Semi-final Tally

Still here in San Francisco. Still "stuffed like the Christmas goose" as my granny might have said. My father-in-law (who is a very good cook) is making dinner now, and that gives me time to catch up on my accounting:

Thursday - dim sum for lunch, massive Chinese feast (MCF) for dinner
Friday - chinese pastries for breakfast, chow fun for lunch, MCF for dinner
Saturday - pancakes for breakfast; jook, dumplings, and a whole mess of chinese food for lunch (at Uncle Joe's); EMCNYF (extra-massive Chinese New Year Feast) for dinner, including sharkfin soup, walnut shrimp, sea bass, garlic chicken, 2 lobsters, squab, black mushrooms with greens and sea cucumbers, longlife noodles, and red bean soup (don't bother trying it) for dessert. The missus and I were at the "kids" (2nd and 3rd generations) table with the cousins, and ate until we were ready to burst. THAT would have been disgusting.
Sunday - chinese pastries for breakfast, Giorgio's Pizza for lunch (you've got to try Giorgio's, if you're ever in SF; it's one of my two favorite pizza places in the
world); Italian food for dinner; dessert at 10:00 at the Cheesecake factory (keylime, peach cobbler, and kahlua cocoa coffee cheesecakes).
Monday - chinese pastries for breakfast (TREND!), hong kong style noodles for lunch (tomato beef, mixed, and beef chow fun); ice cream in the afternoon, and (in 10 minutes) duck, a honkin' big fish, and stuffed tofu for dinner.

Yes, I have eaten more than Ethiopia this weekend. I'm busting my seams, all my wrinkles have gone stretchy smooth, and I'm a little embarassed. But reasonably content! We'll be going home tomorrow, presuming United Airlines will let us both on the same plane. My beloved has to go to work Wednesday so - if necessary - I'll let her catch the first flight, and I'll go standby on 2 or 3 other airlines. In fact, it may TAKE 2 or 3 other airlines to get me home. But I am optimistic that between United, Alaska, and Delta; a couple of building cranes; and the United States Air Force, I will be able to sleep in my bed tomorrow night.

Sun Neen Phi Loc!

Butterflies

I ate a butterfly for breakfast. Half a butterfly, actually, plus assorted other flaky things. I'm in San Francisco, and that's what I do when I'm here.

What the Chinese call "butterflies", the French call "palmieres". (Since I don't speak French - or write it either - that may not be the way it's spelled. But it's the way I chose so if you don't like it, all I can say is "omlette du fromage".)

The Missus is 2nd generation SF Cantonese, assembled in America from Chinese components, and when we go back to the Bay Area to visit it's usually a gorge-fest of Chinese food. This week is no exception.

I put the fat in the gung hay fat choy.

We landed at lunch time yesterday, and proceeded to get some dim sum. And some more. And some more. On the way to the SF Zoo we stopped at the Sunrise Deli for some baklava, and ate a piece as we trekked across the parking lot. We then watched the lions and tigers and penguins eat their lunch. Hey, they've got a lion with the greatest mane we've ever seen; we asked the zookeeper who's in charge of his grooming. She just said that he's fastidious. By the way, they close the gorilla exhibit an hour before the rest of the zoo, so DON'T expect to end your day enjoying the apes. Who came up with that lousy idea? If you know, and would forward this blog entry to him/her (that numbskull/numbskulless) I'd appreciate it.

Last night Uncle Frank joined us at Colette's mom and dad's. We were also joined by 2 crabs, who gave their lives for our stomachs. They were glad to do it - we didn't hear either one complain.

This morning it was the butterflies and other pastries before we caught the train down to Chinatown. There we bought various ethnocentric snack goods, a bean cake, and a melon-filled mooncake before stopping in for beef with black bean chow fun. Mmmmmmmm.

The one disappointment of the day didn't involve food. I stopped by Real Guitars, a San Fran landmark, to check out their stuff. They seem to be having a down month, as there were no guitars and only one amp I had gearlust for. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow we'll go to another shop I know - after breakfast, a mid-morning snack in Glen Park, lunch with the extended family, and maybe a cup of coffee somewhere along the way.

Ciao!

Moderate Monkey

I've been asked how the meeting went last week, the one I moderated. In a word (or three), it went well. Everyone showed a good attitude, and while there was some discussion there was no arguing. One person tried to do a little arguing, but it was cut short with my judicious glare and a threatening wave of the gavel. (Not really: I informed her we weren't talking about that subject but promised we'd take it up at the next meeting, and that seemed to satisfy her.)

It's kind of tough being the one responsible for helping people get along. Of course, they WANT to get along (or at least, should want to), but even so... when folks have different opinions it can get heated. My rules were:
1) focus on giving everyone their fair due;
2) pull out Rob's rule book whenever there's a question; and
3) wield the gavel like a mace.

One of my friends said, "You did a good job - considering what (who?) you had to work with." All in all, I was happy with the way things went and happy with the decisions we reached.

Trying to walk a line between business success and personal character sort of reminds me of the new TV show "Love Monkey". It's about a guy more-or-less my age (or a little younger, let's be honest) who loves music and is trying to be "right" toward both tunes and people. The rest of the cast consists of his sister and her husband, the stereotypical player-horn dog, the hollywood-approved closeted (but ruggedly handsome) gay guy, and the main character's best friend.

The question the show seems to be dealing with is "How do you be a good guy when the world pulls you toward the Dark Side?" Now, it's not written from a Christian point of view, but so far Main Character seems like the kind of decent chap you wouldn't mind having for a neighbor. Plus, since he works in the music industry, he might be able to get you tickets for good shows.

