Here's a video of Adam talking about his guitar gear.
Here's another of his band.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Four Days Late and Casting Crowns
On Sept. 20 a college buddy of mine, Adam Blalock, and his band, Four Days Late, are opening for Casting Crowns in Dalton, Ga. Pretty cool but somewhat weird when a guy you remember as a scrawny freshman has now started hitting big. Of course, we're planning on going.
Here's a video of Adam talking about his guitar gear.
Here's a video of Adam talking about his guitar gear.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
My running this month has gone downhill ... or is that uphill?
Just finished up with a run that barely covered two miles, but I was heaving and sweating like a ... well ... a guy who hasn't been running a whole lot lately and has been treating his stomach like a dumpster.
The challenge about running in my neighborhood is that the hills will slap you around and make you feel like you're running in a dream -- the dreams where you're trying to get away from the monster/kidnappers but your legs just won't go as fast as you want. Instead of doing the mileage I wanted, I cut it short and went in.
Excuse: I've got the hook-up that makes your iPod talk to your shoes and vice versa. While running a voice will actually tell you how many miles you've covered. For some reason this time it started calling off the distance in kilometers. Maybe it was having Olympic withdrawal.
On the settings I have it set to "miles," but it still rattled the distance off in kilometers. On one hand I kind of dug it because hearing I had completed 3 kilometers sounds longer than the mile-and-a-half (or thereabouts) it actually was. Still, that was all the reason I needed to stop the run .. and the fact that I hadn't done much running in the past week and was winded.
Another ready excuse is that I'm planning on starting back into my running (jogging or puttering might be a more apt word, but running sounds more athletic) schedule tomorrow and don't want to over-exert myself. Yet another is if I'm chugging along around the neighborhood in the morning before daylight, I can go shirtless and no one is awake at that ungodly hour to complain or laugh. Trash pickup guys and the newspaper delivery dude have had words with me though. It's all good. They chipped in for my very own bro.
The challenge about running in my neighborhood is that the hills will slap you around and make you feel like you're running in a dream -- the dreams where you're trying to get away from the monster/kidnappers but your legs just won't go as fast as you want. Instead of doing the mileage I wanted, I cut it short and went in.
Excuse: I've got the hook-up that makes your iPod talk to your shoes and vice versa. While running a voice will actually tell you how many miles you've covered. For some reason this time it started calling off the distance in kilometers. Maybe it was having Olympic withdrawal.
On the settings I have it set to "miles," but it still rattled the distance off in kilometers. On one hand I kind of dug it because hearing I had completed 3 kilometers sounds longer than the mile-and-a-half (or thereabouts) it actually was. Still, that was all the reason I needed to stop the run .. and the fact that I hadn't done much running in the past week and was winded.
Another ready excuse is that I'm planning on starting back into my running (jogging or puttering might be a more apt word, but running sounds more athletic) schedule tomorrow and don't want to over-exert myself. Yet another is if I'm chugging along around the neighborhood in the morning before daylight, I can go shirtless and no one is awake at that ungodly hour to complain or laugh. Trash pickup guys and the newspaper delivery dude have had words with me though. It's all good. They chipped in for my very own bro.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
We've all met Jericho Scott
Sports commentators and bloggers erupted over the wussification/panzyfication/puddination (choose your term) of America when the story about nine-year-old Jericho Scott trickled out of New Haven, Conn. Scott has too much of a cannon for a right arm and parents of competing Little Leaguers are afraid he's going to bean little Johnny. As the Black Star Ninja said of a a young Michael Dudikoff in 1985, "He possess gdate skeel."
Wherever there's a controversy in youth sports, however, there's usually a sniveling adult manipulating things for their own benefit. Further into the story it's revealed Jericho was invited to play on the league champion's team ... the team sponsored by the employer of a league official. Smelly, smelly stuff. Jericho opted to play with his current team (8-0 and headed into the playoffs) when some group somewhere declared since he couldn't be fitted with a Hasbro restrictor plate he shouldn't pitch.
The vitrol and spewage coming at the bad guys in all of this is well-deserved. The when-the-going-gets-tough-the-tough-have-a-meeting message they're sending to their own children is unmistakable. These are the things that plant a seed of something bad coming down the road.
Everybody who's played youth sports has come up against Jericho Scott. That guy in our league was Stan Brooks. This was more than 20 years ago, but I can still see his windup, clearly. It was deceptively slow, like when a snake rocks back slowly before striking. He had a straight overhand delivery that seemed to put even more velocity on the ball because of that downward motion. Toward the end of his windup, another gear kicked in and his right arm became a rattlesnake, those two fingers down the seams fangs, the ball venom coming at you.
Believe it or not, 11-year-olds have their own scouting reports. The one on Stan was he had two pitches: that fast one you basically swung at in mid-prayer and hoped it connected, and a change-up that made you look like you were taking a whack at the firefly in front of you instead of the ball drifting by a full second later. (Later Stan came up with some kind of pitch that actually had some dispy-do movement. We were on the same team [prayer works] and I was catching for him. He'd signal to me it was coming but I still couldn't catch it.)
At some point, that fear of getting into the batter's box turned into respect. He was still hard to hit, but familiarity had given many of us at least some confidence. Success wasn't an impossibility.
These kids in New Haven aren't going to get that if Jericho Scott is benched for nothing more than being an insurmountable challenge. The best lessons in life come with the greatest risks. Often the result will failing. The biggest failure, though is if they never take that swing.
