are you holding up my end of the bargain?


question inspired by the lemonheads. good lyric. great to have you back rockin', evan dando.

my song of the moment seems to be by the killers. i kind of hate the killers. maybe not quite hate, but close. you see, i fell head over heels in love with 'mr. brightside' last year and on the heels of that one song plus tons of reviews lauding the arrival of the next best thing in music, i bought the cd and then thought the cd as a whole sucked. a couple good songs here. another there. but as a listening experience, from beginning to end, it left me wanting way, way more. and so i swore off them. i passed the cd off to sarah and didn't really want to hear from them again. but they've done it to me again. their new single, 'when you were young', is amazing. i mean, i love it. i am not sure if it's the song, or the song in combination with the video, but it's got a hold on me something fierce. i will turn to mtv2 every so often and the one and only reason for doing so is the hope of hearing that song that is stuck in my head right now. so, what do i do? do i listen to the reviews again? to the killers? claming that they are channeling bruce springsteen with this record? that they are losing the mascara and bringing the rock? i don't know. i just don't know. but, that song...

in an update from my last post, there was an interesting development to the "dog chained to our dumpster" ending. well, a week ago tuesday, heath and i showed up to work to find, yes, a dog chained to the dumpster in the back. it was a big-ish dog, probably still a puppy, that wouldn't let us get near him. tail constantly tucked between it's legs and snarling at us, we came to the conclusion that the dog had been abused and, finally, left for dead or for some sap with a heart for animals to pick up and give a better home. we called animal control, and the dog was taken away. well, this week, we get a call from a lady asking us if a dog had been chained behind our store last tuesday? "why, yes ma'am. there was." evidently the dog had been stolen from this lady's house and brought to our store (and then a note was left for the owner, attached to her door, telling her about it). why? hell if we know? but it made us ask a couple different questions. if the owner mistreats the dog, why would she want it back? maybe it wasn't the owner that had mistreated the dog. why would someone steal this dog? did it bark too much? was the violation in response to something else? too many unanswered questions to come to a peaceful conclusion. before the call asking about the dog, i was going to use the incident to rail on the fall of humanity or something else dramatic, but now, my metaphor seems confused or, at the very least, incomplete. so, i will wait for another example to rear it's head and inspire me to talk about how crappy humans can be sometime. i am sure it won't be long.

you don't really know what badass looks like until your two and a half year-old picks up a play gun at cici's and starts firing away. "pyow, pyow", indeed. sure, we could be upset or discouraged that one of the life lessons hannah has brought home from school includes making her finger into a gun and saying, "pyow, pyow". we could, but it's just too damn cute.

i'll have to get some feedback from some of my fellow lost obsessees on this, but i am trying to decide if i am going to invest myself in the new nbc show, heroes. do i really want to jump into another show with tons of characters, deep mythology, and neverending plots? i just don't know. speaking of the best show on tv, the fall season officially kicks off this coming wednesday. along with lost, my appointment television for this fall looks like it will be heroes, studio 60, 30 rock, earl, office, and family guy. you'll be notified of any other worthy additions.

since i mentioned it last, i have won two straight fantasy match-ups and have the highest points per game average (bench included) in the league. knowing how to manage a draft is already paying dividends. 2-1, baby!!!

if you were me, your teeth would be more crooked


it's funny when a person makes a comment that starts with "if i were you, ...". you never really know what is going to come after that comma, do you? whatever it is, though, it's not likely that the statement is going to cast you in a positive light. "if i were you, i'd drop the attitude." "if i were you, i would have looked in the mirror before i left home." "if i were you, i'd think twice before i ate that second doughnut." you don't ever hear someone say, "if i were you, boy, would my day be better." or "if i were you, i wouldn't be such a dick." it's kind of weird how "if i were you, ..." works.

i was in the office at the store the other day and observed a man laying into one of my employees because their fish had passed away. now, keep in mind, he is laying into the guy that will be responsible for ordering his replacement fish. also, keep in mind that the guy bought the fish only two hours ago and brought the dead fish back in the SAME FUCKING BAG that he took them out of the store in. now, i am no jack hanna, but even i, with confidence, could explain to the man that the combination of heat and lack of oxygen probably brought the fish to their peril. our fish guy, or muffley as you blog subscribers may know him, tries to explain this very simple concept to this very upset man. muffley fails to win him over and the man exclaims, "if i were you (here it comes), i'd march into that office and find someone that can make me happy." wow. little did dude know that it was my ass that was sitting in the office.

