So I’m typing this from 39,000 feet in the air. Once we reached the magical altitude where an ipod no longer can cause a plane crash, the earbuds were in. During “Another One Bites the Dust”, I convinced myself that I was going to try to remember every song that played until it was time to turn off all electronic devices in preparation for landing.... Kind of like my own version of one of those youth group games where you’re all going on a hypothetical trip, and you have to remember what each person is bringing on that trip. It was halfway through “I’m Sorry Momma” when I realized this was not only not a good idea, but also impossible. Perhaps if Coach McPherson had taught me a memory jogger for numbers 11-50, I might have been able to do it.
Instead, I decided I would share with you my musical journey from Los Angeles to Nashville. I’m sure there are a lot of bad musicians out there who could sympathize, empathize, and maybe even harmonize with a musical journey between these two cities, if that was what I was referring to. However, I am simply referring to the soundtrack of the skies. I have set the ipod to shuffle on all songs. As long as I remember, I will write each song title and artist below. In a completely non-condescending font, I highly doubt any of you will recognize all of these songs. So take this opportunity to expand your horizons. I will be inserting random comments along the way, because being on a plane isn’t all that interesting. But, I will try to keep it short since this has potential to be the longest post ever.
Not that you care, but the hardest part of this journey is going to be not hitting the next button. Buckle up, folks. In fact, go ahead and make sure your chair backs and tray tables are in the upright and locked position as well. Thank you and welcome aboard.
Whispering Truths – Red Shepherd
Another One Bites the Dust – Queen
I Miss My Friend – Daryl Worley
Daniel – Elton John
I’m Sorry Momma – Eminem
No One Loves Me Like You – Jars of Clay
Born to Be Wild – Steppenwolf
Hard Habit to Break – Chicago
Cowgirl’s Saddle – Garth Brooks
[The woman in the window seat in front of me just went to the bathroom. I promise not to update you on all trips to the lavatory, but this is the girl who, on a full flight, tried not to let anyone sit beside her because “she gets sick on planes.” ...So many problems with this scenario.]
Love Me Do – The Beatles
[This song begins a lot like the Sesame Street theme song. So much so, in fact, that I wondered when I had gotten the Sesame Street theme song]
Taxi – Harry Chapin
Before He Cheats – Carrie Underwood-Fisher
Turf’s Up – Brad Paisley
Take the Keys to My Heart – Garth Brooks
Karin Boye’s Evening Prayer – as performed by the DLHS Concert Chorus, circa 2003
[I am getting an incredible amount of odd enjoyment from this experience. This is probably a bad idea, because the anticipation for the next song is similar to Christmas Eve. Thus, each song goes by a little slower.]
Excuse Me Mr. – Ben Harper
When a Man Loves a Woman – Percy Sledge
This is the Way We Ball – Lil’ Flip
[I like a little rap as much as the next accountant, but I blame my brother for that one. Though I do like to floss, and all my diamonds do gloss.]
Owner of a Lonely Heart – Yes
[While we’re blaming family members… Dad, I hope you have googled me, stumbled upon this, and smiled.]
Roll Out – Ludacris
[I don’t think it’s fair to blame the brother more than once. I am at fault here as well. I promise I tried to clean the library up a while back. Crack slipper.]
Give – Third Day
[I can’t decide if Luda and Third Day back to back is hypocritical or well-rounded… Leaning toward hypocritical.]
Just For You – Sam Cooke
[Well, I understand pilots have bladders too, and I did make a promise earlier, but how qualified are Southwest flight attendants? One of them just replaced a peeing pilot. They’re not allowing anyone to come up to the front. The pilot is now on the phone, just hanging out. Either this puppy is going down, or the other pilot is getting some action.]
Pony – Ginuwine
[Pilots and flight attendants have returned to their respective posts. That was quick, but she was cute.]
My Old Friend – Tim McGraw
The Way You Do the Things You Do – The Temptations
With You – Jessica Simpson
[Brutal honesty, but, with you, I can say anything crazy.]
Against All Odds – Phil Collins
Thank You – Sly and the Family Stone
[Five minutes of my life I will never get back.]
Stay Gone – Jimmy Wayne
You Got Me – LoCash Cowboys
[When did not wearing pants in public become socially acceptable? IF I wore tights out of the house, I like to think people would frown on that.]
Love Me Good – Michael W. Smith
Let It Be – Performed by Joe Cocker
99.9% Sure – Brian McComas
Dead and Alive – Loren Sanders
[Out of 1,610 songs, it only took 35 to get to one that I wasn’t quite ready to share with the blog world. If you’re not affiliated with Taylor Christian Camp, sorry, but this explanation is not coming.]