Wherever there's a controversy in youth sports, however, there's usually a sniveling adult manipulating things for their own benefit. Further into the story it's revealed Jericho was invited to play on the league champion's team ... the team sponsored by the employer of a league official. Smelly, smelly stuff. Jericho opted to play with his current team (8-0 and headed into the playoffs) when some group somewhere declared since he couldn't be fitted with a Hasbro restrictor plate he shouldn't pitch.
The vitrol and spewage coming at the bad guys in all of this is well-deserved. The when-the-going-gets-tough-the-tough-have-a-meeting message they're sending to their own children is unmistakable. These are the things that plant a seed of something bad coming down the road.
Everybody who's played youth sports has come up against Jericho Scott. That guy in our league was Stan Brooks. This was more than 20 years ago, but I can still see his windup, clearly. It was deceptively slow, like when a snake rocks back slowly before striking. He had a straight overhand delivery that seemed to put even more velocity on the ball because of that downward motion. Toward the end of his windup, another gear kicked in and his right arm became a rattlesnake, those two fingers down the seams fangs, the ball venom coming at you.
Believe it or not, 11-year-olds have their own scouting reports. The one on Stan was he had two pitches: that fast one you basically swung at in mid-prayer and hoped it connected, and a change-up that made you look like you were taking a whack at the firefly in front of you instead of the ball drifting by a full second later. (Later Stan came up with some kind of pitch that actually had some dispy-do movement. We were on the same team [prayer works] and I was catching for him. He'd signal to me it was coming but I still couldn't catch it.)
At some point, that fear of getting into the batter's box turned into respect. He was still hard to hit, but familiarity had given many of us at least some confidence. Success wasn't an impossibility.
These kids in New Haven aren't going to get that if Jericho Scott is benched for nothing more than being an insurmountable challenge. The best lessons in life come with the greatest risks. Often the result will failing. The biggest failure, though is if they never take that swing.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Those moments ...
Welcome to my restaurant. What would you like to eat?
Before I answer she asks me where I would like to sit. I have a choice between three chairs. At each one is an old birthday card that I assume is the menu.
I think I'll have a frog sandwich.
We don't have that.
How about a turtle biscuit?
She rolls her eyes for a moment and says,"We have two specials: birthday cake and a vegetable basket."
We're at the dining room table, which usually only sees action during holidays or when family/friends are over. Rylee, my soon-to-be six year old, is taking my order in her restaurant.
As she goes over to the box of plastic food to get my vegetables and cake (balance is everything), I realize this is one of those moments. This sappy thing happens to me occasionally. I blame people who tell me to cherish this time when my kids are little as well as the fact that she's starting first grade tomorrow. Someday I know I'll be looking at Rylee, Jackson, or another future Barkley and wishing for one moment I could hold them again like they were little -- back when I was their superhero before they became teenagers and realized how lame I am. I'll wish I could quantum leap back to here and live for a few minutes in this make-believe restaurant. I'll think how cool it would be if I could actually go back to that time ...
The time I'm in right now.
We don't have vegetables. Would you like a fruit basket?
That would be great.
Here's your toast. Be careful. It's really hot.
A few minutes later I'm finished with my birthday cake, fruit basket, toast, coffee, and chocolate milk. Don't laugh. It was good.
Would you like anything else?
It's getting late and she needs to go to bed, as does her brother. Tomorrow's a big day and another milestone.
Will you come back?
Often.
Before I answer she asks me where I would like to sit. I have a choice between three chairs. At each one is an old birthday card that I assume is the menu.
I think I'll have a frog sandwich.
We don't have that.
How about a turtle biscuit?
She rolls her eyes for a moment and says,"We have two specials: birthday cake and a vegetable basket."
We're at the dining room table, which usually only sees action during holidays or when family/friends are over. Rylee, my soon-to-be six year old, is taking my order in her restaurant.
As she goes over to the box of plastic food to get my vegetables and cake (balance is everything), I realize this is one of those moments. This sappy thing happens to me occasionally. I blame people who tell me to cherish this time when my kids are little as well as the fact that she's starting first grade tomorrow. Someday I know I'll be looking at Rylee, Jackson, or another future Barkley and wishing for one moment I could hold them again like they were little -- back when I was their superhero before they became teenagers and realized how lame I am. I'll wish I could quantum leap back to here and live for a few minutes in this make-believe restaurant. I'll think how cool it would be if I could actually go back to that time ...
The time I'm in right now.
We don't have vegetables. Would you like a fruit basket?
That would be great.
Here's your toast. Be careful. It's really hot.
A few minutes later I'm finished with my birthday cake, fruit basket, toast, coffee, and chocolate milk. Don't laugh. It was good.
Would you like anything else?
It's getting late and she needs to go to bed, as does her brother. Tomorrow's a big day and another milestone.
Will you come back?
Often.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Picking up the running ...
A few days after my last post I broke down and got some more running shoes. I should've done it sooner. There are a lot of hills in our neighborhood and running shoes don't last as long on a big guy like myself. Imagine a semi having to go up and down mountains constantly -- the tires are going to wear down as are the brakes. Going down one hill near my house in early July I found myself looking for the sandy pit off to the side for an emergency stop.
