Musings of an Ignorant American

TWO DAYS ON THE JOB AND I ALREADY ALMOST DIED ONCE...

2006-01-17T18:00:00.000-05:00

For those who don't know, I withdrew from Roberts Wesleyan College for a semester in order to work diligently and pay off my credit card bill, which is rather...big. The first problem with this was that I had no work lined up to be diligent about, and diligent work is no good in this situation if its diligent PAID work. However, Pete's dad came up aces, and had an opening for a janitor at his machine shop.

For those who are always having trouble dealing with ignorant customers, I must say, better a stupid person than a stubborn metal bin with a few hundred pounds of metal shavings in it that you push around a shop for all to see, like the guy from Monty Python's Holy Grail that kept yelling, "Bring out your dead!" It is rather humbling to have a bunch of guys that might have a couple years at a community college laughing at the college guy pushing the bin around like a moron.

Yesterday, I almost died, and I learned a few things from it. Mr. Gallagher came to me as I was cleaning out a machine (which is a real pain, because the coolant in them looks like Mylanta, and can cause you to wretch violently very quickly if you inhale too much of the fumes) and pointed at a random light and said, "That's the night light in here."

I wasn't really sure what he was driving at, so I said..."Oh." (Tyler, that ellipsis is to indicate the pregnant pause that preceded my statement.) So I stared somewhat blankly at Mr. G, and waited for him to inform me of why that was in any way significant to me. He then said, "It burned out. Go grab the ladder from the back and climb up there and pull it out, and we will find another."

So I grabbed said ladder and climb up. It's a 12 foot ladder, and I had to stand on the second rung from the top in order to just barely reach the fixture. I got the light out, and then went on an expedition to find the bulbs, which get changed about once every 30 years apparently. Mr. Gallagher and I went all over the shop looking in boxes, and then ended up in the unheated warehouse, climbing over machinery and metal from pre-World War II, and a whole bunch of munitions boxes from the Vietnam War. Finally he points at a random box and says, "Oh, there it is." So climbing over another large pile of metal and boxes, I pull the box down, which is coated in about 3 inches of dust.

I pull out a new bulb and prepare to climb the ladder again. The layout is thus: To my left is a wall, with a couple metal file cabinets and miscellaneous parts on top of them, to my right is a metal chip bin with a lot of sharp metal, and a machine, with more sharp metal in it. I ascended the ladder, and I made a mistake. I assumed that Mr. Gallagher had shut the power off to the fixture. Because it was not an easy reach to the fixture, I was staring very intently at the 300 watt light bulb I was screwing in. Suddenly there was a blast of heat, and blinding light (probably like the light people see when they are dying), which of course scared the crap out of me.

I jumped, and the ladder started to rock back and forth, as I wisely had no one holding the bottom of the ladder for me. Also, I don't really like heights very much, and I would contend that standing on a rocking ladder 12 feet in the air with the possibilty of falling on to large metal objects with pointy angles is the sort of thing that can really boost one's anxiety when dealing with heights.

After a moment, I got the ladder to stop shaking and cautiously climbed down. I blindly felt around for the door, with my vision rather spotty after peering into a 300 watt light bulb. I poked my head into Mr. Gallagher's office and said, "In the future, can we operate under the idea that giving the janitor a heads up the light fixture is still on is a good idea?"

Mr. Gallagher looks up at me with this slyly unnerving grin and simply said, "Light a bit bright for ya, eh? Gotta be careful on the ladders."

A memo to all who plan on attending a cinematographic event in the future...

2005-11-24T01:47:00.000-05:00

Below is memo to all future movie goers, with an explanation for the directives given. Also, a disclaimer as to my views of country music is included.

To all future participants in a cinematographic* event:

Cinematographic Event- A Cinematographic Event is commonly referred to as a movie. It is a collection of "scenes" that are brought together by a director to collectively tell a story with the idea than an audience will respectfully and silently watch together.

1. If you want to make out, refrain from making audible noises that can be heard five rows up.
I went to see Walk the Line tonight with Joni. She and I were one of five couples there...also, the only non-romantic couple there. Two couples were behind us, one on the left and one on the right, and two couples were in front of us, again one on the left side of the theater, and one on the right. I could actually hear the couples behind us kissing. I think one guy was trying to help his girl get a loogey that was caught in her throat. That's the only way I can fathom that sort of guttural sucking sound...and yes, the sound was definitely from kissing, and only kissing.

2. Never make a phone call during the movie.
About ten minutes into the movie, the gentleman in the couple in front and to the left of us pulled his cell phone out, and made a phone call. He didn't receive a phone call. He MADE a phone call. Not during the previews...he didn't go out to the lobby...he sat in the theater and made a phone call DURING THE FEATURE F'ING PRESENTATION. Seeing that made me want to hoagie slap the guy and jam his cell phone in his colon. At the age of forty-five, shouldn't you have the sense to think to yourself, "geez, it costs $6.50 to sit here and watch this. I suppose it would pretty asinine to make a phone call in here. Maybe I should turn my cell off intstead."?

3. Only answer your phone in the event of an emergency, and keep the conversation to a minimum.
A while later, the guy in the couple in front of us and to the right got a phone call. Instead of doing the practical thing and ignoring the call, he picked up. I thought to myself, well, maybe its his mom and shes dying. That would be a good reason to pick up your phone. The conversation was something to the effect of, "Oh really? That's sweet. Yeah, I'll definitely swing by. What are your plans for Thanksgiving? Should I cut my hair? Does this sweater make me look gay or just fat?" He continued the conversation in regular conversational levels until I finally said in a louder than necessary voice, "Yeah, great talking to you. BYE!" At that point he hung up the phone. If you DO pick up the phone during a movie and no one is dying, hang up. If you pick up the phone and some did die, say something to the effect of, "Oh my gosh, that's such a shame." Then hang up. If you need to cry, get out of the theater...if not, finish watching the movie. If they died, its not like you can do something about it now, and you did pay a fair amount to see the movie.

4. There is never a point when flash photography is acceptable during a movie.
Towards the end of the movie, the couple behind us detached their esophagus' long enough for
one of them to snap off a flash photograph. There is nothing in a movie theater that is so important that you need to snap off flash photography in the middle of the movie. I don't care if your girlfriend has a mole that looks the pope growing on her left breast...you don't need a flash photo of it during the movie.

Disclaimer: There is a single caveat to my theory regarding the crappiness of country music. Johnny Cash doesn't suck. He's so old school. The thing about Johnny Cash style country is that he is just a hillbilly playing the same three chords and singing about life, without having to tell you about all the times his woman did him wrong and how life stepped on his balls. He didn't make any bones about it...he played slow because it was the only speed he could play at, and he sang slow and low because it was the only way he knew how. But to be blunt, Johnny Cash was a bad ass of the first degree and thus above the "crappy" label I give all other country music. It's just a soft spot I have.

* Cinematographic really is a word. Dictionary.com makes no bones about, so don't go think I'm making stuff up here.

Country + Worship = Angry Guitar Player

2005-11-24T00:56:00.000-05:00

I have a theory regarding music:

1. Rock music reigns supreme. Not the whiny crap like Staind, or Saliva. Just good old fashioned Rock, whether it be Zeppelin, the Who, old school Petra, or for me nowadays, Switchfoot, Goo Goo Dolls, and U2. Just good Rock music.

2. Pop music is the music that just wasn't good enough to become a rock tune.

3. Country music is the stuff that was so bad it couldn't be made into a decent, mindless pop tune (although there is an exception to this that will be discussed in the next post).

4. And Christmas music is the stuff that was so wretched it couldn't even be made into a "some mean poopface kicked my dog and ran over my girlfriend's vagina with his wannabe John Deere tractor while wearing a straw hat" country song.

