-foot express cruiser has its limitations and space is not least among them.
But still, I almost couldn't help daydreaming, and imagining what Calypso would be like if ...
The first word in Home Theater is "Home" for good reason. Living on a 28-foot express cruiser has its limitations and space is not least among them.
But still, I almost couldn't help daydreaming, and imagining what Calypso would be like if ...
Sunday Recap
Skimming to hit the bigs ...
-At 9:30 yesterday morning I had the opportunity to speak at The Boat Church about mission work in Tanzania. I played a DVD copy on my laptop of a short video about my 2005 visit with Vernon and Mary Smith and realized a concrete fact:
Hardly any of the 30+ people there could either see or hear the video. My little Dell and its 11" screen performed as designed, but it's designed for video editing & production in the field ... not for group presentations in bright sunlight. My notebook failed because it just wasn't the right tool for the job.
Video projector screens and auditorium-filling sound systems aren't cheap, but that's what it takes to provide a dependable, distraction-free presentation to large audiences. Hardly a luxury or unnecessary extravagance when your message is important enough to be communicated clearly & effectively. Half-measures don't quite get the job done, no matter how earnest the intentions.
-11:15 at The Spring and I don't mind groveling & begging. Just go one time. Please. (Also worth checking this out on Tuesday night.)
-Lunch with Fran in Australia. Well, sorta. I felt like a lowly glutton after gorging on coconut shrimp, French onion soup, chicken strip appetizers and a NY Strip (with fries) when the check came and her boyfriend comp'd our meal (including tip). Thank you, Shawn. Not only for lunch ... but for trusting, too. It counts for a lot.
-After lunch we headed to West Marine, Best Buy, Express (investigating a timely tip from ORP), V's Secret (I diverted to Radio Shack, mostly), one other place I forget and then Old Navy.
Two hours of shopping and putting stuff back on the shelf.
-Starving again three hours later when I got back to the marina, so I ended up killing a 6.5-ounce can of Planter's peanuts while checking email. With Frito's scoops. Yss, I'm sorry for setting a bad dietary example. (But never buy just one can of salted peanuts)
-Getting caught up on LOST by watching Season 3.
-At 9:30 yesterday morning I had the opportunity to speak at The Boat Church about mission work in Tanzania. I played a DVD copy on my laptop of a short video about my 2005 visit with Vernon and Mary Smith and realized a concrete fact:
Hardly any of the 30+ people there could either see or hear the video. My little Dell and its 11" screen performed as designed, but it's designed for video editing & production in the field ... not for group presentations in bright sunlight. My notebook failed because it just wasn't the right tool for the job.
Video projector screens and auditorium-filling sound systems aren't cheap, but that's what it takes to provide a dependable, distraction-free presentation to large audiences. Hardly a luxury or unnecessary extravagance when your message is important enough to be communicated clearly & effectively. Half-measures don't quite get the job done, no matter how earnest the intentions.
-11:15 at The Spring and I don't mind groveling & begging. Just go one time. Please. (Also worth checking this out on Tuesday night.)
-Lunch with Fran in Australia. Well, sorta. I felt like a lowly glutton after gorging on coconut shrimp, French onion soup, chicken strip appetizers and a NY Strip (with fries) when the check came and her boyfriend comp'd our meal (including tip). Thank you, Shawn. Not only for lunch ... but for trusting, too. It counts for a lot.
-After lunch we headed to West Marine, Best Buy, Express (investigating a timely tip from ORP), V's Secret (I diverted to Radio Shack, mostly), one other place I forget and then Old Navy.
Two hours of shopping and putting stuff back on the shelf.
-Starving again three hours later when I got back to the marina, so I ended up killing a 6.5-ounce can of Planter's peanuts while checking email. With Frito's scoops. Yss, I'm sorry for setting a bad dietary example. (But never buy just one can of salted peanuts)
-Getting caught up on LOST by watching Season 3.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Feeling Faithful?
Look ,Jane, Look. It's raining possums
I'd tell you about everything that happened today, except I can't remember everything that happened today.
There's a big fire burning over on Andersonville Island. The smoke's been rising like a hundred-story high silo for days. Somebody on the radio said somebody's keeping an eye on it. Somebody said it's under control.
Watched Walk the Line while anchored out this afternoon, and cried when Johnny Cash proposed to June Carter.
Did you know she wrote Ring of Fire? Did you know Fleetwood Mac originally did Black Magic Woman?
Did you know Fleetwood Mac also did Silver Spring?
This morning I called Ken on his cell, and Jake answered.
Driving Calypso back from Horseshoe after sunset tonight was easy; I just followed the lightning flashes all the way to the marina restaurant.
At the restaurant, I just misssed seeing a posssum fall through the ceiling. Servers swatted and kept it cornered in a booth with napkins, until a regular customer walked over, picked the posssum up by the neck and carried it outside.
All the regulars can do stuff like that, especially when no one's watching.
Gas Dock Ashley told me how she was cusssed out today by an irate customer.
Here on Dock 6, people who drive pontoon boats are called Tooners. But I think they mean Tunas.
Talked to Fran tonight as she was driving home from work. Soon as she got out of the car she walked into a spider's web. And I heard it all happening live. Yeah, that reminded me of the time two months ago on Dock 6 when ... ah, indeed.
Why am I up so late? Because my wristwatch lost track of time ... and an hour ago I thought it was only 9:18
There's a big fire burning over on Andersonville Island. The smoke's been rising like a hundred-story high silo for days. Somebody on the radio said somebody's keeping an eye on it. Somebody said it's under control.
Watched Walk the Line while anchored out this afternoon, and cried when Johnny Cash proposed to June Carter.
Did you know she wrote Ring of Fire? Did you know Fleetwood Mac originally did Black Magic Woman?
Did you know Fleetwood Mac also did Silver Spring?
