Chuck Daddy Cheese

This is Charles. He is my friend. He lives in Kansas City. He listens to music from musicals. He calls pizza "pie." He thinks of names of older women in his free time (Carol Hathoway was one).

Congenial
Happy
Affable
Realistic
Laughing
Exciting
Silly

C-Rule in C-Lotte

This is Clint. Clint is my friend. Clint lives in Oklahoma. Clint plays the ukulele. He eats frozen fish sticks.

Courageous
Likeable
Intelligent
Nice
Tall

I Don't Mean to be Mean

'I mean' is the new 'um.' Everyone uses this little grammatical air-filler and no one even recognizes that they are doing it. In the 80s and 90s, the air-filler was 'like.' While it got pawned off on Valley Girl stereotypes, everyone used it to fill out their otherwise dull sentences. "So I was like going to the store and I like bought an avacado." Somewhere along the line of time, "um" took over. ("Um" can be substituted for its close cousin "uhh.") If you ever can't think of what to say next, throw a little 'um' in there. Maybe the motivation was because the thought of silence was too unbearable. Too awkward perhaps. Or perhaps we fill up the dead space because we don't know what to say next but we want the "floor" still. In other words, we don't know what to say but we don't want the person we are speaking (or not speaking) with to interject with something. We want the opportunity to speak even though we have no idea what to actually say. So we say 'um.' But now, 'like' and 'um' have been replaced with the preface of all prefaces: I mean.

"I mean, I was thinking that I would clear up this ear infection, I mean, maybe this Tuesday or Wednesday." I use this all the time. Why? Is it for the same reason as the 'like' and 'um' above? It doesn't really feel like a space filler. It is completely extraneous. It is this little preface stuck in there over and over. I mean, what is it that we are prefacing? Do we really want the other person to know that I sincerely mean this? Maybe it means, 'Listen, I REALLY mean this, so pay attention.' Or perhaps the emphasis is on me. 'I, me, Mr. Howell means this, so pay attention.' Unfortunately 'I mean' means neither. I don't know what it means but it doesn't mean that. I don't mean to be mean but 'I mean' means nothing to me, and yet I use it more than anyone.

Literacy is Overrated

Of all the songs to be memorized by the American populace, why in the world was it Baby Got Back?

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Kathryn randomly said this at the kitchen table the other day, "We should try chewing food up for each other sometime." It is utterances like those that confirm that she is the one.

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How do children, who believe the whole "stork theory" concerning babies, make sense of their mother's bulging stomach? How does that reconcile with a bird swooping by and just dropping a baby down from the sky?

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I'm no chemist, but how does blowing on food cool it down? Especially when you consider that your breath is hot?

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For some strange reason I've been thinking through the lyrics of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' as of late. This song makes no sense to me. Rudolf, for whatever reason, has a red glowing blemish of a nose and is completely marginilazed within his little reindeer culture. The others "laugh and call him names" and forbid him from joining them in their "reindeer games." (What would a reindeer game look like? Odd. Simply odd.) So Rudolph is this total loser. Ok, fine. So far so good. And then Santa comes along and chooses Rudolf to be the frontman of his sleigh, mostly because Rudolph's enormous blemish of a nose can be used as some sort of headlight. And so Santa's utterly pragmatic selection of Rudolph causes all of the other reindeer to have a change of heart. They suddenly "love him" to the point that they actually "shout with glee." Furthermore, they announce that Santa's selection will "go down in history." What could possibly account for this change of heart? Santa needs a new headlight and now suddenly Rudolph, the biggest loser in all of reindeerdom, is the big man on campus? How could he be so hated one moment and so loved the next? If I were one of the cool, hateful reindeers, I would think that his being Santa's headlight would be reason for more insult. I don't know. Maybe that's just me.

Pizza: It's Remarkableness or Lack Thereof

Pizza is so casual, so trite, so "been-there-done-that." It takes one really freaking amazing pizza to really stand out in your memory of a life-long pizza consumption. I think that is because there is really nothing to it. A little dough, a little sauce, throw some cheese on top, maybe a little meat and veggies, and there you go. Not brain surgery. Therefore in order for someone to say, "Wow, that pizza is REALLY good," the pizza has to actually be REALLY good. Down below you will find a list of pizzas that I can remember as being noteworthy. They stood out for some reason or another. They were remarkable enough to rise out of the metaphorical dough of 'just-averageness,' to stand out as something truly worth writing home about. I decided to also include in my list pizzas that were so horrifically disgusting as well. For certainly those stand out too.

