Soon after my mom and dad got married, they returned to my dad's family's house to visit. My grandparents live deep in East Texas. Suffice it to say that it's a whole 'nother world out there.
Their house sat squarely on about fifty acres of forest and pasture. The tall pine trees thrived in the sandy soil that always seem to find its way into the carpets and linoleum floors that hadn't changed at all in thirty years. Pick just about any window of the house and you could see an animal--ducks or chickens, cows or horses. My Peepaw was a farmer/mechanic who could grow or fix anything, and the heaps of half-alive vehicles spread throughout the tall grass of his "backyard" was a testament to both his ingenuity and his pack-rattedness.
My dad returned here with his new bride. After spending a day with the family, they retired to his old bedroom--a smallish room that was illumined at night by a pale light hanging on a nearby telephone pole. The fake moonlight shone through the curtainless window, casting shadows around the unfamiliar interior. It's kind of a creepy place if you haven't spent a lot of time there during the day.
Nanna also had lots of cats. In addition to three or four dogs, the feral cats seemed to multiply to infinity. One of the oldest cats that lived there had been around for at least ten years. Its favorite nook on the property was the eve of the house. It had birthed several litters of kittens up there throughout the years, and it was always a warm, dry place out of the reach of the weather.
Unfortunately, the years had not been kind to this cat. It had gained a considerable amount of weight since its young, lithe days, and it was not as agile as it used to be. It was in the midst of all these diverging circumstances that my mother found herself at one o'clock in the morning.
As she lied awake next to my sleeping father, trying to fall asleep despite the bright pallor of the room, the old cat decided to climb back up into its abode. It climbed up on the stack of pallets and crates that had forever been positioned outside the window and readied itself to make the leap it had successfully executed for years. She gathered herself and jumped, but because of her increased weight was unable to complete the landing. Instead, she slammed spread-eagle onto the bedroom window, her outstretched claws digging into the screen and preserving her from falling.
The thump drew my mother's shocked attention. She turned to the window to find a gargantuan animal desperately attempting to claw through the window and murder her. Its silhouette cast a deathly shadow onto my mom, and she returned by screaming bloody murder and waking up my dad.
After awaking in full-combat mode and realizing my mother was ok, my father did the only thing you can do: he laughed. A lot.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Walking on Snow
The other day I was walking to meeting late at night when my path happened to take me by a plot of uninterrupted snow. The field had accrued a couple feet at least. I don't know what happened to the rest of it.
The snow had melted a little and then frozen back again, leaving a hard shell of ice over the soft snow filling. I kicked the ice and it pushed back. I wondered if I could walk across it.
I eased up onto it with my hiking boots. So far so good.
As I began to amble across it carelessly, a few steps started to crunch through the crust. First one heel and then another pushed itself through the surface. I leveled out my steps to increase surface area and decrease pressure. The surface tension held.
That tactic only worked for so long, though. Soon my precise planning gave way again. I figured out quickly that if I sort of shuffled my feet quickly they didn't break through nearly as bad.
Apparently, I was just heavier by the end though. I walked a few steps without problem, but then out of nowhere a normal step crashed! down to the ground, leaving me with one leg above the snow and the other immersed up to my kneecap in it. I let out a loud yelp. I immediately tried to jump out, but my dry foot jackhammered through the same ice to the same end. If this would've been ice, I would've died.
After several fruitless steps, I bounded back across the field onto the sidewalk from whence I had come. Socks now slightly damp with the melting remnants of snow, I turned again to walk to my meeting. It was totally worth it.
The snow had melted a little and then frozen back again, leaving a hard shell of ice over the soft snow filling. I kicked the ice and it pushed back. I wondered if I could walk across it.
I eased up onto it with my hiking boots. So far so good.
As I began to amble across it carelessly, a few steps started to crunch through the crust. First one heel and then another pushed itself through the surface. I leveled out my steps to increase surface area and decrease pressure. The surface tension held.
That tactic only worked for so long, though. Soon my precise planning gave way again. I figured out quickly that if I sort of shuffled my feet quickly they didn't break through nearly as bad.
Apparently, I was just heavier by the end though. I walked a few steps without problem, but then out of nowhere a normal step crashed! down to the ground, leaving me with one leg above the snow and the other immersed up to my kneecap in it. I let out a loud yelp. I immediately tried to jump out, but my dry foot jackhammered through the same ice to the same end. If this would've been ice, I would've died.