This morning I called Ken on his cell, and Jake answered.
Driving Calypso back from Horseshoe after sunset tonight was easy; I just followed the lightning flashes all the way to the marina restaurant.
At the restaurant, I just misssed seeing a posssum fall through the ceiling. Servers swatted and kept it cornered in a booth with napkins, until a regular customer walked over, picked the posssum up by the neck and carried it outside.
All the regulars can do stuff like that, especially when no one's watching.
Gas Dock Ashley told me how she was cusssed out today by an irate customer.
Here on Dock 6, people who drive pontoon boats are called Tooners. But I think they mean Tunas.
Talked to Fran tonight as she was driving home from work. Soon as she got out of the car she walked into a spider's web. And I heard it all happening live. Yeah, that reminded me of the time two months ago on Dock 6 when ... ah, indeed.
Why am I up so late? Because my wristwatch lost track of time ... and an hour ago I thought it was only 9:18
Friday, June 22, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
TIme flies
Fran called a few minutes ago and said something about going to see a movie tonight after work.
Which made me realize I haven't been inside a movie theater in 5 years. Five years ... not since walking out of Insomnia in disgust and promising myself to stay home and watch Hollywood releases on DVD instead.
Can anything on film actually be worth a $7.75 ticket? We'll see.
Which made me realize I haven't been inside a movie theater in 5 years. Five years ... not since walking out of Insomnia in disgust and promising myself to stay home and watch Hollywood releases on DVD instead.
Can anything on film actually be worth a $7.75 ticket? We'll see.
You know you're headed for trouble when ...
Not too many details are mentioned, but recently-birthdayed ORP had a post on her blog yesterday that's been rattling around in my brain like a marble at the bottom of a coffee can.
If I may paraphrase, When is it appropriate to be friends with someone who's married ... of the opposite sex?
I don't mean a casual acquaintance or someone you recognize from work ... I mean "a good, good" or "close personal" friend.
I still struggle with being a knee-jerk legalist ... it's just hard to let go of what's comfortable & familiar ... because hollering about rules for other folks (adults, I mean) to live by can quickly lead to a deep, slippery slope.
So no rules ... merely a few observations and suggestions as a self-reminder.
1. If your "best" or "closest" friend is a MPOS (Married Person of the Opposite Sex) then both of you are leaving the door open for your "friendship" to conveniently blossom into something else. Something that's sinful and wrong. Afterwards, saying "It just happened" or "We suddenly realized we shared the same feelings" is a pretty durn lame excuse.
2. A yellow light should fill your eyeballs if you find yourself tempted to ask a MPOS (or accept a MPOS's invitation) to have lunch alone (dinner is completely out of the question). Or join you at any sort of function or activity away from their (or your) spouse. Even riding together in the same car, just the two of you, is a bad, bad idea.
3. A red light should should go off any time you find yourself alone with a MPOS. Even if you're at work during business hours, for Pete's sake leave the bloomin' office door open.
3a. An alarm should start ringing inside your head if you disregard [3], and find yourself alone with a MPOS after 10 PM.
3b. If background noise (like, your fluttering heartbeat) prevents you from hearing alarms because you're alone with a MPOS after 11 PM, find the nearest available light socket ... flip the switch on ... and firmly insert tongue. Repeat as necessary to return to reality and achieve desired results.
4. Sharing your personal (especially relationship) problems in confidence with a MPOS is selfish and disregards the inherent trust, devotion and emotional intimacy of their marriage. [see #1, above]
5. The nature of a pre-existing friendship with a MPOS changed forever soon as he/she got married ... and pursuing or developing a close friendship with a MPOS ex post facto should be reason enough to skip back to [1] ... and re-read a bit more closely.
If I may paraphrase, When is it appropriate to be friends with someone who's married ... of the opposite sex?
I don't mean a casual acquaintance or someone you recognize from work ... I mean "a good, good" or "close personal" friend.
I still struggle with being a knee-jerk legalist ... it's just hard to let go of what's comfortable & familiar ... because hollering about rules for other folks (adults, I mean) to live by can quickly lead to a deep, slippery slope.
So no rules ... merely a few observations and suggestions as a self-reminder.
1. If your "best" or "closest" friend is a MPOS (Married Person of the Opposite Sex) then both of you are leaving the door open for your "friendship" to conveniently blossom into something else. Something that's sinful and wrong. Afterwards, saying "It just happened" or "We suddenly realized we shared the same feelings" is a pretty durn lame excuse.
2. A yellow light should fill your eyeballs if you find yourself tempted to ask a MPOS (or accept a MPOS's invitation) to have lunch alone (dinner is completely out of the question). Or join you at any sort of function or activity away from their (or your) spouse. Even riding together in the same car, just the two of you, is a bad, bad idea.
3. A red light should should go off any time you find yourself alone with a MPOS. Even if you're at work during business hours, for Pete's sake leave the bloomin' office door open.
3a. An alarm should start ringing inside your head if you disregard [3], and find yourself alone with a MPOS after 10 PM.
3b. If background noise (like, your fluttering heartbeat) prevents you from hearing alarms because you're alone with a MPOS after 11 PM, find the nearest available light socket ... flip the switch on ... and firmly insert tongue. Repeat as necessary to return to reality and achieve desired results.
4. Sharing your personal (especially relationship) problems in confidence with a MPOS is selfish and disregards the inherent trust, devotion and emotional intimacy of their marriage. [see #1, above]
5. The nature of a pre-existing friendship with a MPOS changed forever soon as he/she got married ... and pursuing or developing a close friendship with a MPOS ex post facto should be reason enough to skip back to [1] ... and re-read a bit more closely.
Vatican Issues 10 Commandments for Motorists
By Philip Pullella
VATICAN CITY (Reuters) - Thou shall not drive under the influence of alcohol. Thou shall respect speed limits. Thou shall not consider a car an object of personal glorification or use it as a place of sin.