1. Papa Johns. True, it is fast food pizza, but good grief. Amazing.

2. NY Pizza in Norman, OK. Thin crust, greasy, NY style pizza. Can't explain it. But some Italian in the middle of Oklahoma can cook some amazing pizza.

3. The 'seafood pizza' I had with Russ in Cordoba while we were touring Spain. This stands out due to its inclusion in the horrifically disgusting department.

4. Mellow Mushroom. Love that crust. What in the world is it?

5. Bagel Bites. I grew up heating up those frozen minature bagels with the little cubes of pepperoni on top. And my mouth still waters thinking about them.

6. Square pizza lunch day in the cafeteria. Nothing like pizza, corn, a little individual carton of milk, and a Star Crunch for lunch.

7. Coach's Bar-B-Q Chicken Pizza in Norman, OK. Again...I don't know what is going on in Norman with their pizza. But this pie will melt your soul.

That is all that I can think of for truly remarkable pizza, both good and bad. What stands out to you as remarkable pizza?

Big Foot has Big Feet

I normally hate shopping at the local grocer's, but not today, thanks to the friendly folks at Weekly World News. These are the professional journalists that publish those black and white tabloids that you look at in the check out aisle. Don't pretend like you don't read the headlines. I know you do. If you happened to catch the latest edition, you would know that Big Foot has recently gone on a diet. And it was quite successful.

On the left half of the front page was a bloated, dejected, and obese Big Foot. He was holding his ballooned, hairy stomach with a pitiful look of disappointment across his bearded face. It read: BEFORE 800 lbs. On the opposite side of the page was a much slimmer, much more enthusiastic Big Foot. He was showing off his trimmed midsection with his hands on his hips and he was smiling wide for the camera. It read: AFTER 650 lbs. In a large, bold font, the text ripping across the top was: "Big Foot Diet! He loses 150 lbs!" (and here is the kicker...) "It can work for you too!!"

I found this humorous enough to actually lift from its spot on the magazine rack and flip through it (there was only one copy left). I feel like the editors of Weekly World News deserve my time with this headline. I've seen the front pages about Bat Boy, impending apocalypses, and Satan-shaped clouds before, but nothing has demanded my attention like this one. Here they are trying to sell me a diet program by appealing to its success on Big Foot. They deserve nothing less.

My question is - How large do you really have to be to resort to the Big Foot diet? At what point is that even an option for you? When Jenny Craig, Atkins, and South Beach doesn't cut it, is the last option honestly the Big Foot Diet? Certainly, there is something inbetween. I'm curious to know what is even involved with the Big Foot diet. Just what was that mythic monster cutting back on? No more eating of humans? No more wildlife? Tree bark? And how in the world is that going to apply to ordinary folk like you and me.

I should of read the article to find out. My attention was diverted when I opened it up with a different article about a message from the future. Supposedly there will be a ground breaking story on Mars in 2023.

Butter, Chicken, and Middle Fingers

As a 16-year old, my buddy and I invented this game to play with our new-found freedom of driving without parents in the car. We drove around Dallas with the mission of seeing how many people we could get to flick us off. We would keep score and everything. This usually involved interactions with other drivers at stoplights. We would look out the window to the adjacent vehicle and make faces at them. Simple as that. And if the timing was right and the other driver happened to be in a particularly bad mood, we would get the finger. And we would laugh and giggle (and snicker) and keep score. Wow, that was 10 years ago now that I think about it. Sheesh.

I was reminded of this the other day when I was driving around and repenting of my road rage. I got to thinking what it might be like to try and revive the old game. Here I am, a 26 year old "adult," married, attending grad school, and all that and driving around, intentionally trying to get people upset with me enough to communicate with me very bad things through their fingers. Would that be inappropriate? Probably immature. And actually, probably sinful. But man, it would be fun.

