It has been a long time since I found myself tongue-ing a loose cuspid or molar. But some neighbor children here in BR find themselves with wiggling and loose teeth, only to wiggle them long enough to pop them out. And of course there is a bit of a reward for this feat in our culture. Why there is a reward for losing teeth will perhaps be the topic of another post, but not here. I wish to explore something different. I do.
What is the point of baby teeth? What purpose do they serve? Why don't we just grow in a layer of teeth and...you know....keep them? I don't know, but are humans the only things that lose teeth?
It is so bizarre to me. We don't have baby arms that we shed off only to grow 'adult' arms. Or baby livers. Or baby eyes. Why the teeth? Here we have a whole set of perfectly good teeth that just...eventually fall out. And new ones that are bigger and stronger somehow emerge right beneath them. Why didn't the first set just come bigger and stronger? Or better yet, why do they stop growing when they hit a certain size? Surely they could grow up with you and grow into the adult, bigger, stronger sort of teeth. Surely. But no.
Chew on that for a bit.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Today is the Day
I am quite familiar with Coffee Shop Culture. There's no pride in that sentence, I simply live in coffee shops. I understand what the clientele will look like. I know what 'cool' people order. I know what sorority girls order. I can tell a great deal about somebody by whether or not they put sugar and cream in their coffee. I know where to sit. I can tell who is there to study and work and who is there to be seen. There is a whole new culture surrounding these little coffee houses. And with culture comes etiquette.
One of the things I have come to sadly expect in coffee shops are those who don't understand the rules. Rule number one: Don't make/answer phone calls within the walls of the coffee shop. You take that trash outside. If somebody calls and you desperately need to take it, walk outside. No one wants to hear your isolated, loud, terribly selfish conversation 2 feet away. And yet people do it. They do it consistently.
I have come to expect the etiquette to be broken simply because IT ALWAYS HAPPENS. Even this morning, while I found myself in a local coffee house, someone picked up a phone call and carried on an entire conversation in the seat next to me. How in the world am I expected to concentrate in these conditions? And here’s the thing, when the phone call ended, this guy got up and left. That was his sole purpose of being in the coffee shop – to take the phone call. Unbelievable. Take that trash to the streets.
Today was the day where I almost made a phone call and talked on it as obnoxiously loud as I could to teach everyone in there a lesson. “Hey, what’s up?….oh, I’m just hanging out in a coffee shop….nothing…..ha! ha! ha!…..sure……no, what time are you going to the thing?.....no, nobody else is here but me......ha! ha! ha!.....oh, that's a riot!!!"
You people with cell phones are ruining the coffee shop culture because you are breaking the coffee shop etiquette. Put down the phone. Take it to the streets if you must.
One of the things I have come to sadly expect in coffee shops are those who don't understand the rules. Rule number one: Don't make/answer phone calls within the walls of the coffee shop. You take that trash outside. If somebody calls and you desperately need to take it, walk outside. No one wants to hear your isolated, loud, terribly selfish conversation 2 feet away. And yet people do it. They do it consistently.
I have come to expect the etiquette to be broken simply because IT ALWAYS HAPPENS. Even this morning, while I found myself in a local coffee house, someone picked up a phone call and carried on an entire conversation in the seat next to me. How in the world am I expected to concentrate in these conditions? And here’s the thing, when the phone call ended, this guy got up and left. That was his sole purpose of being in the coffee shop – to take the phone call. Unbelievable. Take that trash to the streets.
Today was the day where I almost made a phone call and talked on it as obnoxiously loud as I could to teach everyone in there a lesson. “Hey, what’s up?….oh, I’m just hanging out in a coffee shop….nothing…..ha! ha! ha!…..sure……no, what time are you going to the thing?.....no, nobody else is here but me......ha! ha! ha!.....oh, that's a riot!!!"
You people with cell phones are ruining the coffee shop culture because you are breaking the coffee shop etiquette. Put down the phone. Take it to the streets if you must.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
It's Getting Hot in Here
Why is Louisiana so freakin humid? I'm sweating right now. I was sweating in January. I wore a sweater twice this year. When will it ever be cool again? When will it stop? Why must it be so hot?