5. And then right below that is worship music. (Also, rap doesn't count for anything.)

My mom convinced me to play for church this weekend, and we had practice tonight. It was an interesting practice. The guy that usually leads isn't going to be around on Sunday, so the other worship leader is covering. Here's the thing. The regular leader, whom I will call Bob, though his name is not Bob, is good guy with a good heart that has a smidgeon of musical talent and keeps practices short, but in my mind keeps the quality low. The other guy, Ralph (again not his name) is something of weiner...a nice guy, but still a bit campy, but a fully certified, well trained music teacher, that tends to make practices way longer than they need to be, but allows for some music to reach its potential (limited though it may be). Bob felt like he should still be at practice tonight to make sure it "went well."

The first two songs quickly turned into Country Two-Steps...just the the way Bob likes it. The third song was Forever, by Chris Tomlin. I've done it in the past like a U2 song. I asked if we could try it that way, and told the drummer what to play. He did it just the way I asked, and we were progressing through the song. We get done, and the singers all say, thats just way too slow, it has to be twice as fast. Which was a lie. It didn't need to be a ton faster, it just needed to be tighter...but it wasn't a two step, it was a rock groove, which meant they couldn't just spit lyrics out like a bulemic chick showing you what she had for dinner. Instead, Bob came running up going on and on about the need for this song to be really cranking because it's the third song in the block, and it has to be faster, and do it like this: and proceeded to play a country two step...again.

At that point, I asked why every song was turning into a country tune, and stated an abbreviated version of my theory on music. Surprisingly, it was not appreciated by the collective group of middle aged "easy listening" radio fans. Meanwhile, Ralph looked on in pain, because he liked the U2 feel, and knew why it wasn't working with the singers, but was not allowed to fix it, because Bob was there to dominate the scene. So here's my thoughts on it...

Why is it that in most churches, (not all mind you) the person with the good heart seems to take precedence over the person talent? I understand that you have to be meeting a certain level of agreed upon Christian morality, and that's fine, but all things equal, it seems like the charismatic, good looking guy with minimal talent but a "good heart" is given the reigns to ministry over the geeky, average guy thats got loads of talent and training.

Also, why is it that most church worship teams are willing to settle for mediocre? There are exceptions of course, but by and large, I feel like churches are regularly settling for mediocre. Well, its not 1980's Michael W. Smith Mulletfest, so its an improvement. I gotta be honest, at this point, if you're stuck at Paul Baloche droning key of E in your stylish haircut and chintzy goatee, you're still behind, and if everything has to be country, you don't have to look far to figure out why your church won't grow. I'm not expert on church growth, but when you want to be a church that can reach out to the college across the street, playing music that doesn't suck will help.

Music is such a huge part of our culture, and its something that leaves an impression. I've had friends that visited my church and said, well, it was ok, but the music was pretty hoaky. Hmm...I wonder why they haven't been back. And if you say they weren't focused on the right things to begin with, may I point out that sometimes things actually hinder the ability to focus, regardless of how strong the intention is. One such hindrance is shitty music. Sometimes the music is so painful I want to go trip an old person. That's horrible. It's time for the Church to stop settling for mediocre and start seeking to do what Psalm 33 says, "Sing to the Lord a new song; play skillfully and shout for joy."

Just remember, it says play skillfully, not shittily...

World Religions

2005-11-07T20:33:00.000-05:00

I am not a dutiful student. Perhaps that will shock someone, but truthfully, I despise most of the organized learning. Part of that comes from my own intellectual arrogance, and my fear that the ignorance/stupidity of others might rub off on me. Being on Roberts campus, there are a lot of evangelical Christians who are attempting to excercise their intellectual minds. However, I agree wholeheartedly with Mark Noll, who once wrote, "The scandal of the evangelical mind is that there is no evangelical mind." Given that view, my World Religions class irritates me.

Tonight, we had a guest speaker in from the Bahai faith. I am all for the guest speakers, and I think it is fascinating to interact with people of other faiths. Here is where I run into a problem though. Most of the people in my class are evangelicals, and don't understand how to interact with a faith without trying to fit it into the parameters of their own faith. That is, they don't seem to understand that their faith is not one that is necessarily analogous to our own. It isn't like faith has a certain formula, and you just insert your own specifics into the formula.

One girl spent a solid twenty minutes trying to figure out how Bahai's do missions work. The thing is, Bahai is not a faith that attempts to convert. It is a faith that simply tries to accept. Despite the speakers best efforts, he was unable to clarify that to this young lady. How hard is it to figure out that Christianity is not the only way to do religion?

The highlight of the class however came when the guy that has a certificate for Elim spoke up. He started off by talking about how he could respect how the guy came to be a Bahai, etc. Then, he changed tacks and went on the offensive by blasting the guy for blatantly misinterpreting scripture, quoting the verse in John that says that "men will come in the end of times that will claim to be the god of the age...", and then accusing the guy of following a false religion.

I don't disagree with what ElimBoy had to say in theory. I think he is on the money. However, harassing a guest speaker in a class is hardly the appropriate way to do things. Why do so many Christians feel like smacking some in the face with a proof text like a two by four is the best way to "evangelize." Obviously, this guy isn't here to be informed about the Christian faith, nor is he here to have his religious views condemned. However, that wasn't the best part.

After they debated for a minute, ElimBoy started with, "Have you read the whole Bible? What about the New Testament? Have you read the whole New Testament?" At that point James (the prof) invoked the role of the moderator in order to curtail any more harassment from our loving Christian brother...

Seriously, I would consider myself a Christian. Am I a bad Christian for not feeling the need to abuse and harass people of other faiths? How can we hope to impact people of other faiths, if we don't bother to understand them or appreciate them. I'm not saying that we take their beliefs as our own, but I hardly see the need to be abusive or disrespectful. Perhaps in the time of scriptures it worked to just stomp somebodies ass, but in these times, it is much more valuable to respect someone and then over time critique them and challenge them. Feel free to challenge me on this idea.

Facebook: The New Roberts Cult

2005-09-29T19:20:00.000-04:00

Danielle convinced me to get facebook. For those that don't know, it's a network that essentially allows you to post your existence on the web, so that people either from college or high school can find you. In theory, I suppose it's a practical sort of service. As Shkins pointed out, he has gotten a lot of information about his friends from high school out of it already.

That being said, I have some qualms with facebook. Before I start, I again remind you all that Danielle convinced me to be a part of this cult, and she did it while sitting in my lap. If you aren’t aware, I have a hard time saying no to a beautiful woman sitting in my lap. On with the qualms…

1. The sheer number of e-mails I get from facebook is ludicrous. The other day I checked my e-mail after classes and had 37 e-mails from facebook. That’s not healthy. Honestly…I would rather get some more spam mail about how I can triple the size of my penis and where I can buy vicodin through the mail. And trust me, those e-mails got really frustrating once they turned out to be bogus.

2. Why are some of these people trying to list me as there friend? In the first couple days I probably got a half dozen “adds” each day from people that I haven’t even seen on campus. Just because we attend the same school does not make us friends. It doesn’t even make us acquaintances. It does make you a tool for bothering me when I haven’t met you. Just wait a couple weeks until I am forced back into Garlock for some asinine reason, and introduce yourself. Then ask if you can be my friend on facebook. I will probably still say no, but at least it was a legit question at that point.

3. The addictive nature of facebook is bothersome. Some people are spending entirely too much time on facebook. I’ve heard so many people saying, “Yeah, my roommate spends a couple hours on there a night.” Good Lord. If you even sort of like your roommate, you should help them out and get them off. Off facebook I mean. Make them not be on facebook for hours at a time. Signing walls and adding friends is a blast…for twenty minutes. Then its time to actually go make friends in the real world.

4. And finally, it seems to me that this is just the latest internet cult for people to get excited about. Once upon a time it was Xanga. Then LiveJournal. Then communication stopped being the important end of things, and it was MySpace. Now people can while away there time by posting a single picture of themselves with some basic info, and then wander through cyberspace poking people at their leisure.

Isn’t it great that e-mail, cell phones and AIM aren’t enough ways to avoid regular human interaction, now we can even set up parties through facebook. Why don’t we just get rid of human interaction altogether by putting a fridge, computer and tv in the bathroom. That way you can do everything you could ever want to do right in the confines of a poorly lit 8x10 room. Mmmm….future here I come.

