Shooting at Northern

I know everybody else is going to talk about it. I've only just now heard about it.

I know that there's going to be - once again - a lot of blame going around. The warning signs. The loneliness. The registered or unregistered weapons. The barely-veiled threats (assuming there were some). The fact that it's Valentines Day and he was probably romantically shunned. The university security not being at first-guard to ward these types of attacks off.

And the fact that I work in an academic setting (albeit a much smaller one, with security and cops and metal detectors all over the place) doesn't help, because I'm not a student or parent of a student at one of these schools now. I can't imagine what on-campus college students across the nation are feeling. I can only begin to grasp what their parents are feeling.

Some people need a lot of love. Pray for the victims. All of them. But also, pray for the preyers, for those outcasts. Not that they're the real victims. But the hurting needs to cease and they need to be loved and counseled and nurtured. America needs to love the least and greatest amongst us, not just the innocent. Not just the cute and cuddly. But the would-be monsters. The would-be Trench-coat Mafiosos.

This was something King and Jesus understood. People hate out of fear and alienation. Perfect love casts out all fear. Love joins people. Love the mess (and pain, frustration, self-loathing, hate) out of each other. That's bold Valentine's Day love.

News of the Weird 10 - Holy Food and Ornaments!

From News of the Weird:

[P]laces an image of Jesus is said to have turned up: knothole in wooden fence (Lodi, CA, August); kitchen cabinet door (Manchester, CT, August); smudge of driveway sealant on garage door (Forest, VA, August); bath room towel (Houston, October); pancake (Port Saint Lucie, FL, November); chest X-ray (Homestead, FL, December); potato (Marion County, FL, January); another potato (Houston, January); slab of granite (Tampa, January).

O-Kay.

So, 1) what's up with Houston? 2) What's up with Florida? Has Jesus and/or his divine image moved on up to the Sunshine State? Is there some political statement going on here? Or is it just that Jesus, like all other 2000 year-olds, has decided to settle into Sunnydale Retirement Village?

Misc. Wednesday

• Hillary plays my favorite game from my childhood. That's why we love her:

Lady in the Yellow Jacket '08 Clap Clap Point Point

• So, it seems that bloggers do have some influence in the Evangelical Christian Academic World after all. Just crappy, negative and plain ignorant influence. To be fair, my brother went to this school (Cedarville, in southern Ohio near Dayton) and it is on the right side of the Evangelical shrift, but the fact that they were scared off of featuring a speaker (an avowed Christian speaker, who works in the Christian realm) by some bloggers who aren't even in the school because this speaker, Shane Claiborne, is in some way - although not officially - partial to the Emergent movement. To people who are not aware, for a smidgen of the right-wing Ev world, Emergents are the devil. That's because it is a movement that's hard to try to figure out. So people who don't know anything about history or church history (well, outside of the Reformers and their followers, perhaps) see it as an affront to the Church and orthodoxy, not understanding that their understanding of 'orthodoxy' (or, right teaching) is very much informed by the Age of Reasoning and is every bit as dangerous as - if not more so than - any of the theology or even pseudo-theology peddled by the Emergents (which, again, is a very wide tent and is extremely diverse in their practices and doctrinal leanings. It is not an organized or centralized classification or denomination. The only real constant is that Emergents want to do church differently in order to reach - and because they are a part of - a different generation).

But the truth is, a visit to Claiborne's website has me more convinced that he is much more old-school and orthodox (and creative. And compassionate) than those that fear him and try to shut him up.

The bad news is that the school was scared off by scare tactics of people who aren't even directly involved in the school, who would not go to the meetings in the first place, who would not even talk with Mr. Claiborne themselves, but rather - from a place of unnecessary fear and through a place of constipating fear - put pressure on a school to so-called maintain its integrity.

Bull. If they have integrity, they shouldn't worry about hearing someone out (especially an activist who was going to speak on dealing with the poor out of a genuine place) just because they disagree with him.

Heck, maybe they were offended by truth such as this:

If you ask most people what Christians believe, they can tell you, “Christians believe that Jesus is God’s Son and that Jesus rose from the dead.” But if you ask the average person how Christians live, they are struck silent. We have not shown the world another way of doing life. Christians pretty much live like everybody else; they just sprinkle a little Jesus in along the way. And doctrine is not very attractive, even if it’s true.

