In lieu of saying phrases like "in lieu" and attempting to think a bit more adult-like these days, I thought it would be worth spending some time and reflection on the days of yesteryear. This idea hit me this morning as I stood in my disgusting bathtub taking a shower. The water doesn't run directly down the drain. It gathers and stagnates, making an ankle-deep bath as well as a shower. I like the thought of that. It is like two in one. Shower and bath. If you take a long enough shower, you really could lie down in it and the water would keep flowing from above.
So as I turn off the faucets and reach for a nearby towel, I notice the little tornado forming as the draining water made its way out of the tub. That little cyclone used to fascinate me. I used to think that if the drain was big enough, it would be this huge whirl pool and you could get sucked down it. And so there I stood, naked and captivated by the swirling water this morning. And it brought me back to my youth. The memories began to flood.
I remembered sleep overs and taking advantage of that first victim who actually fell asleep first. I remembered submerging his fingers in hot and cold water to make him wet himself. For some reason the biggest thrill was simply tickling his nose. In his sleep he would reach up and clumsily scratch and wipe while we would be on the ground, cupping our hands with our mouth trying not to lose it. The older I got, the more extreme the punishments. We'd pour freezing water on them. We'd violently push them out of the bed. We'd sprinkle things on them that we shouldn't have. Ask Corbin.
And as I watched that water drain, I remembered catching frogs and sticking fireworks up their, well...you know. Nothing thrilled us more than watching a frog get dismembered into pieces by a carefully inserted explosive. I remembered hunting snakes and beheading them with nearby rocks. It makes you wonder why more boys don't grow up to become more violent. Or at least, it makes you wonder why I didn't.
I remembered starting fires in my neighborhood. I actually went into my neighbor's yard, lit a zippo lighter, and placed it to the bark. When the impending fire engine got loud enough to hear, we would scatter. And we would hide behind our houses until our parents found us and forced us to talk with the authorities. Why weren't we arrested? Good night.
I remembered stealing people's filled plastic trash bags, taking them to the railroad tracks and lighting them on fire. I remembered stealing paint cans out of people's garages, busting the tops off, and running through the streets letting the paint fall where it would. I remembered the prank calls. You know, the awful ones that were possible before caller id. Back before *69 was a threat too.
And so there I stood, naked and fixated on the little water cyclone. And it made me wonder how in the world I got there. And why in the world I would be getting married.
Please begin praying for Kathryn now.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Friday, September 23, 2005
Engagement vs. Estrangement
Well, I finally did it. You know, "it." I am now no longer considered a boyfriend. I am a fiance. And I have one too. I am a betrothed man.
Who would have thought that I would be jumping face first into the real world? In a few short months, I will be beginning sentences with "my wife..." (My wife has an inner ear infection.) I will be thinking about purchasing real estate. I will be discussing family plans for cell phones. And family rated insurance. And retirement funds. And my children's college education. And what matches the drapes. And dining sets. And his and her sinks. And titles. And deeds. And other words that have previously been useless to me.
People like me should not be allowed to get married. We should be caged and disciplined until we are finally capable and mature. People like me prefer to launch water balloons at unsuspecting cattle than to iron shirts. We prefer throwing food to preparing it. We would rather destroy than build. And vandalize than decorate. We would rather sleep in till noon than get up and work. We prefer grape juice to coffee. We prefer comics to the newspaper. They have a term for people like me. It is called "children."
And here I am getting married. Kathryn Drinkard is her name. And she is in for a good time ahead. Well, let's hope. For her sake.
Who would have thought that I would be jumping face first into the real world? In a few short months, I will be beginning sentences with "my wife..." (My wife has an inner ear infection.) I will be thinking about purchasing real estate. I will be discussing family plans for cell phones. And family rated insurance. And retirement funds. And my children's college education. And what matches the drapes. And dining sets. And his and her sinks. And titles. And deeds. And other words that have previously been useless to me.