Oh What a Night – The Four Seasons
[If you are affiliated with TCC, you can imagine my disbelief when I heard the music come on for this song right after the last. And yes, this is the actual song.]
Can’t Tell Me Nothin’ – Tim McGraw
Little Maggie – Ricky Skaggs
[Remember that no next button commitment? Wavering.]
What Would Jesus Do? – Big Tent Revival
What is Wrong – Red Shepherd
[I would pause for a moment of silence, but that would require a hitch in the playlist giddyup.]
Don’t Worry ‘Bout a Thing – SheDaisy
Wrapped Around – Brad Paisley
She Thinks She Needs Me – Andy Griggs
[The two gentlemen beside me have become fast friends. 4 hours of talking. Sure, there’s a chance they could be reading this now. But I dimmed the screen and shrunk the font whenever I was writing about the flight attendant rendezvous during drink service.]
It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye – Boyz II Men
[On Fridays, BNA is one of my favorite places on earth. I enjoyed California. Work went well. We had a little time to go to the beach. But Dorothy was right.]
Groovin’ – The Rascals
Dust in the Wind – Kansas
[I love how effectively this artist tied in with my most recent reference.]
It Did – Brad Paisley
[Captain just came on… Looks like this party may be on its last leg. It’s been fun. Sure beats a second run through Sky Mall.]
That was indeed the last song of the flight... I know a majority of society could not care less about this post. However, if you ever wondered, "What is that guy listening to," maybe this will help you realize you probably don't really want to know.
For the 8 people who have clicked on my blog from Denmark, I hope you guys get to experience such culture.
#40000feet50songs2newbestfriends1poorexcuseforablogpost
10.30.2010
10.28.2010
I Smiled and Said, "I'll Have Some of That"
Once you reach adulthood [Note: Adulthood is different than Manhood, as I have been reminded oh so many times by practicing married men.], you quickly reach a point where you identify the good things in life. They’re not always big things. In fact, for the most part, they’re quite the opposite. For instance, the inspiration for writing this? Today I went to the bathroom at work, and the water was blue.
Not much is better in the work/school/gas station environment than seeing blue water when you enter a bathroom stall frequented by several people each day. Could it be a false sense of cleanliness? Absolutely. But at least there’s a chance that stall won’t give you hepatitis. Not all deuces can be taken in 7th grade hall at David Lipscomb Campus School. [Note: For the uninformed, this was the location of choice for the duration of my high school career. This hall was no longer used after my class finished 7th grade, and, as such, solidarity was easier to find here than anywhere else in Harding Hall. If you walked in and saw feet, you were beat, and it was time to let the victor have his soil. In retrospect, the fact that so many males saw this as their personal bowel haven, probably means it was the most disgusting location available.] So, if you must go in a public-ish bathroom, the blue water makes cleaning up with Georgia Pacific sandpaper all the more bearable.
More little good things? Let’s see… I’m on an audit this week, so I meet 3 co-workers in the hotel lobby to head to work. We all climb in the Impala, and start the car up. Three of us in the car each have 2-3 years experience in our department. The fourth, we’ll call well-experienced. Today’s little good thing: cranking up the car and hearing Tone Loc’s “Wild Thing”. Per a little Wikipedia research, “Wild Thing” was the first single released from the 1989 album Loc-ed After Dark. The second was like unto it, “Funky Cold Medina.” If you have heard one but not the other, rest assured, you have heard them both. For those who completely missed the boat, these songs are as different as Pat Green’s “Wave on Wave” and “Feels Just Like It Should”. Regardless, listening to Tone Loc before 8 a.m. with a Department Director is a good thing.
Free food in the break room at work – another good thing. Unless… Last week in the office, I overhear some discussion about pizza. I have my ipod on, so I don’t hear all of it. Then I get an IM from a coworker who sits near me, asking if I’ve heard anything about pizza because someone from the 1st floor is asking about rumored 2nd floor pizza. Well, yes, I have. I suddenly remember more of the conversation overheard than I think I ever heard in the first place. I share my knowledge, and we set off to explore. We go to the far break room and spot 6 pizza boxes. I duck my head in the nearest cube and ask, “what’s the deal with the pizza?” “Is that that smell?” – actual response. “Yeah, it’s on the table in here. Anything on the table in our kitchen is fair game – same here?” “Yeah…” Now there are three of us in the kitchen. One guy starts opening boxes... he identifies the first pizza as artichoke, and it’s a good thing he did because I couldn’t identify artichoke if my life depended on it. Second pizza: artichoke. Third: some unidentifiable vegetable. Fourth: artichoke. Fifth: Pineapple. Not chunks, mind you, but full slices. Sixth and final pizza appeared to be cheese. However, there were only 2 pieces left and the first 5 boxes had sufficiently scared me to a point where I was sure I could make it the last 2 hours of the workday without a piece of pizza. However, normally, free food in the break room is a good thing.