While visiting my in-laws in Alabama, I looked into getting the Nike shoes that sync up with your iPod and monitor your progress. I've never spent more than $40-$50 on a pair of running shoes and didn't like what I saw in these things climbing to $80, $90, and more than $100. I finally saw a pair that had been marked down to $50, presumably because they weren't that great looking. Being a dude, I didn't care. The idea is I'm going to be running in these things, not modeling on the catwalk ... on the catwalk, hey ... doin' my little walk on the catwalk ...
Well, I'm hooked. I was worried the technology would be cool but the shoes would hobble me like an arthritic Budweiser horse, but that's not the case. Yes, I'm giving them a thumbs up. Just wanted to give my endorsement for those crazy kids at Nike and help them get their little business off the ground.
Last month, I set a goal for myself of running 60 miles. You gazelles out there do that in a week. For Clydesdales such as myself it's quite the undertaking. Well, not only did I make the goal but I started on the 6th and finished on the 30th. I love how you can track your progress and goals online. Your results from your latest run(s) are instantly sent to Nike Plus when you hook up your iPod as well.
Goals are to use the training program to get my 10K time under an hour. I'm hovering a few minutes above that right now. Soon hopefully I can go from being a semi to at least a moving van or something.
While visiting my in-laws in Alabama, I looked into getting the Nike shoes that sync up with your iPod and monitor your progress. I've never spent more than $40-$50 on a pair of running shoes and didn't like what I saw in these things climbing to $80, $90, and more than $100. I finally saw a pair that had been marked down to $50, presumably because they weren't that great looking. Being a dude, I didn't care. The idea is I'm going to be running in these things, not modeling on the catwalk ... on the catwalk, hey ... doin' my little walk on the catwalk ...
Well, I'm hooked. I was worried the technology would be cool but the shoes would hobble me like an arthritic Budweiser horse, but that's not the case. Yes, I'm giving them a thumbs up. Just wanted to give my endorsement for those crazy kids at Nike and help them get their little business off the ground.
Last month, I set a goal for myself of running 60 miles. You gazelles out there do that in a week. For Clydesdales such as myself it's quite the undertaking. Well, not only did I make the goal but I started on the 6th and finished on the 30th. I love how you can track your progress and goals online. Your results from your latest run(s) are instantly sent to Nike Plus when you hook up your iPod as well.
Goals are to use the training program to get my 10K time under an hour. I'm hovering a few minutes above that right now. Soon hopefully I can go from being a semi to at least a moving van or something.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Running
It seems like I've hit a wall in my running. I tap out at only two miles, which is pathetic. Mental toughness is the biggest part of it. This morning I tried wearing my old shoes (the newer ones developed a hole in the air cushion-ey part and made a flatulent-sort of sound when I pushed off). About a mile and a half in I realized why I had relegated them to yard-mowing duty in favor for the new ones - it was jarring and felt like I was running in sandals. At my size you need a lot of padding on the ole tires.
Usually I can go 5 and even 6 miles before calling it quits. One thing that makes it harder is that in running around my neighborhood I'm back at my house every two miles. It's sooo easy to just pack it in and go inside. There are a million reasons to do so as well (need to get ready for work, check my email, it's Arbor Day, etc.). I've just got to toughen up and maybe get "Eye of the Tiger" playing on a loop on my iPod.
It seems like I've hit a wall in my running. I tap out at only two miles, which is pathetic. Mental toughness is the biggest part of it. This morning I tried wearing my old shoes (the newer ones developed a hole in the air cushion-ey part and made a flatulent-sort of sound when I pushed off). About a mile and a half in I realized why I had relegated them to yard-mowing duty in favor for the new ones - it was jarring and felt like I was running in sandals. At my size you need a lot of padding on the ole tires.
Usually I can go 5 and even 6 miles before calling it quits. One thing that makes it harder is that in running around my neighborhood I'm back at my house every two miles. It's sooo easy to just pack it in and go inside. There are a million reasons to do so as well (need to get ready for work, check my email, it's Arbor Day, etc.). I've just got to toughen up and maybe get "Eye of the Tiger" playing on a loop on my iPod.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Why can't technology catch up?
I have this rant every time I go to the dentist. It begins with the framework of us being a very technological society. People living 15-20 years ago wouldn't recognize our lifestyles at this point. Small, tiny portable phones are capable of ordering a pizza or giving us a map of Machu Pichu. We take organs out of dead people and place them into living people. I write something on a computer screen here and almost instantly someone on the other side of the planet can read it. All that's pretty neat.
With that in mind, why is the dental world still using the tiny little hook?
Surely we can do better than this. It doesn't matter what office I'm in. I could go to Dr. Bob Marley, wolf down the complimentary brownies in the waiting room, and I'll still be tense when the sharp little hook is coming toward my very soft gum tissue. During the scraping I'm a full-blown body cramp. It's an especially nice touch to have hooks on either side of the torture instrument. This way I can contemplate on the hook inches from my eyes (another tender part of my body) as the other works me over.
It's 2008. I watched Val Kilmer do wonders with lasers in "Real Genius." You're telling me we can't get a teeny, tiny version of that to zap the tartar off my teeth? We have lasers that shoot into people's eyes and give them perfect vision! Take that one, ramp it up a bit, and replace the tiny hook!
Another recent advancement has replaced the twirly-brush thing, which kind of resembles a small circular buffer for your teeth. Sandblasting technology apparently has now advanced to give us the new teeth-cleaner. Not sure if I'm on board with this step. It felt like a small version of those cement-cutting saws that need water flowing on them at all times, except this was going on in my mouth. It was explained to me that this tool gets the stuff between teeth the rolly-dohickey didn't, but that just made me wonder if it was worth getting rid of that stuff in between.