for one, i am not a "fish guy" if you will. i don't like them. they creep me out. their dying for any number of reasons does not and will not shake the foundations of my faith. so, after hearing brian do his best to "make me (angry guy) happy", i wasn't going to offer too much empathy to angry guy's plight. second of all, i can be kind of territorial, as has been evidenced in this journal on many an occasion. so, no matter how bad muffley can annoy me, he's my muffley and he's on my team, customer be damned.

so, i talk to the guy and he respectfully disagrees with my confirming muffley's take on his fish dying, but i offer him his money back or more fish. he takes the more fish option and leaves to probably kill more fish in his car.

there are two morals to this post.

one) stupid people shouldn't buy/own fish. too much maintenance. too much room for error. so, don't waste your time or energy if you are, indeed, retarded or just mean.

two) "if i were you, ...", unless used for good, should never come out of a person's mouth. because if i were you, i wouldn't eat as much, or exercise more, or brush my teeth before blessing you out, or not own a fish tank, but i am not going to say that to your face, because it would only make your day that much worse, right? let's think about these kinds of things, people! really!

more hilarity from people that shouldn't own pets will ensue, i am sure, later. next episode? why you shouldn't leave your obviously abused dog chained to a pet supplies "plus" dumpster with no intent to ever come back and get him.

socks?
(hannah and me part fifteen)


yesterday, the birmingham based part of sarah's family and i traveled to cartersville, georgia to meet up with that group plus sarah's uncle richard, who was in visiting from colorado. it was a nice day and visit for all of them and i was glad to be there as well. i still got in plenty of football watching (have i ever brought this up? i think i would like to have michael vick's baby.) i also got some up close and personal time with my niece, emma catherine, which was very fun. it's hard to believe hannah was ever that small. not so hard to believe that hannah could and can be that ornery, although given how tired the baby, baby girl was, she really handled her part of the day well. all in all, as the meat or peanut butter and jelly to the sandwich that is my current three day weekend, it was a good day.

the highlight of the day came on the way home. not because the day had drawn to a close necessarily, but because of the events that were to unfold after a stop at mcdonald's. hannah was tired, but she was also hungry, so we decided to stop for some chicken, fries and sauce before we got out of town. as part of the pitch to hannah, we also reminded her that a toy would be in order for any big girl that could finish her chicken mcnuggets kid's meal. skeptical as i always am when hannah has anything offered to her along with fries that the other thing will be eaten, hannah proved me wrong and mowed through her chicken like she hadn't eaten in days. she also took care of some fries and sucked down some hi-c, all of this in order to get to what she had been promised before arriving at the little known fast food establishment.

what she didn't know was that i already knew her reward, and her reward sucked worse than getting a chip stuck in your permanent retainer. what was the "girl toy" she was so lucky to have included in her bag? a pair of socks......i am not kidding. a god-forsaken (probably not literally) pair of socks. my eyes almost welled up with sadness and fear. she had been so good all day. handled being tired. handled pooping in her panties. been helpful with emma. handled being hungry. and this is her thank you??? no fucking way, dude. she's going to have a come-apart and i am going to be right behind her.

"i want my toy."

oh, god. here it comes. the come-apart. joseph hands her her "toy" and she begins unwrapping them. what? no crying? no fussing? no come-apart? but, why? because i can't remember if it was marie or joseph that said it, but one said something about her new puppets. and then someone else mentioned (maybe even hannah) something about her gloves. that her new gloves made her look like the princesses she's been watching and adoring in her disney movies. and she was utterly content. more than content. happy. and so were we. sarah, marie, joseph and i all laughed (the good, gutteral, feel-good laugh) at the situation playing out so much better than we had prepared ourselves for. what a bright and creative little girl. how nice it must be to be grounded in imagination and instead of feeling disappointed at the sight of socks, you see beautiful elbow length gloves that would match your wonderful dress you will wear to the ball in your dreams.

grounded in imagination. what a wonderful lesson. thank you, hannah, for making my day. for the laugh. for wanting to comfort your tired tears when we got home. i love you so much. i'll pick you up soon.