I like it but the Missus doesn't seem to. I think it's very guy-centric, with lots of guy situations, and most guys will feel comfortable with the show. All the more so if you (like most guys in their 30-40s) have an adolescent attachment to rock and roll trivia, dude (who was the best band of 1975? what do the names Lydon, Ritchie, Jones, and Cook have in common? Why does every song on a given station sound like all the others?). Like I said, I've liked the first two episodes, but if you AREN't a guy, DON'T like hanging out with a group of typical, worldly guys, and DON'T get into music, this show may not be the one for you. In that case, you'll find endless reruns of Law and Order and CSI just a channel or two away.

81

Saturday afternoon the unbeaten and #1 ranked Duke Blue Devils basketball team lost to the Georgetown Hoyas (don't bother asking what a Hoya is; it's so secret no one on earth actually knows). This was an unexpected loss, because Duke had been treating their opponents like chopped liver all season long. And their coach, Mike Krzyzewski, is probably the best college coach ever (sorry, Lute! but you know I still love ya!).

Then on Sunday, Kobe Bryant scored 81 points against the Toronto Raptors. Wait! EIGHTY-ONE POINTS? No way! Way. That's the second-highest string of dunks, treys, gimmes, rolls, jumpers, faders, bombs, and charity-stripers EVER in the NBA. It's been over 50 years since anyone has scored more than he did (Wilt the Stilt once got a hundred. Yep, 100.).

Amazing. 81? That's more than a lot of teams score. The rest of Kobe's team only got 41. Combined. He was in the zone, en fuego, out of his head, ice, and every other sports cliche you can think of. And unlike Wilt Chamberlain, he did it from the same height as everyone else on the floor (Wilt towered over his opponents). It was a Hall-of-Fame performance from a guy who one day will certainly be in with the rest of the greats. Los Angeles is singing his praise, and everyone else (even his opponents) is giving him the respect he so richly earned. And speaking of "rich"... he's going to ask for and get whatever he wants the rest of his career.

So why would I rather be Coach K? He makes about a tenth of what Kobe makes. He aint got no bling. His house is much smaller, and his wife is much older. And no one can spell his name (but it's pronounced Shu-shev'-sky) But here's the difference: not only is Krzyzewski is great, he is beloved. He is universally respected as a teacher and a tactician. His teams win the right way, and they win a lot. He is honored for who he is, as well as what he does.

He will never score 81 points, but Coach K is known as a MAN. Bryant is only known as a player. There are many different kinds of honor in this world, but even in defeat Mike Krzyzewski's is much more valuable.

What's a Watoto?

There are two great questions in the English language. The first is "To be or not to be?" (William Shakespeare); the other is "Why a duck?" (Chico Marx). And to them I add, "What's a Watoto?"

"Watoto" is an African word for "The Children". Last night at our church we had the Watoto Choir, from Kampala, Uganda (East Africa) put on a concert at our church and it was pretty fabulous. The music, dancing, and displays were top notch (which inspires another good question - What is top notch, and why should we care about it? But I digress), and the Missus declared it "wonderful".

I got up to the church yesterday at about 12:30. By 1:00 a TV film crew was there to get some info; they interviewed me (there was no one else around) and left to come back once the choir arrived.

The choir got there at 1:40, in a brightly painted tour bus in need of a good wash (driving on Northwest roads through several winter weeks will do that for ya). They unloaded the equipment and spent the next few hours doing a very professional job setting it up. (You know, when guests come to put on a program at your church you never know for sure what you're getting, but these men and women knew what they were doing, and did it right.)

The bus (and children) headed for the laundromat; when they got back they did a high-powered rehearsal and then sat down for an all-you-can eat chicken dinner provided by the church, some friends of ours from the preschool, and a local grocery store. Thanks guys - you came through big time!

By the time the program started at 7:05 the parking lot was full and the church was packed. IT WAS ROCKIN! We couldn't have asked for a better concert. It was in English and at least one African language, and I wouldn't have missed a minute of it. They even sang some songs we sing at our church, but in new arrangements... and in some local (uh, non-English) language. Everyone - choir and audience - were grinning and laughing. What a blast.

By the time we got home at 9:45, with four Africans in tow (three well-behaved friendly boys - Michael, Ivan, and Eddy - and a great chaperone, "Uncle" Peter) we were exhausted but we stayed up until 11:30 drinking milk and singing songs. Taught Peter to play "Holiness" on the piano. He tried to teach me a couple of tunes, too. Many thanks to all the great families who hosted the kids!

We were up about 7:00 cooking sausage and french toast (stole the church's big griddle to facilitate the feeding) then were back at the church by 9:00 to see them off. Then? about 3 hours of clean up to get the place ready for worship and Bible study tomorrow.

Wow. Big times. Great times. Great big times? But now you know, "What's a Watoto?", and you know that if you ever get a chance you should hear the Watoto Choir.

Find out more about the Watoto choir, their mission with AIDS orphans, and their dreams, at www.watoto.com

The Meeting

Today has been a hectic one. (Never thought of it before, but I'd like to be able to say that sentence in Spanish or Italian - come in, slump in front of the fire, and when my wife asks "How are you doing, dear?" I'd say "_____ ______ __________" sounding like Antonio Banderas or Julio Iglesias or Sophia Loren).

Our church is hosting a children's choir from Africa tomorrow night, and I've been rushing to cover all the details (would someone please send me a chicken?). These kids are great (you can check them out at http://www.watoto.com/) but I've had problems finding enough homes for them to stay in. Then there's the little problem of setting up tables and chairs, tearing them down, vacuuming, and setting them up again. However, a couple of friends have really come through for me (you know who you are) and by God's blessing it looks like everything is going to work out. If you're coming, you might want to get there early because it sounds like lots of people are inviting people.

The other thing that's going on is I'm leading an important meeting tonight. About 30 people will be there, and we're going to discuss some things fun, some things not so fun. I was asked to moderate last year (which just goes to show how few people there are out there who are willing to shout "Order! WE WILL HAVE ORDER!" like some demented Captain Ahab) and my prayer is that I'll be able to offer good leadership that honors God and gets the business done. If not, they can find someone else to run the next meeting (I wonder what Charleton Heston is doing these days?).