Maybe to redeem the game, I could drive around and see how many "thank you" waves I could get. You know, instead of making people angry, I could intentionally try to make them thankful. I'd let in anyone who wanted in my lane. I'd politely swerve out of the way when people cut me off and I'd smile and wave at them to communicate, "Hey, that's ok. I'm not upset about that." Maybe then people would appreciate my driving sacrifices for them. And they'd raise their hand to me to let me know they were grateful. Redemption in action. The same hand raised from 10 years ago, only with all five fingers in the air.

Ins and Odds

People who are concerned with their language prefer the expression "T.O.ed" to ticked off. Now, whether or not "ticked off" is an expletive is not the reason behind this observation, though I do not think "ticked off" is vulgar in any possible way - rendering the Wal-Mart style, edited version of T.O.ed moot. The point that I want to make is that T.O.ed is not a proper correlation to ticked off. If you are going to edit the expression, you should say T.ed O (ticked off). Nobody is "tick offed," therefore nobody should be T.O.ed. And certainly not P.O.ed. They should be P.ed O.

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Horse shoes? Think about this. Why do horses need shoes? Now, I am no equestrian, but I really can't think of any good reason why they would need to nail on those iron-wrought bars onto the bottom of their hooves. Is it to make the horses more comfortable? Do they prefer to walk around on iron rather than grass? Is that what makes the clip-clop sound? I'm not sure, but I can't think of any other animal that we staple or glue on shoes to the bottom of their feet. Why horses? Confused, I am. I wonder if these are the "gift horses" everyone is warning me about.

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Kathryn loves chocolate. Occasionally, for whatever reason, I call her a chocoholic. Then I got to thinking about it. People add on the suffix "oholic" to just about anything to make their point that the person is doing x in excess. The famous one is "workoholic." But this makes no sense. It is all derived from alcoholic, where the actual word "alcohol" has "ohol" in the root word. Now, bear with me here. Think of it like this. Alcoholic = Alcohol + ic. The think that makes someone who drinks alcohol abusive is adding the "ic" on the end, not the "oholic." For some reason, half of the alcohol word got carried over into all these other words when we add "oholic" on the end. So a "workaholic" is really someone who abuses alcohol at work (or, I guess, someone who abuses work while drinking alcohol). A "chocoholic" is really someone who abuses alcohol with chocolate (or someone who abuses chocolate while drinking alcohol). So I guess the proper way to call Kathryn what I really wanted to call her is chocolateic. And all you hard workers out there, don't be demeaned in letting people call you workaholics, you are simply a workic.

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I saw a Chia Pet in the store the other day. Has anyone ever actually owned one of these "pets?" How is this company still in business. Ch-ch-ch-chia!

Donkey Kong: The Key to the Meaning of the Universe

Today I had the pleasure of baby-sitting Caleb, the cutest 4 year old little lad you possibly have ever seen, for the afternoon. His mother is bursting-pregnant and so I volunteered to take him around town for the afternoon. We had a delightful time. First, we dropped by the public library where we combed the shelves looking for books on cars, coyotes, volcanos, and dinosaurs. Then we stopped by the local Dairy Queen and each had a little cup of ice cream. I ate mine. He decided it would be better instead to smear it all over his face, his shirt, and his pants. We walked across the street to a little pizza joint that happened to have one of those old school arcade machines, you know, the ones where you drop in quarters and they let you play for a few turns? It was one of those classic ones - where you could either play Ms. Pacman, Galaga, or Donkey Kong. Caleb gave Ms. Pacman a few runs but inevitably got cornered and subsequently killed by those roaming, neon ghosts (Blinky, Inky, Pinky, and Sue). We stuck around a little bit afterwards to watch the arcade self-run through various levels of Galaga, Donkey Kong, and Ms. Pacman again.