My disappointment with technology started with those X-ray specs in the back of comic books. Didn't work at all. I've given up on the flying car coming around. Just give me a replacement for the tiny hook and I'll be happy, at least twice a year.
I have this rant every time I go to the dentist. It begins with the framework of us being a very technological society. People living 15-20 years ago wouldn't recognize our lifestyles at this point. Small, tiny portable phones are capable of ordering a pizza or giving us a map of Machu Pichu. We take organs out of dead people and place them into living people. I write something on a computer screen here and almost instantly someone on the other side of the planet can read it. All that's pretty neat.
With that in mind, why is the dental world still using the tiny little hook?
Surely we can do better than this. It doesn't matter what office I'm in. I could go to Dr. Bob Marley, wolf down the complimentary brownies in the waiting room, and I'll still be tense when the sharp little hook is coming toward my very soft gum tissue. During the scraping I'm a full-blown body cramp. It's an especially nice touch to have hooks on either side of the torture instrument. This way I can contemplate on the hook inches from my eyes (another tender part of my body) as the other works me over.
It's 2008. I watched Val Kilmer do wonders with lasers in "Real Genius." You're telling me we can't get a teeny, tiny version of that to zap the tartar off my teeth? We have lasers that shoot into people's eyes and give them perfect vision! Take that one, ramp it up a bit, and replace the tiny hook!
Another recent advancement has replaced the twirly-brush thing, which kind of resembles a small circular buffer for your teeth. Sandblasting technology apparently has now advanced to give us the new teeth-cleaner. Not sure if I'm on board with this step. It felt like a small version of those cement-cutting saws that need water flowing on them at all times, except this was going on in my mouth. It was explained to me that this tool gets the stuff between teeth the rolly-dohickey didn't, but that just made me wonder if it was worth getting rid of that stuff in between.
My disappointment with technology started with those X-ray specs in the back of comic books. Didn't work at all. I've given up on the flying car coming around. Just give me a replacement for the tiny hook and I'll be happy, at least twice a year.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
The iPod revealeth ...
Probably one of the best investments I've made in the last year is my iPod. Even at 34, I'm getting a little curmudgeonly and when these little devices first came out I poo-pooed them as just an extravagant little expenditure I didn't need. Eventually I decided to get one, but not one that of those with the screen. I still don't get why you would want one of those. Sure, I can watch "School of Rock" on it, but Jack Black could be dancing on the head of a pin, he's so small. Didn't want a shuffle, either, because I wanted to be able to control what I listened to. Wouldn't seem right to be working out and wanting angry metal music coming through and something from the High School Musical soundtrack comes on (From my daughter's playlist! Don't judge!)
I ended up going with a silver little 2-gigger. When given the option of paying another 40 bucks for the extra guarantee or whatever I firmly said no. (By the way, why do I have to pay extra in case your product craps out? If something goes wrong shouldn't you be open to fixing/replacing it anyway?) For the first 6-8 months I was extry-careful with it. Since then I've dropped it on the pavement many times and it still works fine. Bogus offer for extended warranty. Came out feeling like the man on that one.
The iPod is revealing about oneself, I've discovered. It didn't take too long before I realized iTunes was my own personal jukebox to Back-in-the-Day music. I went back to the late 80s/early 90s rock tunes and got them on there before putting on some music further into the 90s from the college years. I laid off after the initial gorging and then began a curious process of putting on a song here or there -- stuff that just struck my fancy (can dudes use that term?) and I wanted then. Later at some point I would scroll through my artists and wonder things like "Trixter? When did I download Trixter? Why did I download Trixter?"
It seems that my inner old man is beginning to creep out. Lord help me, I actually listen to more podcasts than actual music. I've ID'd a few churches spread out whose pastor's sermons I like. Some other pastors I'll listen to but not often through the entire message due to them routinely going with the same preaching game plan just with a different verse. An interesting juxtaposition is that generally I check out Bible Verse of the Day immediately followed by The Onion. A couple of syndicated radio shows - Dave Ramsey and Tony Kornheiser - are in the rotation but I'm listening more and more to podcasts that have to do with writing and media. Perhaps the nerdiest thing I check out is one called Grammar Girl. Only a few minutes long (trying to justify already), it opens with a little Cacasianish hip-hop jingle followed by the correct usage of lain, or something like that. When it's over I feel a little bit smarter but a little more feminine.
Even with all of its other uses, I'm still psyched that the games in it include Breakout and Missile Command (they're called something else, but we all know what they are). This little device has been more useful that I thought it could be. More revealing about myself, too. Speaking of which, I'm about to go surf for a new podcast or two. Seems there are some out there devoted to fans of "Perfect Strangers" and the comedic genius of Bronson Pinchot.
I ended up going with a silver little 2-gigger. When given the option of paying another 40 bucks for the extra guarantee or whatever I firmly said no. (By the way, why do I have to pay extra in case your product craps out? If something goes wrong shouldn't you be open to fixing/replacing it anyway?) For the first 6-8 months I was extry-careful with it. Since then I've dropped it on the pavement many times and it still works fine. Bogus offer for extended warranty. Came out feeling like the man on that one.