After several fruitless steps, I bounded back across the field onto the sidewalk from whence I had come. Socks now slightly damp with the melting remnants of snow, I turned again to walk to my meeting. It was totally worth it.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
The Window and the Mirror
I just finished reading Good to Great, an exceptional book by Jim Collins. Apparently, I am the last person in the continental United States to read it. Fortunately, its content is still relevant.
Collins drives home several noteworthy points--one of which he calls the "window and the mirror" concept. In describing Level 5 leaders (Collins's consummate leader), the author describes the individuals as passing praise on to others and taking responsibility for mistakes upon themselves. In essence, when things are going well, they "look out the window," and when circumstances are dire, they find the solution in the mirror, identifying something that they themselves can do to make a difference.
This concept is practiced all over the place--nowhere more evident than the sports world. Interview a great quarterback after a fantastic individual performance, and you'll hear comments like, "Our coaches came out with a great gameplan today, and the offensive line was really working hard to protect me. And since the receivers wouldn't let a ball hit the ground, we had a good day through the air." Follow up with the same leader after a team loss and ask him what went wrong. In contrast, you'll hear, "I didn't get it done today. We worked hard, but I did not make the plays I needed to when the game was on the line." Even though the objective reality tells a different story than the quarterback, he takes responsibility but passes on praise.
The concept is effective (at least according to the author's research) and certainly earns the admiration of fans who appreciate selflessness. But is the practice sound philosophically? After all, if the coach of that same team employs that approach 100% of the time, then players are never chided for mistakes in games--the coach takes the blame. If a wife praises her husband consistently but always assumes any problem in the relationship is her fault, then the man is never forced to honestly assess his responsibility in the marriage. Clearly, the subjective reality created by this practice does not always hold water.
A legitimate response to this question might be, "But surely if the coach is humbly taking responsibility then the players will follow his lead, and if the wife is meekly working on herself the husband will as well." That's true. Unfortunately, we live in a broken world with unmotivated and irresponsible people who don't always do the right thing and don't even know what the right thing is oftentimes. Without honest correction and assignment of responsibility from an outside party (a spouse, coach, administrator, or law officer), some people would never own up to anything.
So what's the balance then? How can this principle be so effective sometimes and ineffective other times? If Aristotle's Law of Noncontradiction is correct, then some other variable must be present. I submit, after approximately 4 minutes of uninterrupted thought on the matter, that this variable is internal vs. external setting.
Interval vs. External Setting. These selfless statements are generally heard in public settings. The CEO is generally quoted by Business Week and the quarterback is always interviewed on national television. Furthermore, these inquiries come from outsiders looking in, seeking to understand the inner-workings of a complex system. Because of the public setting, the leader disperses complements and absorbs criticism. The rules change in different settings, however.
When I coached softball, I had an unspoken understanding with our head coach: neither one of us would ever undermine the other in front of the players. If the coach was being criticized, it was my responsibility to support him as best I could (whether I agreed with him or not). However, behind closed doors we had frank and candid conversations. In that setting, I had the freedom to offer criticism and speak honestly about our disagreements. We could discuss changes to practices and personnel decisions, but we had those conversations at the proper time--out of range of the players and parents.
The same has to be true for a married couple. Even though your spouse should be your biggest cheerleader,
if that person is not confronting harmful behavior, the relationship will suffer greatly. This is especially true because of the equal standing of both parties. Although it is not a wife's primary responsibility to correct her husband, she is obligated to keep him accountable. The same goes for a coach who is responsible for a team and CEO who runs a business.
So what's the final prognosis on the window/mirror philosophy? I think the heart of the concept is great, rooted deeply in humility and thankfulness. I also believe that an honest assessment of any situation is necessary if you're going to make progress and move from good businesses, good teams, or good marriages to truly great ones. Together, this balance of praise, personal responsibility, and honesty can make those movements happen.
This concept is practiced all over the place--nowhere more evident than the sports world. Interview a great quarterback after a fantastic individual performance, and you'll hear comments like, "Our coaches came out with a great gameplan today, and the offensive line was really working hard to protect me. And since the receivers wouldn't let a ball hit the ground, we had a good day through the air." Follow up with the same leader after a team loss and ask him what went wrong. In contrast, you'll hear, "I didn't get it done today. We worked hard, but I did not make the plays I needed to when the game was on the line." Even though the objective reality tells a different story than the quarterback, he takes responsibility but passes on praise.