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Plan "It" Earth
An interesting play on words was the title of a speech recently delivered by Tupac Shakur's mother at McKinnley High School here in Baton Rouge a few days ago. Though I only heard about this event after the fact, I have heard enough about it to feel as though I actually was there. And I have decided to take up the call to Plan "It."
What 'it' is, I have no idea. But here speech was basically about teenagers and their problems today, how everything is all about the upcoming kids (makes me think of - "I believe the children are our future..."), etc. She said that the suicide rate is higher today than...I don't know...I guess yesterday. And she noted that racism isn't the problem, it's that people aren't living long enough to actually deal with racism.
That's about all I know. Perhaps I am not qualified to report on the speech because I have no idea what it was about, what 'it' is, and why she thinks people aren't living that long today (perhaps she is using OT figures as her standard for life span. Noah did live 950 years). Regardless, I think Mrs. Shakur had a point. We must join forces and Plan "It." Earth, there is this thing we need to plan. In other words, we need to Plan "It," Earth!
Her poetry, her sense of vocabulary, her unparalleled wit in playing with words is evidenced in the legacy she has left behind in her son/rap artist/social hero/martyr/general Tupac. Racism isn't the problem. It's life span. The children are our future. Don't do drugs. True love waits. Click it or ticket. He who smelt it dealt it. Don't drink and drive. Plan "It" Earth.
What 'it' is, I have no idea. But here speech was basically about teenagers and their problems today, how everything is all about the upcoming kids (makes me think of - "I believe the children are our future..."), etc. She said that the suicide rate is higher today than...I don't know...I guess yesterday. And she noted that racism isn't the problem, it's that people aren't living long enough to actually deal with racism.
That's about all I know. Perhaps I am not qualified to report on the speech because I have no idea what it was about, what 'it' is, and why she thinks people aren't living that long today (perhaps she is using OT figures as her standard for life span. Noah did live 950 years). Regardless, I think Mrs. Shakur had a point. We must join forces and Plan "It." Earth, there is this thing we need to plan. In other words, we need to Plan "It," Earth!
Her poetry, her sense of vocabulary, her unparalleled wit in playing with words is evidenced in the legacy she has left behind in her son/rap artist/social hero/martyr/general Tupac. Racism isn't the problem. It's life span. The children are our future. Don't do drugs. True love waits. Click it or ticket. He who smelt it dealt it. Don't drink and drive. Plan "It" Earth.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
The Beetle's Purpose
In my overly reflective and pensive moments, I tend to read much into what I observe around me. Meaning becomes robust in the little things. Illustrations abound all around me. Parables envelop me.
Tonight I was sitting on the back porch with a friend and my attention was fixated on a small, June-bug like beetle. The porch light was on, which was what I assumed was the catalyst to drive this beetle into a reckless frenzy. Time after time it would fly through the air and smack head on with full force into the wall. And like one of those paddles with the rubber ball connected to it by an elastic string, it bounced back again. Over and over driving itself against the wall. I couldn't help but laugh at the poor bug. What in the world was it doing? Why did it not learn the first few times that it couldn't/shouldn't fly in that direction? His suicide piloting ended in just that. He doubled up his efforts and collided with all its strength into the wall, falling to its demise, never to be heard from again. It actually killed itself.
And in a strange way, that poor, ridiculous beetle demonstrated to me my poor, ridiculous life. Over and over again I smash my head against the metaphorical wall, promising myself that I had learned my lesson and that that would in fact be the last time I ever did that again. And without fail I find myself rubbing out another welt, wiping away a bloody mess. With reckless abandon I careen through my life knowing full well I should have learned by now what is destructive and what is helpful. I hope for progress and yet sadly discover it comes much slower than expected. I hope for change and yet at times wonder if it will ever come. Will I struggle with these things forever? I wonder. Am I simply hopeless? Am I beyond repair?
It's funny how God uses silly things like beetle's smashing themselves to death to teach us lessons. He gives us little pictures into our lives. He uses beetles. Dead theolgians call this General Revelation. I am just like the beetle. Perhaps Kafka was on to something.