I'll tell you more about the choir tomorrow, and to you, my friends, I make this solemn vow: Tonight I shall bang me gavel with dignity and a properly stern expression.

Housekeeping

Taking a little time to catch up on the odds and ends...

TOOTHY
- Saw the dentist yesterday and he likes my teeth. I have another loose filling, though, so I've got to go back next week.
- The girl who took my dental X-rays was cute, but if I have to have my picture taken, I'd rather it be done by (or with) my Missus (Hi Honey!) :-)
- I don't know why I just wrote that. Nothing but trouble comin' outta DAT :-(
- The flossing experiment is a week old and going well.

SNOWY
- The ski area where I'd like to spend more of my time is called Bogus Basin. They're reporting a foot of new snow in the last 24 hours. WOO-HOOOOO (even if I'm not there).
- The skis I bought at the thrift store in December worked great last weekend. So, for $20 and the price of a tune and wax, I've scored! Of course, I sold them to my brother for $55, but that's only fair.
- I wish I was going skiing tomorrow, but my Boss has a full day for me.
- Find out more about my haunts at www.bogusbasin.com

CHRISTMASY
- My Beloved has decided the craft store is one of her favorite places, so I put a gift card in her stocking. After she got off work I drove her over to dig through their goodies. She got some good stuff, too, but I can't tell you what because she's already making people presents for next Christmas.
- Our friend Eric gave us a gift card for Christmas to Louie's Restaurant. We went and ate lasagna, rigatoni, and pizza tonight, and it was gooood. Thanks, Doc!

FUNNY (Just for you, for reading this far)

A young boy and his Mom are on a flight. The seatbelt light is turned on because the flight is approaching turbulence. The boy refuses when his Mother tells him to fasten his seatbelt and pitches a fit when she tries to buckle it for him. The boy jumps from his seat into the isle. Then a Flight Attendant tries to get the boy to sit down and fasten his seatbelt and he still refuses.

An Air Force General in uniform is sitting a few isles back. He is a gaunt man, near retirement, his hair is very gray. After seeing all this slowly gets out of his seat and slowly walks up to the boy. He slowly bends down and speaks softly to the boy while pointing at his uniform jacket. The boy immediately jumps back into his seat, and fastens his seat belt. The General gives him a big smile and slowly begins walking back to his seat.

The Flight Attendant stops him and says... "Thank you so much for your help. What nice thing did you say to the boy to get him to get back in his seat and fasten his seat belt on his own???"

The General smiled and told her "I just showed him my wings, my General's stars, my campaign ribbons, and told him they gave me the right to throw one person off any flight I am on...."

:-D
(thanks to my friends at the GPAWF)

Lunchtime

It's lunchtime in January, and the rain is falling. There's a song there, somewhere, but I'm not the one who's going to write it. My friend Maria made me some tamales and I just ate four of them (along with a bunch of tortilla chips and half a gallon of guacamole). They were delicious, and when that elderly woman goes to her reward I will miss her smile, her hugs, and, yes, her cooking. Thanks.

But since it's lunchtime I was checking my email and one thing led to another and I found myself looking at a list of "The Top 100 Songs the Year You Were Born". You can find it here http://www.musicoutfitters.com/resources.htm ; just scroll to the bottom of the page.

And you know what? I was born in a pretty bad year! Only 2 or 3 of the top 10 are things I'd care to hear again. 6 in the top 25 (but Sam Cooke did show up at 23 with Twisting the Night Away. Great song; Rod Stewart did it well, too). Twist and Shout (the Isley Brothers) was 38 and Baby, It's You (!) by the Shirelles was 44. Sam Cooke's Havin' a Party was 53, but that's 8 in the top 50 that I really like, and that says it was a pretty bad year.

My wife and little brother did MUCH better. I imagine the Missus, rockin' in her little crib, shakin' her little bowl haircut as she sang along with this top 5:
Satisfaction
Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch
Wooly Bully
My Girl
You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin'

The Beatles had Help, Ticket to Ride, and Eight Days a Week (and that is some of the finest rock and roll harmony ever!). Papa's Got a Brand New Bag. Heart Full of Soul. Like A Rolling Stone. The Supremes had Stop! In the Name of Love and Back in My Arms Again. Not a bad year to be born.

My brother the Bear? His year wasn't QUITE as hot, but I can still remember him laying there on the floor of our Florida home, wiggling in his one-sy, drooling and checking out the Beatles, the Stones, the Kinks, Simon and Garfunkle, lots of good Temptations and even Bobby Fuller's I Fought the Law (but hey, my year had The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, and you can't really complain - good song, great movie with Jimmy Stewart and John Wayne).

Feeling depressed, I decided to check out the year I graduated from high school. (We had a school mascot, school colors and a school song. The mascot was a cougar. The school colors were red and blue. And I have no idea what the school song was. I must have played it at 40 football games, but couldn't tell you the first thing about it. We should have played Wooly Bully instead.) And checking out my graduation year was a big mistake. Where before I was bummed, looking at THAT list was DEPRESSING:
1 top ten song I'd care to listen to again (but not buy).
2 more in the top twenty
2 between twenty and thirty
then nothing until number 52 (Against the Wind by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band)

That's sad. Just sad. I got left out both years! No wonder I was only listening to FM rock and Glenn Miller by that time (but that's another story).

But just when I was sick enough to hurl my tamales, I had a thought: A lot can change in 3 years, can't it? And then I thought of the horrible dreck that's on the radio now, and smiled in the knowledge that it can't go on forever.

Christina Aguilara and Jessica Simpson, say hello to Joannie Sommers.