Caleb was fascinated by Donkey Kong. I think it may have changed his life. For the next 20 minutes, we had one of the most stimulating philosophical conversations I may have ever had. He fired questions at me left and right. It was relentless. He was plagued by what I perceived to be a simple plot and his little brain would not stop until he had sufficiently figured it out and what it all means for him, his family, and the universe. Our conversation went something like this:

"Who is that guy at the bottom?" Mario. "Why is he climbing up those ladders?" He is trying to get the Princess back. "Why does he want the Princess back?" Because Donkey Kong has her. "Why does Donkey Kong want the Princess?" I don't know. "Does Donkey Kong want to eat her?" He probably does. "Does he want to eat her for breakfast?" I bet he probably wants to eat her for lunch or dinner instead. "Why is Donkey Kong throwing those barrels?" He's trying to stop Mario from getting the Princess. "Why does Donkey Kong want to try and stop Mario?" I guess Donkey Kong wants the Princess all to himself. "Why is Donkey Kong so bad?" That is a good question. I'm not sure. "Why does Mario have two hammers?" I guess two is better than one, right? "How can he climb up the ladder with two hammers?" (I thought this was the best question he asked) - Wow, I don't know. I guess it would be hard to climb up the ladder while holding a hammer in each of your hands wouldn't it? "Why does Mario want the Princess?" He wants to save her from being eaten by Donkey Kong. "Does Mario want to eat her?" No, he wants to take her to the Candy Cane factory. "Who is that at the bottom?" That's Mario.

And on and on we went. I think our conversation ended with Caleb deducing that Donkey Kong kidnapped a woman of royalty to appease his carnivorous appetite, while a jumping, Italian plumber scaled multiple ladders to retrieve her back and take her to the North Pole where Santa was so that she could take her mind off the traumatic and perilous event. And somehow that made sense to him. Although with all of his inquiry, he failed to ask, what I thought, was the most important question, namely, what does a big, barrel-throwing gorilla have anything remotely to do with a donkey?

Onions + Fun = Geometrical Madness

I can't think of anything more repulsive than the thought of eating onion flavored, deep fried snack chips. But that is exactly what Funyuns are. Why in the world would anyone want to eat onions, raw and by themselves (by the handfull) as a mid-day snack? I went to the Funyuns website and they have this paragraph included to describe this zany product:

"Funyuns Onion Flavored Rings are a deliciously different snack that is fun to eat. These playful rings have a crisp texture and are packed full of zesty onion flavor. Next time you're in the mood for a snack that's out of the ordinary, try Funyuns Onion Flavored Rings."

Oh, I see. Please forgive me, Funyun people. I didn't realize that Funyuns were "fun to eat" and "playful." I wasn't thinking about them as entertainment. I was only thinking about how gross it is to eat crispy, zesty deep fried onions at 3 in the afternoon.

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Off brand, generic, non-name brand cereals always entertain me. They usually don't come in boxes, but bags. They have a different cartoon mascot. They usually taste a hint different. But other than that - the exact same. Well, of course for the names. And that is the best part. You want Apple Jacks but can't afford them - just go with Apple Zings. You want Corn Pops but don't want to shell out $5 a box - go with a bag of Corn Bursts. Can't keep up with Golden Grahams? Go with Honey Graham Squares. Now, I have not made up any of these fake names. I promise. Go to malt-o-meal's website and see for yourself. Other wonderful off-brand names of comedy include: Scooters (Cheap Cheerios), Cocoa Roos (Cheap Cocoa Puffs), Cinnamon Toasters (Cheap Cinnamon Toast Crunch). Malt-o-Meal started it all by my observation and other companies have hopped on the bandwagon - exploiting well-known cereals by making them the exact same, giving them an extremely similiar name, but putting them in a bag. Kathryn came home from the grocery store the other day with Food Lion's generic brand of Crispix, and get this, the name was Crispy Hexagons. I am not lying. I am looking at the box right now. Crispy Hexagons. What in the world kind of name is that? Is there any ounce of creativity involved? At least with "Apple Zings" you get a small dose of imagination and creativity. But Crispy Hexagons? That is just telling us at the most basic metaphysical level what it is. How will that sell on the same shelf with intriguing and ominous Count Chocula? Or adventurous and exciting Fruit Loops?

Crispy Hexagons? Good grief. I wonder what their name is for their fake Cheerios? Crunchy Round Things with a Hole In It? What about their version of Fruit Loops? Fruity, Crunchy Round Things with a Hole In It? What about their fake version of Frosted Flakes? White-Sugar Dusted Wheat Leaves? Give me a break. Crispy Hexagons? A second grader could come up with that name. Actually, now that I think about it...do second graders even know what Hexagons are? Just who is this cereal appealing to? The geometrical elite? The educated upper-class? But then you have to think, if they are going after the Wall Street Fat Cats, they have to know that these big wigs aren't shopping at Food Lion nor are they interested in generic-brand cereals. Quite a delimma these Crispy Hexagon people have.