The iPod is revealing about oneself, I've discovered. It didn't take too long before I realized iTunes was my own personal jukebox to Back-in-the-Day music. I went back to the late 80s/early 90s rock tunes and got them on there before putting on some music further into the 90s from the college years. I laid off after the initial gorging and then began a curious process of putting on a song here or there -- stuff that just struck my fancy (can dudes use that term?) and I wanted then. Later at some point I would scroll through my artists and wonder things like "Trixter? When did I download Trixter? Why did I download Trixter?"
It seems that my inner old man is beginning to creep out. Lord help me, I actually listen to more podcasts than actual music. I've ID'd a few churches spread out whose pastor's sermons I like. Some other pastors I'll listen to but not often through the entire message due to them routinely going with the same preaching game plan just with a different verse. An interesting juxtaposition is that generally I check out Bible Verse of the Day immediately followed by The Onion. A couple of syndicated radio shows - Dave Ramsey and Tony Kornheiser - are in the rotation but I'm listening more and more to podcasts that have to do with writing and media. Perhaps the nerdiest thing I check out is one called Grammar Girl. Only a few minutes long (trying to justify already), it opens with a little Cacasianish hip-hop jingle followed by the correct usage of lain, or something like that. When it's over I feel a little bit smarter but a little more feminine.
Even with all of its other uses, I'm still psyched that the games in it include Breakout and Missile Command (they're called something else, but we all know what they are). This little device has been more useful that I thought it could be. More revealing about myself, too. Speaking of which, I'm about to go surf for a new podcast or two. Seems there are some out there devoted to fans of "Perfect Strangers" and the comedic genius of Bronson Pinchot.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Two giddy boys
Last Sunday my dad turned 68. Since forever he's been a huge NASCAR fan. My uncle Chuck was actually the gasman for Richard Petty for years, cementing the King as my family's favorite driver and us kids with Petty T-shirts.
Twice a year we would load up with with a few other families and caravan to Talladega. It was great for us kids. Most of us would sit in the back of a pickup that had been rigged up with a makeshift camper using a collection of 2X4s and a tarp. Somehow it held together for the 2-hour drive to the raceway. The whole way we'd cut up and raid the coolers for candy bars and Cokes.
Plenty of memories from the infield, where we always watched the race, but not enough time for that. My brothers and I have talked for years about getting dad inside a car to ride around the track. Kudos for my younger brother, Lance, for finally making it happen this year. One of the coolest things about the whole experience is that there are, maybe, 40 people there the whole time counting guys working with Dale Jarrett racing (group this was done through) and other people there having their riding/driving time. You've pretty much got pit road to yourself.
In this photo, dad is holding Jackson prior to the big guy getting his jumpsuit on. I had a feeling Jack would like the cars as they raced by, but the word "giddy" would probably be more accurate to describe him. It would also describe dad at Jackson's reaction.
Twice a year we would load up with with a few other families and caravan to Talladega. It was great for us kids. Most of us would sit in the back of a pickup that had been rigged up with a makeshift camper using a collection of 2X4s and a tarp. Somehow it held together for the 2-hour drive to the raceway. The whole way we'd cut up and raid the coolers for candy bars and Cokes.
Plenty of memories from the infield, where we always watched the race, but not enough time for that. My brothers and I have talked for years about getting dad inside a car to ride around the track. Kudos for my younger brother, Lance, for finally making it happen this year. One of the coolest things about the whole experience is that there are, maybe, 40 people there the whole time counting guys working with Dale Jarrett racing (group this was done through) and other people there having their riding/driving time. You've pretty much got pit road to yourself.
In this photo, dad is holding Jackson prior to the big guy getting his jumpsuit on. I had a feeling Jack would like the cars as they raced by, but the word "giddy" would probably be more accurate to describe him. It would also describe dad at Jackson's reaction.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
In that moment ...
Tonight my family went to eat at a steakhouse in Gadsden, AL. We were split up between three cars, so I was riding with my brother, his son, and my dad. After leaving the steakhouse, we pulled into the neighboring gas station because Lance wanted to get a drink.
He was in there a little longer than it should've taken, I thought. When he came out he told how a girl who had been pumping gas came running in as he walked in. She was hysterical and blathering about watching a teen girl jump out of an SUV with her hands bound and start running toward the road. The people in the SUV then drove up to where she was, jumped out, and dragged her back into the truck before tearing off down the highway.
My first response was for us to go after them, because it had happened only about five minutes earlier. However, a speeding truck can go a long way in that amount of time. Also, the police had been called and we realized there really wasn't much we could do other than pray.
It stayed on my mind the whole drive home. A lot of it didn't make sense, such as why the girl ran toward the highway instead of the store where there were people. After getting to the house I called the local sheriff's department. I was then informed that the whole thing was a prank by some idiots. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was a group I saw leave the restaurant just before us.
The whole thing got me wondering about what makes up a hero. I think everyone would like that title to be on them. At some point everyone's tied a beach towel around their neck and pretended to fly. It's in us to be something bigger. Something that rescues. Something that inspires others to be better in return.
Heroes are made in the moment. That instant in time where our decision to benefit ourselves or others comes so quickly it reveals our character rather than our skill in thinking things through. It's an army medic who runs through bullets to help her fellow soldiers. It's a teacher who couldn't read in the third grade, dropping out of school but getting his GED, and then coming back as a teacher to help kids like himself. It's saving a 1,000 people when the possible punishment is getting hacked to death along with your family.
I imagine it's also more common than we think. One factoid about life I'm convinced of is that, in general, we never hear about the true heroes. People who do good things but make sure others know about it don't impress me. Those who are the real deal are hard to find. They simply don't care about the publicity. Their goal is to save this person from their addiction or provide that person with a place to sleep for the night or convince this kid he or she is capable of so much more than the world has told them.