Daniel

Today is my nephew's birthday. I only have one (after 4 lovely nieces). He is now six years old, an amazing thought. How can someone we've known for such a little time already be a boy - not a baby, not a toddler, not even a little boy, but a full-fledged BOY?

He is one of the funniest people I know. He always makes me laugh. He makes noises, faces, sounds, constantly, and every once in awhile says something totally off the wall. I was once carrying him on my shoulders and he said (very seriously) "Uncle David, you're kind of bald." Obviously, that IS a serious matter (yikes!), but I just smiled as I tousled his hair and said, "It's hereditary." He said "What does that mean?" I told him, "You'll find out soon enough."

He's wild, polite, smiling, goofy, caring, rough-and-tumble, with all of his 6-years-old-ness. He used to tease his sister constantly (like my little brother, his dad, used to tease me). Now he tends to play with her more than fight her. He doesn't like skiing or mah jong, but I'm hoping he'll outgrow that.

When I'm there and tuck him into bed, I always stroke his head and pray for him. One time he asked, "Uncle David, why do you always pray for me?" I told him, "Because God is my friend, and He promised that - when I pray like He wants - He'll hear my prayers and do what I ask. And I always ask Him to take care of you." That was fine with him.

We have a ritual, when we part. I hug him tight and say,
"Who's my little D?"
"I am"
"Who's your Big D?"
"You are"
"Whose team am I on?"
"Mine"
"Whose team are you on?"
"Yours"
"Who loves you?"
"You"
"Who loves me?"
"Me"
Then I hug him again and say, "Got that right!"

Happy Birthday, Li'l D! Love ya!

Who to Cheer for?

I've had a long weekend. Not long, time-wise (I know, some of you lucky dogs get tomorrow off). Long in terms of activity.

My out-of-town brother was in town for a couple of days of skiing. The snow was perfect, an inch or two new fluff on top of older stuff, temps in the mid-30s, wind a little harsh but not too bad. I always warm up with a couple of runs down the beginner hill because my body is old enough it has to be reminded of what it's supposed to do bend, stretch, tips close, lean right, dig in, unload, touch your tongue with your shin, ease up, WHOA!, avoid the 6 year old weaving along, think kind thoughts toward the out-of-control snowboarder bombing by, look at the scenery, breathe...

After that, hit the hill harder and enjoy all the blues and blacks. Without becoming black and blue myself. There's a chute under the biggest lift, rocky sides making a narrow funnel that drops as steeply as anything on the mountain. It's too hard for me, most days (ahhh, that fine line between courage and stupidity!), but when the snow's right and not too many people have tracked it up..... we did it a couple of times, once to check out the conditions, and once for fun.
:-)
:-D
Highly recommended. The third time we went it was snowing hard and blowing harder, and since I couldn't see the ground I decided to not try it. So, to get down I had to find another new path off the shoulder of the mountain; it was a blast, too.

When we finished two days of skiing, finger steaks, apres ski drinks and popcorn, and finally got down the mountain, we found out that the football games had not gone as expected:
New England lost to Denver
Indianapolis lost to the Steelers
Da Bears lost to the Panthers
The Redskins lost to Seattle (OK, maybe not unexpected, but it would have been nice to see Coach Gibbs get some playoff success).

What's worse, my beloved Arizona Wildcats basketball team lost TWICE this weekend, and didn't look good either night. "Excuse me, what year is this? 2006, really? Um...what planet?"

Church today had lots of people out sick, but the sermon (Trusting God as Father) seemed appropriate for those of us who were there. We had a good lunch after.

All in all, a long weekend, with a long week ahead, including at least one big ugly meeting with someone I'm not sure I trust.

So, looks like this week I'm cheering for
Honesty
God, the everlasting Father
Dads who do good jobs of raising their kids
The Wildcats, as always
Shots on powdery snow down runs over my head
The Steelers and Seahawks. Why not?

Sam Alito and Joe McCarthy

WARNING - POLITICAL CONTENT! I DON'T USUALLY TALK POLITICS - YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE PUNISHED WITH MY SPOUTINGS - BUT....

This post isn't really about Supreme Court nominee Samuel Alito. My general position is that the President gets to choose his judicial appointments and - barring anything truly bizarre - the Senate ought to confirm them. It's always been that way, even when Clinton was president and nominated Ruth Bader Ginsberg (a person odious to most Republicans I know).

So, Sam's OK with me.

But this whole confirmation process isn't:

Ginsberg's process - from nomination to swearing-in - took only 5 days. The Roberts and Alito processes have taken months.

When we got to it, the first day of hearings was spent with politicians posturing, making speeches AT (Democrats) or FOR (Republicans) the nominee instead of asking for information FROM him.

That Sen. Edward Kennedy would question Alito's ethics and integrity is appalling. Kennedy, after all, is the only murderer in the Senate, and that gruesome deed happened on the way to an extra-marital tryst. Does he have the right to ask? Sure, he's a Senator. But doesn't it seem incongruous?

Sen. Chuck Schumer accused Alito of being evasive, when his party complimented Ruth Bader-Ginsberg for the same evasiveness. She said, "I do not want to give here any sense, I do not want to say one word of what I said would be my rule - no hints, no previews... on how I would answer that question. To do so would be to act injudiciously." Of Ginsburg, Sen. Joseph Biden said, "A judge has a right to choose what you answer and do not answer, and in fact should not answer about a question that may come before the court...."

(By the way, the Republican who asked her that question let her off the hook with a knowing smile and a laugh.)