Deck the Stalls

I can't believe I was tricked for so many years. With every passing Christmas, I honestly thought that an obese, bearded caucasian broke into my house not to steal stuff but to leave stuff. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not seen through all the clues? Looking back, I at least thought I was capable of making sense of things, of deducing truth from the information I was given. But I guess not. Aside from the obvious indications that this whole Santa thing isn't true (you know, the claim that one man could single-handedly visit EVERY Christmas-celebrating house in the world in one lone night...not to mention that an obese individual would chose to enter into a house through the chimney), I have since had time to see more clearly.

Let's start with the whole cookies and milk thing. You know the scoop, before the kids go to their bedrooms, they leave out some cookies and milk for Santa and when they wake up in the morning they discover only some crumbs and a milk-film-lined empty class. If Santa has broken into your house to leave some goodies for you, he isn't going to waste his time with a couple of stale cookies and a luke-warm glass of milk. No, he would go INTO THE KITCHEN and find the good stuff. Ice cream, cake, maker's mark, wheat thins, I don't know, whatever Santa enjoys. Why fill up stomach space with meager cookies when you have access to the entire pantry?

Then you got the chimney entrance thing. Aside from the obvious (chimney - thin, Santa - fat), most people will have their chimneys going in wintery December, you know, flaming hot. Santa should know this. It is cold in December (except in Baton Rouge). Fires will be going. He should instead enter through the air conditioning unit. No one will be using that. But the burning, flaming fire place? Come now.

And of course you have the ongoing "e" debate. You are familiar with this - Is Clause spelled with an "e" at the end or not. There is no consensus on this. Some spell it Claus. Others Clause. And this is excluding the wonderful movie trilogy starring Tim Allen. What are children to do with this?

Down south (in Mexico) the folks there don't use a Bible. They use Santa's Bible. They honestly think Santa was the author. Ever seen one of their Bibles? It is titled "Santa Biblia." I guess that means Santa's Bible. This is just one more proof that the whole Santa thing has evolved to out of control proportions.

All in all, it is obvious to see that this whole Santa thing is a farce. And everyone has been tricked. We simply bought into it all wholesale. Speaking for myself, I must have been caught up in Santa's jolliness. It is obvious to see why Santa would be so jolly. He does nothing for an entire year. He sits bak and digests, I suppose, and lets his army of elven slaves build his products. Then he works one night out of the year. One 12 hour shift and the rest of the year is vacation. Not to mention that one 12 hour shift is littered with "milk and cookies" (translation: cake, bourbon, wheat thins, etc.) And let's not forget about that sweet red and white suit of his. Anyone would be jolly (or merry) to be rocking that. You know Santa is riding dirty. But even his jollity or merriness will convince me anew. I am forever scarred. And scared.

Milk Malaise Explained

In case you read the previous post "Milk Mania", but failed to read the comments, this blog post is for you. If you failed to read the previous post "Milk Mania," this blog post will make absolutely no sense to you. Either way, do enjoy. Here is a note from my unnamed friend (Dave Kulp) who was responsible for putting us in the milk malaise.

Matt,
Okay...here is the deal...Have you ever seen a movie where someone is on government food stamps? I always wondered what kind of stamps they were do you send away for free cheese or what? Or maybe you listen to the rap stylings of the roots who speak of "toast in the oven with government cheese bubblin." Now I like cheese as much as if not more than the next guy...and what is not to like about free cheese. So...A question I have had for most of my life is how does one gain cheese through the current government system...Where can i get said stamps...The Post office never seems to understand my request for a roll of the stamps that get me the free cheddar.
Recently we found out the deal. Becasue of the lack of money i am making by being a student we are now on WIC through which we recieve food stamps. We have come to find out that they are not stamps at all! They are more like coupons, and each coupon lists exactly what you can get free...Basically they take care of Baby formula, eggs, juice, peanut butter, MILK, and yes CHEESE!!!! Jackpot! Last month we were away from home for 10 days, then upon returning we had just bought milk (duh!) so our milk coupons were stacked up and had to be used before expiration. Thus the visit from the Milk Fairy. We got the free milk and passed along that which had been purchased through poor planning on my part!
Just so you know at all times we have 2 gallons in our fridge. 1=Whole milk for Benno, and then a 2% for Celia. Things get really nuts when Mary buys Skim for herself. When that happens basically the whole top shelf in the fridge is lactose...What a wild world...Thank God for Government cheese.
Sincerely,
Dave