People like me should not be allowed to get married. We should be caged and disciplined until we are finally capable and mature. People like me prefer to launch water balloons at unsuspecting cattle than to iron shirts. We prefer throwing food to preparing it. We would rather destroy than build. And vandalize than decorate. We would rather sleep in till noon than get up and work. We prefer grape juice to coffee. We prefer comics to the newspaper. They have a term for people like me. It is called "children."
And here I am getting married. Kathryn Drinkard is her name. And she is in for a good time ahead. Well, let's hope. For her sake.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Philosophical/Ethical Question
Well done commenting. I guess it turns out that 100 comments is not the limit. Good to know.
Moving on...
I was recently required to purchase a white, buttoned down dress shirt for one Mr. Russ Edwards' wedding. I was in the Gap in the mall and I was purchasing some khaki pants that were also required of me for the wedding. I saw a white, buttoned down dress shirt there and made the purhcase with the khaki pants. Heck, I needed them both, right? Why not kill two birds with one stone (which would be impossible, I think, were one to actually consider throwing one stone in the air and hitting and killing two flying birds. I think the expression should be "shoot two birds with one shotgun shell.")
When I get home I realize that the dress shirt was $50. Yikes. That is expensive. You can get dress shirts much cheaper than that. So the next day I drive back up to the Gap and return it. I don't know why I said this but I did. My excuse was, "Yeah, I found a white dress shirt in my closet and it turns out that I don't need this one." Why I didn't just say, "It is too expensive and I'm cheap and I can get it cheaper elsewhere" I don't know. I always tense up in returning things. I fear that whatever excuse I give them will not meet some "unreturnable clause" in the fine print of my receipt.
So I dig through my closet this morning, a full week or two since returning the shirt, and I pull out a white, buttoned down dress shirt, the very style and design that Mr. Russ Edwards wanted. And I sighed a sigh of relief. Now I don't have to go get another one. AND my excuse came to be legitmized.
Or did it?
In looking back, did I tell the cashier at the Gap a lie? Afterall, what I thought to be an untrue statement turned out to be true. But I didn't know that at the time. So does that make it a lie? Or does the fact that I did indeed find the dress shirt make it a legitimate excuse? Where does my motive fit into this puzzle? Since I had a motive to deceive does that trump the fact that in reality I was telling a true statement and that deceptive motive make it a lie?
Hmmm. Your thoughts?
Moving on...
I was recently required to purchase a white, buttoned down dress shirt for one Mr. Russ Edwards' wedding. I was in the Gap in the mall and I was purchasing some khaki pants that were also required of me for the wedding. I saw a white, buttoned down dress shirt there and made the purhcase with the khaki pants. Heck, I needed them both, right? Why not kill two birds with one stone (which would be impossible, I think, were one to actually consider throwing one stone in the air and hitting and killing two flying birds. I think the expression should be "shoot two birds with one shotgun shell.")
When I get home I realize that the dress shirt was $50. Yikes. That is expensive. You can get dress shirts much cheaper than that. So the next day I drive back up to the Gap and return it. I don't know why I said this but I did. My excuse was, "Yeah, I found a white dress shirt in my closet and it turns out that I don't need this one." Why I didn't just say, "It is too expensive and I'm cheap and I can get it cheaper elsewhere" I don't know. I always tense up in returning things. I fear that whatever excuse I give them will not meet some "unreturnable clause" in the fine print of my receipt.
So I dig through my closet this morning, a full week or two since returning the shirt, and I pull out a white, buttoned down dress shirt, the very style and design that Mr. Russ Edwards wanted. And I sighed a sigh of relief. Now I don't have to go get another one. AND my excuse came to be legitmized.
Or did it?
In looking back, did I tell the cashier at the Gap a lie? Afterall, what I thought to be an untrue statement turned out to be true. But I didn't know that at the time. So does that make it a lie? Or does the fact that I did indeed find the dress shirt make it a legitimate excuse? Where does my motive fit into this puzzle? Since I had a motive to deceive does that trump the fact that in reality I was telling a true statement and that deceptive motive make it a lie?
Hmmm. Your thoughts?