And that leads me to believe being a hero is not as unattainable as we might think. I'm the father of two little ones. In addition to really limiting how much sleep you get, your life changes in so many ways with these little additions. I wish I could take credit for this thought, but a podcast I listen to regularly is The Village Church near Dallas, Texas. Pastor Matt Chandler, a guy close to my age, was talking about how in the eyes of my kids, I'm a superhero. How? Little things. I toss my boy in the air, he thinks regular people can't do that. I have tea time with my daughter, she knows no other man will take that time. Wrestling in the floor or helping learn to ride a bike makes me a superhero to them.
To others, it can be just as simple. If I sacrifice something of myself to help another, I become something bigger than I was before. Risk is involved, because I may invest myself and not see a return as soon as I'd like, but that's how it goes. I'm not in it for the return. I'm in it to give.
Being a hero requires us giving more than we think we're capable. Two thousand years ago a man stressed so much over what was coming his way he sweat drops of blood in a lonely garden. He took it, though. He became even more of a hero than his followers thought possible when he allowed himself to be their sacrifice, despite the risk that most would reject him anyway.
We honor that man, Jesus, by being more than we think we're capable of in our own power and will. We embrace the risk of it all. We give more than we think prudent. We look for those who need rescuing. We find those who need inspiration. In that moment we become more ... because we allowed ourselves to become less.
He was in there a little longer than it should've taken, I thought. When he came out he told how a girl who had been pumping gas came running in as he walked in. She was hysterical and blathering about watching a teen girl jump out of an SUV with her hands bound and start running toward the road. The people in the SUV then drove up to where she was, jumped out, and dragged her back into the truck before tearing off down the highway.
My first response was for us to go after them, because it had happened only about five minutes earlier. However, a speeding truck can go a long way in that amount of time. Also, the police had been called and we realized there really wasn't much we could do other than pray.
It stayed on my mind the whole drive home. A lot of it didn't make sense, such as why the girl ran toward the highway instead of the store where there were people. After getting to the house I called the local sheriff's department. I was then informed that the whole thing was a prank by some idiots. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was a group I saw leave the restaurant just before us.
The whole thing got me wondering about what makes up a hero. I think everyone would like that title to be on them. At some point everyone's tied a beach towel around their neck and pretended to fly. It's in us to be something bigger. Something that rescues. Something that inspires others to be better in return.
Heroes are made in the moment. That instant in time where our decision to benefit ourselves or others comes so quickly it reveals our character rather than our skill in thinking things through. It's an army medic who runs through bullets to help her fellow soldiers. It's a teacher who couldn't read in the third grade, dropping out of school but getting his GED, and then coming back as a teacher to help kids like himself. It's saving a 1,000 people when the possible punishment is getting hacked to death along with your family.
I imagine it's also more common than we think. One factoid about life I'm convinced of is that, in general, we never hear about the true heroes. People who do good things but make sure others know about it don't impress me. Those who are the real deal are hard to find. They simply don't care about the publicity. Their goal is to save this person from their addiction or provide that person with a place to sleep for the night or convince this kid he or she is capable of so much more than the world has told them.
And that leads me to believe being a hero is not as unattainable as we might think. I'm the father of two little ones. In addition to really limiting how much sleep you get, your life changes in so many ways with these little additions. I wish I could take credit for this thought, but a podcast I listen to regularly is The Village Church near Dallas, Texas. Pastor Matt Chandler, a guy close to my age, was talking about how in the eyes of my kids, I'm a superhero. How? Little things. I toss my boy in the air, he thinks regular people can't do that. I have tea time with my daughter, she knows no other man will take that time. Wrestling in the floor or helping learn to ride a bike makes me a superhero to them.
To others, it can be just as simple. If I sacrifice something of myself to help another, I become something bigger than I was before. Risk is involved, because I may invest myself and not see a return as soon as I'd like, but that's how it goes. I'm not in it for the return. I'm in it to give.
Being a hero requires us giving more than we think we're capable. Two thousand years ago a man stressed so much over what was coming his way he sweat drops of blood in a lonely garden. He took it, though. He became even more of a hero than his followers thought possible when he allowed himself to be their sacrifice, despite the risk that most would reject him anyway.
We honor that man, Jesus, by being more than we think we're capable of in our own power and will. We embrace the risk of it all. We give more than we think prudent. We look for those who need rescuing. We find those who need inspiration. In that moment we become more ... because we allowed ourselves to become less.
Friday, March 21, 2008
At the house by myself
I woke up this morning when my wife's alarm went off at 5:30. My first thought was "I overslept."
5:30.
"Overslept."
That should tell you a little bit about my daily schedule. Newspaper delivery people and morning news anchors are the only ones who wake up earlier. Sick of trying to work in some exercise time throughout the day. I got up at 4 a.m. Tuesday and ran five miles around the neighborhood.
Crazy, yeah. I got through it mentally by pretending I was preparing to fight the indestructible Drago (who cheats by 'roiding up). Lifting rocks and chopping wood came later in the workout.
Anyway, it's Good Friday and everyone else is off at school or work except me. A perk of working at a Baptist organization is that Good Friday is considered important enough to take a day, so I'm appreciative of that.