1333 pinebrook lane
(the anatomy of a good memory)


what makes or romanticizes an event or sequence of events into the kind of thought that eventually becomes a good memory? is it time? is it the immediate impact of said event on one's life? the eventual impact? is it all of the above?

for some reason, my old house in huffman on pinebrook lane has found it's way into my dreams (day and night) of late. more specifically, the memory of a particular day years ago that makes me happy to think about even now. the day in my head was a beautiful day, much like today. it was a little hot, but not too hot. and it was a day filled with things that were very much stereotypical "boy".

i woke up and went outside to ride my bike. and i rode it everywhere. up and down the street. around the neighborhood just above our street. everywhere. and then i fell. hard. pinebrook lane had/has hills that any young boy riding a bike would die for and most of the time i would go down them with no hands. well, i was going down no-handed and hit a rock or hole that threw me off balance. i was able to grab the handlebars before i went straight down but i only was able to steer myself into the curb where i proceeded to flip over into the yard three houses down from my own. i remember my wind being knocked out of me and laying flat on my back fearful of what i might have broken. after realizing that i was relatively ok, i sat up, my thoughts turning to who might have seen my calamity. not one person. at least no one was outside in their yard to see me.

i breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to my bike, now laying across the curb with no hint of ever having suffered a crash. i was still a little too shocked to hop on and ride home, so i walked toward my house with visions of otterpops dancing in my head. no sooner do i begin walking past my neighbor's house does my neighbor and his younger brother come out the front door.

"you up for football?"

uh, yeah.

i go grab my step-brother, and we collect as many of the kids on our street as we can just like we do every saturday (so, i am guessing my memory is on a saturday), and we play for what seems like hours. with half-time and everything. i don't remember who won or lost (which probably means i lost), but i remember it being so much fun.

i don't know what sort of impact this day had on me. i don't really know if everything in my memory even happened in one day. considering i can't even remember one day from my fourth grade year, i don't trust my memory most of the time. i do know that my day becomes that much sweeter every time i think about it, so i do think time plays a role. in the same way that my sports accomplishments, life accomplishments, job accomplishments, etc. seem more impressive (to me) the further i remove myself from them, i suppose this memory works in the same vein.

whatever the reason behind this thought/memory/dream is, i won't complain, and i am really not looking for outside opinion or insight. just thinking out loud. or typing rather.

sports
(not the huey lewis and the news kind)


the first time i brought this up was on june 4th of this year. i just went back and checked. including that sunday and yesterday, that makes three times i have been privy to one of huffman's worship leaders calling out the congregation on their lack of spirit. now, keep in mind that i am working at least one out of every three sundays and averaging a couple a month. this means that i am not present for every sunday morning service. this leads me to a disconcerting question. are these comments like cockroaches? if i see (hear) one or three, does that mean there are hundreds or thousands of them lurking in the dark? of course there are. but instead of the problem (could it be uninspiring hymn selection? could it be that bill gaither's time has come and gone? could it be something else? surely not.), we address the solution. "sing louder." "not like this, but like this." "don't you get the words and the sentiment we are lifting up here?" i guess not, dude. i am sure it's on me/us.

moving on. speaking of uninspiring (and i know i sung this tune last season too), how about alabama football? one-score victories over hawaii and vandy. nice. i tell you what, alabama fan. i am starting to agree with some of the pundits. it's not like mike shula was a stellar offensive coordinator in the nfl. it's not as if we are waiting on his genius to blossom. it's like this. alabama needs to hire an offensive mind or give dave rader a shot at proving his. according to those in the know, rader is coordinator in name only. see if he can mix it up. breathe some fresh air into the limp body that is alabama's offense. otherwise, get used to the idea of a 7-5 season and a trip (if they are lucky) to the poulan weedeater bowl.

welcome back, michael vick. one of my first blogs (to continue the reminiscing theme) talked about how i would love to be michael vick for a day. well, after watching him orchestrate a butt-whipping on everyone's super bowl pick from the nfc, the carolina panthers, yesterday, my man-crush stands assured of lasting another season. welcome back, indeed.

the braves suck. and my boy tim hudson is a big part of the problem. dammit.

rain in the forecast for tuesdays suck. actual rain on tuesdays sucks harder.

for the sake of my fantasy football addiction, i think i will offer up a nugget of wisdom/despair/frustration from time to time over the course of the fantasy season. i drafted better than anyone in my league. i truly believe this. and out of ten teams in my league, i will finish week one with (at worst) one of the top three point totals. yet, because kiker is the only (or one of two) team with a chance to outscore me and i am playing him this week, i may find myself 0-1 tomorrow morning. that's ok. i'll keep my head up. i like my chances over the course of the season.

long live the asianmen.

a dining room table
(hannah and me part fourteen)


it's been a long time since i've had a dining room table that was used for, how do you say, dining? not since my first, single stint at ascot place really, and that's been several years. come to think of it, i don't know if i ever really ate at my table at ascot place, but it was used on a regular basis. we had a dining room table at the parsonage, but it was just for show. we used it a couple times for special occasions (birthdays, youth steak dinners, supper club), but mostly it collected dust and kitty hair. there was no dining room table to speak of during the second go-round at ascot place or my time in huntsville. in both instances, respective coffee tables served as the table we surrounded and dined upon while doing something much more sacred than have a family meal time, watch tv.