I could go on, but by this point, you have already come up with your own good things. You have also convinced yourself that your good things are better than mine. They probably are, but a conceited approach to little good things in life: not a little good thing.
Not much is better in the work/school/gas station environment than seeing blue water when you enter a bathroom stall frequented by several people each day. Could it be a false sense of cleanliness? Absolutely. But at least there’s a chance that stall won’t give you hepatitis. Not all deuces can be taken in 7th grade hall at David Lipscomb Campus School. [Note: For the uninformed, this was the location of choice for the duration of my high school career. This hall was no longer used after my class finished 7th grade, and, as such, solidarity was easier to find here than anywhere else in Harding Hall. If you walked in and saw feet, you were beat, and it was time to let the victor have his soil. In retrospect, the fact that so many males saw this as their personal bowel haven, probably means it was the most disgusting location available.] So, if you must go in a public-ish bathroom, the blue water makes cleaning up with Georgia Pacific sandpaper all the more bearable.
More little good things? Let’s see… I’m on an audit this week, so I meet 3 co-workers in the hotel lobby to head to work. We all climb in the Impala, and start the car up. Three of us in the car each have 2-3 years experience in our department. The fourth, we’ll call well-experienced. Today’s little good thing: cranking up the car and hearing Tone Loc’s “Wild Thing”. Per a little Wikipedia research, “Wild Thing” was the first single released from the 1989 album Loc-ed After Dark. The second was like unto it, “Funky Cold Medina.” If you have heard one but not the other, rest assured, you have heard them both. For those who completely missed the boat, these songs are as different as Pat Green’s “Wave on Wave” and “Feels Just Like It Should”. Regardless, listening to Tone Loc before 8 a.m. with a Department Director is a good thing.
Free food in the break room at work – another good thing. Unless… Last week in the office, I overhear some discussion about pizza. I have my ipod on, so I don’t hear all of it. Then I get an IM from a coworker who sits near me, asking if I’ve heard anything about pizza because someone from the 1st floor is asking about rumored 2nd floor pizza. Well, yes, I have. I suddenly remember more of the conversation overheard than I think I ever heard in the first place. I share my knowledge, and we set off to explore. We go to the far break room and spot 6 pizza boxes. I duck my head in the nearest cube and ask, “what’s the deal with the pizza?” “Is that that smell?” – actual response. “Yeah, it’s on the table in here. Anything on the table in our kitchen is fair game – same here?” “Yeah…” Now there are three of us in the kitchen. One guy starts opening boxes... he identifies the first pizza as artichoke, and it’s a good thing he did because I couldn’t identify artichoke if my life depended on it. Second pizza: artichoke. Third: some unidentifiable vegetable. Fourth: artichoke. Fifth: Pineapple. Not chunks, mind you, but full slices. Sixth and final pizza appeared to be cheese. However, there were only 2 pieces left and the first 5 boxes had sufficiently scared me to a point where I was sure I could make it the last 2 hours of the workday without a piece of pizza. However, normally, free food in the break room is a good thing.
I could go on, but by this point, you have already come up with your own good things. You have also convinced yourself that your good things are better than mine. They probably are, but a conceited approach to little good things in life: not a little good thing.
10.14.2010
Just to Turn It Around
Hey, Daniel Powter, you suck. Yeah, maybe I did have a bad day. The day is almost done (Editor's Note: Since I still am sans internet, the day was done last night), so now I can take a look back at it. By my standards, it was a bad day. No one that I know got hypothermia after falling off a crab boat in the Bering Sea. No, my identity wasn’t stolen while swiping my credit card, trying to become a Maxx-inista. Turns out, my gas pedal came back up after I pressed it down in the Altima. So maybe, by standards other than my own, the day wasn’t all that bad.
My idea of a bad day? Getting stood up by AT&T, for starters. I can’t remember if I have shared this on here before, and I can’t check for reasons that have been and will continue to be mentioned, but my 50 year old house doesn’t have a phone jack. No, not one. No, not one. As such, AT&T has to come out and install one so that I can get internet service. My sweet mother was kind enough to come hang out at the house from 8-12 [Note: While pointing subtlety out removes all subtlety, please note the subtlety that my wife didn’t stay at the house – that roster spot is waiting for just the right free agent]. Alas, the phone company didn’t come, and the only numbers I had rang endlessly for 20 minutes. You’d think the phone company could answer their leading product occasionally.