The concept is effective (at least according to the author's research) and certainly earns the admiration of fans who appreciate selflessness. But is the practice sound philosophically? After all, if the coach of that same team employs that approach 100% of the time, then players are never chided for mistakes in games--the coach takes the blame. If a wife praises her husband consistently but always assumes any problem in the relationship is her fault, then the man is never forced to honestly assess his responsibility in the marriage. Clearly, the subjective reality created by this practice does not always hold water.
A legitimate response to this question might be, "But surely if the coach is humbly taking responsibility then the players will follow his lead, and if the wife is meekly working on herself the husband will as well." That's true. Unfortunately, we live in a broken world with unmotivated and irresponsible people who don't always do the right thing and don't even know what the right thing is oftentimes. Without honest correction and assignment of responsibility from an outside party (a spouse, coach, administrator, or law officer), some people would never own up to anything.
Interval vs. External Setting. These selfless statements are generally heard in public settings. The CEO is generally quoted by Business Week and the quarterback is always interviewed on national television. Furthermore, these inquiries come from outsiders looking in, seeking to understand the inner-workings of a complex system. Because of the public setting, the leader disperses complements and absorbs criticism. The rules change in different settings, however.
When I coached softball, I had an unspoken understanding with our head coach: neither one of us would ever undermine the other in front of the players. If the coach was being criticized, it was my responsibility to support him as best I could (whether I agreed with him or not). However, behind closed doors we had frank and candid conversations. In that setting, I had the freedom to offer criticism and speak honestly about our disagreements. We could discuss changes to practices and personnel decisions, but we had those conversations at the proper time--out of range of the players and parents.
The same has to be true for a married couple. Even though your spouse should be your biggest cheerleader,
So what's the final prognosis on the window/mirror philosophy? I think the heart of the concept is great, rooted deeply in humility and thankfulness. I also believe that an honest assessment of any situation is necessary if you're going to make progress and move from good businesses, good teams, or good marriages to truly great ones. Together, this balance of praise, personal responsibility, and honesty can make those movements happen.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Come, Let Us Do Lots of Things for God
"Come, let us worship and bow down,
Let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.
For He is our God,
And we are the people of His pasture and the sheep of His hand."
As I read this passage in Psalm 95, the Maranatha tune filters through my ears. It's easy to sing this song as a call to our fellow man (fellow 'people,' I mean. Sorry, non-men) to come fall prostrate before the throne of our Lord and Creator. Naturally, that should be our response to holiness. Being struck speechless and powerless is a regular theme throughout the Bible whenever some mere mortal encounters the divine.
But more than it frees me, this psalm convicts me. It doesn't read at all like I'd like it to--at least judging by the way I live my life with respect to God. If I was going to rewrite it based on what I thought was important, it would go something like:
"Alright folks--let's go. God has done a lot for us. He's created us and given us a world to dominate, and we're not getting any younger here. Here's our charge for the day:
'Come, let us work and work hard,
Let us be super-productive for the Lord our Taskmaster.
For He is our Supervisor,
And we are the stewards of His creation and the workers of His fields.'
After all, we worship God best when we are giving everything to Him in service. Get your butts in gear and let's go!"
Somewhere amidst the logic of that thought process (and there are some legitimate slivers of truth in that way of thinking), I forget a pretty important part: if I'm giving everything to God, I don't have a lot of say in how He chooses to use it. When I say, "God, I'm giving everything in service to you," what I really think I'm saying is, "God, here is a portion of my time that you can use for these designated purposes." It's like giving Him a gift card instead of cash.
It's humbling to ponder the metaphors the psalmist uses here, and even more so when considering the verbs. We are sheep--silly, stupid animals whose only goal is not to die. As long as they don't stray from the master and they do what He tells them, they're serving their purpose. That's it--no glory here.* The verbs accost our sense of purpose as well, creating images of helplessness, submission, not-doing. Worship. Bow down. Kneel. How senseless is that? We're not doing anything.
And here's where dismay can turn into rejoicing. Isn't it awesome to realize that God actually really doesn't need us? That His plans for the world are not dependent on our tireless activity and exhausted efforts? Even if they were, He has 99 other sheep who can do it just as well. Viewing ourselves in light of God's omnipotent supremacy makes us pretty small creatures indeed.
My prayer for myself and you is that realization is not encumbered by pride and a need for critical acclaim--that I won't resent my lack of impact but can instead delight in my Father's power. Doing so elicits the recommended response of worshiping, bowing, and kneeling. If that's what God really wants from me, then who am I do declare that I can better serve Him by serving Him. Such reckless disregard for His wisdom really does make me a silly sheep.
*There's a reason you don't see cartoons made about superhero sheep
Let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.