Milk Mania

It was last Tuesday, I believe, though the exact day is rather inconsequential. We had just returned from the grocery store (Food Lion - which is a somewhat scary image if you think about it) and we were loading up the various items in their respected places in the kitchen. One of those various items was a gallon of 1% milk. We were in need of milk, obviously, so we stocked up. A whole, fresh gallon of pure, snow-white, liquid lactose awaited us.

Later that afternoon, a friend of ours stopped by the apartment. This is a friend that I will not name (Dave Kulp). He (being Dave Kulp) had too many milk gallons himself for some reason, and basically dropped a fresh, unopened gallon (skim milk) on our doorstep. Refusing to deny anything free, I brought it inside and placed it in its new home - right next to the other unopened gallon of milk.

So now Kathryn and I have a big problem on our hands. All of this milk must be taken out before the expiration date. The countdown had begun. Sweat beaded on our foreheads. Everything suddenly got tense. It was like a domestic version of 24.

We first made instant pudding, knowing that pudding used a good bit of milk in it. It required two cups - barely denting one of the gallons. We started eating cereal for breakfast (I normally eat a bagel). I would come home for lunch and have a glass of milk with lunch, something I don't think I have ever done in my life - but have certainly seen this done on television for macaroni and cheese commercials (and I think, Home Alone as well). Needless to say, it was not a pleasant experience. Chalky, thick milk and mustardy turkey sandwiches with jalepenos on them is not a good mixture. Moving on...Every night after dinner we would enjoy some cookies or cake or whatever baked goods were around the house with a tall glass of milk. We had two sets of friends over - and we both offered our guests as much cereal as they wanted in the morning as well as the offer to top off their pint of milk throughout the afternoon. We have done everything possible to get rid of this milk. And as I type this, in the fridge still sits two towering gallons of milk, each half-empty.

Now as I think about this, said friend above (Dave Kulp) could have been doing the exact same thing we are. He, for whatever reason, had acquired too much milk. Perhaps one of his friends dropped off a free gallon and my friend (Dave Kulp) was smart enough to know he couldn't possibly pound down two gallons in a week and a half, so he just kept passing along this orphan gallon of milk. And perhaps the guy who passed on the gallon to my friend (Dave Kulp), had the milk passed along to him as well. This gallon of milk could have theoretically been passed all over the larger Charlotte metroplex, concluding its journey with its arrival at my doorstep - and I was the only one stupid enough to take it in and break its blue, plastic seal. My friend (Dave Kulp) could have been suffering under the same plight that we are. He could be up to his ears in milk, dreaming about it, having a glass three times a day, peeing white, feeding it to stray cats, boiling milk "just to see what it does," and using it as moisturizer. But no, he opted to casually and comfortably enjoy his one gallon and pass along the insanity to me. Blast. Foiled again.

Here's the moral: Never accept free, unopened milk from anyone. And if you do, instantly give it to someone stupider than you.

Christmas Card Bloopers

Here are some outtakes from taking a Christmas Card picture. I wanted at least one of these to be our Christmas Card. Let's just say I was voted down. So here they are for all to see - Our Christmas eCard (or if you are rockin the Mac, our Christmas iCard.)

Exam Salad Sandwich

Upon preparation for my history of Christianity 1 class, I noticed that those church folk didn't make things too easy on us. Everything in the same period starts with the same letter. Why does it have to be this way? In the first few centuries of the church, it dealt with such heresies as Marcionism, Montanism, Monarchianism, Manicheanism, Modalism, Mythraism, Monophysitism, and Monothelitism. Now, why in the WORLD do they all start with M? Couldn't they have made it a little easier on us? Then you get to the 11 and 1200s and everybody is named Peter - Peter Abelard, Peter Lombard, Peter Waldo (my favorite). Again, throw us a bone people.