Throw on a few hours of monotony, some traffic, a dash of attitude, a cellulite email I wish I had never seen, and (apparently) a few too many stripes for one day’s apparel, and that’s as bad as it gets in my book. While spitting into the wind at karma, my days don’t get much worse than that. Funny how it takes until the 15th hour for me to realize, “Hey, moron, suck it up.” Miss Tracy, I hope you take a break from noticing all the sentence fragments to enjoy the commas I just used to set off the noun of direct address. On my bad day, I still got to spend the day with people I like. I ate 2 square meals and a triangle… I’m not really a breakfast guy… I sang along to a good 22 or so songs. I hung out at Riverwood with a few cool youth group kids, and a few cooler old people. On top of that, I’ve got 20 people lighting me up with motivational scripture on facebook updates.
So, thanks, God, for my bad day. Thank You for the kindness, laughter, and joy that filled my bad day. Thanks for letting me spend my bad day, constantly coming in contact with friends and family. And Thank You for not letting me freeze to death on an Alaskan crab boat... Maybe tomorrow will be better.
You know the worst part of my bad day? Not being able to come up with an appropriate synonym for “bad day”.
My idea of a bad day? Getting stood up by AT&T, for starters. I can’t remember if I have shared this on here before, and I can’t check for reasons that have been and will continue to be mentioned, but my 50 year old house doesn’t have a phone jack. No, not one. No, not one. As such, AT&T has to come out and install one so that I can get internet service. My sweet mother was kind enough to come hang out at the house from 8-12 [Note: While pointing subtlety out removes all subtlety, please note the subtlety that my wife didn’t stay at the house – that roster spot is waiting for just the right free agent]. Alas, the phone company didn’t come, and the only numbers I had rang endlessly for 20 minutes. You’d think the phone company could answer their leading product occasionally.
Throw on a few hours of monotony, some traffic, a dash of attitude, a cellulite email I wish I had never seen, and (apparently) a few too many stripes for one day’s apparel, and that’s as bad as it gets in my book. While spitting into the wind at karma, my days don’t get much worse than that. Funny how it takes until the 15th hour for me to realize, “Hey, moron, suck it up.” Miss Tracy, I hope you take a break from noticing all the sentence fragments to enjoy the commas I just used to set off the noun of direct address. On my bad day, I still got to spend the day with people I like. I ate 2 square meals and a triangle… I’m not really a breakfast guy… I sang along to a good 22 or so songs. I hung out at Riverwood with a few cool youth group kids, and a few cooler old people. On top of that, I’ve got 20 people lighting me up with motivational scripture on facebook updates.
So, thanks, God, for my bad day. Thank You for the kindness, laughter, and joy that filled my bad day. Thanks for letting me spend my bad day, constantly coming in contact with friends and family. And Thank You for not letting me freeze to death on an Alaskan crab boat... Maybe tomorrow will be better.
You know the worst part of my bad day? Not being able to come up with an appropriate synonym for “bad day”.
10.06.2010
"Name It Sex and Everyone Will Read It."
So, I’m driving home last night from South Nashville, when 107.5 the River [Note: I have yet to receive any advertisement revenue from local businesses. However, when this blog takes over 4th place on most frequented websites, behind the likes of Google, Facebook and Wikipedia, I will be happy to endorse almost anything.] reveals that bed-checks are over and requests have taken their place.
First off, for those of you who only listen to country because someone convinced you that if you want to claim Nashville as home, you must only listen to country, must drink sweet tea at every meal, and must have some weird obsession with John Deere products… expand your horizons. Continuing, a bed-check is where someone, typically a middle school girl, calls a radio DJ who goes by the name Butter, and name-drops their middle school friends, probably sneaks in a high schooler to be cool, then usually finishes by giving Butter a “bed-check”. You can see how that would be appealing to the average radio listener.
So the sacred bed-check has been forsaken in favor of the good ol’ reliable listener requests. Genius. To put this in perspective for those below the Mason-Dixon line, but outside the reach of the River, bed-checks are like an electric push mower, and taking requests is like a John Deere tractor.
Moving on, as I listened to the requests poor in from Music City, you know what didn’t come up? Well, yes, technically the Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody” isn’t wrong, but what I was looking for “Billionaire.” You know what was requested? “Ice Ice Baby.” To call say Robert Van Winkle bridges generational gaps is selling him short.
After going on… conservative estimate… 40-plus Riverwood Youth Group trips [Note: For the uninformed, I either served as a “youth intern” or was that creepy old guy who never really left the youth group – your call], there are a few songs that are more than pop culture. The short list: Hey Ya, Bohemian Rhapsody, Don’t Stop Believing, and Ice Ice Baby.
Hey Ya: Arguably the greatest song to ever be released… from the perspective of the person responsible for setting up the Christian school basketball game playlist. Beyond shaking it like a Polaroid picture, it’s as clean as a whistle. Trust me. After all, I am your neighbor.