and now we have a dining room table. a kick-ass one at that. one that i actually vouched for and liked a lot. it's bar height and big and pretty, and the chairs have the little underrail for you to kick your feet up on while sitting in them. it's great. aside from the asthetics, though, it's going to mean a change in our habit. soon enough, our mealtimes will move from the living room floor to the dining room table (you can actually see the top of it now). and what will that mean? we'll have to talk to each other. ask about each other's day. constantly worry that hannah doesn't fall out of the barstool height chairs to the ceramic tile floor below and bust her baby girl head (a chance we were willing to take for the table). it will be different, but my guess is that it'll be good.

my only real memories of the dining room table at ascot place consist of my conversations with chris and andy. not the meat of the conversations, really, but where they led. when we started our small group, i was content working for amsouth, pondering the idea of wanting to write for a living, and, all in all, pretty satisfied. what came out of those conversations, though, was life-altering, and i am not being at all dramatic. it was during those conversations that i decided to give student ministry a go. it was around that dining room table that i decided to work for and with God, instead of amsouth. it was around that table that my life took a different path. a path that brings me to where i am today. where i am today being a good and happy and more than satisfied place. what wouldn't have happened without that table? what people would not be in my life? where wouldn't i have traveled? what insight into my life would i be without? without that table, who, exactly, would i be?

i guess the real lesson doesn't have as much to do with a dining room table as it does talking out loud about god with friends or family and then letting god work in your life. but i do believe that table was the catalyst for many good and blessed things in my life.

and so i fast forward to now. if so many good and positive things could come from that table, what good and positive things will come from this one? only time will tell i guess, but i am eager to find out.

the world according to muffley
(what it must be like to be an expert on everything)


i knew something was familiar about him the day that i "met" him. where did i know his face from? that voice. it's different from something familiar that i remember, but still kind of the same. oh well, maybe it's nothing. maybe our paths just crossed. maybe i just ran into him somewhere and he made an impression. well, all it took was the subject of soccer coming up and him asking me if i had a tattoo on my shoulder and it clicked. this wasn't a stranger. this was brian muffley. the same brian muffley i coached as a twelve year old playing soccer. he was my goalie. he looked the same then as he does now. seven years later. still kinda pudgy. still eats too many snacks. still probably stinks at soccer, but this was him. nothing had changed...well, one thing changed. he had learned everything there was to be learned...

...in seven years...

...as a 19 year old...

...and the knowledge suited him poorly.

all of us have had "conversations with muffley". or experiences with someone like him. "mr. i know everything". "mr. if it means i can butt in on your conversation i promise i have been there or done that". and it annoys the crap out of me. dude, you're 19 and lived in huffman, roebuck, birmingham, alabama all your life. you don't know shit. hell, i am 29 and i don't know shit. i know more than you, but i still don't know shit. there is something at the core of this type of person that i don't understand. what is it that drives them to feel like they have to claim to know a little something (or a lot) about any subject that comes up? i mean, if you are overweight, please don't talk to me about diet tips or tell me that you work out and exercise "all the time". if you have never played sports above pee-wee level, it's ok if you don't know the in's and out's of the triangle offense. if you have a computer, that doesn't mean you know the difference between the processor and the power cord. if you have driven a car, you don't necessarily know how to change the oil or tires or brakes. if you had a sibling go to auburn, you don't have to be an auburn football fan. it's cool if you and your friends tailgate for a new episode of according to jim. it's your choice, dude. or dudette. what is it that drives a person to make themselves out to be something they are not?

i guess the easy and most obvious answer would be to be accepted. loved. thought of as cool. or bad-ass. whatever. there's got to be more to it. and i wish it would stop.

i don't know if anyone anywhere would consider me an expert at anything. and you know what? that's freakin' cool. the most open and honest response a person can ever give, in my eyes, is "i don't know." i love "i don't know". not because i don't want to know. but because most of the time that those three words come out of my mouth it is the truth.

the truth. what a novel concept. "who's the starting left tackle for hawaii tomorrow?" i have no idea. "what kind of dog shampoo is best for rat terriers?" um, the green one? "how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood." i don't know.

it's ok to say it. it's ok to be honest with me. it's ok to be honest with yourself. i like you better that way. most other people do too i would wager. it's makes you vulnerable like me and everyone else.

i would follow you if you greeted me with an "i don't know, but we can figure it out together." i can't follow an expert, though. i just don't relate.