Disjointed Musings of the Emasculated

2005-09-26T20:36:00.000-04:00

It is an incredibly good thing that I am quite secure in manhood. And by manhood, I don't mean my baby-maker, but my general character as a man. Obviously, this is a worthwhile thing no matter who you are, or where you are, but when you are the only guy on a bus full of college girls traveling to Ohio, it is very easy to feel emasculated.

For instance, the movie selection definitely did not lend itself to securing my testosterone. We started the trip off by watching Moulin Rouge. What an awful movie. The music is sweet, but it's such a weird, weird movie. It gave me a headache trying to figure out where it was going half the time. While it's a strange musical love story, that alone would not have been enough to make me feel like I was growing a vagina.

However, they followed Moulin Rouge up with Save the Last Dance. There is exactly one saving grace to this movie. Julia Stiles is hot, and she is seemingly incredilby flexible. If you can't do the math on that, I'm not going to help you out with it. I commented on that to Danielle, and she didn't seem to find it all that humorous.

They had to pause the movie about halfway through because we made it to the hotel. So we had the joy of looking forward to the other half of it's cinematic genius after the tournament. The tournament went reasonably well, and I did have a great time rooming with Gizzy's brothers. They are insane, and made it a great time.

Drew took the roll away cot, put it in the doorway, and slept with his head in the hallway. His brother open hand slapped his stomach so hard that he burst the blood vessels in his abdomen. It was quite a sight.

Seriously though, it was downright painful to have to watch a bunch of chick flicks in one weekend like that. Especially given that a couple of the girls try and censor the movies that are watched, in order to make sure that they are only watching "appropriate" movies. I'm not saying that we need to watch Boondock Saints or something equally violent and vulgar, but come on. It gets a bit old when the first question asked of any movie, is it PG-13? They aren't even cool with most Adam Sandler movies.

If you are so uptight that you can't appreciate something as funny as an Adam Sandler movie, you should probably take a laxative. Freaking out because there are a couple comments about sex or alcohol is a 14-year old homeschooled over-sheltered conservative Christian kid move. Just grow up and let us enjoy something other than your damn vagina monologue movies.

Dungeons and Dragons People Scare Me

2005-09-20T13:58:00.000-04:00

Today’s Literary Theory and Criticism Class was certainly an interesting one. The festivities started a bit early. I was sitting here, minding my own business, reading the Sparknotes for Beowulf. Skins made a comment about my professor seeing right through my feeble attempts to make up for my laziness. I pointed out, tongue in cheek, that I am a genius, and thus above being “seen through.”

This was a fairly innocuous, common situation until the new creepy guy in class decided to weigh in on the topic. He noted that it was in fact easy to get by in the class I was sparknoting, saying, “I got a 12 out of 20 on the quiz last class based on a reading two years ago.”

Let me describe the creepy new guy. He looks like the sort of person that just stepped out of a Dungeons and Dragons convention. He has this bass voice that carries a tone that isn’t quite sinister, but its certainly uncomfortable.

So Skins looks at him and says, “12 of 20? That’s not gonna get it done.” Of course at that point I start laughing my booming old man laugh. D&D guy got all defensive and said, “That’s pretty good given that I read it half-heartedly two years ago.” Then the obnoxious know-it-all girl chimed in, in her best therapist voice, “That’s not even passing. How is that possibly good?” Now I was cackling, and Skins was getting a good chuckle out of it too.
And then it happened. D&D got pissed and spoke over our laughter, "I will knock you two out. I swear to God I will. No one laughs at me...I don't like laughing. No one has ever heard me laugh."

At first, we just laughed more. Then all of a sudden we realized he was serious. He really was threatening physical harm on Skins and I. So the Know-It-All says to him, “Well, if you’re going to continue to threaten us, charges will be raised.”

That was less than the appropriate statement to make at that point. I really thought he was going to violently attack Skins and I. Threatening to press charges just took an awkward situation and raised it to a level that just didn't need to be explored.

At this point I applied my best awkward reduction skills: I started the fabled Mighty Ducks slow clap, and started speaking in a sing song voice, "Great work team! Let's raise the team spirit here. Who's psyched for Plato? I know I am. Let's hear it for the Republic."

In conclusion, Dungeons and Dragons people scare me. I feel as though they should have to go through some sort of screening process before being allowed to interact with the general public. It seems to me this would be a great public works project to bring the economy back on pace. Sink money into paying people like me to tell people like him, "Yeah, you know what? You need to take a few more showers, get yourself a shave, and a more reasonable hobby, and perhaps take an anger management course. Come back again when you have seen to the aforementioned issues."

Also, the moral of the story is that when things get really awkward, the Mighty Ducks slow clap is always a safe out...

Sometimes Witty Banter Is a Bad Idea

2005-09-16T20:01:00.000-04:00

Ah friends, it has been long since my last post (the one before this is actually back dated. I posted it an hour ago, though I wrote it at the tournament last weekend). Much has happened, and I will tell you of none of it…except last night.

Last night I volunteered at the Todd Agnew concert at school. I have to be honest, I really don’t care much for his music, but a free show is a free show. I worked his merchandise table, and it was quite the experience.

I like to think that I’m pretty good at reading people, and being able to tell when its ok to tease people and pull their leg. Apparently my senses were inhibited last night, because some people didn’t seem very entertained by my jokes. That’s not to say it’s a new thing for me to irritate people, but usually its done on purpose.

Working a merch table is an awkward experience at best because you are standing there, ostensibly to make some sort of social transaction in addition to the consumer transaction. The thing of it is, when people are perusing the merchandise, they literally look through you. It’s frustrating sometimes because I like to banter with people, and if you say something to them it’s like you totally throw them off their game, and then give you this annoyed look and go to another band’s table.

One man came up and asked for a shirt and handed me twenty bucks. I handed him his shirt and then got his change. While I was grabbing his change, he held the shirt up to make sure it was going to fit. I held his five dollars out, but he was off in his own little world. Suddenly this woman who was clearly his wife just snatched the five out of my hand and pocketed. I looked at her and jokingly said, “I’ll trust you that you’re his wife.”

As it turns out, that statement wasn’t funny. I thought it was a good piece of light humor. You know, the sort of thing that she would walk away and tell her other middle-aged soccer mom friends she came with about. “Yeah, there’s a nice, funny guy working Todd Agnew’s booth.” Instead I got the stare that said, “You are here to serve me and keep your mouth shut while you do it.”

That being said, there is one thing that I just don’t understand about these shows. The band’s show up early and set up their merchandise; they hang up all the different t-shirts they have available, lay out the CD’s they brought with them, the wristbands, the stickers, pendants, posters, buttons and any other impulse buy item they can think of to sell. Then people show up early to the show to get good seats. Once they have those seats staked out, these people come out and look at the merchandise. The thing is, they keep coming back. Even if they bought one of everything, they come out after the opening band, and check the tables out again. And then they do it again after the second band. And again after the headliner.

I just want to stab them in the spleen with a spork and yell NOTHING CHANGED! STOP GAWKING AT CRAP YOU ALREADY BOUGHT! And why do otherwise reasonable adults feel the absolute necessity to spend money at shows, as though the concert experience wouldn’t be complete without blowing fifty bucks on useless crap that they might wear once in a blue moon, or when they are out gardening. Go spend your money on something useful…like taking a hungry college student out for dinner.

If you happen to be one of those adults, first, I would be curious as to how you made your way here. Second, I’m serious about the dinner thing. You can leave a message in the comments thing with your contact info and I will get back to you about how you can take the money you might otherwise waste at a concert and use it to take me out to Dinosaur Barbeque.

The Life of a Volleyball Stat Keeper

2005-09-12T20:09:00.000-04:00

And so the long hiatus from posting finally comes to an end…

The start of the school year has definitely been rather intense, what with doing SA, practicing music for a random gig on campus, setting up the new worship team, taking 18 credits and keeping stats for the volleyball team. Of that list, I must say that keeping the stats is easily the most enjoyable.