Bohemian Rhapsody: Not only is it a song of epic proportions by one of the greatest bands of all time, it also has the added benefit of being physically impossible to sing along with. However, that has not stopped millions of people from trying. Bismillah.
Don’t Stop Believing: In a lonely world, you know who has this song in common? Strangers. When you get right down to it, we’re all living just to find emotion, and when you take the Journey through life, why not take it with the cute small town girl or that strapping city boy?
Ice Ice Baby: You know what Americans can’t resist? [I’ve asked a lot of questions here. Turns out, there’s no one to answer but me. Feel free to answer aloud. Especially if you’re reading this on your phone in a public restroom.] Americans can’t resist an underdog. The odds were, are, and will be stacked against Rob. I’m not playing the race card. Whether he’s white, black, or Japanese, he ‘s a dull pair of Wal-Mart hedgeclippers in a world full of Stihl chainsaw rappers. But somehow, he overcame the odds and released a nonsensical, self-absorbed collection of one-liners that blazed a trail. I’m not saying he was the first. “That’s what she said” wasn’t the first witty quip, but it raised the bar.
I love M&Ms, preferably peanut butter, and Marshall Mathers, but there’s only so many times I can listen to Rihanna sing about liking pain. For one hour, top 40 [More like top 5, da dum… chh] radio got it right: Stop telling people what to like and let their ears splash in a warm pool of greatness without ever having to tilt their collective head and shake the moisture out.
First off, for those of you who only listen to country because someone convinced you that if you want to claim Nashville as home, you must only listen to country, must drink sweet tea at every meal, and must have some weird obsession with John Deere products… expand your horizons. Continuing, a bed-check is where someone, typically a middle school girl, calls a radio DJ who goes by the name Butter, and name-drops their middle school friends, probably sneaks in a high schooler to be cool, then usually finishes by giving Butter a “bed-check”. You can see how that would be appealing to the average radio listener.
So the sacred bed-check has been forsaken in favor of the good ol’ reliable listener requests. Genius. To put this in perspective for those below the Mason-Dixon line, but outside the reach of the River, bed-checks are like an electric push mower, and taking requests is like a John Deere tractor.
Moving on, as I listened to the requests poor in from Music City, you know what didn’t come up? Well, yes, technically the Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody” isn’t wrong, but what I was looking for “Billionaire.” You know what was requested? “Ice Ice Baby.” To call say Robert Van Winkle bridges generational gaps is selling him short.
After going on… conservative estimate… 40-plus Riverwood Youth Group trips [Note: For the uninformed, I either served as a “youth intern” or was that creepy old guy who never really left the youth group – your call], there are a few songs that are more than pop culture. The short list: Hey Ya, Bohemian Rhapsody, Don’t Stop Believing, and Ice Ice Baby.
Hey Ya: Arguably the greatest song to ever be released… from the perspective of the person responsible for setting up the Christian school basketball game playlist. Beyond shaking it like a Polaroid picture, it’s as clean as a whistle. Trust me. After all, I am your neighbor.
Bohemian Rhapsody: Not only is it a song of epic proportions by one of the greatest bands of all time, it also has the added benefit of being physically impossible to sing along with. However, that has not stopped millions of people from trying. Bismillah.
Don’t Stop Believing: In a lonely world, you know who has this song in common? Strangers. When you get right down to it, we’re all living just to find emotion, and when you take the Journey through life, why not take it with the cute small town girl or that strapping city boy?
Ice Ice Baby: You know what Americans can’t resist? [I’ve asked a lot of questions here. Turns out, there’s no one to answer but me. Feel free to answer aloud. Especially if you’re reading this on your phone in a public restroom.] Americans can’t resist an underdog. The odds were, are, and will be stacked against Rob. I’m not playing the race card. Whether he’s white, black, or Japanese, he ‘s a dull pair of Wal-Mart hedgeclippers in a world full of Stihl chainsaw rappers. But somehow, he overcame the odds and released a nonsensical, self-absorbed collection of one-liners that blazed a trail. I’m not saying he was the first. “That’s what she said” wasn’t the first witty quip, but it raised the bar.
I love M&Ms, preferably peanut butter, and Marshall Mathers, but there’s only so many times I can listen to Rihanna sing about liking pain. For one hour, top 40 [More like top 5, da dum… chh] radio got it right: Stop telling people what to like and let their ears splash in a warm pool of greatness without ever having to tilt their collective head and shake the moisture out.
9.29.2010
Dumps Like A Truck. Truck. Truck.
Blogging is pretty much an exact science… You want to write about the random stuff that happens in your life? Someone will read it.
Hello, someone.