The Vatican took a break from strictly theological matters on Tuesday to issue its own rules of the road, a compendium of do's and don'ts on the moral aspects of driving and motoring.
A 36-page document called "Guidelines for the Pastoral Care of the Road" contains 10 Commandments covering everything from road rage, respecting pedestrians, keeping a car in good shape and avoiding rude gestures while behind the wheel.
"Cars tend to bring out the 'primitive' side of human beings, thereby producing rather unpleasant results," the document said.
It appealed to what it called the "noble tendencies" of the human spirit, urging responsibility and self-control to prevent the "psychological regression" often associated with driving.
The document's Fifth Commandment reads: "Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin".
Asked at a news conference when a car became an occasion of sin, Cardinal Renato Martino said "when a car is used as a place for sin".One part of the document, under the section "Vanity and personal glorification", will not go down well with owners of Ferraris in motor-mad Italy.
"Cars particularly lend themselves to being used by their owners to show off, and as a means for outshining other people and arousing a feeling of envy," it said.
It urged readers not to behave in an "unsatisfactory and even barely human manner" when driving and to avoid what it called "unbalanced behavior ... impoliteness, rude gestures, cursing, blasphemy ..."
Praying while driving was encouraged.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Waiting for UFOs to show
Something occurred to me tonight on the way to dinner ... .
If a UFO landed on a church parking lot this Sunday morning, there'd be people in the congregation who'd stare into the camera Live On The 6 O'Clock News and breathlessly proclaim, "That was the most awesome thing that's ever happened!"
Or on a smaller scale: "You'll never guess who I shook hands with ... I even got his autograph!"
Like, even as believers we tend to keep hoping something or somebody really exciting is just bound to show up in our lives ... when the most amazing, utterly awesome experience imaginable should already have riveted our attention for eternity.
If a UFO landed on a church parking lot this Sunday morning, there'd be people in the congregation who'd stare into the camera Live On The 6 O'Clock News and breathlessly proclaim, "That was the most awesome thing that's ever happened!"
Or on a smaller scale: "You'll never guess who I shook hands with ... I even got his autograph!"
Like, even as believers we tend to keep hoping something or somebody really exciting is just bound to show up in our lives ... when the most amazing, utterly awesome experience imaginable should already have riveted our attention for eternity.
Hope this brings a smile ...
"The only reason anyone would ever hate you
is because they want to
be just like you."
is because they want to
be just like you."
Back up but not quite on
Haven't been online recently b/c the houseboat broadcasting the wireless signal lost both engines over the weekend, and had to be towed & tied at the end of the dock. Where there's no cable access.
So what's on your mind? HOT ENOUGH for ya?
Wow wow wow.
So what's on your mind? HOT ENOUGH for ya?
Wow wow wow.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Sunday
Back to limited web access for the foreseeable future but in the meantime
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!
ps. Just go one time.
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!
ps. Just go one time.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Tit for Tat Tithing?
Wonder how many believers soothe the sting of dropping their Ten in the bucket by thinking, "God said he'd reward me for giving and I could sure use some big ol' abundance right now ... so dear Lord please make it happen"?
Like writing your tithe check on Sunday amounts to making a weekly payment on your Heavenly Rewards insurance policy. Just in case something bad happens, I wanna make sure I'm all paid up in advance so I'll have coverage.
Or maybe we think tithing somehow keeps God obligated and in our debt: God, I did for you ... now you start doing something for me! Naaah, doesn't work that way.
If tithing stings like a spider bite or feels like an onerous obligation (or you're making secret wishes as you toss your coins, hoping the bucket is God's private wishing well) then I think we're missing what tithing's all about.
Not that we should tithe from guilt either, because Christ paid our debts in full, but How much would you pay someone else to die in you or your family's place? How much is a sacrifice like that really worth? Seems like it's easier to focus on our pain, and what's in front of us, than the pain someone else endured on our behalf.
Tithing should be a time for remembering Thank You ... you did it all in my place and that's a debt I can never repay. I believe you're a big God and my tiny tithe is one of the least things I can do that shows how much I'm grateful ... and how much I mean it.
Like writing your tithe check on Sunday amounts to making a weekly payment on your Heavenly Rewards insurance policy. Just in case something bad happens, I wanna make sure I'm all paid up in advance so I'll have coverage.
Or maybe we think tithing somehow keeps God obligated and in our debt: God, I did for you ... now you start doing something for me! Naaah, doesn't work that way.
If tithing stings like a spider bite or feels like an onerous obligation (or you're making secret wishes as you toss your coins, hoping the bucket is God's private wishing well) then I think we're missing what tithing's all about.
Not that we should tithe from guilt either, because Christ paid our debts in full, but How much would you pay someone else to die in you or your family's place? How much is a sacrifice like that really worth? Seems like it's easier to focus on our pain, and what's in front of us, than the pain someone else endured on our behalf.
Tithing should be a time for remembering Thank You ... you did it all in my place and that's a debt I can never repay. I believe you're a big God and my tiny tithe is one of the least things I can do that shows how much I'm grateful ... and how much I mean it.
Faulty Plumbing & Lack of Faith - updated
Lost my nerve yesterday afternoon, yeah I did.
When I first moved aboard Calypso a few months ago, the hot water plumbing was leaking from a Quest-style t-fitting in the engine compartment. No big deal to fix it, except the space is so tight it's like trying to thread three needles with both hands inside a coffee can. Upside down through a chain link fence. With your eyes closed ... now that I'm in the middle of actually doing it.
And of course if you happen to drop a brass fitting or barb connector then it lands in the bilge and becomes lost in another space/time dimension.
Guess what. Now the cold water t-fitting is leaking at a rate that'll empty 40 gallons of water overnight. That's aggravating.