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Haley's Comment
I am conducting a personal experiment. How many comments can I accumulate for one blog post? Let's shoot for 100. So here is your responsibility as the reader. Leave me a comment. Heck, leave me 30 if you have time. I don't care if they are repeats. Just pump them out. Get other people to leave comments. I want to see if there is a limit. Will people get cut off from comment-leaving? Your dead line - one week. Next Tuesday I will post another blog and the comment contest will be officially terminated.
Here are a few examples in case you don't know what to write:
"Matt, here is a comment. Does this count?"
"Matt, this is a stupid idea. But here I am leaving a comment to tell you that it is stupid."
"If something is remarkable, that means it warrants you making marks about it over and over again. So isn't this idea recommentable? Ha ha!! Hee ho! Squeef pow!!"
You get the idea.
Have at it.
Here are a few examples in case you don't know what to write:
"Matt, here is a comment. Does this count?"
"Matt, this is a stupid idea. But here I am leaving a comment to tell you that it is stupid."
"If something is remarkable, that means it warrants you making marks about it over and over again. So isn't this idea recommentable? Ha ha!! Hee ho! Squeef pow!!"
You get the idea.
Have at it.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Bay St. Louis, Mississippi
At 5:30 this morning I was up and driving to meet up with three friends of mine to spend the day working at Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. BSL is about 60 miles east of New Orleans and directly on the coast of the Gulf. We spent the day in the hot Mississippi sun sawing down fallen trees and hauling logs to drop off points. There were about 12 of us working on the trees and we managed to clear about about 5 or 6 the entire day. The work was unbelievably difficult and I discovered that I am much whimpier than I previously thought. I have never consumed so much water in one afternoon before.
But that is not what I am going to write about. I am going to write about a sight that I have never seen before - an upclose and personal view of what an eye wall in a category 5 hurricane is capable of. I am still beating myself up for not bringing my camera.
The devastation was horrific. We drove along the beachfront road and saw concrete slabs of where whole houses used to be. Concrete stairs led up to nothing. We passed several army jeeps on the road and ran into many more soldiers in the city. Trees were torn out from their roots and crushed whatever was below them. Most of them were snapped at the middle, leaving eerie naked trunks pointing into the sky. We were informed that bodies were found caught up in the branches of the trees that were still standing.
And inland we drove, finding the remains of those beach front houses intermingled with the remains of other houses, torn and mangled in an enormous pile of rubble and wood. All of the houses were flattened, buried under their own rooftops that were the only recognizable thing that showed that what we were looking at was once a house. Wood was everywhere, splintered and snapped, littered in the street and on the sides of the road. Cars were overturned. Powerlines were twisted and wrapped around the remains of the fallen trees. And inward we continued. For another mile or so.
Garbage was everywhere. Businesses were boarded up with plywood, if they remained standing. Boats were found several miles from the coast. One was parked, strangely enough, in a Burger King drive through. Shingles on roofs were ripped off. The houses that were standing were gutted or leaning over about to fall. The huge concrete bridge that goes across the bay to the other side was completely shredded. Every piece of the bridge that was meant to sustain the weight of several tons was no longer there. All that remained were the ghost-like concrete slabs erected in the water at equal intervals. The water even ate up the asphalt we were standing on as we surveyed the coast line. Cars were picked up and slammed into houses and on top of other cars. Windows were blown out. Glass and wood and clothes and trash was everywhere. It was like an atomic bomb exploded.
We worked at a house about a mile inland. They had 5 feet of standing water in their house. That means a wave was carried onto the land that carried so much water that houses were buried up to 5 feet one mile inland. And obviously that wave stretched for miles and miles across the Gulf, most likely all the way to Mobile. Houses 3 miles away had standing water as well. Some folks told their terrible stories of having to flee to their attic as water began to rise. One couple was trapped in their attic with no way out and the water rose to their necks. Can you imagine standing there, trapped and completly helpless, with water rising and rising with no promise of ever stopping? I can't imagine being more terrified.
We saw a van that was laid down sideways in one neighborhood that belonged over a mile away. Car dealerships had cars crunched together, with several of them resting on top of each other. The horror and hero stories will keep coming. We heard a story about one man who drove a jetski through the bay during the eye of the storm to pick up some relatives and drive them back to his trailer just in time before the second eye wall hit.