So I got a haircut yesterday. You’re right, that is the most interesting thing you’ve read today. Anyway, I walk in, [Note: I just did some quick research to see if I could say “I walked right in and sat right down,” but, alas, that is the jingle for the slightly shoddier low-budget haircut joint.] and I stroll on up to the computer, just like every other time. They take my name, and tell me it will be “just one minute.”
I had already mentally prepared to spend 5-plus minutes perusing the internet and trick or tweeting on my phone, so their illusion of speed did not phase me. As I will still trying to determine the appropriate complimentary and/or supplementary angles for my wallet, butt, and the old plastic chair, the greeter lady informed me that she was sorry, but it would take a little longer than they thought.
Fast-forward five minutes. In fact, go ahead and fast forward far enough to where you are in a world where the phrase “fast forward” garners only blank stares because the audience you are speaking to has never fast-forwarded anything. It’s a blu-ray world, people. Time to part with the Betamax. Anyway, similar to the night before Christmas…
“That’s me.” Yeah, go figure, the name in the computer was the one guy who was in the waiting area. It was at this point she began to explain that once she had a lady named Charlie who was waiting when she called for a man named Charlie to get a haircut. I honestly enjoy it when people screw up my name or are certain they heard it incorrectly. It’s fun to see how people respond.
I corroborated her story by looking around to make sure no criminals’ bodies were strewn about the place with major head wounds. She started with the clippers. I guess she was making sure the guard she had put on them would stay in place, but from the cut-ee’s perspective, it felt more like the potential for intracranial [Note: Bill Gates corrected my typing of “intercranial”. I would think “intracranial would be between craniums, but I’m no scientist.] bleeding.
She then moved in on the back of my neck. She worked on it. She moved my head. She worked on it some more. Moved my head some more. It wasn’t until my chin was resting on my chest and she pushed my head down that I offered up a little resistance. “Sorry, honey, but you’ve got a tornado back here.” Good to know. A few gray hairs and a natural disaster never hurt anyone. I still don’t know what that means beyond 3 minutes of trimming.
Overall, it was a good trip. $12 well spent… At least I hope it was $12. Their computer got stolen and she had to give me a paper receipt. I’m no expert on internal controls, but that could have been a very expensive low-budget haircut.
Hello, someone.
So I got a haircut yesterday. You’re right, that is the most interesting thing you’ve read today. Anyway, I walk in, [Note: I just did some quick research to see if I could say “I walked right in and sat right down,” but, alas, that is the jingle for the slightly shoddier low-budget haircut joint.] and I stroll on up to the computer, just like every other time. They take my name, and tell me it will be “just one minute.”
I had already mentally prepared to spend 5-plus minutes perusing the internet and trick or tweeting on my phone, so their illusion of speed did not phase me. As I will still trying to determine the appropriate complimentary and/or supplementary angles for my wallet, butt, and the old plastic chair, the greeter lady informed me that she was sorry, but it would take a little longer than they thought.
Fast-forward five minutes. In fact, go ahead and fast forward far enough to where you are in a world where the phrase “fast forward” garners only blank stares because the audience you are speaking to has never fast-forwarded anything. It’s a blu-ray world, people. Time to part with the Betamax. Anyway, similar to the night before Christmas…
All the children were nestled all scared in their chairs
While slightly inebriated women ran sharp implements through their hair.
On second thought, I might just wear a kerchief or even a cap.
Because that lady with the scissors redefines a deathtrap.
When from behind the colored hair gel, there arose such a clatter
Clippers were dropped so all could help in the matter.
The most experienced stylist spoke with such candor
“Who [on God’s green earth] is Loren Sanders?”
While slightly inebriated women ran sharp implements through their hair.
On second thought, I might just wear a kerchief or even a cap.
Because that lady with the scissors redefines a deathtrap.
When from behind the colored hair gel, there arose such a clatter
Clippers were dropped so all could help in the matter.
The most experienced stylist spoke with such candor
“Who [on God’s green earth] is Loren Sanders?”
“That’s me.” Yeah, go figure, the name in the computer was the one guy who was in the waiting area. It was at this point she began to explain that once she had a lady named Charlie who was waiting when she called for a man named Charlie to get a haircut. I honestly enjoy it when people screw up my name or are certain they heard it incorrectly. It’s fun to see how people respond.
Like the lady at the dollar store a couple of years back… They don’t let you take the carts out of the dollar store. In fact, they attached poles to each cart to prevent anyone who believes the whole “4-on-the-floor” thing from rolling them out the door. So, this older lady asked me to help her get her bags from the door to her car. As I was going back in after saving the world, she said, “Now what’s your name again?” As if I had told her before, I replied, “Loren.” “Loren?” “Yes ma’am.” “Wow. That must have been rough.”