Yesterday, Biden picked on Alito's membership in a college club because (in his opinion) the club was sexist. What can I say about THIS twit? First, the club included women. Second, the position of the club FAVORED sex-BLIND admissions, with no more weight being given to men than women, and opposed quotas and set-asides. Third, Kennedy himself belonged to an all-male club whose primary qualifications were wealth and "breeding" (and I'm guessing there were no poor, black women in the Newport 400!). Fourth, on the Today show this morning (as I ate my raisin bran) Biden explained why his questioning was appropriate: "Katie, wouldn't it be right for me to ask, 'Are you a member of the Nazi Party?' " Come on! NAZIS??? NOW IT'S COMPARABLE TO NAZIS???????? The insinuation is slimey.

Slimey.

When Joseph McCarthy was interrogating people in the 1950s in an effort to dig out communists, he once was asked the question "Have you no sense of decency, sir?" McCarthy's concerns were valid; spies gave our atomic and nuclear secrets to the Soviets, and declassified documents from Moscow show that the KGB controlled the American Communist Party and had many agents in the State Department. McCarthy's tactics, however, were abusive and what I like to ironically call "unAmerican".

I feel the same way when I see preening politicians pick on a good man, to the extent that his wife has to leave the room in tears. Their aims may be good, honorable, even patriotic; I don't know. But of the Democrats on the Senate Judiciary Committee, I must ask "Have you no sense of decency?"


For more about "McCarthyism" (the original kind, not what we've seen this week), look here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McCarthyism . And for those of you who care, I am keeping my flossing resolution. :-)<

Could Be A Lot Worse

I was listening at lunchtime to a CD by one of my favorite bands, Vigilantes of Love. There's an excellent chance you've never heard of them, because they've never had much airplay. They're a band from Athens, GA, that's bigger in England than here in the States and in neither country are they well-known.

Which doesn't mean they're not great. In our world greatness, acclaim, and popularity have very little to do with each other. I'm part of a musicians forum that has a running thread called "Worst Top-40 Songs EVER" and it's a hilarious collection of terrible music and rancid lyrics that have somehow pierced our nation's ears. I mean, really, do "Muskrat Love" or "Feelings" do anything for you? Popular...not great. Kanye West? Acclaimed...not great. Paris Hilton? hard to describe how incredibly un-great she is. But whatever she's got is all you need to be a celeb.

So, great and well-known are unrelated.

I first ran into VOL one day when I was digging through the bargain bin at our local Family Bookstore (an emporium devoted to Christian junque and flavor-of-the-month authors and music). There I spotted an old, unsold CD called "Blister Soul" from the as-yet-unknown Vigilantes of Love. Now, "Blister Soul" may or may not be a good name for an album, but THAT is a great name for a band! So I bought it.

And I wasn't disappointed. The sound would probably called "Americana" - rock, folk, even country; electric guitars, old Gibsons, and the occasional mandolin, with music deeply rooted in the soil and lyrics sharp and insightful. The main Vigilante, Bill Mallonee, explores his faith, his fact and fiction, with wry honesty that appeals to me. It's not "worship" music, mostly, or even what most people think of "Christian", except that Bill is a believer, and God is always honored when His children face life head-on and include Him in the process.

a kiss for the miles to drive, a prayer for when it rains
one shot of perspective, a couple more to kill the pain
when all the best metaphors are hitting too close to home,
when all the best metaphors are bleeding from your bones

i'm gonna die a failure but to happiness awake
you can go to sleep in hell and wake up at heaven's gate
think of all that we miss today
that lay right before our eyes
think of all that fades away
in the hard-pressed compromise

and this is dangerous terrain we're attempting to traverse
it's a crying shame but it could be a lot worse

so you proceed with caution
though you're mumbling in the dark
and that one shot of perspective has finally hit your heart

faith she's a whistling train running hard in the dark
and hope is like a thing untamed
gonna lay to waste your heart
love's a little bit of God there for all to know
love's the everlasting arms that never do let go

Isn't that life? Kisses, prayers, mumbles, empty miles, failures, true perspectives, faith, hope, and metaphors that are too close for comfort. Life may be hard, dangerous terrain...
but it could be a lot worse.


(check out more of bill and VOL at
http://www.parting-shot.com)

Fillings

This weekend I lost a filling so I spent most of this morning at the dentist's office. Actually, I think the filling cracked a few weeks ago (it's been feeling kind of funny) and just happened to fall into the sink while I was brushing my teeth the other night (Hey! What's that? I don't remember eating any big chunks of silver with dinner!)

So I went to the dentist, who seems like a pretty good guy, had my mouth pried wide open, stuck with needles, drilled out ("Oh, there's lots of decay under there!"), and then packed full of something that looked like caulk and was squeezed out of a hot glue gun. I don't have too many dental needs (that was an OLD filling) so it was an interesting experience. Horribly painful! (not really; didn't hurt a bit except when I got injected, and even that was no big deal).

The dentist did a good job of numbing me. I didn't really feel the drill at all. Of course, I couldn't really talk in my 9:30 meeting because my lips were falling off my face, and at lunch with the Missus I had to tell her "If you see anything running out of my mouth, let me know." But I'm better now, thanks.

Overall the experience has made me think of the importance of brushing, check-ups, etc. I herebey resolve to floss, at least tonight, and maybe in the future, too. And no more crunching on popcorn kernals! The dentist said that there are lots of reasons some decay could have gotten in there and loosened the filling, but once it's in only a pro can take care of it. And, since I'm not a pro, I'm saying "thank the Lord for good insurance, and I'll do my part."

Someone said, "90% of success is just showing up." I'd say, half of life is thanking the Lord for the resources He gives, then just doing my part. Me and Him together - what a team!

I have an appointment for a thorough cleaning and check up next week, so I guess my resolution ought to last that long, anyway. After that - when the dentist is convinced I'm the perfect patient - I'll leave with a smile and go back to my old bad habits, secure in the pretense that no oral bacteria will ever do me in. :-)

Nope, I'm going to do it right. At my age, it's about time!