Yesterday afternoon I assembled all the parts and tools I'd need to do the repair, turned on the worklight, stared a good long time at the offending t-fitting (which glared back at me behind the protection of its army of thick hoses and pump parts) ... and decided making the change could wait.
I rationalized my weakness and procrastination this way: "Right now I've only got a tiny leak, but once I start cutting hoses then I won't have any water at all until the job's complete. And who knows how long that might take, and what unforeseen calamity (like dropping parts or losing tools to the bilge) might happen along the way?"
See, it wasn't the difficulty or tediousness that was the challenge; it was the fear that I'd get aggravated and lose interest once I'd passed the point of No Return and it was too late to turn back. Which means I'd have no running water at all till I finished ... and no one but myself to hold accountable.
But the leak's still got to be fixed. I've got the tools and all the parts. All I need now is a little bit more faith ... and to remember replacing faulty parts is absolutely worth doing.
When I first moved aboard Calypso a few months ago, the hot water plumbing was leaking from a Quest-style t-fitting in the engine compartment. No big deal to fix it, except the space is so tight it's like trying to thread three needles with both hands inside a coffee can. Upside down through a chain link fence. With your eyes closed ... now that I'm in the middle of actually doing it.
And of course if you happen to drop a brass fitting or barb connector then it lands in the bilge and becomes lost in another space/time dimension.
Guess what. Now the cold water t-fitting is leaking at a rate that'll empty 40 gallons of water overnight. That's aggravating.
Yesterday afternoon I assembled all the parts and tools I'd need to do the repair, turned on the worklight, stared a good long time at the offending t-fitting (which glared back at me behind the protection of its army of thick hoses and pump parts) ... and decided making the change could wait.
I rationalized my weakness and procrastination this way: "Right now I've only got a tiny leak, but once I start cutting hoses then I won't have any water at all until the job's complete. And who knows how long that might take, and what unforeseen calamity (like dropping parts or losing tools to the bilge) might happen along the way?"
See, it wasn't the difficulty or tediousness that was the challenge; it was the fear that I'd get aggravated and lose interest once I'd passed the point of No Return and it was too late to turn back. Which means I'd have no running water at all till I finished ... and no one but myself to hold accountable.
But the leak's still got to be fixed. I've got the tools and all the parts. All I need now is a little bit more faith ... and to remember replacing faulty parts is absolutely worth doing.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Turn off the TV and go live
"But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him..." Phillipians 3:7-9
Still my favorite, too
Eight months ago yesterday I posted this video from Tanzania over at youtube. Since then it's been viewed 3804 times and Favorited 21 times.
Even though I can't understand the words, the tune has a way of growing ... and stickin' with ya.
Even though I can't understand the words, the tune has a way of growing ... and stickin' with ya.
The Tentmaker from Tarsus
When I was a kid anything having to do with the Apostle Paul seemed dry as dirt.
The guy's letters were so hard-core and unyielding in their conviction that Paul came across a tiny bit like the Gospel's traveling salesman, but more often like heaven's union boss and enforcer. Which made him seem dogmatic and out of touch with the world. What was even worse was that Paul probably knew what we thought, and didn't much care about our opinion.
Paul knew what the message was all about.
Remember Paul was first Saul ... well-known for persecuting Christians ... and sometimes his admonitions to the early churches seemed so angry you half-wondered if Paul didn't occasionally wanna dust off his sword and pick up right back where he left off.
Reading Paul's letters today ain't even close to being the same thing. I mean, Dude knows stuff and gets right on top of it. He knows what it's like struggling with sin and temptation and means to be encouraging in our faith. He knew God's awesome power real up close and personal ... and intends to keep reminding us of it.
He'd been there, done that the worst of all, and knew forgiveness only came from faith in Christ. Paul's not only seen Christ's love but was consumed with the joy of God's grace ... and can't be stopped from sharing the gospel, no matter the risk or danger.
The crotchety old guy I'd pictured as a kid vanished ... replaced by a humble servant who's on fire with Christ and passionate about letting us know our faith can't grow when we're trusting man-made rules to tell us No.
If you've never read Philippians (or haven't tried recently) then please take a look ... and see what the excitement's all about.
The guy's letters were so hard-core and unyielding in their conviction that Paul came across a tiny bit like the Gospel's traveling salesman, but more often like heaven's union boss and enforcer. Which made him seem dogmatic and out of touch with the world. What was even worse was that Paul probably knew what we thought, and didn't much care about our opinion.
Paul knew what the message was all about.
Remember Paul was first Saul ... well-known for persecuting Christians ... and sometimes his admonitions to the early churches seemed so angry you half-wondered if Paul didn't occasionally wanna dust off his sword and pick up right back where he left off.
Reading Paul's letters today ain't even close to being the same thing. I mean, Dude knows stuff and gets right on top of it. He knows what it's like struggling with sin and temptation and means to be encouraging in our faith. He knew God's awesome power real up close and personal ... and intends to keep reminding us of it.
He'd been there, done that the worst of all, and knew forgiveness only came from faith in Christ. Paul's not only seen Christ's love but was consumed with the joy of God's grace ... and can't be stopped from sharing the gospel, no matter the risk or danger.
The crotchety old guy I'd pictured as a kid vanished ... replaced by a humble servant who's on fire with Christ and passionate about letting us know our faith can't grow when we're trusting man-made rules to tell us No.
If you've never read Philippians (or haven't tried recently) then please take a look ... and see what the excitement's all about.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Dumbest Possible Diet
The sin thing bugs me. It does because I do and you do only because we think we have to ... but we don't ... it's just that we've been tricked into thinking we want to.
Like when you were saved, imagine God deposited a billion dollars into your personal savings account. "Wow," you're thinking, "it's so awesome that God loves me that much!"