Tonight I was sitting on the back porch with a friend and my attention was fixated on a small, June-bug like beetle. The porch light was on, which was what I assumed was the catalyst to drive this beetle into a reckless frenzy. Time after time it would fly through the air and smack head on with full force into the wall. And like one of those paddles with the rubber ball connected to it by an elastic string, it bounced back again. Over and over driving itself against the wall. I couldn't help but laugh at the poor bug. What in the world was it doing? Why did it not learn the first few times that it couldn't/shouldn't fly in that direction? His suicide piloting ended in just that. He doubled up his efforts and collided with all its strength into the wall, falling to its demise, never to be heard from again. It actually killed itself.
And in a strange way, that poor, ridiculous beetle demonstrated to me my poor, ridiculous life. Over and over again I smash my head against the metaphorical wall, promising myself that I had learned my lesson and that that would in fact be the last time I ever did that again. And without fail I find myself rubbing out another welt, wiping away a bloody mess. With reckless abandon I careen through my life knowing full well I should have learned by now what is destructive and what is helpful. I hope for progress and yet sadly discover it comes much slower than expected. I hope for change and yet at times wonder if it will ever come. Will I struggle with these things forever? I wonder. Am I simply hopeless? Am I beyond repair?
It's funny how God uses silly things like beetle's smashing themselves to death to teach us lessons. He gives us little pictures into our lives. He uses beetles. Dead theolgians call this General Revelation. I am just like the beetle. Perhaps Kafka was on to something.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Excellentlymagnificentitious
There is nothing worse than selecting groomsmen. What a terrible, terrible thing we have made it. It has been twisted into one big friendship competition where the Best Man wins and takes all. It is a self-created fraternity of the elite. Only the upper echelon are included. It creates a visible divide between the insiders and the outsiders. A mere "usher" is almost an insult. At least in our society, to be an usher is to 'almost make it' into the fraternity. But you didn't make it. No, you got beat out.
The whole thing is just so awkward. Selecting the groomsmen puts the groom in a terrible position. He has to look at his friends and actually pick which ones he's closest to. Think through your own friends. Obvious ones come to mind. But then down at the bottom of the list it gets trickier and fuzzier and people must be selected over others. People must be discarded. Elitism reigns.
Now if you happen to be one of the privileged, selected groomsmen, life is alright. You were chosen. You are one of the elite. You are one of the insiders. Perhaps that is how some people think about God's election and why they are so angry at it. Their assumption is that God picks the good ones and throws out all the "ushers."
I wish groomsmen and ushers didn't exist. Don't get me wrong, it's a great idea and I very much look forward to having my dearest friends up there with me when I get married, but count on us to make it into a pick and choose game of matrimonial elitism. If I had to do it over, I'd gather a group of homeless people from off the streets, dress them up in tuxes and have them be my groomsmen. I'd make a grand theological statement. "This is what God does. All of those people you marginalize and write off, those are the ones I'm closest to. They are the elite, not those who think they are the elite. The last will be first." I should have done that.
And all my real friends would have been sitting there pissed at me.
The whole thing is just so awkward. Selecting the groomsmen puts the groom in a terrible position. He has to look at his friends and actually pick which ones he's closest to. Think through your own friends. Obvious ones come to mind. But then down at the bottom of the list it gets trickier and fuzzier and people must be selected over others. People must be discarded. Elitism reigns.
Now if you happen to be one of the privileged, selected groomsmen, life is alright. You were chosen. You are one of the elite. You are one of the insiders. Perhaps that is how some people think about God's election and why they are so angry at it. Their assumption is that God picks the good ones and throws out all the "ushers."
I wish groomsmen and ushers didn't exist. Don't get me wrong, it's a great idea and I very much look forward to having my dearest friends up there with me when I get married, but count on us to make it into a pick and choose game of matrimonial elitism. If I had to do it over, I'd gather a group of homeless people from off the streets, dress them up in tuxes and have them be my groomsmen. I'd make a grand theological statement. "This is what God does. All of those people you marginalize and write off, those are the ones I'm closest to. They are the elite, not those who think they are the elite. The last will be first." I should have done that.
And all my real friends would have been sitting there pissed at me.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Galactic Real Estate
While bouncing around the world wide web in search of groomsmen gifts, I stumbled across something quite peculiar. As a gift, you can purchase real estate on the surface of the moon. And it is not a joke. Right now, one acre of moon land is going for $29.99. Here is the add:
It is true. You can purchase land on the Moon. 100% legal and real! Moon property is: a great gift, potential prudent investment and an interesting conversation piece. Attractive gift pack.