I did not grow up around hurricanes. The devastation I saw today was enough to tatoo those images in my head for a good while. Some people are left with nothing. Their houses simply do not exist any more. Some only have huge trees smashed through their living rooms. The damage is astronomical. The frustration and disappointment is high. The reality of it all is a bit too real for my liking.
As we drove through the remains, none of us said a word. The sights were too consuming. And so with amazed somberness, we drove on, clueless of what to say and how to help.
But that is not what I am going to write about. I am going to write about a sight that I have never seen before - an upclose and personal view of what an eye wall in a category 5 hurricane is capable of. I am still beating myself up for not bringing my camera.
The devastation was horrific. We drove along the beachfront road and saw concrete slabs of where whole houses used to be. Concrete stairs led up to nothing. We passed several army jeeps on the road and ran into many more soldiers in the city. Trees were torn out from their roots and crushed whatever was below them. Most of them were snapped at the middle, leaving eerie naked trunks pointing into the sky. We were informed that bodies were found caught up in the branches of the trees that were still standing.
And inland we drove, finding the remains of those beach front houses intermingled with the remains of other houses, torn and mangled in an enormous pile of rubble and wood. All of the houses were flattened, buried under their own rooftops that were the only recognizable thing that showed that what we were looking at was once a house. Wood was everywhere, splintered and snapped, littered in the street and on the sides of the road. Cars were overturned. Powerlines were twisted and wrapped around the remains of the fallen trees. And inward we continued. For another mile or so.
Garbage was everywhere. Businesses were boarded up with plywood, if they remained standing. Boats were found several miles from the coast. One was parked, strangely enough, in a Burger King drive through. Shingles on roofs were ripped off. The houses that were standing were gutted or leaning over about to fall. The huge concrete bridge that goes across the bay to the other side was completely shredded. Every piece of the bridge that was meant to sustain the weight of several tons was no longer there. All that remained were the ghost-like concrete slabs erected in the water at equal intervals. The water even ate up the asphalt we were standing on as we surveyed the coast line. Cars were picked up and slammed into houses and on top of other cars. Windows were blown out. Glass and wood and clothes and trash was everywhere. It was like an atomic bomb exploded.
We worked at a house about a mile inland. They had 5 feet of standing water in their house. That means a wave was carried onto the land that carried so much water that houses were buried up to 5 feet one mile inland. And obviously that wave stretched for miles and miles across the Gulf, most likely all the way to Mobile. Houses 3 miles away had standing water as well. Some folks told their terrible stories of having to flee to their attic as water began to rise. One couple was trapped in their attic with no way out and the water rose to their necks. Can you imagine standing there, trapped and completly helpless, with water rising and rising with no promise of ever stopping? I can't imagine being more terrified.
We saw a van that was laid down sideways in one neighborhood that belonged over a mile away. Car dealerships had cars crunched together, with several of them resting on top of each other. The horror and hero stories will keep coming. We heard a story about one man who drove a jetski through the bay during the eye of the storm to pick up some relatives and drive them back to his trailer just in time before the second eye wall hit.
I did not grow up around hurricanes. The devastation I saw today was enough to tatoo those images in my head for a good while. Some people are left with nothing. Their houses simply do not exist any more. Some only have huge trees smashed through their living rooms. The damage is astronomical. The frustration and disappointment is high. The reality of it all is a bit too real for my liking.
As we drove through the remains, none of us said a word. The sights were too consuming. And so with amazed somberness, we drove on, clueless of what to say and how to help.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
When Crisis Hits Home
I was told that a crisis would bring the best and worst out of people. And when I examine my heart, I certainly believe that to be true. Unfortunately, primarily with the latter.
Baton Rouge has doubled in population in the span of 6 days, making us the fastest growing nation in the country as well as setting the record for the fastest growing city in American history. With the population influx, you can imagine the logistical nightmare that follows. We simply cannot accomodate hundreds of thousands of new people. The gas is scarce. The cell phones are all down and a mess. Some places still don't have power. Wal-Mart can't keep their shelves stocked. There is absolutely nothing available to rent. Baton Rouge is 100% occupied. Schools are now overloaded and teachers are working into the night. Restaurants are packed. And the traffic is absolutely unbelievable. On Tuesday it took me 15 minutes to travel the length of a 30 yard street.