But our old friends and acquaintances refuse to believe in billion dollar gifts (especially from invisible strangers) and continue lining up at the hog trough come supper time. So when Friday night rolls around and you're feeling hungry again, you're convinced garbage still tastes good because it's all you've ever known ... and you step back in line.
So we think it still must be perfectly OK to march back through the mud and bury our faces at the bovine buffet ... and maybe even wallow in a little filth for good measure because it feels good ... forgetting the whole time that there's a billion bucks God made available for withdrawal when we need it.
A side order of sewage is still gross. Even when it's served on a shiny sin platter.
Like when you were saved, imagine God deposited a billion dollars into your personal savings account. "Wow," you're thinking, "it's so awesome that God loves me that much!"
But our old friends and acquaintances refuse to believe in billion dollar gifts (especially from invisible strangers) and continue lining up at the hog trough come supper time. So when Friday night rolls around and you're feeling hungry again, you're convinced garbage still tastes good because it's all you've ever known ... and you step back in line.
So we think it still must be perfectly OK to march back through the mud and bury our faces at the bovine buffet ... and maybe even wallow in a little filth for good measure because it feels good ... forgetting the whole time that there's a billion bucks God made available for withdrawal when we need it.
A side order of sewage is still gross. Even when it's served on a shiny sin platter.
Whose whistle are ya hearin' when his train rolls up in the station? - clarified
Wow. A few minutes ago I was driving back to the marina and something so simple occurred to me it nearly turned me into a 2-legged train wreck.
Ladies, if you start thinking "you're serious about" a guy and he:
-Can't pay for your date
-Can't afford to buy your clothes
-Can't make ALL your car payments
-Won't pay for ALL your insurance
-Can't pay his own rent
-Won't share paying off your tuition
-Can't put a roof over your head (and put your name on the deed)
-Won't participate in paying off your credit cards
-Can't afford to buy groceries for one person and pay the rent
-Has as little to do with your family as he possibly can
-Doesn't treat you like you're the best human thing that ever happened to him
-Won't put the biggest durn diamond ring he can afford on your finger to let the world know "This woman is taken ... because she's worth being with and keeping for a lifetime" ...
Then why the heck would you be willing to let your body become the latest available receptacle for his emotional/moral/spiritual shortcomings? Aren't ya worth just a little bit more than that?
Just asking.
Ladies, if you start thinking "you're serious about" a guy and he:
-Can't pay for your date
-Can't afford to buy your clothes
-Can't make ALL your car payments
-Won't pay for ALL your insurance
-Can't pay his own rent
-Won't share paying off your tuition
-Can't put a roof over your head (and put your name on the deed)
-Won't participate in paying off your credit cards
-Can't afford to buy groceries for one person and pay the rent
-Has as little to do with your family as he possibly can
-Doesn't treat you like you're the best human thing that ever happened to him
-Won't put the biggest durn diamond ring he can afford on your finger to let the world know "This woman is taken ... because she's worth being with and keeping for a lifetime" ...
Then why the heck would you be willing to let your body become the latest available receptacle for his emotional/moral/spiritual shortcomings? Aren't ya worth just a little bit more than that?
Just asking.
Finances Gotten Hairy?
Thought maybe Fran woulda already blogged about this but then maybe she's been busy, pulling her hair with frustration at work, because somebody keeps calling the front desk wanting to know, "So where can I get a pizza?" or "Can you send a limo around to pick me up?" or "Does your hotel have a gas dock?" and "Is this Francis of Morganshire?"
OK I'm guilty ... but then Deadliest Catch was a rerun. :-)
Anyway Monday night Fran told me she'd talked to her boyfriend Shawn, who's about as tight with his wallet as Scrooge's statue in an arctic ice storm, and decided to forgo coloring her hair.
His reasoning was that over the course of a year, the coloring and maintenance would cost Fran something like $600. "Joe Hall that's six hundred dollars for my hair." Looking at it that way, Fran said she'd rather use the money to pay for tuition instead.
And Fran said that, like our reverse-cycle shopping adventure last week, she felt good about the decision to not spend the money.
Good for you, Francis. And double good (with compound interest) for having Shawn on your team.
OK I'm guilty ... but then Deadliest Catch was a rerun. :-)
Anyway Monday night Fran told me she'd talked to her boyfriend Shawn, who's about as tight with his wallet as Scrooge's statue in an arctic ice storm, and decided to forgo coloring her hair.
His reasoning was that over the course of a year, the coloring and maintenance would cost Fran something like $600. "Joe Hall that's six hundred dollars for my hair." Looking at it that way, Fran said she'd rather use the money to pay for tuition instead.
And Fran said that, like our reverse-cycle shopping adventure last week, she felt good about the decision to not spend the money.
Good for you, Francis. And double good (with compound interest) for having Shawn on your team.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
So Who's at Fault?
D-i-v-o-r-c-e.
Whether it's a close friend or someone we only know from the movies, soon as we hear the word "Divorce" it's almost human instinct that all other business gets set aside and our personal priorities put on hold ... for as long as it takes to figure out What Happened?
Until we've determined to our personal satisfaction Who's to Blame? Here's my opinion.
In 99.99% of divorces it's the man who's at fault.
What? What?! How can I say such a thing?
Think about it: divorce is an inevitable consequence, a ruinous outcome of having made a severe error of judgment in the first place. Divorced guys, the first place mistake was asking her to marry you.
You wouldn't have gotten married otherwise, ain't that right? And if you'd never been married, then divorce would be a silly consideration. So stop blaming anyone else.
Whatever happened during your marriage ... whether she was a frigid witch, turned out to be a gold digger or literally Just like her Mom, was unfaithful or worse, you were unfaithful, is all irrelevant ... because she couldn't have said YES! unless you'd proposed.
Man, what a knuckle-head you can be when you pay attention to yourself.