For He is our God,
And we are the people of His pasture and the sheep of His hand."
As I read this passage in Psalm 95, the Maranatha tune filters through my ears. It's easy to sing this song as a call to our fellow man (fellow 'people,' I mean. Sorry, non-men) to come fall prostrate before the throne of our Lord and Creator. Naturally, that should be our response to holiness. Being struck speechless and powerless is a regular theme throughout the Bible whenever some mere mortal encounters the divine.
But more than it frees me, this psalm convicts me. It doesn't read at all like I'd like it to--at least judging by the way I live my life with respect to God. If I was going to rewrite it based on what I thought was important, it would go something like:
"Alright folks--let's go. God has done a lot for us. He's created us and given us a world to dominate, and we're not getting any younger here. Here's our charge for the day:
'Come, let us work and work hard,
Let us be super-productive for the Lord our Taskmaster.
For He is our Supervisor,
And we are the stewards of His creation and the workers of His fields.'
After all, we worship God best when we are giving everything to Him in service. Get your butts in gear and let's go!"
Somewhere amidst the logic of that thought process (and there are some legitimate slivers of truth in that way of thinking), I forget a pretty important part: if I'm giving everything to God, I don't have a lot of say in how He chooses to use it. When I say, "God, I'm giving everything in service to you," what I really think I'm saying is, "God, here is a portion of my time that you can use for these designated purposes." It's like giving Him a gift card instead of cash.
It's humbling to ponder the metaphors the psalmist uses here, and even more so when considering the verbs. We are sheep--silly, stupid animals whose only goal is not to die. As long as they don't stray from the master and they do what He tells them, they're serving their purpose. That's it--no glory here.* The verbs accost our sense of purpose as well, creating images of helplessness, submission, not-doing. Worship. Bow down. Kneel. How senseless is that? We're not doing anything.
And here's where dismay can turn into rejoicing. Isn't it awesome to realize that God actually really doesn't need us? That His plans for the world are not dependent on our tireless activity and exhausted efforts? Even if they were, He has 99 other sheep who can do it just as well. Viewing ourselves in light of God's omnipotent supremacy makes us pretty small creatures indeed.
My prayer for myself and you is that realization is not encumbered by pride and a need for critical acclaim--that I won't resent my lack of impact but can instead delight in my Father's power. Doing so elicits the recommended response of worshiping, bowing, and kneeling. If that's what God really wants from me, then who am I do declare that I can better serve Him by serving Him. Such reckless disregard for His wisdom really does make me a silly sheep.
*There's a reason you don't see cartoons made about superhero sheep
Jesus Meets The Godfather
I suffer from the same issues as every other 23 yr-old man in North America. No, not male-pattern baldness, and no, certainly not the other thing you're thinking about. My problem is that I am utterly and completely unable to follow my own advice.
A story is told in the Apocrypha
about Jesus encountering the most difficult test of his ministry. While traveling toward Jerusalem from Galilee, he encountered a man selling gyros on the side of the road. The man was hobbled and bent, and he squawked out of the shadows to the Lord. "Jesus of Nazareth! Have mercy on me and buy a gyro!" Jesus turned, with love in his eyes to address the man, but before he could speak, another voice rang out from the other side of the road. "Jesus, son of David! I beg you--try my falafel!" Jesus turned and saw a woman, equally haggard and distraught, plying her g
rainy confections as her only source of survival.
Jesus was stuck. While he loved loved LOVED gyros, he'd also always wanted to try falafel because it sounded so cool. Its very name rolled gently off his tongue. fu-LAH-full.*
Jesus kicked himself inwardly. "Dang it! I wish to myself that I hadn't talked so much about leaving everything to follow me. If I just had a few more denari--then I could buy both!"**
After his internal shouting match was over, the Lord stopped and prayed. "Father, let your will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give me wisdom to know which local fare to purchase with my limited cash."
Instantly, the clouds parted and a beam of light pierced the eastern sky. Both vendors were blinded by the light of God's glory and shuddered when His voice boomed majestically from the heavens. "My Son--in you, I am well pleased. Look upon your wrist and thou wilt find thine answer." As the heavens rolled back into place, Jesus pulled back the right sleeve of his robe to uncover his wrist. "Of course!" he exclaimed to the Heavens. "WWJD! What Would Jesus Do?"
After pondering the reflective question emblazoned on his fashionable rainbow-colored bracelet, Jesus knew just what to do. Turning to face both people at the same time, Jesus raised his hands in blessing, saying, "My children--your sins are forgiven you." He then turned the stones into croissants and peaced out for J-town.