This weekend was my first real experience of traveling with the girls. We went to Houghton a couple weeks ago, but the team was shorthanded, and we were riding in a 12 passenger van. This weekend we went to Potsdam for the North Country Invitational Tournament. One of my roommates has a theory on the North Country that goes something like this: “Those people are crazy. All they do up there is drink and have sex. There’s nothing else to do.”

I gotta say, after spending a bit of time up here, he’s not far from the truth. There are some seriously wacked out people here. The team from Potsdam has one girl on the team that I’m pretty sure is either a man or a bear. There is nothing remotely feminine her. I would say it’s a Beauty and the Beast sorta team, except that the closest thing they have to Beauty still makes Beast look like a sex god.

Also, Friday night’s officiating sucked balls. The ref on the ladder was a moron, the line judges didn’t have a clue what they were doing, and the ref on the floor screwed up the score of one game horribly.

The back line judge was actually making calls before the ball ever landed. Because of this, the ladder ref didn’t trust her calls and would overrule her, even though he was on the opposite side of the court. They were calling carries on us when we made good hits, and then letting the other team palm the ball when they would hit. Despite that, we destroyed the teams we played, going 6-1. The one loss was a bit bogus as well, because the ref actually spent 15 minutes “correcting” the score book which changed the score and reversed a couple points. According to the official score, Buffalo State won 33-31. According to my unofficial, but accurate of the actual occurrences on the court, score, we won 33-31. Eh, whatever…we stomped their ass, and that’s what matters.

On a more entertaining note, we were messing around this morning before warm-ups and some of us were shooting some hoops. Melodee was holding a basketball, and Coach came out of nowhere to swat it out of her hands. He missed the ball, but did manage to catch the wire on her headphones, and rip the wire out of the headphone unit. He looked a bit sheepish after that.

Another interesting thing is that the teams change right at courtside. I’ve never seen so many sports bras at once. It was like sports bra heaven. Granted some of the girls really should have changed in private because they were quite disgusting, but there's always a few rotten apples in ever barrel.

Either way, the girls stomped all competition and won the tournament, and I came to the conclusion that I am really going enjoy the volleyball season.

Sometimes Awkward Rubs Off

2005-08-04T17:50:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the delay. I've had a lack of worthy stories in my life the last week or two, and was too busy thinking about a certain poll to take the time to write out other stories. It's the summer and I don't feel that bad about it to be honest. Never the less, I do have a story now.

Last Sunday I lead worship at my church. I had been to Darien Lake the day before with some good friends, and ended up crashing in Rochester. I went to sleep a little after 2AM and had to get up at 5:15 to make sure I was on the road in time to get to church by 7:30AM, so that I could set up the sound system outside, because we were doing an outdoor service.

It was a beautiful, though exceptionally hot, day. The sun was beating down on me, causing me to sweat like a fat kid on a diet that got caught stealing a roasted turkey thigh. I don't understand why I had to be wearing pants on a day like that, but thats what the leadership instructed me to do. Be that as it may... I was excited because I had just gotten my guitar back from the shop, where they fixed a sharp spot on the bridge, so that I wouldn't break m g-string (insert high-school-freshmanlevel joke here) anymore.

We progressed through the service pretty well. During practice I broke my e-string, but re-strung it before service. I thought I was good to go. Then, in the first song, I broke my g-string (If you're still in the gutter, again, insert high-school-freshman level joke here). Luckily, I had my trusty Tele, Bridget with me, and was able to play the last four songs with that. At the end of the service, Pastor Wade gave sort of an altar call...except he didn't call people to the front.

Because of the tone of the altar call, I felt like I needed to say something before our last song, which was a fast, loud, upbeat song, not really suited for allowing thoughtful contemplation to take place. I said, "If you're really considering what Wade just said, he and Pastor Tom will both be down front, and would be glad to talk to you; I would be glad to talk to you; any number of people here would be glad to talk to you." Seemingly this was a fairly innocuous statement.

After service I was standing behind the stage, putting my gear away when a random girl came up to me. Some of you may know, this is typically not something that usually bothers me. However, this girl was bit different. When she went to shave her legs that month, she missed. Her tweasers must have been dull as well, and she had twice as much gum (the kind that hold your teeth, not the kind that sticks to your teeth) as she needed and she had a slight lazy eye that was boring into me with the intensity of slow people doing calculus (And Tom, she may be hot, but we both know shes borderline handicapped).

She began by introducing herself as Adrian, and telling me all about herself. Because her gaze made me uncomfortable, I tried going to a happy place in my mind but all I came up with was Sly Stallone yelling "Adrian!" the whole time. She proceeded to tell me how wonderful worship was and how I was "the kind of guy she had always wanted to be with." Then she asked me if I was in town for the rest of the summer, and I happily told her, "No, I'm going back to Rochester tomorrow night" to which she replied, "Oh, thats a bummer, I was hoping we could get together for dinner some night this week." Then she paused and said, "Huh...well, if I had something to write with, I would give you my cell phone number." I (rather enthusiastically) commented, "Yeah, I don't have anything to write with either. Well, I need to get this stuff up to my car and get out of here, nice meeting you."

At that point, it would have been appropriate for her to walk away. Instead, she took a step towards me, as though she was going to hug me. I'm not a first meeting hugger most times. Thats just not how I roll. So I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow at her. She stopped in her tracks, looked around awkwardly, and then sort of fondled my shoulder as she walked by. For the record, when I said people could come talk to me, I meant about Jesus. I didn't intend on turning the altar call into a speed dating service.

So the next day, I had to take the offering deposit to the bank, which meant I had to stand there while it was counted. The line was fifteen people deep, and all the people in front of me were about 200 years old, and were in line to cash their social security checks, because old people don't believe in banks. Not safe ever since the market crash in '29.

When I got to the teller, she looked like she was going to cry, because she knew she had to count all of it. It was really unfortunate, because she was pretty, and its no fun to see a pretty girl cry (unless you're Rob Snider). She mentioned missing her break because of it, and I was about to offer to take her out for her break, when it happened.

A flurry of images emerged in mind of the day before, and the voice of Sly Stallone cut through my head yelling "Adrian!" Not in a wait for Adrian sort of way, but more in a, "don't be like Adrian, because she creeped you out, and you wouldn't want to do that to this poor girl would you" sort of way. Thus I shut my mouth, and watched her count, and sort of whimpered to myself, debating whether or not I should say something.

In the end, I let the opportunity go by, knowing there will be other opportunities. In case you are wondering, there are at least three morals to this story:

1. Guitar center can't guarantee the reliability of your g-string (just to make up for the Paris slam, Tom).
2. There are always other opportunities, and there need not be any rush.
3. Desperate Christian women are creepy.

Apparently 490 East Doesn't Exist Tonight

2005-07-26T02:52:00.000-04:00

Tonight was a fascinating night. Joni and I went to Rochester, where we hung out with both Mr. Brad Farrow, and the lovely Miss Laura Ardieta. (It is a true shame that John wasn't there too.) We kicked it at the apartment for a bit, and then ventured out to the Toad. At the onset, it looked to be a successful toading. The atmosphere was chill, the weather was warm, we had an outside table, and the ice in my cranberry juice was minimal.

And then some other folks showed up. The sort of folks that are alright people in their own way, but not exactly... people you want to hang out with. It's like they carry shady in their pocket, ready to envelope you with it in a moment's notice, while you are left wondering how you ended up with schmutz all over your character.

The sort of folks that don't have the sense to keep shady stories about themselves private, but instead tell people like me their story, not realizing I am only too happy to mention it in my blog. One of them was the sort of person who would be pissed at a customer at a restaraunt and add a two dollar tip to their receipt because the person hadn't tipped them...and then get fired for it. IF (and thank God I don't) I had a story like that...where acted in an incredibly shady fashion, and stole two dollars from someone while working at a restaraunt...I would keep that to myself. That's the sort of thing you hope just gets washed away with time. Not the sort of thing you tell people at the bar that don't look super thrilled to see you...