Anyway, a man should know better than to light a match near the gas pump, and then wonder why the world's turned orange ... and started smelling like smoke.
What about the other .01% of divorces?
That small percentage represents husbands who were proposed to by their wives. So I'll agree that No, they're not at fault ... they're doubly at fault.
Why?
(1) For lacking the courage to do what men do, which is Guttin'-Up-n-Proposing
(2) For lacking spine and saying Yes.
---
Infidelity is the only legitimate reason we're given for divorce. But even then, falling short a little bit isn't what God intended. Because forgiveness has no limits, do ya think?
Tonight's "Guys, How's It Feeling?" Playlist:
Respect - Otis Redding
Whether it's a close friend or someone we only know from the movies, soon as we hear the word "Divorce" it's almost human instinct that all other business gets set aside and our personal priorities put on hold ... for as long as it takes to figure out What Happened?
Until we've determined to our personal satisfaction Who's to Blame? Here's my opinion.
In 99.99% of divorces it's the man who's at fault.
What? What?! How can I say such a thing?
Think about it: divorce is an inevitable consequence, a ruinous outcome of having made a severe error of judgment in the first place. Divorced guys, the first place mistake was asking her to marry you.
You wouldn't have gotten married otherwise, ain't that right? And if you'd never been married, then divorce would be a silly consideration. So stop blaming anyone else.
Whatever happened during your marriage ... whether she was a frigid witch, turned out to be a gold digger or literally Just like her Mom, was unfaithful or worse, you were unfaithful, is all irrelevant ... because she couldn't have said YES! unless you'd proposed.
Man, what a knuckle-head you can be when you pay attention to yourself.
Anyway, a man should know better than to light a match near the gas pump, and then wonder why the world's turned orange ... and started smelling like smoke.
What about the other .01% of divorces?
That small percentage represents husbands who were proposed to by their wives. So I'll agree that No, they're not at fault ... they're doubly at fault.
Why?
(1) For lacking the courage to do what men do, which is Guttin'-Up-n-Proposing
(2) For lacking spine and saying Yes.
---
Infidelity is the only legitimate reason we're given for divorce. But even then, falling short a little bit isn't what God intended. Because forgiveness has no limits, do ya think?
Tonight's "Guys, How's It Feeling?" Playlist:
Respect - Otis Redding
Men Don't Cry
Seems like 80% of the people I meet in the world these days have broken boats ... and want them fixed by 5 PM. The other 20% either work in grocery stores or restaurants.
One day last week Mike and I finished lunch at our usual place and stepped up to the counter to pay. Our server took a look at me and said, "Smile. God loves you!"
Mike got a big kick from hearing that so I asked her, "Where do you go to church?"
Guess where she said.
I almost jumped out of my socks. "For pete's sake, don't you know that's a cult? Don't you know you can't be a member over there unless they check your tax returns? Don't you know they've got a statue of their pastor in the atrium? And isn't he the guy that preaches with no shirt on? That's what I've heard."
She shook her head, "I've never seen anything like that" ... and told us how her life had been changed. Then Mike jerked his head at me, "That's where he goes."
See, they're everywhere. In places you'd least expect.
This restaurant is closer to Georgia than it is to the church auditorium. Five dozen churches must dot the highways in between. I always want to hear how, but more interested in Why, people end up finding their way there.
---
Men and women are different, they really are.
A woman can sit within arm's length and reveal every sordid, embarrassing detail of her personal life ... stuff that would make a cow flop wince ... from family issues to sexual indiscretions and abortions ... and stare you in the eye the whole time without batting an eye.
Must be because being emotionally driven, Women want to know What are you thinking? or Does that change what you think of me?
Women are open and out there when it comes to expressing their emotions ... and communicating with women is often no harder than just shutting up and listening your heart out.
---
But men? Men? No further back than Sunday afternoon our dear Francis shrugged during lunch and sighed, "There's no understanding men at all. Except you, Joe Hall." (I'm less complicated and easier to understand than cat litter, she means.)
What Fran said about men is true, so true. Men are like emotional oysters ... and what aggravates women so much is that they'd like nothing better than prying the shell open and finding there's a pearl hidden inside.
---
A woman will readily confess to despair, acknowledge her fears and explain her vulnerabilities in hopes of sharing with a confidant who's heard of a solution. But a man will tighten the ropes around his heart until he's paralyzed with grief rather than admit a single flaw or weakness. Suggesting to another man, even when he asks for one, There is an Answer is too often misunderstood as So you think you're smarter than me?
---
Maybe that's one reason it's harder inviting men to church than women: Until they know Christ men are usually pretty darn pleased with the messes they've made of their lives ... and a few are even proud to admit they don't mind the smell.
---
Men don't cry ... unless they think it's too late.
The time a man seems most eager and ready to hear about Christ seems to be when he's run so far for so long he's slammed into a wall he didn't see coming. Whether it's marital infidelity, health concerns, a stormy relationship with his kids, a drinking problem, disaster at work or financial upheaval, it takes a big surprise slap in the face to finally get a man's spiritual attention.
Even then men aren't usually eager to hear There is an answer. A man who's choking beneath buried emotions is bitterly convinced, "No, you don't know all the things I've done and it's too late for me. God could never forgive me ... after all the pain I've caused people who didn't deserve it, I couldn't expect him to either."
Then you can almost hear the clam slamming itself shut with self pity ... and the silence afterwards is as painful as it is deafening. And you never end up reading about those experiences here at The Blue Book.
---
One of the worst, most ill-considered decisions church leaders made in time past was portraying Christ as something he never was ... a sad-faced, bath-robed wimp with perfect hair and a perpetual tear on his cheek. Is there a man alive today who wants to model himself like that?
Wimps don't allow themselves to be flogged or crucified, conquer sin with forgiveness and rise from the dead to kick Satan's gut. Only a man who's decisive and infinitely strong could step up and hit a home run with that pitch. Jesus Christ was a man.