This story was written by Enoch to illustrate a timeless principle--we humans, especially guys if I can be gender-stereotypical, are awful at following our own good advice. If you came and asked me about what to do in your dating relationship, you'd get the most wise and laid-back insight ever. I am a stud when it comes to giving advice.*** However, if you watched my life because you thought, "Hey, Josh is a wise guy who gives really good advice--let's watch him actually do a relationship," then you would be greatly disappointed (just as I usually am).
Because of this apparent fault in my person, it has become necessary for me to develop coping mechanisms. After years of angrily beating my head into a wall after doing something stupid that I knew in advance was wrong, I decided a couple weeks ago to follow the Jesus parable for myself.
Anytime I'm in a quandary now, I simply ask my advice-giving alter-ego for wisdom. He's super cool and really chill, kind of like the Godfather. I call him The Godfather. He's the guy that everyone waits in line for years to talk to, like the Dalai Lama. He just sits there, calm and collected, couchant on his plush sofa doling out advice while sipping a strawberry lemonade from the dimly-lit recesses of a billiards room filled with quietly humming air-hockey tables and long-since inoperable vintage pinball machines from the early 70s. I come to him with my concerns, and he answers them easily, even flippantly.
"Godfather...should I call my girlfriend right now? I know I just talked to her last night, but I miss her a bunch. Is it a good idea, or am I being too clingy? I've been feeling a little bit like she wants some space, but I don't think it's unreasonable for me to call her. What do you think? You are so wise, dear Godfather. Should I call her?"
He interrupts sucking on his lemon slice to acknowledge my question with a glance. "No," he says, finally.
"Oh, thank you, Godfather! You are so wise! I knew, deep down, that's what I ought to do, but I just needed someone to say it to me. If I can ever do anything--"
He then shoes me away with a hand gesture and two big oily guys drag me away as I grovel at his feet. Yes, it's a little embarrassing but it's effective, and as long as I can do that on the inside, I don't have to look like an idiot to everyone else.
If you'd like to speak to The Godfather about your own relational problems, then be my guest. He gives wonderful advice, but just know that when he asks you to "go to the mattresses" for him, he's not asking you to pick up a Sealy Posturepedic for his ailing mother.
*What the Lord didn't know is that falafel is, in fact, disgusting.
**It's apparent at this point why this story is found in the Apocrypha and not the real Bible.
***I say this jokingly but humbly believing I actually do give really good advice.
A story is told in the Apocrypha
about Jesus encountering the most difficult test of his ministry. While traveling toward Jerusalem from Galilee, he encountered a man selling gyros on the side of the road. The man was hobbled and bent, and he squawked out of the shadows to the Lord. "Jesus of Nazareth! Have mercy on me and buy a gyro!" Jesus turned, with love in his eyes to address the man, but before he could speak, another voice rang out from the other side of the road. "Jesus, son of David! I beg you--try my falafel!" Jesus turned and saw a woman, equally haggard and distraught, plying her g
rainy confections as her only source of survival.
Jesus was stuck. While he loved loved LOVED gyros, he'd also always wanted to try falafel because it sounded so cool. Its very name rolled gently off his tongue. fu-LAH-full.*
Jesus kicked himself inwardly. "Dang it! I wish to myself that I hadn't talked so much about leaving everything to follow me. If I just had a few more denari--then I could buy both!"**
After his internal shouting match was over, the Lord stopped and prayed. "Father, let your will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give me wisdom to know which local fare to purchase with my limited cash."
Instantly, the clouds parted and a beam of light pierced the eastern sky. Both vendors were blinded by the light of God's glory and shuddered when His voice boomed majestically from the heavens. "My Son--in you, I am well pleased. Look upon your wrist and thou wilt find thine answer." As the heavens rolled back into place, Jesus pulled back the right sleeve of his robe to uncover his wrist. "Of course!" he exclaimed to the Heavens. "WWJD! What Would Jesus Do?"
After pondering the reflective question emblazoned on his fashionable rainbow-colored bracelet, Jesus knew just what to do. Turning to face both people at the same time, Jesus raised his hands in blessing, saying, "My children--your sins are forgiven you." He then turned the stones into croissants and peaced out for J-town.
This story was written by Enoch to illustrate a timeless principle--we humans, especially guys if I can be gender-stereotypical, are awful at following our own good advice. If you came and asked me about what to do in your dating relationship, you'd get the most wise and laid-back insight ever. I am a stud when it comes to giving advice.*** However, if you watched my life because you thought, "Hey, Josh is a wise guy who gives really good advice--let's watch him actually do a relationship," then you would be greatly disappointed (just as I usually am).