Right now I'm in that there's-a-bunch-of-stuff-I-can-be-doing-but-do-I-feel-like-it part of the day. I'll straighten the house and maybe go run at the park. It's actually gotten warm enough that I can't ignore the fact my grass needs to be cut. The drought last summer had me accustomed to a monthly mowing schedule.
5:30.
"Overslept."
That should tell you a little bit about my daily schedule. Newspaper delivery people and morning news anchors are the only ones who wake up earlier. Sick of trying to work in some exercise time throughout the day. I got up at 4 a.m. Tuesday and ran five miles around the neighborhood.
Crazy, yeah. I got through it mentally by pretending I was preparing to fight the indestructible Drago (who cheats by 'roiding up). Lifting rocks and chopping wood came later in the workout.
Anyway, it's Good Friday and everyone else is off at school or work except me. A perk of working at a Baptist organization is that Good Friday is considered important enough to take a day, so I'm appreciative of that.
Right now I'm in that there's-a-bunch-of-stuff-I-can-be-doing-but-do-I-feel-like-it part of the day. I'll straighten the house and maybe go run at the park. It's actually gotten warm enough that I can't ignore the fact my grass needs to be cut. The drought last summer had me accustomed to a monthly mowing schedule.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Praise Gospel and Soul 016
Choirs from M. Zion Baptist, Thankful Baptist, and Cartersville Baptist churches have what's become an annual concert. This one held was March 3.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Thursday, January 03, 2008
It's been so long ...
... since I've actually written on this thing. Does it still work? Can blogs go out of date like a carton of milk?
It's the third day of the new year and I've (probably subconsciously) stayed away from the word "resolution." People usually have two outward responses to it: being a champion of the ways this is going to be the year or derision.
The fact is that everyone, on some level, plans to make even the smallest change starting every Jan. 1. It's natural to. We like start points that are simple to come back to. We can make general goals (be more organized) or specific ones (lose 30 pounds). The point is no one wants to be a worse person, you hope. To become better, there has to be change.
2 Corinthians 3:16-17 says that where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. Boy, is this an easy one to read however we want to. If there's something I want to indulge in, I can go ahead because God gives me freedom to do so, right? Nope.
The Spirit of the Lord has an element to it: conviction. For us to be convicted, we have to acknowledge we've done something wrong. At that point we take steps to fix what we've messed up. This is also called confronting sin.
After the holidays we're stuffed with food and experiencing the financial hangover that comes with Christmas. We're convicted, at least a little. Some more so than others. So we make resolutions to get our lives back on track.
What happens when we stick with these resolutions? We experience some success. We see some changes. We feel freedom from those overeating or overspending habits. When change comes, it feels tough during the process. But sticking it out brings a new perspective. It brings freedom.
It's the third day of the new year and I've (probably subconsciously) stayed away from the word "resolution." People usually have two outward responses to it: being a champion of the ways this is going to be the year or derision.
The fact is that everyone, on some level, plans to make even the smallest change starting every Jan. 1. It's natural to. We like start points that are simple to come back to. We can make general goals (be more organized) or specific ones (lose 30 pounds). The point is no one wants to be a worse person, you hope. To become better, there has to be change.
2 Corinthians 3:16-17 says that where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. Boy, is this an easy one to read however we want to. If there's something I want to indulge in, I can go ahead because God gives me freedom to do so, right? Nope.
The Spirit of the Lord has an element to it: conviction. For us to be convicted, we have to acknowledge we've done something wrong. At that point we take steps to fix what we've messed up. This is also called confronting sin.
After the holidays we're stuffed with food and experiencing the financial hangover that comes with Christmas. We're convicted, at least a little. Some more so than others. So we make resolutions to get our lives back on track.
What happens when we stick with these resolutions? We experience some success. We see some changes. We feel freedom from those overeating or overspending habits. When change comes, it feels tough during the process. But sticking it out brings a new perspective. It brings freedom.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Biff's Question Song (Stand-up Comedy)
I learned about this song a week ago and I still can't get it out of my head.
Friday, May 04, 2007
My Name is Earl, Rudy
Earl isn't one of those shows I go out of my way to get to, but if it's on, I'll partake. I'm glad I watched last night. It was on for something like 33 minutes and 28 seconds, or some kind of funky time like that NBC tends to use from time to time.
Jist of the episode: Earl is working on the loading dock of an appliance store when he decides he wants to work up front in sales. Neither the guys working on the docks -- the "Dockers" -- and the ones working in sales -- the "Dickies -- like that he's trying to make the switch. The head boss says if Earl can sell $5,000 of stuff by the end of the week he can stay in sales.
Both groups do whatever they can to make sure Earl doesn't succeed. When it seems like Earl is about to give up, the scene happens.
Charles Dutton comes in and says, "So you didn't sell $5,000 worth. Big deal. There are bigger tragedies in life."
I realized then that they were going to do the same scene from Rudy. All of a sudden I realized how it wasn't a coincidence that Dutton, Sean Astin, and the guy who played Notre Dame head coach Dan Devine in the movie were all in this particular episode of Earl. Dutton does his whole spiel and then to top it off all the Dockers come into the boss's office -- played by the same guy who played Dan Devine -- and lay down their credit cards to buy enough items for Earl to get the promotion.
I was having to laugh at this inwardly while holding a sleeping baby. Loved it.
For a look at how Hollywood tends to dramatize things, check out the final play of that ND/Georgia Tech game from the movie and then in real life.