He wasn't called The Pansy of Peace or The Woosie from Galilee.
God didn't send a wimp to die for our sins. He sent his son, a a man strong enough to die in our place ... a man who called us friends.
And we should stop trying to remake Christ into a limp wristed lady-man ... or anything other than who he told us he is.
One day last week Mike and I finished lunch at our usual place and stepped up to the counter to pay. Our server took a look at me and said, "Smile. God loves you!"
Mike got a big kick from hearing that so I asked her, "Where do you go to church?"
Guess where she said.
I almost jumped out of my socks. "For pete's sake, don't you know that's a cult? Don't you know you can't be a member over there unless they check your tax returns? Don't you know they've got a statue of their pastor in the atrium? And isn't he the guy that preaches with no shirt on? That's what I've heard."
She shook her head, "I've never seen anything like that" ... and told us how her life had been changed. Then Mike jerked his head at me, "That's where he goes."
See, they're everywhere. In places you'd least expect.
This restaurant is closer to Georgia than it is to the church auditorium. Five dozen churches must dot the highways in between. I always want to hear how, but more interested in Why, people end up finding their way there.
---
Men and women are different, they really are.
A woman can sit within arm's length and reveal every sordid, embarrassing detail of her personal life ... stuff that would make a cow flop wince ... from family issues to sexual indiscretions and abortions ... and stare you in the eye the whole time without batting an eye.
Must be because being emotionally driven, Women want to know What are you thinking? or Does that change what you think of me?
Women are open and out there when it comes to expressing their emotions ... and communicating with women is often no harder than just shutting up and listening your heart out.
---
But men? Men? No further back than Sunday afternoon our dear Francis shrugged during lunch and sighed, "There's no understanding men at all. Except you, Joe Hall." (I'm less complicated and easier to understand than cat litter, she means.)
What Fran said about men is true, so true. Men are like emotional oysters ... and what aggravates women so much is that they'd like nothing better than prying the shell open and finding there's a pearl hidden inside.
---
A woman will readily confess to despair, acknowledge her fears and explain her vulnerabilities in hopes of sharing with a confidant who's heard of a solution. But a man will tighten the ropes around his heart until he's paralyzed with grief rather than admit a single flaw or weakness. Suggesting to another man, even when he asks for one, There is an Answer is too often misunderstood as So you think you're smarter than me?
---
Maybe that's one reason it's harder inviting men to church than women: Until they know Christ men are usually pretty darn pleased with the messes they've made of their lives ... and a few are even proud to admit they don't mind the smell.
---
Men don't cry ... unless they think it's too late.
The time a man seems most eager and ready to hear about Christ seems to be when he's run so far for so long he's slammed into a wall he didn't see coming. Whether it's marital infidelity, health concerns, a stormy relationship with his kids, a drinking problem, disaster at work or financial upheaval, it takes a big surprise slap in the face to finally get a man's spiritual attention.
Even then men aren't usually eager to hear There is an answer. A man who's choking beneath buried emotions is bitterly convinced, "No, you don't know all the things I've done and it's too late for me. God could never forgive me ... after all the pain I've caused people who didn't deserve it, I couldn't expect him to either."
Then you can almost hear the clam slamming itself shut with self pity ... and the silence afterwards is as painful as it is deafening. And you never end up reading about those experiences here at The Blue Book.
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One of the worst, most ill-considered decisions church leaders made in time past was portraying Christ as something he never was ... a sad-faced, bath-robed wimp with perfect hair and a perpetual tear on his cheek. Is there a man alive today who wants to model himself like that?
Wimps don't allow themselves to be flogged or crucified, conquer sin with forgiveness and rise from the dead to kick Satan's gut. Only a man who's decisive and infinitely strong could step up and hit a home run with that pitch. Jesus Christ was a man.
He wasn't called The Pansy of Peace or The Woosie from Galilee.
God didn't send a wimp to die for our sins. He sent his son, a a man strong enough to die in our place ... a man who called us friends.
And we should stop trying to remake Christ into a limp wristed lady-man ... or anything other than who he told us he is.
GPS really works
5:50 AM
I'm a big fan of GPS.
I've already described how navigating without landmarks to know where you're going is like driving with a blanket stretched over the windshield.
There's been more than a time or six I've been cruising along without reference to familiar guideposts, and times I've become distracted when I shoulda been paying attention, and run the risk of slamming into obstructions. When that wasn't my intention and I didn't even want to.
But dangerous obstacles are lurking in every direction, sometimes invisible, sometimes lying just under the surface ... and you won't know until it's too late that you've either collided or run aground ... and forced to deal with needless damage and humiliating repairs (whether personal or financial) you caused by drifting off-course.
So long as you pay attention and stay tuned to the signal GPS knows precisely where you are and eliminates unnecessary delays by keeping your course perfectly on track.
Sure sometimes it's hard to trust what GPS says, especially in adverse conditions when you can't tell how fast you're going or see what's immediately ahead ... because in storm conditions your destination's hardly ever in plain sight.
Having total faith in GPS takes some getting used to, but then GPS is the most reliable navigation system we've got. Bar none.
Supplementing GPS with "gut feelings" or making "mid-course corrections" (even worse, panicking and totally ignoring GPS) will never make sense ... because expecting to safely arrive at the right destination after you've second-guessed GPS along the way only results in confusion and frustration.
Making seat of the pants adjustments is like having no GPS at all.
Yeah, I'm a big fan of God's Plan Sustains ... and there's a reason self-steering is called dead reckoning.
I'm a big fan of GPS.
I've already described how navigating without landmarks to know where you're going is like driving with a blanket stretched over the windshield.
There's been more than a time or six I've been cruising along without reference to familiar guideposts, and times I've become distracted when I shoulda been paying attention, and run the risk of slamming into obstructions. When that wasn't my intention and I didn't even want to.