What’s a story without a tangent or two? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s a circle, and you’re stuck going round and round and not really having any idea what you’re missing out on outside your circle world. So my court-appointed hairdresser quickly changes the subject as we walk to her chair. She tells me they got robbed, and the thieves took the computer. She then begins cutting my hair. Don’t worry, she wasn’t there when they robbed the place.
I corroborated her story by looking around to make sure no criminals’ bodies were strewn about the place with major head wounds. She started with the clippers. I guess she was making sure the guard she had put on them would stay in place, but from the cut-ee’s perspective, it felt more like the potential for intracranial [Note: Bill Gates corrected my typing of “intercranial”. I would think “intracranial would be between craniums, but I’m no scientist.] bleeding.
She then moved in on the back of my neck. She worked on it. She moved my head. She worked on it some more. Moved my head some more. It wasn’t until my chin was resting on my chest and she pushed my head down that I offered up a little resistance. “Sorry, honey, but you’ve got a tornado back here.” Good to know. A few gray hairs and a natural disaster never hurt anyone. I still don’t know what that means beyond 3 minutes of trimming.
Overall, it was a good trip. $12 well spent… At least I hope it was $12. Their computer got stolen and she had to give me a paper receipt. I’m no expert on internal controls, but that could have been a very expensive low-budget haircut.
9.22.2010
One Day is Coming.
You know who really suffers when a person who refuses to call himself a blogger but occasionally contributes to the blogosphere delays getting internet service at his house? The general public. I know, folks, and I'm sorry. Again, I find myself stealing church internet prior to a Wednesday night service... We'll get it straigtened out... I still have to get a phone jack, then get internet, but after that, we'll be good to go.
See you then.
See you then.
8.18.2010
Church Camp: Achieved.
...Stealing church internet to do a fantasy draft and post this (I don't yet have internet at the house. Sure, it's already been almost a month)...
As I sit here in a world without internet or television, I am greeted by a wonderful alternative to unpacking boxes full of crap that I never should have owned in the first place… telling the world (or the 4 of you reading) about church camp.
Sure, you might think I’m a little old for church camp. If I were a camper, you’d be right. But instead, I get to be a counselor. Yep, a bunch of adults who can still remember the shenanigans they pulled as campers are now put in a position to guide the youth of America and, theoretically, prevent current generation shenanigans. We’ll see how that worked out…
If you’re reading this looking for literary flow, you will be disappointed - Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Overall, it was a very calm week as far as the kids were concerned. No complaining. No injuries. Generally good attitudes. And a lot of them really took the spiritual aspects seriously. As far as the staff: One concussion. One twisted ankle. One “boxer’s fracture”. One broken leg. And two pedestrians hit by a motor vehicle. We had generally good attitudes and took the spiritual aspects seriously too, though. On to the highlights…
We go to camp at Taylor Christian Camp, located in Scottsville, Kentucky. Maybe you’re familiar with it. Maybe you know where Scottsville is. Maybe you know how to use Google maps well enough to figure out where Scottsville is. Or maybe you’re a Scottsville resident – If that’s the case and Jan of “Jan’s Bookkeeping and Tanning Salon” is reading this, kudos, Jan: your willingness to provide the perfect combination of necessary personal services to generations of Kentucky’s finest is, in a word, inspirational.
Taylor doesn’t have a pool, but we’ve got a creek. One of our staff members decided it would be a good idea to ride his mountain bike down the hill leading to the creek, grab the ropeswing, and jump off his bike into the creek water below, avoiding the drop off and certain face-plant that awaited him if he missed the rope. As I’m not too good on a bike and generally try to avoid drowning while unconscious from smashing my head into rocks, I volunteered to hold the rope…
Surprisingly, it was a semi-success. Both rider and bike ended up in the water without any blood. No spectacular stunt was pulled off the rope, but the execution was achievement enough.
Let’s see what else happened… In order to thwart the freaking out of any parents reading this, the following was done only after all parties involved were ensured that all minors were in a location far enough away to where they had no idea what was going on. We have a six foot diameter blue ball at camp. We use it to play a game where six teams each send out one person at a time to try to push the blue ball back to their team and knock over a cone. However, for as long as I can remember, the object of the game is to run at the ball at top speed and see who flies the furthest.