Be that as it may, we left in good spirits. At the apartment I was able to witness Ely having an allergic reaction to wearing a Jesus shirt all day. That's what he gets for obnoxiously flaunting his beliefs on a t-shirt all day. I'll tell you what Jesus wouldn't do. He wouldn't wear "clever" t-shirts about himself. He would laugh at them, and probably mock them. Oh well...it's just another opportunity for Katie Jo to dote on Ely, which never seems to be a bad thing.

Joni and I departed around midnight. We stopped and got gas, and some snacks and beverages for the ride home. With any luck we would be in our respective beds by 2am. There was no luck to be had in Rochester tonight. Apparently I didn't notice the cloud of shady hovering over the city, nor did I recognize the warning signs while sitting with our Toad companions.

Driving on 490, we got to the point where it branches between 490 East, and the Inner Loop. The problem was that 490 East was totally blocked off. I had no choice but to go to the inner loop. The next problem occurred when three cars were driving abreast of me and wouldn't let me over, thus forcing me off at the first exit. Well no problem I thought, I'll just swing around and catch the inner loop further down and catch 490 off of it.

Well I popped back and got to the inner loop, after enduring enough pot holes to cancel out the alignment job I had done while I was in England. Once on the loop, I carefully followed the detour signs. I got off at the appropriate exit, and followed the signs. At the beginning, it was well marked, but after a couple blocks the signs became more haphazard, and finally just sort of petered out. So I did my best, and ended up where I thought I was supposed to be, only to find the 490 ramp that the detour signs were indicating was in fact blocked off.

Now, with a bit of rage* and the rant of "needle to my vein" from Dave Matthews ringing in my ears, I accelerate back and ended up on Lake Ave heading north. If I had had my wits about me, all would have been fine. Lake Ave would have taken me to 104 and I could have shot right down 104. Instead I got a mile down and got tired of being abused by the road, and decided to turn around.

I ended up over by the original Tahous, and thought, oh, here is an easy way to hop back on the inner loop and make it around this crap. And is I powered into my turn, low and behold there was another blocked ramp. I'm not kidding, 490 East did not exist in Rochester tonight. At this point it was 12:45, and I was pissed.

Instead of continuing to try and follow the scent of bullshit through the city to make it past the construction, I decided it would be easier to just go back down 490 West, go to Greece and hop on 104. By the time I completed the whole thing, and got to the Irondequiot bridge it was 1:20AM. Typically, that bridge is 25 minutes from Roberts campus, give or take a few minutes. This time it was (discounting time to get gas) an hour to make it to the bridge.

While it was an incredible exercise in frustration, I did get a great chance to spend some extra quality time with Joni, and I did get to listen to the entire second disc of the DMB Live at Red Rocks album, as well as Jason Morant's Abandon. Both are solid discs, and well worth the time, even when overcome with anger.

* (This is exciting...my first foray into footnotes) For the record, if the city of Rochester insists on underfunding its inner city schools in order to repave these roads, they really need to get their shit together. The roads are enough to make a priest drop an F-bomb...even one that doesn't touch little boys. And if they are going to shut down essential thoroughfares completely, it would behoove them to clearly mark detours, and to research the routes and make sure the detour actually does in fact take you around the construction and get you to a point beyond said construction, thus allowing you to continue your journey. Otherwise, they are going to end up with some crazy white guy lost in downtown Rochester maiming some innocent minority and getting sent up for a hate crime just because the city couldn't make it possible for him to get to the other side.

Blockbuster Kicked Me in the Dignity

2005-07-24T22:24:00.000-04:00

So the other night I went out with Joni and a couple of her friends, and we decided that the appropriate action for the evening would be to rent a movie. I was excited because my contribution was just the Blockbuster card on the key chain. No payment necessary, just enable us to rent the movie and my part was done.

We arrived at Blockbuster in good spirits, with the anticipation of an enjoyable evening consisting of sprawling on the couch, watching a movie and sharing the odd chuckle. After perusing the "New Releases" thoroughly we determined that none of them fit the bill for an evening. However, being the sage that I am, I knew that Swingers would in fact be the correct movie for the evening.

Before I go on, I have to say that no night is a bad night if you have seen a Vince Vaughn movie that night. I believe that will be one of my life rules, which is coming up in a future blog. For instance, despite some serious physical discomfort, Wedding Crashers made tonight an excellent night. Even though I was sick enough to have to stop here at home before dropping Pete off at his house, and then coming home to be sick again before writing this blog (see the commitment I have to people like Brian Dangles), it has been an excellent night because I was witness to the comedic genius of Vince Vaughn. If you haven't seen Swingers get off your ass and go rent it right now. It's so money you don't even know.

Anyways, we agreed on Swingers and went to the register. After handing the dumpy (think a slightly thinner Roseanne) looking cashier Swingers I handed her the keytag, glad to be done with my contribution to the night's festivities. Then came the odd look from the cashier, followed by this exchange:
"Uh, whose name is this under?"
"My dad, Gene Dorman."
"Can I see your license? There is an age restriction on your account that says you can't get rated R movies."
"What are you talking about? I'm 21."
"Well I'm sorry, there is an age restriction, and I have to verify you are over 17."
"Are you serious? I don't have my license on me...do I really look 16 to you?"
"I really need to see your license."
"You really need to look at me. I'm not joking. I promise I'm over 17."
"Sir, if you don't have your license, you're going to need to go home and get it and come back in order to rent this movie."

You see, the humor in this is that the Blockbuster that we were in is less than a mile from my house, and opened in 1997, when I was 13. Dad opened his account the week the store opened, and we have been faithful and frequent customers for 8 years. What does that get me? A swift kick to the dignity by some ignorant cashier that isn't aware of the "visual verification" concept. I may or may not look 21, but it takes about 2 seconds to tell I'm over 17.

Instead of renting me the movie, Joni's friend Matt had to use his Blockbuster card from Michigan, and then give her his address, phone number, etc. In essence all she did was create more work for herself, and piss off a faithful customer. I understand that being a single mom is hard (and that's the only reason I can think of for some middle aged Roseanne look alike to be working in Blockbuster, especially on a Friday night), but honestly, there is no need to be a pain in the ass to those of us who don't have it quite so rough...

Oh well. We watched the movie, and it blew my mind again. It is really early Vince Vaughn, and it shows you why he has become the comedic force that he is. Even then he showed his mettle, working with the likes of Ron Livingstone of Office Space fame. If you haven't seen Swingers, and haven't seen Wedding Crashers, I don't know why you're still reading this. You need to see one or the other. Either will immediately put your night over the top.

A Pilot Named Coconut

2005-07-23T01:20:00.000-04:00

I suppose it's fair to just accept the fact that when you want to get home quickly from a foreign country, that won't be possible. If it took 8-10 hours to fly to the country, it should probably also take 8-10 hours to fly back to your "point of origin" as our good friends in the airline industry would term it. However, I find it an unfair situation when going home takes a solid three hours longer than its supposed to.

When we arrived at the airport, the first bit of news we got was, "While you were coming across town, there were more bombings on the Underground." Also, the bombings were in the vicinity (two stops away) from where we were for a bit the day before. So we got through all the shenanigans of check-in with nary a hitch. Amazing given the days events.

Here was where we encountered our first real problem. We arrived in the central vending/shopping area of Heathrow airport, only to discover that there is only one American food purveyor, and they are not fast food. The only place to get a burger and fries, or something of that sort was at TGIFridays...at a great price of just 8 pounds (about 15 bucks). I (nursing an upset stomach from activities the night before) settled for a couple bags of potato chips and a coke.