Because of this apparent fault in my person, it has become necessary for me to develop coping mechanisms. After years of angrily beating my head into a wall after doing something stupid that I knew in advance was wrong, I decided a couple weeks ago to follow the Jesus parable for myself.
Anytime I'm in a quandary now, I simply ask my advice-giving alter-ego for wisdom. He's super cool and really chill, kind of like the Godfather. I call him The Godfather. He's the guy that everyone waits in line for years to talk to, like the Dalai Lama. He just sits there, calm and collected, couchant on his plush sofa doling out advice while sipping a strawberry lemonade from the dimly-lit recesses of a billiards room filled with quietly humming air-hockey tables and long-since inoperable vintage pinball machines from the early 70s. I come to him with my concerns, and he answers them easily, even flippantly.
"Godfather...should I call my girlfriend right now? I know I just talked to her last night, but I miss her a bunch. Is it a good idea, or am I being too clingy? I've been feeling a little bit like she wants some space, but I don't think it's unreasonable for me to call her. What do you think? You are so wise, dear Godfather. Should I call her?"He interrupts sucking on his lemon slice to acknowledge my question with a glance. "No," he says, finally.
"Oh, thank you, Godfather! You are so wise! I knew, deep down, that's what I ought to do, but I just needed someone to say it to me. If I can ever do anything--"
He then shoes me away with a hand gesture and two big oily guys drag me away as I grovel at his feet. Yes, it's a little embarrassing but it's effective, and as long as I can do that on the inside, I don't have to look like an idiot to everyone else.
If you'd like to speak to The Godfather about your own relational problems, then be my guest. He gives wonderful advice, but just know that when he asks you to "go to the mattresses" for him, he's not asking you to pick up a Sealy Posturepedic for his ailing mother.
*What the Lord didn't know is that falafel is, in fact, disgusting.
**It's apparent at this point why this story is found in the Apocrypha and not the real Bible.
***I say this jokingly but humbly believing I actually do give really good advice.
Friday, August 27, 2010
The Wonders of Technology
I am very thankful for modern technology. Every day, people all over the world--Americans and non-Americans alike--take for granted millions upon millions of practical household inventions. People go about their daily routines mindlessly, completely ungrateful for technological breakthroughs like coffee pots, computers, the atomic bomb, oxygen, and other household appliances. It's as if they're saying, "I'm a human being--I deserve to stick to the Earth!" Where would they be if Ein
stein hadn't of invented gravity? Floating around space--that's where they'd be, the ingrates.
I, for one, am completely aware of the electronic world (or e-Earth, if you will) that we live in. Ever since I popped out of my mom, I have thrived upon the hum of machines and the buzz of radio waves reverberating my fillings.* My recurring nightmare finds me crying helplessly in the woods as I try and sleep in the fresh air under a starlit sky, alone and bereft of peace without an iPod, microwave oven, or my Lost DVD collection.*** In contrast, when I sit in long meetings and daydream, the Nirvana I imagine always somehow involves the Internet, a construction site, and being hooked up to critical life support. I love technology so much that I once begged the doctor to let me live in an iron lung. The loser completely ignored me.^
This brings me to my favorite piece of technology: the cellular phone (or as the kids are calling them these days, "cell phones"). I remember when these things were called "car phones" and they came in nifty black leather bags that resembled man-purses with scrunchy cords dangling from the zipper. I love cell phones because I can always be connected to anyone I've ever known or thought about knowing within just a few seconds. Never do I have to worry about being alone--someone could call me at any second! No more will I have to worry about battling the dark stillness of the night--I'll leave my phone on, and maybe I'll hear it ring at 3 in the morning. What joy!
The real reason I think I like mobiles so much stems from a traumatic incident early in my life--something quite personal that I've never shared with anyone else:^^
I once knew this girl...well, she was a woman, really. I was infatuated with her, quite honestly. For months, I didn't want to be with anyone but her. We ate all our meals together, went everywhere toge
ther, and even slept together (something I'm not very proud of). In short, we did everything together. You might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not--we were connected, physically and emotionally. Friends would try and talk to me about her, but most of the time, I just wouldn't listen. It got to the point where people--some of whom I didn't even know--would shout at me unceasingly, ready for me to leave this woman and get a life. I just wanted to be with her, though; I knew nothing else. I would try and push them away, but again and again they returned, each time louder as if invigorated and enthralled by my feeble resistance.