Well, in order to fulfill the wish of a camper who had to leave early due to our summer camp being in the fall and school starting in the middle of the week, two of the staff members agreed to take a free shot from the big blue ball. Upon review, it was determined the maximum amount of force that could be applied to the ball for said free shot would be applied by a Dodge Ram 1500. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum agreed to the truck shot. I’ve never been more scared and excited about the same moment. Naturally, we practiced this before the actual event. And just as naturally, the truck ended up going significantly faster in the actual event than it did in practice. Truck hit ball. Ball hit staff. Staff hit ground. Ball hit truck. Ball hit fallen staff. Truck bumper comes to rest within reach of staff. Silence ensues. Staff member A makes a noise and moves. Staff member B responds with noise and movement of his own. Hilarity ensues because, after all, any time something so incredibly stupid happens and no one gets seriously injured, it instantaneously achieves the highest standard of humor.
Don’t worry though, Staff member A went down the slip-n-slide the next day, got his pinky caught in a small tear on the billboards being used as the slick surface for sliding, and broke a bone in his hand. When I later pointed out the obvious that he got hit by a truck without any problems yet let his pinky send him to the hospital, I asked if he told the doctor he’d been hit by a truck. “No. Are you kidding? That didn’t come up.”
Tune in next time as we transition from the physical to the intellectual side of the TCC 2010 Story Vault.
As I sit here in a world without internet or television, I am greeted by a wonderful alternative to unpacking boxes full of crap that I never should have owned in the first place… telling the world (or the 4 of you reading) about church camp.
Sure, you might think I’m a little old for church camp. If I were a camper, you’d be right. But instead, I get to be a counselor. Yep, a bunch of adults who can still remember the shenanigans they pulled as campers are now put in a position to guide the youth of America and, theoretically, prevent current generation shenanigans. We’ll see how that worked out…
If you’re reading this looking for literary flow, you will be disappointed - Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Overall, it was a very calm week as far as the kids were concerned. No complaining. No injuries. Generally good attitudes. And a lot of them really took the spiritual aspects seriously. As far as the staff: One concussion. One twisted ankle. One “boxer’s fracture”. One broken leg. And two pedestrians hit by a motor vehicle. We had generally good attitudes and took the spiritual aspects seriously too, though. On to the highlights…
We go to camp at Taylor Christian Camp, located in Scottsville, Kentucky. Maybe you’re familiar with it. Maybe you know where Scottsville is. Maybe you know how to use Google maps well enough to figure out where Scottsville is. Or maybe you’re a Scottsville resident – If that’s the case and Jan of “Jan’s Bookkeeping and Tanning Salon” is reading this, kudos, Jan: your willingness to provide the perfect combination of necessary personal services to generations of Kentucky’s finest is, in a word, inspirational.
Taylor doesn’t have a pool, but we’ve got a creek. One of our staff members decided it would be a good idea to ride his mountain bike down the hill leading to the creek, grab the ropeswing, and jump off his bike into the creek water below, avoiding the drop off and certain face-plant that awaited him if he missed the rope. As I’m not too good on a bike and generally try to avoid drowning while unconscious from smashing my head into rocks, I volunteered to hold the rope…
Surprisingly, it was a semi-success. Both rider and bike ended up in the water without any blood. No spectacular stunt was pulled off the rope, but the execution was achievement enough.
Let’s see what else happened… In order to thwart the freaking out of any parents reading this, the following was done only after all parties involved were ensured that all minors were in a location far enough away to where they had no idea what was going on. We have a six foot diameter blue ball at camp. We use it to play a game where six teams each send out one person at a time to try to push the blue ball back to their team and knock over a cone. However, for as long as I can remember, the object of the game is to run at the ball at top speed and see who flies the furthest.
Well, in order to fulfill the wish of a camper who had to leave early due to our summer camp being in the fall and school starting in the middle of the week, two of the staff members agreed to take a free shot from the big blue ball. Upon review, it was determined the maximum amount of force that could be applied to the ball for said free shot would be applied by a Dodge Ram 1500. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum agreed to the truck shot. I’ve never been more scared and excited about the same moment. Naturally, we practiced this before the actual event. And just as naturally, the truck ended up going significantly faster in the actual event than it did in practice. Truck hit ball. Ball hit staff. Staff hit ground. Ball hit truck. Ball hit fallen staff. Truck bumper comes to rest within reach of staff. Silence ensues. Staff member A makes a noise and moves. Staff member B responds with noise and movement of his own. Hilarity ensues because, after all, any time something so incredibly stupid happens and no one gets seriously injured, it instantaneously achieves the highest standard of humor.
Don’t worry though, Staff member A went down the slip-n-slide the next day, got his pinky caught in a small tear on the billboards being used as the slick surface for sliding, and broke a bone in his hand. When I later pointed out the obvious that he got hit by a truck without any problems yet let his pinky send him to the hospital, I asked if he told the doctor he’d been hit by a truck. “No. Are you kidding? That didn’t come up.”
Tune in next time as we transition from the physical to the intellectual side of the TCC 2010 Story Vault.
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