I should be responding with compassion and love, but instead my heart resents the New Orleans folks for being here. I wish they hadn't invaded "my" city. I wish they would leave. The coldness of my heart's response has convicted me greatly, revealing the pervasiveness of sin and judgment that lurks behind a paper-thin veil of holiness.
I can twist a horrifc natural disaster to invite pity and sympathy from others. I can complain about how I have been affected, how I still don't have hot water or running plumbing. I can complain about the traffic, tell the gruesome stories, write my emails and my blogs, and I get the reaction I want. "Oh Matt, that is horrible. I am so sorry for you." My mouth waters over such responses. And yet I look around and see people who have nothing now, whose entire house is gone, together with baby photos, priceless heirlooms, and vehicles. And in comparison, to mope over my inconveniences is wildly confused. There is no escaping the curse of sin, even when hurricanes change life forever.
This is indeed a crisis here. Folks in New Orleans are taking aim and shooting at those trying to rescue them. That boggles my mind. And the fact that my perverted heart swells up with self-righteousness, assuming that I would never do such things, is mind boggling as well. There is another crisis here as well, and that is dealing with the disaster of my own heart, repenting of my self-righteousness and self-absorption, and praying that Jesus would restore and renovate my heart just as the authorities attempt to restore New Orleans. May God be kind to His church by bringing them low and enabling them to love much.
Baton Rouge has doubled in population in the span of 6 days, making us the fastest growing nation in the country as well as setting the record for the fastest growing city in American history. With the population influx, you can imagine the logistical nightmare that follows. We simply cannot accomodate hundreds of thousands of new people. The gas is scarce. The cell phones are all down and a mess. Some places still don't have power. Wal-Mart can't keep their shelves stocked. There is absolutely nothing available to rent. Baton Rouge is 100% occupied. Schools are now overloaded and teachers are working into the night. Restaurants are packed. And the traffic is absolutely unbelievable. On Tuesday it took me 15 minutes to travel the length of a 30 yard street.
I should be responding with compassion and love, but instead my heart resents the New Orleans folks for being here. I wish they hadn't invaded "my" city. I wish they would leave. The coldness of my heart's response has convicted me greatly, revealing the pervasiveness of sin and judgment that lurks behind a paper-thin veil of holiness.
I can twist a horrifc natural disaster to invite pity and sympathy from others. I can complain about how I have been affected, how I still don't have hot water or running plumbing. I can complain about the traffic, tell the gruesome stories, write my emails and my blogs, and I get the reaction I want. "Oh Matt, that is horrible. I am so sorry for you." My mouth waters over such responses. And yet I look around and see people who have nothing now, whose entire house is gone, together with baby photos, priceless heirlooms, and vehicles. And in comparison, to mope over my inconveniences is wildly confused. There is no escaping the curse of sin, even when hurricanes change life forever.
This is indeed a crisis here. Folks in New Orleans are taking aim and shooting at those trying to rescue them. That boggles my mind. And the fact that my perverted heart swells up with self-righteousness, assuming that I would never do such things, is mind boggling as well. There is another crisis here as well, and that is dealing with the disaster of my own heart, repenting of my self-righteousness and self-absorption, and praying that Jesus would restore and renovate my heart just as the authorities attempt to restore New Orleans. May God be kind to His church by bringing them low and enabling them to love much.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Katrina is a Whore
Two days after Hurricane Katrina hit landfall, I found myself in a car headed for Dallas to catch a redirected flight out to Baltimore, in hopes of making my dear friend Russ and Katherine's wedding. My flight was originally booked out of New Orleans. But that was obviously cancelled.
The wedding was great. I flew back to Dallas. And drove back to Baton Rouge. And just when you think the horrors of this whole ordeal have stopped unfolding, reality proves you wrong yet again.