Jist of the episode: Earl is working on the loading dock of an appliance store when he decides he wants to work up front in sales. Neither the guys working on the docks -- the "Dockers" -- and the ones working in sales -- the "Dickies -- like that he's trying to make the switch. The head boss says if Earl can sell $5,000 of stuff by the end of the week he can stay in sales.
Both groups do whatever they can to make sure Earl doesn't succeed. When it seems like Earl is about to give up, the scene happens.
Charles Dutton comes in and says, "So you didn't sell $5,000 worth. Big deal. There are bigger tragedies in life."
I realized then that they were going to do the same scene from Rudy. All of a sudden I realized how it wasn't a coincidence that Dutton, Sean Astin, and the guy who played Notre Dame head coach Dan Devine in the movie were all in this particular episode of Earl. Dutton does his whole spiel and then to top it off all the Dockers come into the boss's office -- played by the same guy who played Dan Devine -- and lay down their credit cards to buy enough items for Earl to get the promotion.
I was having to laugh at this inwardly while holding a sleeping baby. Loved it.
For a look at how Hollywood tends to dramatize things, check out the final play of that ND/Georgia Tech game from the movie and then in real life.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Ware County Wildfire
I just filed a story on Sweat Memorial Baptist Church in Waycross and its providing a temporary location for students and teachers from Ruskin Elementary School. Ruskin is dangerously close to the fire and will not be usable for days. This video gives an erie sense of what it's like to drive through the area.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Calling audibles
It's rare that an issue of The Index goes from the start of the production cycle to the end of it looking the same. Months in advance we plan for particular feature stories/series to go in or prepare for stories that relate to that time of the year, such as Easter.
I was working on the first installment of the mental health series in preparation for the March 15 issue when we realized that Easter was coming earlier this year. Joe, our managing editor, is working on a story for that issue (March 29) about a former Satanist. Each year during spring training we run a story about Christians on the Braves. This year, Dr. Harris interviewed a fairly well-known one and wrote about his testimony. That story will be in our upcoming issue.
Something else being held is a story about a member of First Baptist Quitman who died in church but was then brought back to life. We thought it would go better with the Easter issue, for obvious reasons.
I was working on the first installment of the mental health series in preparation for the March 15 issue when we realized that Easter was coming earlier this year. Joe, our managing editor, is working on a story for that issue (March 29) about a former Satanist. Each year during spring training we run a story about Christians on the Braves. This year, Dr. Harris interviewed a fairly well-known one and wrote about his testimony. That story will be in our upcoming issue.
Something else being held is a story about a member of First Baptist Quitman who died in church but was then brought back to life. We thought it would go better with the Easter issue, for obvious reasons.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Upcoming series: Pastors and mental health
This topic is one I've thought the church has needed to address for some time. The stress pastors come under is intense, and the fishbowl they and their families live in is a situation the average churchgoer has no concept of.
We've all heard stories about a minister who lost his temper and didn't handle a situation tactfully, to say the least. At times these events don't just happen due to the stress, but because there is something wrong psychologically that needs to be addressed by a professional. We live in a world where there are more pastors being diagnosed as bipolar or with clinical depression. How is the body of Christ responding to those needing help for a wound that doesn't appear on the outside?
The Index is about to run a three-part series looking at this. I'm working on the first two parts while another writer is taking care of the third installment. My first story is going to be about a pastor who was dealing with these issues and even handed his resignation in to his church ... only to see the church reject his resignation. They stayed with him. Today, 15 years later, he's still there and the ministry has grown.
We've all heard stories about a minister who lost his temper and didn't handle a situation tactfully, to say the least. At times these events don't just happen due to the stress, but because there is something wrong psychologically that needs to be addressed by a professional. We live in a world where there are more pastors being diagnosed as bipolar or with clinical depression. How is the body of Christ responding to those needing help for a wound that doesn't appear on the outside?
The Index is about to run a three-part series looking at this. I'm working on the first two parts while another writer is taking care of the third installment. My first story is going to be about a pastor who was dealing with these issues and even handed his resignation in to his church ... only to see the church reject his resignation. They stayed with him. Today, 15 years later, he's still there and the ministry has grown.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Remembers those lost in Honduras
Our current issue was a tough one to get out. First of all, it was centered around the deaths of three missionaries in Honduras. Two of them attended Tabernacle Baptist Church in Cartersville. In talking to the people there I saw how these two guys, Ric Mason and Perry Goad (Perry's on the left and Ric on the right), were not the type of church members to do nothing but keep a pew warm. They got out there. They were involved. They got their hands dirty.Perry had his own heating and air conditioning business, a venture that I learned he treated as an extension of ministry in itself. His technical skills helped the church through the television ministry – a position that isn't very noticeable until you either mess up ... or you're not there. On the Sunday after his death pastor Don Hattaway said that after services Perry would have to chase him throughout the halls of the church to pass off the DVD of that day's service so Hattaway's parents could have a copy of their son preaching ASAP.
Ric had been known in Cartersville for years as owning a couple of eating joints, the last one being The Meating Place until he sold it. In addition to his work at Tabernacle, though, he was also the executive director for The Etowah Foundation, a group that provides grant money for students to go to college. Everyone seemed to have a memory of him and how he encouraged them to be involved in missions.
The most tragic thing about the loss of these two men is that they were solid family guys – the kind that you don't hear that much about. Service comes with a price, though we often don't equate that price with our lives. I never met either one of them, but every time the world loses men like these who are willing to set the bar a little bit higher, we all feel it.
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