The next problem was the 45mph headwinds we caught pretty much as soon as we got over the coast of the US. The headwinds were bad enough that we actually ended up landing about an hour later than we were supposed to. That wouldn't have been so bad had I been sitting next to Ely, a good friend capable of carrying on interesting conversation. Instead, I was stuck in the middle of the five seat section (thus putting two people immediately on either side of me), and two complete dolts on my left. The one dolt...I know she has a name, but for simplicity's sake...and because I don't think she deserves a real name, we will call her Dolt 1...said to the second dolt, heretofore referred to as Dolt 2, "You know, its pretty crazy that my name is Me(a)g(h)a(e)(i)n."

Before going any further, let it be know that I hate the name Me(a)g(h)a(e)(i)n. If somebody would decide how to spell the damn thing, and eliminate all other possibilities, I would be OK with the name. That's why I enjoy my name. Josh. You can't dick with it. What are you going to do, spell it Jaush...no, of course not, because that would make you a jackass...and THAT GUY. No one wants to be that guy...and if any one names there daughter Me(a)g(h)a(e)(i)n, they become that guy.

Back to our dolts though. Dolt 1 actually proceeded to explain to Dolt 2 in intimate detail how she came to be Me(a)g(h)a(e)(i)n, and what names had been bandied about in the general discussion of her naming, and then how the family decided which extraneous letters should be added so as to make her form of the name Me(a)g(h)a(e)(i)n unique to her. DEAR FRIGGING LORD. Some people really need to take some remedial classes in basic human interaction.

After enduring the dolts, I proceeded through customs with as much haste as possible and then stopped at the nearest Burger King, where I feasted on fries that came already salted, and Chicken Tenders...not those insipid Chicken Bites the damn English find so wonderful. I got to the terminal figuring we would board relatively soon.

I was mistaken. I had time to read half of this week's Sports Illustrated. Finally we got on the plane, and thus began a leg of the trip that made me feel a bit uncomfortable. First, I was seated next to Dolt 1 (Me(a)g(h)a(e)(i)n). She happened to notice I was reading an article about Tiger Woods, and asked me if I golfed. Rather than opening my mouth, and thus giving myself an opportunity to needlessly harm someone so sheltered, I nodded without looking up. Then she told me that I should be careful because golfing increases a variety of heart problems due to the strain the general motion puts on the chest cavity. Thanks Me(a)g(h)a(e)(i)n, I'm much better for the information you gave me...

However, had that been the greatest cause of anxiety for me, it probably would have been alright. Nope. Next was the captain's announcement. Because I enjoy numbered lists...they seem to lend themselves to humor...I will break down his announcement point by point, followed by the problems I had with each:

1. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Sorry for boarding so late, we found ourselves a bank of t-storms outside D.C and ended up taking a... scenic route to get here." Now, the trouble here is that I could have told him 10 minutes into my flight from London there was a bank of showers around D.C. because my pilot told us about it. Now I spent 10 days in England, and I can assure you that the English are not THAT far ahead of us in technology. However, he truly seemed surprised by the bank of storms...troubling, but I suppose one could look past it.

2. "Anyway, we have a great flight crew here ready to take care of you. They call me Coconut, and Steve is sitting to my right. We look forward to having a great flight." I probably don't need to elaborate too much on this...but our pilot's name was Coconut. You know what a good name for a pilot is? Jim. Jim Bricker. Or... John. John Alvarez. On my list of worst names for a pilot it goes something like: 1.) Mohammed 2.) Ahkmed 3.) Coconut. Those are the sorts of names I don't like coming out of the cockpit.

3. After 30 minutes of sitting at the gate, after boarding the plane approximately 40 minutes late. "Well folks, we have a flashing red light here that tells us something's up with engine number two. We're just gonna have the mechanics come and make sure that it's still within specs to fly with, and hopefully be outta here in a minute." Within specs to fly and functioning properly don't necessarily mean the same thing. I would much rather here, "and make sure it is functioning properly." For all I know, a fair translation of what he just said is, "We're just checking to make sure we can limp this lame duck piece of shit into Rochester..."

4. After about 10 minutes of mechanics on the right wing of the plane. "Well folks, you may have noticed, this is a relatively new aircraft, and often it has four or five computers trying to communicate at once, and sometimes they don't communicate all that well, so we had to sort of "control-alt-delete" the whole thing and try again, but its within standards for flying. Enjoy your flight." I have to be totally honest...and maybe I'm being a bit anal here...I'm not comfortable with the idea of "control-alt-delete"ing a plane. I would like to hear that there was some incredibly intricate process involved that took many years of schooling to learn to do correctly. I don't like the mental image of Coconut up there hitting control-alt-delete a few times to bring up his task manager and eradicate the problem. I would prefer him to have an abacus up there doing complex math or something to make the plane work properly. And again the phrase "standards for flying." I don't like it. It's not a soothing phrase. It's more of a, "In theory this will work, but for all we know the right wing of the plane could inexplicably fall off" sort of phrase.

So in conclusion, we landed right around midnight local time, thus making it 5AM in London. That kind of travel really messes with you. It's good to be back in the U.S. where we season our food, drive on the right side of the road, have real sports to watch on TV instead of World Diving Championships, and most of all, where we speak a brand of English that is understandable.

It's Probably Time To Come Home

2005-07-20T11:21:00.000-04:00

I woke up today and new that it was time to go home. That was the first time I woke up, when Jeremy turned the TV on at 9:15AM and I wanted to stab him. He hadn't done anything wrong, and had done nothing to provoke me, and my first instinct was simply to make his existence a past tense thing. Instead I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I woke up again at maybe 10:40 to Jeremy closing the bathroom door in the only fashion that it closes...loud. Again, I wanted to shorten his life span and knew it was time to come home. Finally at 11:50 I did get up and was finally able to get up without needing to immediately inflict bodily harm on someone.

It seems like this trip just won't end now that we are in London. When we were travelling all over the place and saying in those wretched hotels, we were so busy, it wasn't a big deal to be travelling with alot of people that we didn't know. Suddenly, we are in London, and don't have stuff to be doing constantly, and now we have a problem.

Everyone has broken off into their own groups and its suddenly a lot of intensive time together, with decisions that need to be made, and people aren't necessarily enjoying that. I for one would just as soon disappear and do my own thing for the next three days.

Also, using internet cafes here has been convenient, but it can be bothersome. Take for instance the fat, ugly lady with crooked eyes and drawn on eyebrows that just smashed her bulging gut into the back of my head as she shoved past me without an excuse me or apology, and then looked at me as tho I were a giant inconvenience to her in the whole thing. I'm sorry that these basement cafe's aren't spacious, but I'm as close to the screen as I can get without licking it, and I don't know to get out of the way (if it is possible) when you say nothing and just smash into me. Perhaps instead of relying on the ground tremors you cause, you could just try an "Excuse me" or a "Pardon Me" or even a "Get the F*** outta my way" is more welcome than you thrusting your bulbous front region into my neck and head.

Also, I firmly believe the cell phone should be off limits in these things. Some dick behind me just hopped on his, and in his finest aristocratic voice began conversing with his "dear" about inane dinner arrangements. You really don't need to multitask that sort of thing. That's the type of thing that can be done outside, where forty people aren't around to hear your conversation, which you insist on conducting in a much louder than necessary voice. If you're yelling to be heard on the phone, here are two things to consider:

1. YOU ARE ON A PHONE - The idea behind a phone is that two people who are large distances apart can conduct conversation at reasonable levels of volume, so as not to annoy and/or inconvenience those around them, in many instances even offering privacy to the conversation. Yelling defeats this purpose, asshole.

2. YOU ARE IN THE BASEMENT OF A PUBLIC PLACE - Cell phones tend to have trouble getting reception 20 feet underground. So fold up your phone, finish whatever internet business you have, and get the hell out of here.

Also worth noting is that our aristocratic douche friend is wearing torn jeans, a tight black t-shirt with some drivel about music on it and has fashionably spiked hair. Clearly we are dealing with a London hipster. Or an arrogant dick that should probably go play in traffic.