PS - HEY, two or three people have asked about leaving comments. To do that, go to the blogsite ( http://davidhardesty.blogspot.com ), click on "comments", and it will guide you through the process of choosing a screen name and tell you what to do. First two responses to this post win a free Christmas picture of me and the Missus. Good luck!

Criticism

The other day I was writing about prayer. Actually, the other TWO days I was writing about prayer. That's because it's a) too big for one day; b) important every day; or c) I'm long-winded.

My beloved Missus read the second one and commented, "That was good. It got a little preachy, though."

OUCH!! Criticism! How could I possibly get preachy? Express my lofty thoughts in a didactic, boring way? ME? Actually, the commendable side of me always wanted to be a great preacher, so we could say that "preachiness" is a poor attempt at a wonderful goal. Yeah, that's it. Of course, I should admit that my sadistic side longs to be a very dull, very strict college professor...teaching a required course :-p

That's right. When I start David's University, "Korean War Tactics and Uniforms" is going to be mandatory. I'm pretty sure the only way to pass will be to bribe the professor (me) with either lawncare or BBQ. But I digress.

I do think prayer is both important and difficult (much harder, say, than mowing the lawn. Or eating BBQ). So I thought I should clarify that in Installment 2.

And it was nice that that morning I saw the perfect example of non-Biblical thinking, the Today show promo about the NBC show "The Book of Daniel". Maybe you thought I was kidding (or preachy) about it, but think again: I have a nephew named Daniel and think the name should not be used in just any idiotic way! So for another perspective (better, funnier, and more caustic than mine) check out

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/05/AR2006010502423.html

You'll be glad you did.

But getting back to my wife's comments - preachy? ME? not a chance! Of course, she may know what she's talking about. She's heard me more than anyone else has, good, bad, and preachy. She's entitled to her opinion. Not all opinions are valid, but she's got some credibility. She may not like my beard (Jill says it looks good) but other than that she's pretty sharp. So maybe I should pay some attention.

Thanks, Babe. Good criticism keeps me from bad habits.

Finding King Kong

Mrs. Blogger is sitting across the room from me watching Finding Neverland, the story of how J.M. Barrie wrote "Peter Pan". Barrie is played by Johnny Depp (as gentle as Jack Sparrow was wild). A hundred years ago he was a London playwrite, fairly successful but looking for something...different. Running into a group of kids at the park brought him into relationships that led to his greatest work. The movie is personal, touching, frequently sad, often funny, and well worth watching. I'd give it 4 popcorn boxes, if I had any popcorn.

King Kong, on the other hand, is extravagent and over-the-top. Hey, it's about a 40-foot monkey, right? The story is the same as it has been since the original, 70 years ago: people discover a southseas island with primitive people who worship - or fear - a statue of a giant ape. When they explore, they find the monkey maximus and hatch the plan to take him to New York, show him off, and make a fortune. All goes well until everything gets out of hand, people get stomped, and the air force has to be called out to get Kong off the Empire State Building.

This version is well done. There's some backstory, to help us understand and - in most cases - like the human characters. They're more than just charicatures. The blonde heroine is sweet and pretty, the movie producer is just hammy enough, and everyone else does a nice job of filling in the edges.

The star, of course, is Kong. He's great. He's massive. He's the Ultimate Ape. He's the King. The special effects that made him are pretty phenomenal. How they do that is beyond me (if it wasn't, I'd be doing it, too; you'd see my name on the screen and between films I'd be living in a villa in Tuscany, surrounded by vineyards and eating saltimbocca). He's huge, ferocious, heroic, and sympathetic. There's a great scene where he plays on a (thickly) frozen pond in Central Park. You cheer for him against the fighter planes, and when he takes the final fall it's a tear jerker.

And of course, there's the spooky, jungley island inhabited by primitives and prehistoric beasties.

It turns out the prehistoric beasties are the film's only real problem. The director lets his characters fall from danger into deeper danger, unbelievable crisis after unbelievable crisis. Now, I know what you're thinking - "He's complaining about unbelievability in a movie about a 40-foot ape in a prehistoric world??" - but, yeah, that's where I'm at. It's not that those things couldn't, in that world, happen; the problem is the way the stack up so conveniently (or, inconveniently) to turn this into an "action" picture. After brontosauri, murderous raptors, vampire bats, carnivorous lizards, centipedes, spiders, giant grasshoppers, and weird swamp worms, I was bored with the excitement.

The movie was good and about three hours long; it would have been better at 2:45. 3 popcorn boxes (if I had any popcorn).

These two movies remind me that all of God's creatures - from child-like playwrites living melancholy lives to giant monkeys - have a story. Being somewhere between the two, I guess there's one in me, as well.

More About Prayer

Yesterday I was talking about prayer being a way of putting things in order. Getting everything going in the right direction. Conforming life to God's design.

But maybe that's easier said than done. If it's such a good thing, why isn't everyone doing it? In fact, why am I not more consistent? I'm supposed to be good at it by now!

Try this on: Not everyone's doing it, or seeing God work in their lives, because it's not easy at all. Doing prayer right means I have to make some effort. It ain't the words, it's the heart of the thing, and that's tough.

When I was a kid we prayed at mealtimes "God is good, God is great, and we thank Him for our food, ay-MEN" and then we dug in. Nice. But really it's just mumblin over my cheerios unless I actually, actively believe God IS good, He IS great, and I am truly thankful to Him for my food.

True prayer must be Biblical, submissive, and faith-filled.

"Biblical" means my prayers need to be lined up with the character of God, as revealed in the Bible. If I'm praying for Him to smite the guy who cut me off in traffic, or to let me win the lottery, that's not really prayer. It's just wishes aimed at the ceiling. Why? Because God says He answers prayers in accordance with His character. If I pray "Make everybody happy" well, that's not likely to happen, because He made this world of ours too complex - made US too complex - for us all to be happy at once. But through the Bible I can learn about what God wants to accomplish, and pray about those things.