And don't even get me going with all the Gregories. Gregory the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, etc. Good grief. Somebody break out of the mold. Give me a Tim in there somewhere. How about Gregory the 9th, also known as Sammy? Help me out here people.

The thing that fascinates me about heresy in the early church was that the bulk of the heresies had to do with denying Jesus his humanity. They assumed that Jesus was so uber-God that he could not have also been truly or fully human at the same time. Its interesting to note that we deal with a much different heresy today. Critical scholars assume Jesus was truly and fully human, but nothing more. It is funny how the tide changes.

Pray for me. I am in the height of exams. 3 down. 2 to go.

Thankful for my Sister's New Computer

Cartoony Kathryn.
Mushroomy Matt.

A Manifesto of Sorts

We went up to Washington and Lee this weekend in Lexington, VA to visit Kathryn's old school. There is an actual intersection of streets there: Washington and Lee. You simply walk up Washington Rd. until you hit Lee Way (or something like that) and you are standing at Washington and Lee. I made a LOT of jokes about that. Everytime we were at that intersection I'd say, "Hey Kathryn, guess where we are? We are at Washington and Lee." She wasn't too amused. And after the 10th time I did it, I was more amused with her non-amusement of it.

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They should call it Thanksgorging. Because that is what I will be doing in a few days - Thanksgorging.

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I was looking at a recipe yesterday and the recipe called for a "sprig" of parsley. Is that a made-up word? Sprig. Sounds like something I would make up. I think it is a combo of stem and twig. It isn't big enough to be a stem, but too big to be a twig - hence sprig. Maybe people who only eat sprigs can call this week Thankssprigging, instead of Thanksgorging. Happy Thankssprigging.

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We drove through a snow storm yesterday. I can't remember the last time I saw snow. It has certainly been a while.

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Why are raisins so disgusting? I like grapes and wine, but am not a fan of the raisin. And don't get me wrong - I love dried fruit. Just not the raisin. I would rather Thanksgorge on sprigs than raisins.

Whole Lotta Shakin' (and Noddin') Goin' On

While reading an article this morning, I came across a sentence that left me a bit confused. It read, "Now, if you are a parent, you are probably shaking your head." I've heard the expression 'shaking your head' before, but I always get tripped up as to whether it means moving it back and forth to respond negatively or moving it up and down to respond affirmatively. I asked Kathryn what it meant when I read it. She said that when you shake your head, you are actually moving it back and forth (side to side). It means you disagree. She said there was a distinction between nodding and shaking. Nodding = yes. Shaking = no.

But herein lies the confusion. When I "shake" someone's hand, I grip it and then gently shake it up and down. Not side to side. When I "shake" a bottle of orange juice to stir up the pulp, I shake it up and down. Not side to side. When I shake a rock out of my shoe - up and down.

Ahh but when I shake a package to see if I can tell what its contents may be without opening it...I shake it side to side. Not up and down. And when I make homemade milk shakes, I stir up the milk and ice cream with a spoon by going from side to side. NOT up and down. When I shake someone from their sleep - I try to rouse them by moving them from side to side. Not up and down.

And then there are certain shakes that don't go up and down OR side to side. They go sort of back to front. Like when I shake my fist at someone. And there are certain shakes that I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Like when someone tells me that something will happen in "two shakes of a lamb's tail." Now that is just simply odd.

With all this shaking going on, how am I to interpret a line in an article that reads, "If you are a parent, you are probably shaking your head"? Is that back and forth shaking? Side to side shaking? Back to front shaking? Lamb-tail-shaking?

And furthermore....what is nodding all about? I can nod in approval. I can also nod off to sleep. But can I nod an orange juice bottle? Can I nod a rock out of my shoe? Can I drink a milk nod? Can I nod a lamb's tail?

It's the Freakin' Weekend, Baby I'm About to Have Me Some Fun

Our weekend was action packed. You could say it was "action-stuffed," even. Or maybe even "action-loaded," like extra cheese pumped into the crust or something.