But as time went on, things started getting tense between us. I started sensing that she really wanted me to leave, yet ironically, I was, at the same time, feeling incredibly smothered by our relationship. When we'd first gotten together, we were both growing so much! But what both of us realized was, while I was still g
rowing, she had virtually stopped months ago. Our relationship, while still enjoyable at times, weighed on her heavily, and she was ready for me to go. She'd say as much to me--never harshly--but sometimes with frustration. I didn't take her seriously until the day she kicked me out.
To be clear, she had help. On her own, I still to this day doubt that she could of gotten rid of me, so intricate was our connection. But she had friends and family--as well as professional council--advising her to push me out of her life. I didn't know what hit me.
I found out later that her "friendly" doctor actually medicated her, inhibiting her ability to think clearly and enabling her to do what she did. Things had been basically fine for several weeks, but then, within a matter of hours, she decided it was over.
I felt incredible pressure to leave. Wanting desperately to salvage the great thing we had for so long, I clung--too long, I now realize--to the past, unwilling to move on. But with nowhere to go but out, I reluctantly escaped with nothing but my life to show for it. Tears were shed by myself and her as well as by our friends. Their tears were of happiness; ours, tears of deep pain.
Yet all this difficulty is nothing compared to final blow felled to me that day. After hours of attempting to forever change our relationship, the same doctor who drugged her severed our connection forever.
Ever since that day, I have subconsciously--sometimes, even vengefully--sought to regain that type of connection with her. My life has seen me bounce around from woman to woman, trying in vain to feel as closely joined to someone as I did for those few short months. But now that cell phones are accessible to all of the world, I never have to worry again! Instead of trying to reconnect that physical umbilical cord, I have an electronic one! And that is what makes all the difference.
*Yes, I did have fillings as an infant. It was an arduous delivery; please don't ask. If you want, I have a photo album on Facebook with excessively detailed pictures.**
**Not really.
***I still can't find those confounded discs! They really are good at what they do.
^Ok, he did not completely ignore me. What he actually said was, "Nurse, please give the boy another shot of Novocaine."
^^Which makes the story perfect for the anonymity of the Internet.
stein hadn't of invented gravity? Floating around space--that's where they'd be, the ingrates.
I, for one, am completely aware of the electronic world (or e-Earth, if you will) that we live in. Ever since I popped out of my mom, I have thrived upon the hum of machines and the buzz of radio waves reverberating my fillings.* My recurring nightmare finds me crying helplessly in the woods as I try and sleep in the fresh air under a starlit sky, alone and bereft of peace without an iPod, microwave oven, or my Lost DVD collection.*** In contrast, when I sit in long meetings and daydream, the Nirvana I imagine always somehow involves the Internet, a construction site, and being hooked up to critical life support. I love technology so much that I once begged the doctor to let me live in an iron lung. The loser completely ignored me.^
This brings me to my favorite piece of technology: the cellular phone (or as the kids are calling them these days, "cell phones"). I remember when these things were called "car phones" and they came in nifty black leather bags that resembled man-purses with scrunchy cords dangling from the zipper. I love cell phones because I can always be connected to anyone I've ever known or thought about knowing within just a few seconds. Never do I have to worry about being alone--someone could call me at any second! No more will I have to worry about battling the dark stillness of the night--I'll leave my phone on, and maybe I'll hear it ring at 3 in the morning. What joy!
The real reason I think I like mobiles so much stems from a traumatic incident early in my life--something quite personal that I've never shared with anyone else:^^
I once knew this girl...well, she was a woman, really. I was infatuated with her, quite honestly. For months, I didn't want to be with anyone but her. We ate all our meals together, went everywhere toge
ther, and even slept together (something I'm not very proud of). In short, we did everything together. You might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not--we were connected, physically and emotionally. Friends would try and talk to me about her, but most of the time, I just wouldn't listen. It got to the point where people--some of whom I didn't even know--would shout at me unceasingly, ready for me to leave this woman and get a life. I just wanted to be with her, though; I knew nothing else. I would try and push them away, but again and again they returned, each time louder as if invigorated and enthralled by my feeble resistance.But as time went on, things started getting tense between us. I started sensing that she really wanted me to leave, yet ironically, I was, at the same time, feeling incredibly smothered by our relationship. When we'd first gotten together, we were both growing so much! But what both of us realized was, while I was still g
rowing, she had virtually stopped months ago. Our relationship, while still enjoyable at times, weighed on her heavily, and she was ready for me to go. She'd say as much to me--never harshly--but sometimes with frustration. I didn't take her seriously until the day she kicked me out.To be clear, she had help. On her own, I still to this day doubt that she could of gotten rid of me, so intricate was our connection. But she had friends and family--as well as professional council--advising her to push me out of her life. I didn't know what hit me.