Tonight we are going for our last dinner together. The final supper is "chickenne mash." Brits don't have a clue about what good food is. They seem to be under the general impression that the blander it is, the tastier it is. Jesus didn't make spices without reason. Salt BELONGS ON THE DAMN FRIES. Every time you order fries, they are so tasteless it takes five or six packets of salt to start to give flavor. Brits suck when it comes to food.

After dinner, most are going to a show, and I am going anywhere that they aren't. Can't wait to do it, and then come home tomorrow night...

The Nasty Old Lady on my English Tour

2005-07-18T10:55:00.000-04:00

So, I'm in England, and having an interesting time. I'm enjoying myself, but my anxiety levels are sky high right now. Anyways, there is one old lady on the tour in particular that has put me to my wit's end... (the rest of this post is actually an excerpt from an e-mail to my mom)

The country of England is absolutely gorgeous, and I am blown away by London. It is a very messy layout, but it makes up for it in being just really comfortable. Instead of the large, intimidating skyscrapers, the buildings are a bit shorter, more spread out, and range in age from the mid 1500's up to modern day buildings. We went to St. Paul's Cathedral today (the place where Charles and Diana were married.) and in the back, by the high altar, our tour guide (who was hired just for the morning, and gave a great tour) gave us a lecture about Hitler, and what he was trying to take out during World War II. As it turns out, the city's warning system for bombing consisted of people volunteering to get up on the roof of this massive cathedral, and shine flash lights into the sky, searching for planes. When they were sighted, people would hand crank a siren so others would know to hideout in the subways. At the end of the tour we, had like 15 minutes before we had to leave to move on and go see the changing of the guard. One of our older ladies went up to the guide, while in the crypt of the church, and just started reeming her out, saying that if she hadn't wasted all our time with a silly lecture about World War II, we might have had a chance to look at the cathedral more. She said, and I quote, "This isn't supposed to be history class, it's an opportunity for us to see a beautiful building where people worship their saviour (hehe, look, I used the british spelling)."

I want to send her a memo with the following written on it:
Dear Crotchety Old Lady With The Freakishly Large Fat Sacks On The Back Of Your Arms That Are Roughly The Size Of Canteloupes:
1. THIS IS A HISTORY TRIP. The students who paid to be on this trip, who in many ways take importance over you...what with actually being paying members of the college sponsoring this trip, the college I might add that made this trip available to your stupid saggy ass, paid to go on a history trip. With the added price of credits, we actually paid almost $5000 to be here. Believe it or not, when you go to these buildings, they are supposed to be a history lesson. So why don't you shut your narrow minded old mouth and learn something.
2. THAT WAS A BEAUTIFUL OPPORTUNITY FOR YOU TO WORSHIP YOUR SAVIOR THROUGH SHOWING GRACE AND NOT ACCOSTING SOMEONE NEEDLESSLY. There is nothing the guide can do after she gave the frigging lecture. You are not helping anything, and instead are just making the group you are a part of, and thus a representative of, look bad. If you are so concerned about people worshiping their Saviour you should consider the basic concepts of his teaching, and show a bit of grace. OK, you didn't enjoy that. Guess what. You are in London for three whole days. If it's that important to look around, come back. I promise, the building will still be here tomorrow.
3. STOP YELLING AT PEOPLE AND FURTHERING THE STIGMA ABOUT RUDE AMERICANS THAT TRAVEL ABROAD. Last night at dinner, you yelled at the help for not bringing enough water to your table when it was painfully obvious more water was coming. In doing so, you irritated the wait staff which resulted in poor service for all of us. In accosting the tour guide, you yelled at someone who was doing their job in the way that has worked for 15 years, and who now just has another great story to make fun of rude, ignorant Americans.
In Conclusion: You should probably be thankful you don't live in Amsterdam where old, useless people like you that offend people unnecessarily and walk around with sand in their crotch all the time are euthanized through government subsidy. Also, you should probably take a really basic history lesson regarding Galileo. The universe is heliocentric (meaning revolves around the sun and not your needy old ass). That is all.

Despite all the venting here, I am having a really good time with Ely. We actually hung out yesterday in the Eagle and Child, which is the pub that C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien used to chill in together. Who knows, maybe someday people will go The Old Toad in Rochester to sit where Ely and I used to sit together.

Sitting in the Christian Bubble For a Few Days

2005-07-06T22:56:00.000-04:00

So last week I had the distinct...uh...not privilege...hmm. It wasn't an honor, but it wasn't really an obligation or responisibility either. I suppose I would simply have to refer to it as the distinct experience of sitting inside an intense Christian bubble for almost a week.

I must say, it smells a bit funny inside the bubble. Pete Gallagher and I went to CreationFest last week to go see some shows and what not. Also, I wanted to kiss Admission's butt so that I can use it as leverage for a job next year. Creation is in Pennsyvania, supposedly a 6 hour drive from Roberts campus. I wouldn't know because Pete and I hopped on 522 North in PA, and went 35 miles the wrong way, and then had to turn around, thus adding 70 unnecessary miles to the trip.

By the time we rolled into Creation on Tuesday night, it was about 9:30PM. We went to the first person with a clipboard and asked them where our exhibitor site. After a slow deliberate search of their notebook, (alphabetical order is really tough...) they told they didn't know where we were and sent us to their friend with the same notebook. He also thoroughly searched his notebook, and found nothing...so he sent us to his buddy with again, the same notebook. When he didn't find us, he just sent us up into the exhibitor camping area and told us to find our site.

Sweet...it's now 10PM and we are wandering around looking at signs posted on sticks in the ground in the dark. Low and behold, there is no stick with "Roberts Wesleyan College" on it anywhere. So we go to the main office. At this point, it's 10:15, and I'm tired. I spent all day Monday helping at Connection, and only got about 5 hours of sleep before a solid 7 hours of driving.

The girl at the main office is probably a wonderful person with a family that adores her. She probably also flunked out of BOCES. There she stood, with her Creation Staff issued red hat pulled low over her dull, vacant eyes, ready to offer me some assistance in finding my campsite. She immediately consulted...yes, that's right, the SAME DAMN NOTEBOOK THAT DIDN'T HAVE US THE LAST THREE TIMES. After realizing we weren't listed in group camping, and checking exhibitor camping, she decided to call help. Help was a somewhat attractive girl that seemed like she could count to 10, thus being an improvement. I tried my best to explain the situation...she disappeared.

Finally, a skinny little guy showed up and told us he was working on it for us and would get things straightened out. He checked, and then told us to go meet "Ben" over by exhibitor camping, and he would show us a spot that we could use. Pete and I then walk back across the grounds and seek out Ben. Ben is nowhere to be found. As it turns out, Ben was accosted by an irate camper. Now, at 11:10PM, we must turn back to the main office and try again.

Our little buddy drives us back from the main office to Ben, and then they begin a careful search to find us a spot. The spot they select is actually outside exhibitor camping. Exhibitor camping is inside a tree line, just to the right of the stage. On the other side of that tree line is the shower house, 40 port-a-johns, and my campsite. To top it off, I had to park right under a pine tree, which left me with no choice but to leave the windows on the driver's side up, or risk getting a ton of pine sap in my friend's van that I had borrowed for the festival.

The idea was that I would sleep in the van for the duration of the festival and that it would be a pleasant place to sleep. It worked in theory. In practice, breezes throughout the day wafted the unmistakable scent of human feces into my van. As I told Faith Daalman one morning, "I felt like I was sleeping in an anus last night."

One perk of working for admissions in the morning was that I got to see a bunch of the other crap that was being sold at the festival. Among them were the wretched T-shirts that some unfortunate souls think quite clever and decide to purchase. In honor of Tom I will now list a few of the shirts that truly bothered me, and my answer to them.

1. Instead of "Do the Dew" someone was offering "Do the Jew." Well I want to make a shirt that takes it one step further and says "Mountain Jew" and has a silhouette of Abraham with a knife raised over Isaac. How's that for clever.