• Even though we really don't watch tv in this house (and there should be enough movies to keep us busy for awhile - although, I haven't found much besides Once that Jen and I both liked), I'm more than glad that the strike is over. It was draining watching Conan spin his little coins several times in a row, trying to beat his record. Not the same as his Walker, Texas Ranger lever. Speaking of Walker, though, this was probably the best part of the strike, the "ongoing feud" between Conan O'Brien, Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart.

• Interesting article at Ypulse about how affluent suburban kids are more messed up than inner-city kids.
  

Spielbergs for Darfur

This is good news. Well, maybe. But I wonder if he means what he says.

Steven Spielberg has decided not to participate in the Summer Olympic Games in Beijing as an artistic adviser, citing the lack of progress in ending the genocide in Darfur...

"I have made repeated efforts to encourage the Chinese government to use its unique influence to bring safety and stability to the Darfur region of Sudan," Spielberg wrote. "Although some progress has been made ...the situation continues to worsen and the violence continues to accelerate."

"With this in mind, I find that my conscience will not allow me to continue with business as usual," he added. "At this point, my time and energy must be spent not on Olympic ceremonies, but on doing all I can to help bring an end to the unspeakable crimes against humanity that will continue to be committed in Darfur."

I know it's not humongous. It's not like Spielberg is hurting financially or anything. But what drew my interest is in him saying that he is going to focus his time and energy toward helping to stop the ongoing genocide in Darfur.

Sure, Darfur is not the only region that's hurting right now. But it is a place where people are suffering immeasurably. The violence is kicking up another notch again and neighbor Chad is now so overwhelmed that they are turning away potential refugees.

Way to stick it to the man, Stevie.

h/t to Jeffrey Overstreet

Tow

It was two a.m. by the time Alvin decided to give in to the clock. His body wasn't tired. And neither was his mind. In fact, he had just had one of the most wonderful nights of his life. He wanted to continue it, somehow, with someone. Even if it weren't her. But he knew the constraints of his body and he remembered the sheer physical audacity of trying to break himself out of his comfortable position (well, as close to comfort as you can get on a futon) before dawn breaks.

Dawn. Her face flashes in the back of his mind.

Alvin almost feels like a nightowl. Like the best work that he could possibly do, he does while everyone else is asleep. He stays a bit off-beat to play his rhythm, to dance out there with many, with none, whichever he pleases at the time. Alvin waves Alexander off. Alexander looks like he needs to go home, and he knows it. He would have stayed all night with Alvin if Alvin had asked him too. But he would not have enjoyed himself. Leaning against pool tables and wait staff and barkeeps to hold his own in the foggy nights does not suit Alexander, but he's usually too socially unconscious to notice or care that he freaks people out with his misshapen eyes and far-gone hair. He'll go home and sleep and forget about tonight, which really had no consequence for him at all. No pretty girl talked to him except to be polite.

Alexander put his head down, turned on the ignition, sighed a deep breath. He would be home in four minutes usually. Less because there was no traffic. But he had a good four Millers in three hours. He can't draw attention to himself again. He almost landed in jail for a long time if Frank and Sarah hadn't held him back the last time. They lied to the cop. Told her he was their grown and mentally retarded ward and that he was off his meds. Some times he feels as if he really does need meds. And supervision. But he doesn't like to think that about himself. So he stops.

Alvin floats to the top like cream. He's on top of the fuckin' world, and he wants to tell the world. So he lets it out. Some window tells him to shut-up. He doesn't mind, he got it out. And he's not sure what was the best thing about this night either. Or why he feels the way he does. It wasn't just one thing. It wasn't every little thing. This night didn't have the finest ingredients. It wasn't a caviar and lobster night. It was more like fine-dining wherein all the ingredients and courses add up to a splendid palate, bite after bite, each one complimenting and improving on the last. The raven-haired girl was like the Cabernet, though.

Alexander turns the ignition, slowly. He checks every mirror. Cranks the wheel. Double checks the mirrors. With a step slower, he imprints the pedal. Hesitates. Is that a cop car or a taxi? Taxi. Stop worrying.