But dangerous obstacles are lurking in every direction, sometimes invisible, sometimes lying just under the surface ... and you won't know until it's too late that you've either collided or run aground ... and forced to deal with needless damage and humiliating repairs (whether personal or financial) you caused by drifting off-course.
So long as you pay attention and stay tuned to the signal GPS knows precisely where you are and eliminates unnecessary delays by keeping your course perfectly on track.
Sure sometimes it's hard to trust what GPS says, especially in adverse conditions when you can't tell how fast you're going or see what's immediately ahead ... because in storm conditions your destination's hardly ever in plain sight.
Having total faith in GPS takes some getting used to, but then GPS is the most reliable navigation system we've got. Bar none.
Supplementing GPS with "gut feelings" or making "mid-course corrections" (even worse, panicking and totally ignoring GPS) will never make sense ... because expecting to safely arrive at the right destination after you've second-guessed GPS along the way only results in confusion and frustration.
Making seat of the pants adjustments is like having no GPS at all.
Yeah, I'm a big fan of God's Plan Sustains ... and there's a reason self-steering is called dead reckoning.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
No More Boat Stories - corrected, clarified
I know ya'll get tired of hearing about boats. So tonight there'll be no boat metaphors of any kind. At all.
Read somewhere that the first thing you should do after buying a boat is install the biggest, brightest, most outrageous navigation lights you can find. Coast Guard minimums require 1 mile visibility for boats under 40 feet and 2 miles for boats up to 65 feet.
That probably means under perfect, flawlessly clear conditions. Which seem to never happen. Never.
Yeah, so I drove Calypso to the courtesy dock Friday night for ORP's gig because afterward, I wanted to spend the night at Horseshoe Island.
Oh, I forgot to mention there's a tournament this weekend ... and every bass fisherman who successfully begged for his wife's permission to get outta the house is out on the lake looking to land The One That Got Jonah.
Those little tin skids and their OCD drivers are everywhere ... and all they're thinking about is (1) Where's the fish and (2) Where's my beer
So after chugging off from the dock I immediately noticed that without the moon overhead, nothing was visible through Calypso's windshield. I mean NOTHING ... it was like driving with a mud-caked windshield.
Calypso's got GPS, so I faithfully followed its track without question ... until I started seeing green and red lights ahead (which means, There's Another Boat Out There Somewhere). But how far? I quickly found out that what seemed like a Huge Yacht from a distance was nothing more than a bathtub with a couple of dim bulbs and two navigation lights on board.
No, I didn't hit 'em or run their silly boat over. But I did come close enough to smell their bait bucket. Or maybe it was their breath.
This week I'm installing big new nav lights on Calypso.
I want brighter, clearer, less ambiguous navigation signals from now on because I want anybody who might possibly be distracted pursuing their own passion to know well in advance Something huge and capable of turning their little raft upside down is coming in your direction so pay attention ... and get Hell out of the way.
Read somewhere that the first thing you should do after buying a boat is install the biggest, brightest, most outrageous navigation lights you can find. Coast Guard minimums require 1 mile visibility for boats under 40 feet and 2 miles for boats up to 65 feet.
That probably means under perfect, flawlessly clear conditions. Which seem to never happen. Never.
Yeah, so I drove Calypso to the courtesy dock Friday night for ORP's gig because afterward, I wanted to spend the night at Horseshoe Island.
Oh, I forgot to mention there's a tournament this weekend ... and every bass fisherman who successfully begged for his wife's permission to get outta the house is out on the lake looking to land The One That Got Jonah.
Those little tin skids and their OCD drivers are everywhere ... and all they're thinking about is (1) Where's the fish and (2) Where's my beer
So after chugging off from the dock I immediately noticed that without the moon overhead, nothing was visible through Calypso's windshield. I mean NOTHING ... it was like driving with a mud-caked windshield.
Calypso's got GPS, so I faithfully followed its track without question ... until I started seeing green and red lights ahead (which means, There's Another Boat Out There Somewhere). But how far? I quickly found out that what seemed like a Huge Yacht from a distance was nothing more than a bathtub with a couple of dim bulbs and two navigation lights on board.
No, I didn't hit 'em or run their silly boat over. But I did come close enough to smell their bait bucket. Or maybe it was their breath.
This week I'm installing big new nav lights on Calypso.
I want brighter, clearer, less ambiguous navigation signals from now on because I want anybody who might possibly be distracted pursuing their own passion to know well in advance Something huge and capable of turning their little raft upside down is coming in your direction so pay attention ... and get Hell out of the way.
Get Saved Somewhere Else, We're Full
"Pastor, the problem is we've got too many people traipsing through the doors every Sunday. Now while a big attendance definitely helps the Ways and Means Committee pay off the Flower Fund for the Convalescent Committee, we're starting to forget who's who in the congregation. Why, the church fathers feel we all might as well be going to a different church every Sunday because there's so many new faces here every week ... and pretty soon there's nobody in control of nothing."
"We don't want to be like other churches. We're fine with things just like they are."
"I don't know what's gonna happen to us if people start thinking anybody can just walk in here off the streets and feel welcome."
"I've never heard one person in this church say 'I wish we were bigger'."
"I wouldn't mind if our church was a little bigger."
"It's not numbers that count." (Unless we're talking about the Church's budget or its basketball games)
So why are some churches so afraid?
"We don't want to be like other churches. We're fine with things just like they are."
"I don't know what's gonna happen to us if people start thinking anybody can just walk in here off the streets and feel welcome."
"I've never heard one person in this church say 'I wish we were bigger'."
"I wouldn't mind if our church was a little bigger."
"It's not numbers that count." (Unless we're talking about the Church's budget or its basketball games)
So why are some churches so afraid?
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