Friday: I went to a men's retreat with my church in Black Mountain, NC. It was a great time to be had. Made me think, made me feel, made me vulnerable. The interesting part about it was actually getting there. The retreat center was two hours away from Charlotte, around Asheville. When we ended up in Tennessee, we knew we had missed a turn somewhere. When we stopped to ask where I-40 was (the next turn that we were looking for), the grizzled old man at the diner told me it is about 100 miles away. Needless to say, our 2 hour trip turned into a 6 hour tour through the mountains of Tennessee. We arrived to the retreat center at 8, missed dinner, and were thoroughly frustrated. But the retreat turned out to be wonderful.
Meanwhile, Kathryn and a friend of hers were house-sitting (The concept of house-sitting warrants a blog all to itself. Is house-sitting really necessary? Come on, people). The parents went away for the weekend and left their 17 year old son behind to take the SATs on Saturday. No big deal. Easy cheesy. Kathryn and her friend got ripped out of sleep at 3 in the morning by the college kid (the older brother) who decided to drive home that night from school and didn't happen to have a key. I'm not sure whether or not he knew his parents were out of town that weekend. Everything worked out fine that night, it just freaked out the girls to hear yelling and pounding on the door in a big weird house they don't know at 3 in the morning.

Saturday: I arrive from the Men's retreat that afternoon and meet up with Kathryn. We bring some food over to the house where we are "sitting" and sit down to a nice, quiet dinner while the 17 year old is in the back house watching football with his two buddies. The older, college brother had told Kathryn that morning that he would be heading back to school that afternoon. So we had the place to ourselves. Or...so we thought. As we sit down to eat, we hear a thud upstairs. Not knowing the particular sounds of the house, we ignored it, only to hear it again. Someone was certainly in the house. We cautiously went upstairs to locate the noise, only to find the college kid in his room...with a girl. And yep, he answered the door in only a towel. Not good. We gave him a stern talking to, only to discover that the poor girl's father had just had a heart attack. So we couldn't be overly upset. We sent them on their way. Then Kathryn went out to the back house to check on the 17 year old. His two friends had somehow mutated into 15, girls included, with a mini-fridge stuffed with Miller Lite. We cleared out the beer, threatened to shut down the party, and received a lot of not-so-friendly looks from the high schoolers. The party ended at 12:00. The next day, both boys apologized...I think when they realized that we would be updating their parents about all of the events.

Good grief. We were supposed to be HOUSE sitting. Not TEENAGER sitting. I think we have learned the hard way that when we accept house sitting gigs from here on out that we must demand that the only thing that will be sat upon will be the house. No naked teenagers. No parties. No beer. Just houses.

Forwards and Backwards

Everyone gets ridiculous forwards from people. Be it your aunt, your not-so-close friend, or your friends' parents. For me, it is my mother likes to forward me things. We are close enough to where I can calmly tell her to stop on many occasions. To her credit, she has cut back - especially on the cheesy Christian forwards that beseech me to forward it all of my friends less I lose my eternal security. But she did happen to send one that was not only humorous but blog worthy. Here tis:


Why do we press harder on a remote control when we
know the batteries are getting weak?

Why do banks charge a fee on "insufficient funds" when
they know there is not enough?

Why does someone believe you when you say there are
four billion stars, but check when you say the paint
is wet?

Why doesn't glue stick to the bottle?

Why do they use sterilized needles for death by lethal
injection?

Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest, but
ducks when you throw a revolver at him?

Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

Whose idea was it to put an "S" in the word "lisp"?

If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?

Why is it that no matter what color bubble bath you
use the bubbles are always white?

Is there ever a day that mattresses are not on sale?

Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator
with hopes that something new to eat will have
materialized?

Why do people keep running over a string a dozen times
with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it
up, examine it, then put it down to give the vacuum
one more chance?

Why is it that no plastic bag will open from the end
on your first try?

How do those dead bugs get into those enclosed light
fixtures?

When we are in the supermarket and someone rams your
ankle with a shopping cart then apologizes for doing
so, why do we say, "It's all right?" Well, it isn't
all right, so why don't we say, "That hurt, you stupid
idiot?"

Why is it that whenever you attempt to catch something
that's falling off the table you always manage to
knock something else over?

In winter why do we try to keep the house as warm as
it was in summer when we complained about the heat?

How come you never hear father-in-law jokes?

The statistics on sanity are that one out of every
four persons are suffering from some sort of mental
illness. Think of your three best friends -- if
they're okay, then it's you.