I found out later that her "friendly" doctor actually medicated her, inhibiting her ability to think clearly and enabling her to do what she did. Things had been basically fine for several weeks, but then, within a matter of hours, she decided it was over.
I felt incredible pressure to leave. Wanting desperately to salvage the great thing we had for so long, I clung--too long, I now realize--to the past, unwilling to move on. But with nowhere to go but out, I reluctantly escaped with nothing but my life to show for it. Tears were shed by myself and her as well as by our friends. Their tears were of happiness; ours, tears of deep pain.
Yet all this difficulty is nothing compared to final blow felled to me that day. After hours of attempting to forever change our relationship, the same doctor who drugged her severed our connection forever.
Ever since that day, I have subconsciously--sometimes, even vengefully--sought to regain that type of connection with her. My life has seen me bounce around from woman to woman, trying in vain to feel as closely joined to someone as I did for those few short months. But now that cell phones are accessible to all of the world, I never have to worry again! Instead of trying to reconnect that physical umbilical cord, I have an electronic one! And that is what makes all the difference.
*Yes, I did have fillings as an infant. It was an arduous delivery; please don't ask. If you want, I have a photo album on Facebook with excessively detailed pictures.****Not really.
***I still can't find those confounded discs! They really are good at what they do.
^Ok, he did not completely ignore me. What he actually said was, "Nurse, please give the boy another shot of Novocaine."
^^Which makes the story perfect for the anonymity of the Internet.
New England: Land of the Free, Home of the Crazy Driver
As you may already know, I've recently moved to New England, or as I like to call it, "Boston." Bostonians are a very proud species. They like to call themselves names. Names like "Red Sox Nation," "The Capital of New England," and "The Cradle of Civilization*" are common monikers that float about the pedestrian-laden streets like bedbugs in a college dorm room.**Bo
ston isn't the only place that thinks it's pretty cool. New Hampshire's license plate says, "Live Free or Die!" Given the choice and time to ponder it, I think I'd choose the freely-living option.If Boston decided to adopt a similar catchy slogan, it would be something like, "Drive Very Assertively or You Will Certainly Perish." Contrary to popular belief, this is not because New Englanders are angry people^; it's simply because their roads are awful.
Allow me to elaborate. In Texas (the Lone Star State), we have what most Texans refer to as "on-ramps" for all major highways. I'm not sure what they're called in Massachusetts, but I colloquially call them "the times when you try to accelerate to 55 miles an hour from a complete stop while risking the lives of about 4 people." (See diagram below.) No wonder so many casinos are based in New Jersey. People around here love to gamble!
These frequent near-death encounters have added a new level of excitement to my life. No longer is a trip to Target for a package of boxer briefs^^ just a casual jaunt in my 4Runner; it's now something along the lines of Indiana Jones running from a perfectly spherical boulder through a pack of poison-dart-shooting Incas while an Indian voodoo-man squeezes the life out of his beating heart. "Short Round" would pee his pants at the very thought of such a life-threatening quest. Sean Connery would shave his beard and pick up a Texas accent before embarking on such a trial.
The upsid
e of regular doses of danger has been that I am now much more carefree. After coming so close to death on a daily basis and somehow surviving, I haven't a care in the world. Yesterday, I blow-dried (blew-dry?) my hair in the shower. This morning, I bit off the head of a rattlesnake and spit it in Chuck Norris's face.^^^ Tomorrow, I'm not even going to set an alarm.If you, too, would like to be released from all the cares in the world, then come to Boston. I have a spare bedroom, and yes, it is decorated in the "University of Texas" theme, just as you'd expect. You can stay with me as long as you want.`
*This could easily be confused with "The Cradle of Liberty," a name for Faneuil Hall in downtown Boston.
**Bedbugs actually don't float much, but they will ravage your RA given the opportunity.***
***Bedbugs are also apparently invincible.
^Their angry ways actually have nothing to do with it at all.
^^ I still have yet to experience these legendary undergarments.
^^^Anyone who knows me or Chuck Norris would instantly see that such tomfoolery has no place in our loving-but-macho Facebook friendship. I admit I was exaggerating.
`Not in excess of one (1) night.
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