Cabernet-woman. Can't get his mind off her. Since his last girlfriend, Alvin's sworn them off. As dates and relationships, they're just too much. Too much draining, too much time, too much involvement, too much risk. Too much heartache and pain. And the raven-haired girl, with her fiendish yet friendly smile, with her mysterious entrance and ghastly vanish, with her stare-down to take down a general. A very happy general, it must be added. Yet somehow lonely.

Alvin doesn't remember rabbits. Sad rabbits, much less. They look in his direction no less than one second, but it is the most human and intelligent look. It is a look that says, you are part of the shame too. You have caused this.

Alexander shakes his head. Slaps his face around. He passes by the gas station and dwells for a second. No. We're not going on a road trip. Three minutes away from the house. Five minutes from my bed. Just have to make sure the alarm is set. And loud.

Rolls down the window. Spits.

Alvin sees Cabernet. She's just ahead of him. He'll stop her. Ask for her name. And her number. And maybe offer her a ride home. Or somewhere. He smiles faintly at the idea of somewhere.

Alexander wakes from the din. Didn't he just make it home? Didn't he just get in? Did he even have time to fall asleep? And now the goddam doorbell was ringing. Constantly. Awright, awright. I've only got two legs, and I gotta put my pants through 'em first.

Shit! He's been avoiding the boys in blue all night and they find him at home?

Somehow, though, it's not registering. They're speaking in slow, low tones. As if they're apologizing. But why would they apologize for having to pull him in? Wait. That doesn't make sense. They were never looking for Alexander, that's the sleep talking.

They're not apologizing. They're giving condolences.

Update, mid-February

• I'm going to try something new for the next couple weeks or so. I'm going to try to write some fiction. Possibly short stories, but honestly, I'm not sure at this moment. I really just wanna see where it takes me. I will post a short piece two to three times next week - just a first draft and kind of see how they taste. I am asking you, my two faithful readers, to leave honest, critical feedback. I'll give the stories some tweaking, re-write the pieces or jettison them all together (or some combination thereof) within the next two to three weeks (I may just have the working pieces stashed away on another blog in the meantime). I did something like this once, with poetry. That turned out pretty well (links up later). But I'm not much of a fiction writer - if at all - and most of my recent stuff has been non-fiction, memoirs and essays and etc. that I'm trying to figure out how to tell better. I kind of think that writing fiction may be a good way for me to be honest about myself and allow myself to tell a good story. But I could totally suck at it too.

• Just finished some baking (not good, since Jen gave up sugar for Lent. Good for her, but we didn't decide until the last minute what we were gonna give up for the 40 days. My wife's is much more adventurous and advantageous than my sacrifice. Yeah, red meat. Like I didn't already discover how to make turkey burgers taste almost like the real thing). It's for a bake sale (my first ever) at our church tomorrow. The cause? Send my wife and I (and about 16 others) to Colombia this summer. This is our first out of several planned fund-raisers. Hope it does well (of course).

• My wife and I both lost our jobs on Friday. Not a good day. We both knew that our present jobs were closing in on us and that we weren't good fits at this moment in our lives for them. But the timing of it really sucked. It could've been worse, though. We didn't have any money in January. Please pray for us, that we'll find the jobs where God wants us to be, that we'll be able to pay off our debts and afford health care and all of that.

Peace.

Baby on Board

I picked up Joss from my wife's work today. It was a late day for both of them, so I made it as soon as I could. But I'd yet to vote and didn't expect that I would have needed to pick up the baby. But that's cool. I love being with her and I love watching these otherwise cool and detached passengers react to seeing this big, gruff, stay-puft marshmallow of a man play tender with a pink-encased six month old in a sling.

But this one ten year old gets on board with his father about half-way through the subway ride. The child is pesky, talkative and generally grating on my nerves. I take care of baby - who's a bit tired and sad-looking. She's not making any noise, but it's the hour that we put her down for bed and she is a bit hungry. And to top it off, there are a lot of people on the train. Just previously, she was reaching out to touch the fabric on some men's jackets. After getting a kind of stern look from an older gentleman, I had to remind her that that type of action is inappropriate.