So I need to have some knowledge of the Bible so I can start to understand HOW God is and WHAT God wants to do. (Over this morning's honeynut cheerios I was watching TV and on the Today show there was a promo for a new show called "The Book of Daniel". It's about a minister and his dysfunctional family. In the promo the guy preaches "Maybe we don't need to ask God's forgiveness, or anyone else's forgiveness, until we can forgive ourselves." I just about choked ((death by cheerios?)). Of course we should ask God's forgiveness when we sin because He is the authority in the universe, and we have violated His law. Doesn't matter if you do or don't forgive yourself - who are you, anyway? - this is a legal problem and a relational problem we're talking about! And as far as apologizing to people we've wronged, they deserve an apology because we've wronged them. Forgive yourself on your own time; make things right, now! Whoever is writing that TV show doesn't have one of the basic qualifications he needs: a minimum understanding of spiritual things! Here endeth the rant.)

One Biblical thing many people don't get, for example, is the whole bit about praying "in Jesus' name". In Bible times, "in the name" meant something like, "on behalf of" or "through the authority of" or "in accordance with". That's why a cop yells "Stop in the name of the law!" (What, the law now has a name? Italian laws are named Benito. Mexican laws are named Juan. British laws are named Winston. Chinese inlaws are named Yip.) No, the cop is shouting, "By the authority of the law, I am telling you to stop." And when we pray "in Jesus' name" we're asking God the Father, on behalf of God the Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ, to do something we believe Jesus wants to happen.

Second, real prayer is submissive. It realizes God is God, I am not, and I should be looking for His will and ways, not my own. All through High School I prayed for a hook-up with a particular cheerleader. Never happened. Not once. (And I had PLENTY of Friday nights available!) Does that mean prayer doesn't work? No, it means my so-called "prayers" were just hormone-driven exclamations of lust. When He answers a prayer, His answer is good and loving. Sure, sometimes it may confuse me, but that doesn't mean it's not good and loving! I need to be acccepting of it and live within His blessing. I can know that blessing if I walk through my life on the course He sets and do the best I can on that path.

Third, real prayer is faith-filled. The Bible says "You ask and do not receive, because you ask without believing." Prayers aren't like Christmas wish lists, that family and friends (and Santa) pick and choose from to make me happy. They are statements of what I believe God wants to do in the world, and requests that the Omnipotent Lord of the Universe command that those things happen. If I don't believe He wants to do it, or can do it, or will do it; or I'm not in tune with His character; or I'm not submissive to what He wants to do, the Bible says my prayers probably aren't going to be answered. All I get is a pair of sore knees. And my knees are sore enough already!

Today's prayer time was a little difficult for me, because my mind was feeling distracted. Fortunately, the God Who made me and loves me wants me to be successful in my prayers, and gave me some grace to finish. If you've got this far, my prayer for YOU is that you will know the God of the Bible, submit to His vision for the world and your life, and ask in faith for Him to do great things.

Thursday at Noon

Every Thursday at noon I go to a prayer meeting. It's a group of guys from all over the area who meet, eat (if they remembered their brown bag), steal (from the other guy's bag of cookies), share what's happening in their lives, and ... pray.

That doesn't look like much of an agenda, maybe, since stopping in the middle of the week seems counterintuitive. Don't we all have enough to get done, without adding one more thing to the mix?

Sure we do. I could be sitting here blogging. Or playing guitar. Or stopping by to see someone who needs help. Or preparing for Sunday's worship. Or writing a letter. Or picking my bellybutton lint. So why pray?

Because it always helps to line things up properly. In last night's national College championship football game, one team's kicker missed an extra point. Chip shot! Who could miss that, from so close? Welll... the kicker for the Texas Longhorns, that's who. And it's not because he can't kick the ball; it's because the ball wasn't lined up right.

Foot -> shoe -> holder -> ball -> goalposts...they've all got to be lined up right. If the muscles and tendons in the leg aren't doing their job, or the guy holding the ball, or the guy who hikes the ball, or whatever else isn't in line, you don't get points; you get groans. Like Charlie Brown used to say, "I could have been the hero. Instead, I'm the goat."

Prayer is a moment when you stop and make sure the world is lining up correctly. No, the world doesn't have to line up with ME. It's not about MY goals and opinions. Prayer is asking God to conform me and my world to His intentions.

For example, I know a couple of men who are on the outs with each other and have been for years. Both will tell you, "Oh, I don't have a problem with him; he's got a problem with me!" But the truth is, they have problems with each other, and neither one will admit it goes both ways. But if they would stop and pray together, really wanting God to have His way on this earth (you know, "THY Kingdom come, THY will be done" etc) it wouldn't be long before they'd each be apologizing and offering to take the other out to lunch.

(You can't hold a grudge and honor God. Jesus said it's impossible, and He ought to know.)

My weekly prayer meeting lets me
* stop
* focus on the Lord
* re-orient my heart
* remember what life is about
* lift up my concerns
* gain His peace and assurance
* get His input on what I'm doing
* get His direction on changes I need to make
* thank Him confidently
* proceed to kick the ball.

If I've done all that well, the ball tends to go straight. Is it because I'm a great kicker? Not at all. It's because everything is lined up. You know, you don't have to be Minnesota Fats to play pool; you just have to hit a round ball with a round stick in the right direction.

If I'm not taking the time to pray, I'm only guessing at what that right direction is, but when I stop and line things up right, the way God says, I can hit the mark. It's something I have to do daily if I want daily success. It just so happens that I do it in a group on Thursdays at noon.

Wednesday

I'm finally back at work. Well, most people wouldn't call what I do "work", but it is what occupies my time.