And that is what is scary. Reality. Watching the images on the news always carries with it an element of surrealness. Or at least of safety. You can watch the images from the comforts of your living room and know that what is going on is miles away and will only affect you economically and surely emotionally. And that element of surrealness and safety quickly vaporated as I drove in past the mile long stretch of military convoys heading into my city. And on the way out was bus after bus after bus after ambulance after ambulance. Things got more somber as we approached.
My driving comrad, Laura, and I stopped just before Baton Rouge to fill up on gas. Port Allen is just on the other side of the river, probably 2 miles from Baton Rouge proper. The gas station was a zoo. Packed to the gills with trucks and military personnel and vans and trailers with families and children running around everywhere. We were notified earlier on the phone from a friend that most gas stations are closed in the area. They have simply run out of gas. And the ones that still have some are packed. It took a friend of ours 45 minutes to get her tank filled. We heard that another woman waited over 2 hours for hers.
And then the reports of the crime increase started hitting our ears. The poverty of New Orleans has directly influxed into Baton Rouge, doubling our entire city population over night. And the poverty and reputation of New Orleans has now been substituted to us in Baton Rouge. We heard on the news of several hold ups in convenience stores already. And with the gaurantee of crime increasing, as well as the gas prices, mixed with the overloaded traffic and all around chaos, you begin to get the feeling that the entire world is unraveling.
As for me, the hurricane has indirectly left me homeless. My roommate works for an energy company that had assigned him to track the telephone poles in the area. Katrina chewed up most of those telephone poles, which meant that the project for my roommate was officially cancelled and they are transferring him to another city in Louisiana. Which means I need to move out this week lest I pay for a whole month of rent by myself. So that process will begin today.
When I first saw the large, red, ominous donut filling the Gulf on those satellite images, I had no idea what it was capable of. I had no clue that it would be this bad, that it would decimate an entire city and its surrounding neighborhoods on the coast line. Down the street from me there is a big dumpster that faces the traffic with a spray painted message on it that reads, "Katrina is a whore." I agree.
The wedding was great. I flew back to Dallas. And drove back to Baton Rouge. And just when you think the horrors of this whole ordeal have stopped unfolding, reality proves you wrong yet again.
And that is what is scary. Reality. Watching the images on the news always carries with it an element of surrealness. Or at least of safety. You can watch the images from the comforts of your living room and know that what is going on is miles away and will only affect you economically and surely emotionally. And that element of surrealness and safety quickly vaporated as I drove in past the mile long stretch of military convoys heading into my city. And on the way out was bus after bus after bus after ambulance after ambulance. Things got more somber as we approached.
My driving comrad, Laura, and I stopped just before Baton Rouge to fill up on gas. Port Allen is just on the other side of the river, probably 2 miles from Baton Rouge proper. The gas station was a zoo. Packed to the gills with trucks and military personnel and vans and trailers with families and children running around everywhere. We were notified earlier on the phone from a friend that most gas stations are closed in the area. They have simply run out of gas. And the ones that still have some are packed. It took a friend of ours 45 minutes to get her tank filled. We heard that another woman waited over 2 hours for hers.
And then the reports of the crime increase started hitting our ears. The poverty of New Orleans has directly influxed into Baton Rouge, doubling our entire city population over night. And the poverty and reputation of New Orleans has now been substituted to us in Baton Rouge. We heard on the news of several hold ups in convenience stores already. And with the gaurantee of crime increasing, as well as the gas prices, mixed with the overloaded traffic and all around chaos, you begin to get the feeling that the entire world is unraveling.
As for me, the hurricane has indirectly left me homeless. My roommate works for an energy company that had assigned him to track the telephone poles in the area. Katrina chewed up most of those telephone poles, which meant that the project for my roommate was officially cancelled and they are transferring him to another city in Louisiana. Which means I need to move out this week lest I pay for a whole month of rent by myself. So that process will begin today.
When I first saw the large, red, ominous donut filling the Gulf on those satellite images, I had no idea what it was capable of. I had no clue that it would be this bad, that it would decimate an entire city and its surrounding neighborhoods on the coast line. Down the street from me there is a big dumpster that faces the traffic with a spray painted message on it that reads, "Katrina is a whore." I agree.
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