Now what in the world is going on?? "Potential prudent investment????" Sure, it is stuffed with potential. Maybe in 800 years when civilizations are forming on the moon and some huge corporation needs your acre to expand their office space, then you can hold out and raise the stakes and cash in on that investment you made 800 years ago. That $29.99 would bring back like a million fold.
Who even owns the moon in the first place? Who would I be buying this acre from? The government? Would I get a picture to know what my plot of land looks like? Do they have coordinates where exactly it is or is it just "somewhere up there on the moon."
What a complete joke.
It is true. You can purchase land on the Moon. 100% legal and real! Moon property is: a great gift, potential prudent investment and an interesting conversation piece. Attractive gift pack.
Now what in the world is going on?? "Potential prudent investment????" Sure, it is stuffed with potential. Maybe in 800 years when civilizations are forming on the moon and some huge corporation needs your acre to expand their office space, then you can hold out and raise the stakes and cash in on that investment you made 800 years ago. That $29.99 would bring back like a million fold.
Who even owns the moon in the first place? Who would I be buying this acre from? The government? Would I get a picture to know what my plot of land looks like? Do they have coordinates where exactly it is or is it just "somewhere up there on the moon."
What a complete joke.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Tuesday is Fat!!
It is Mardi Gras here in Louisiana. Fat!! Yep. You can't really miss it here. You know why? Because the school is shut down for 3 days. That's right. LSU is not in session Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. You know what I have to say to that? Fat!!
Kathryn was here this past weekend and on Sunday we dipped down to New Orleans before her flight that evening. While Mardi Gras is a little depleted this year, given the current events, it was still a Fat!! time. Bourbon Street was a carnival of sorts with the ever-present street preachers. They help up big signs that read, "Homosexuals, Fornicators, Drunkards, Theives, Burn in Hell." The preacher had a Fat!! megaphone and was shouting to people, "You must have lost your mind!!!!" There was a huge crowd surrounding him shouting back at him. I think they were throwing beads at him. Now that's Fat!!
We were only there for about 15 minutes but I had this recurring nag to want to buy a Hand Grenade, the New Orleans famous, enormous, plastic green test tube filled up with who-knows-what combination of hard liquor. I just felt like I needed one amidst the Fat!! insanity. I didn't get one though. Looking back, I should have. Drat!!
Today is Ash Wednesday and I have already seen several people with the black, ashy cross on their forehead. I go back and forth on this one. At times I think this is silly and embarrasing and I wouldn't want that blemish on my forehead. And at other times I think it is a great way to participate in a tradition that announces, "Yes, I am sealed and branded by Christ." Either way you look at it, you have to admit it's Fat!! Any one can see that.
I'm thinking about giving up my cell phone for Lent. Or toilet paper. Maybe belly lint. That would be Fat!! I could tell people I'm giving up lint for Lent. Maybe I should give up Fat!!
Kathryn was here this past weekend and on Sunday we dipped down to New Orleans before her flight that evening. While Mardi Gras is a little depleted this year, given the current events, it was still a Fat!! time. Bourbon Street was a carnival of sorts with the ever-present street preachers. They help up big signs that read, "Homosexuals, Fornicators, Drunkards, Theives, Burn in Hell." The preacher had a Fat!! megaphone and was shouting to people, "You must have lost your mind!!!!" There was a huge crowd surrounding him shouting back at him. I think they were throwing beads at him. Now that's Fat!!
We were only there for about 15 minutes but I had this recurring nag to want to buy a Hand Grenade, the New Orleans famous, enormous, plastic green test tube filled up with who-knows-what combination of hard liquor. I just felt like I needed one amidst the Fat!! insanity. I didn't get one though. Looking back, I should have. Drat!!
Today is Ash Wednesday and I have already seen several people with the black, ashy cross on their forehead. I go back and forth on this one. At times I think this is silly and embarrasing and I wouldn't want that blemish on my forehead. And at other times I think it is a great way to participate in a tradition that announces, "Yes, I am sealed and branded by Christ." Either way you look at it, you have to admit it's Fat!! Any one can see that.
I'm thinking about giving up my cell phone for Lent. Or toilet paper. Maybe belly lint. That would be Fat!! I could tell people I'm giving up lint for Lent. Maybe I should give up Fat!!
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