2. A picture of a Christian flag waving in the breeze, much like the chintzy American flags you can find in any tourist venue. The caption read, "The few, the proud, the Christians." Dear Shirt maker, you missed the memo...pride is one of the seven deadly sins. Also, I have a hard time being proud of Christianity when people like you make shirts like this, and then sell them at festivals, feasting on the impulsiveness of Christians that haven't learned the part about being financially responsible.

3. Instead of FedEx, it said FedUp...with Satan. I kid you not, that was a real T-Shirt. That's not clever, it's repulsive. If you're so insistent on telling everyone your religious beliefs in an obnoxious, public way, why don't you get a big sign and parade around large cities like all the other jackasses out there.

Also, why is it that at Christian festivals, kids suddenly feel the need and urge to become absolutely retarded. I'm not talking about the kids that have giant food fights and prank people by dumping two gallons of water on them while they are fully clothed. I'm talking about that quiet kid from church that everyone thinks is a nerd that suddenly decides to spike his hair, paint it green, rip his shirt a bit and not shower for the week. Do festivals and conferences just offer this free license to be a goon?

Perhaps it's because I'm not the most secure person in the world (which is probably why I derive a bit of entertainment from making fun of these people), but I really don't get this behavior. When you go to normal festivals, you don't see these sorts of people. But the scuzzy looking guywith a mohawk, 25 piercings, torn clothes and a studded belt that stumbles into you in a drunken haze at OzzFest, is also the scuzzy looking guywith a mohawk, 25 piercings, torn clothes and a studded belt stumbles into you on campus at a SUNY school.

Christians seem to so embrace the being in the world but not of the world thing that they forget they do still have to interact with the world. You're not showing them anything but some bad hygeine when you do that kind of crap. And honestly, if you can't do it around school and whatnot, why suddenly do it in that setting. You know the people you are with know what you're like for real, and are probably going to make you mercilessly for being a weiner.

Anyways, Pete and I left the fest after Audio Adrenaline Saturday night, with MercyMe still to play. We were pumped, we would probably make it home a little after 5AM on Sunday. At about Midnight we hit a crucial juncture where we had to get on I-80. Pete tells me to get on 80West. Now, Pete has the map in his lap, and is actually following our route with his finger at this point. Satisfied, he folds the map up, fluffs his pillow, and takes a nap for an hour and a half.

Suddenly, I see a sign for Youngstown. The only Youngstown I can bring to mind is in...Ohio, not New York. So I quickly wake Pete and say, Find Youngstown on the map. Pete searches Eastern Pennsyvania. Casually, I see him sort of shifting the map, trying to keep me from seeing he is now looking at Western Pennsyvania. Suddenly he says, "Man, I am the worst map reader ever...sorry dude." As it turned out, we had to take 79North about 65 miles to Erie, and the 90 all the way across to Oswego.

Even with all the blunders and mishaps and such, the trip was amazing. Pete and I loved the Switchfoot show, and there were also some other highly worthwhile shows. If you have any Christian t-shirts that bug you, feel free to make mention of them in the comments section...perhaps that can be a future blog.

Reflections on Beers of the World

2005-06-17T23:36:00.000-04:00

Today, I discovered the joys of a fine store in Henrietta. I am of course referring to Beers of the World. What a glorious establishment. It's like a grown man's candy store. I do believe I could become a regular there. Any store that has the sense to put all the American slop in the back and keep the Leffe, Bass, Gosser and such up front is a store I'm a huge fan of.

While I was hugely impressed with the selection and quality of brew, I wasn't as impressed with the quality of people around me. For instance, I found another reason to hate the Yankees while I was in the store. I am becoming more and more convinced that the Yankees franchise is nothing more than a giant idiot magnet.

As I was perusing the German section, a guy bumped into me, didn't apologize, and then continued back to the American beers. This clown was wandering around Beers of the World on his cell phone, talking Yankees baseball. As if that wasn't bad enough, he didn't know what the hell he was talking about half the time, talking about how it's not Steinbrenner's fault that the team sucks this year. I have a brief set of recomendations for Mr. YankeeFan:

A. Get off your damn phone. You aren't so important that you need to be on your phone while you are in a store shopping. And just in case someone got confused and really thought you were that important, you are clearing willing to remind them you aren't by talking about the friggin' Yankees like the moronic loser you are.

B. Just find your beer, and get the hell out. There is no need to purposefully stride to the back of the store to pick up your horse piss Budweiser, and then wander around looking at the other beers (while subjecting all around you to your less than expert opinion on the Yankees) like you might buy one. You know your opinions on beer are roughly equivalent to your wretched opinions of baseball, and thus you aren't going to be purchasing a quality beer.

C. On second thought, just go to Wegmans next time. As was previously noted, your taste in beer runs towards horse piss, not quality brews. So why bother coming to a quality establishment meant for those who take an interest in drinking good stuff (like McEwans Scotch Ale) when you can go to Wegmans and get your "Premium White Trash Brew" and pick up a sausage and a pack of Marlboro Lights to go with it?

Immediately behind me in line, and directly in front of Phone Guy was a guy that truly baffled me. Here he had an opportunity to sample some of the finest beers ever brewed by man, and he came to Beers of the World to buy Keystone Light. He doesn't quite qualify for the rant because he did show up, get his beer, get in line, and get out. No wandering around, no wasting of time and taking up space that is better left to those who look to use it right... But seriously, who goes to BOTW when you can get the same stuff at any gas station for the same price. Nothing is gained by going to BOTW, and a small piece of your dignity washes away when you do things like that.

On a much brighter side, BOTW does carry McEwans Scotch Ale, which is easily my favorite brew these days. A bit on the heavy side, but just so incredibly tasty. If you've never experienced the glory of a wall to wall beer store, you should make your way over to Henrietta and visit Beers of the World. And if you find yourself at a loss for what to purchase, give McEwans a try.

Batman Begins...and so does this thing...

2005-06-16T00:42:00.000-04:00

So tonight I took the opportunity to go with some buddies to see Batman Begins. We actually decided to do it up right and watch it on the IMAX. I gotta say, I'm glad they didn't have the rubber nipples on the Batman suit, because I don't think I could have handled nipples on a screen that big. Well, at least big rubber man nipples...

Anyways, one of the more entertaining features of the movie had nothing to do with the movie itself, but rather the other people watching the movie. There were a couple brothers in front of me, and a few more behind me, and it was like being at a charismatic church service. I think they missed the memo about suspending your disbelief because its a friggin comic book story.

Early in the movie, Christian Bale (playing Bruce Wayne) saves Liam Neeson (the bad guy). Without giving away too much (not that I really care if I do or not...) Christian Bale is hanging on his back, with one arm holding him on the cliff, and the other arm clinging to Liam Neeson. Somehow, he does a butterfly press with Liam Neeson and pulls him up over himself back on to the cliff. The wise brother behind me said rather emphatically, "Oh hell no!"

Similarly, any time something blew up, or there was a tense moment, it was a regular Hallelujah chorus...except they chorus Daaaaamn! instead of Hallelujah. My favorite moment however came in a slower moment in the movie. As Bruce Wayne is hunkering down in his mansion, beginning to plot out his Batman exploits (oh, I hope that didn't ruin it for you...Bruce Wayne is Batman), there was squeaking sound in the next room. As the cameras slid towards that room, one of the brothers behind me said, "Yup...it's a f***in' bat. Look at that."

Outside of that, the movie is incredibly well produced, and easily out distances all previous incarnations of the Batman franchise. The only one that might hold a candle to it is the original late 80's starring Michael Keaton. Bale plays a convincing Bruce Wayne, though his Batman voice is so husky, I think there might be a little too much compression in his underwear.

Also entertaining is Katie Holmes totally cock-blocking Christian Bale towards the end of the movie. I think the outstanding thing about the movie is that the script is solid. The dialogue isn't cheesy, and it isn't forced. The screenwriters did a great job of not adding unnecessary dialogue to overexaggerate the general nature of the characters.

If I were to rate the movie, I suppose I would give it a 9 out of 10. It's a good sign when you walk out of the movie, already raring to see the next in the series...and I hope my brother friends can be there to watch it with me...