The week from Christmas to New Years is a chance to breathe at the end of the year. I'm busy through Christmas Eve, then go to worship again on Christmas Day. The next few days were spent under the rain (with a dose of skiing), doing enough to get by and trying to spend time with friends. I also made lots of contacts from outside the office. Then, after going to church on New Year's, I spent the rest of that day hanging out with my family.

(Hey, did anyone else notice that it was a New Year's Day with NO college football? New Years has three purposes. First, it gives the calendar makers something to do once a year. Second, it's an excuse to eat the official New Year's food of your choice, from blackeyed peas to - in our case - Mama Hardesty's famous burros de chile colorado. Most people call them burritos but we make them too big for that. And third, New Year's Day is a moment for the nation to stop and pay homage to college football. Growing up, the TV would come on about 7 AM, tune to the Gator Bowl, stay on through the Cotton and Rose Bowls, and end up back on the east coast with the Orange Bowl. There may have been a few others thrown in there, too, but what's for certain is that we knew where we'd find Dad: in his arm chair, with a cup of instant coffee in one hand and one of Mama Hardesty's famous burros de chile colorado in the other.

But not this year. This year we were treated to the woeful San Francisco 49ers vs. the pitiful Houston Texans. That's like putting in a Who CD and out of the speakers comes Ashlee Simpson. It's wrong, it's depressing, it's somehow unholy. But I digress).

After New Years I slept late, then I and my missus went for a day of roaming and Chinese food, ending up at the 4:30-8:00 showing of KING KONG (if you'd like a review, let me know). But that night after eating massive amounts of dim sum, popcorn, an extra large coke, and italian food for dinner, I was struck with throat grunge, congestion that made me cough and wheeze all night. Lots of people around here have it right now. I didn't get to sleep until 3:15AM (amazing how pathetic TV is at that time of the morning) and didn't get up until 11:00. Thanks to the missus for letting me sleep in; thanks to my brother for calling to see if I wanted to have lunch (breakfast, as it turned out.) After three tacos with a side of habanero sauce I was feeling much better, and rejoined the parade of life.

Last night my band, Bright Red Tie, got together and rehearsed. We made progress on several songs, and my throat cooperated. We'll be booking gigs starting in April, so if you want us to come and play let me know. Just tell us in advance which you want, full-out rock or "Hey Porter"

Which brings us to today, Wednesday, when I was back in the office, digging through the mail, pushing paper, making contacts, digging the sunshine and preparing great plans for the future. Actually, GOD already has great plans for the future. It's my job - between answering phone calls from Qwest - just to discern those plans, and do what I can to help Him get them implemented. Life - whatever week it is - isn't about me; it's about making my life and world conform to His excellent vision. If I can accomplish that, it's enough.

Granny

Today is my Granny's 90th birthday.

Thelma Turpin Underhill was born January 2, 1916, in southern Illinois. Marion or Benton, I think. She was as British as you could be, and still be born in America. Her parents came over from the Newcastle area of England, Tyneside. That's Andy Capp country, for those of us who remember Andy and Flo.

In 1916 automobiles were still in the Model T stage and paved roads were rare. Airplanes were a novelty. Woodrow Wilson was a first-term President. World War I was raging in Europe, even though we were still a year away from joining the battle. The first commercial radio broadcasts were still 4 years off.

She called me "Sammy". In fact, she called a lot of people "Sammy", and I don't know why. When I was young she told me stories of vaudeville and dancing to the big bands. She remembered driving with her family one day and being terrified when a dirigible sailed overhead. On Christmas Eve her farmer uncle always had to leave the party early, to check on the animals. Shortly afterward, Santa would arrive; poor uncle missed him every year!

One day when I was a little older she asked me if I'd take her to the movies. The off-campus theater was showing a Marx Brothers film festival. So I went as her 13-year old escort and we laughed our heads off. The next night we went back for two more movies. The following night they were showing all four movies, so we went back again. It was one of the most fun weekends of my life.

Granny was an English cook who grew up in 30s America, which meant she had interesting menu - items like ham and egg pie, beef and kidney pie, mashed turnips, well-done roasts, and frozen jello salads. There were also Christmas cakes (basically a giant fruitcake frosted with almond paste. Think of a large, snow-covered mound of dirt - but tasty! - and you'll get the picture) and Christmas puddings (basically a boiled fruitcake - but tasty!) And of course she also introduced me to that great English staple, the Yorkshire Pudding, of which only one thing can be said: there's NEVER enough.

Her apple pies were legendary, her choice of music extraordinary. We danced to Glenn Miller (anyone for Elmer's Tune?), had to stand up for the Hallelujah Chorus, and learned all the peculiar accents to sing Wor Nanny's A Mazer (I'll post the whole thing tomorrow).

But most importantly, Granny was a Christian, and she wanted us to be Christians, too. She left her Bible open on the kitchen table, along with a copy of some devotional guide, so we could read it at breakfast. She paid us a dollar to read great books by or about great Christians. She volunteered at a Friendship Center among our local Pascua Indians. She taught Mission Friends for years - a class of pint-sized kids who needed to learn that Jesus loved the whole world, and that they could help tell the whole world about Him.

Granny died in 1996; it was a good time for her to go as her health had left and with it a lot of her enthusiasm. When I went to visit her the last time I took a guitar and sang and played for her. She couldn't keep up any longer, but we laughed and had a wonderful time. And when I kissed her little grey head and told her I loved her, I knew I wouldn't meet her again on the earth.

In many senses, Granny was a great woman. Not perfect, by any means (and you can ask my mom!) but a true character who made my life better in countless ways. I'm glad I got to know her, and look forward to seeing her again sometime. Because I've met Jesus, I know I'll see her in heaven; He promised, and He doesn't lie. Until then, I have great memories and a personality and life she helped shape. So, Happy 90th Birthday, Granny! And Lord bless ya, tappy-lappy.

Love, Sammy