The kid is complaining about some dinner arrangements. He only likes oatmeal, he tells and reminds his father and anyone else with ears to listen, over and over again. And the train - which is moving at a remarkable rate for rush hour, I think - is moving too slow for his taste. Which he also informs us about, to our passenger pleasure. But his father is patient and, probably much like I'll be, conciliatory toward the child. He's reassuring him, but only half paying attention. As any good parent would be at this stage.

I'm stroking her cheeks and chin every once in a while. Lifting her up and down. She's not smiling even when I blow on her. Neither is she so impressed when I - as we ascend from the subterranean pits to the sky like a freight train to Valhalla - show her the great, wet outdoors.

She looks around at the train* and the passengers. Setting her sights on a few faces or shapes, but never committing. That may be a major relational problem at a later stage in life. But, for now, she's just tired and hungry, but not tired and hungry enough to make a show of it. In fact, it's more of an anti-show.

The son and the father are making their way to the doors on the right side of the train, the ones to exit when the train is elevated. As the train pulls into the station, I notice that the son is walking out while the father, in a last fleeting moment, grasps some perspective on the train and notices what - or who - is in my sling.

Like really notices her.

"Oh my goodness. What a be-yootee-full baby. Mijo, she is so pretty! Those are the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. O, son, you have to come look. Look at the beautiful little girl with the beautiful blue eyes..."

At this point, I begin to worry that the man may be disconnected from his own son, who doesn't give a flip, when the doors shut on him as he reluctantly makes his way to the exit.

"You have a very bee-yutiful girl!" he informs me as he steps onto the platform. There is always a mix of a sense of pride and a sense of embarrassment when people throw superlatives at her, or about my wife. I've personally never been very good at handling compliments. I had learned that pride is a sin and accepting compliments (even if they're not directly addressed to me) is an endorsement of my own pride (which, for whatever reason, is pretty big) and has therefore always been a tricky thing.

So I sheepishly say, "Thank you" and blush out my cheeks. The doors close, the car erupts in laughter.

Everyone shares a laugh in this except for Joss. Who just wants to go home.

* The train, it should be noted, is her friend. She sleeps by the train. Literally, she probably hears that same train we are riding in pass by her windows five times a day. It soothes her, it excites her, it sometimes forgets to call. The train is her bff. But I think that relationship is mostly with the exterior of the train. The inside is a different beast altogether.

Sound familiar?

"What if a politician were to see his job as that of an organizer," he wondered, "as part teacher and part advocate, one who does not sell voters short but who educates them about the real choices before them? As an elected public official, for instance, I could bring church and community leaders together easier than I could as a community organizer or lawyer. We would come together to form concrete economic development strategies, take advantage of existing laws and structures, and create bridges and bonds within all sectors of the community. We must form grass-root structures that would hold me and other elected officials more accountable for their actions."

That was Obama when he was running for his first elected office.

And some ten years later (ten years of being inundated by constant criticism, cynicism and narcissism), he still holds to that dream. Only now, he's going global, baby.

News of the Weird 9 - That's Gotta Hurt Dept.

All this family and political talk has made me itchy. Let's get it on:

Earlier this month in Grand Rapids, Michigan, an alleged shoplifter was hospitalized with non-life-threatening puncture wounds to his abdomen. Department store security guards confronted the 26-year-old man, who tried to run away; in the ensuing struggle he fell on the $300 worth of hunting knives that were tucked into his waistband.*

Poor guy must not have had a mother to tell him that he shouldn't run with sharp objects.

Report here.

*Chuck Shepherd, "News of the Weird", Chicago Reader, January 31, 2008.

Like a thriller from a stodgy old tech nerd

Been doing some live blogging here.

I've always thought that the political game was dangerous, yet fascinating.

Since our tv isn't hooked up, we're catching the political news through the internet. I seriously want Obama to carry the day. And my wife is even more so pro-Bama. So watching the live coverage at NYTimes.com and MSNBC.com is about as thrilling as they come for us. And hearing silly tid-bits like both the Obama and Clinton camps saying that they were gaining momentum on the other with the undecided votes. If only they had put off Super Tuesday for one. more. day. Or you could see where the college kids and African Americans vs. old folks and old-school Democrats tend to reside.


Hearing Barack reminds me of why he needs to be the next in the White House, "Tired of politicians deciding how they should run, instead of why they should run."

I'm surprised, though, at Clinton's taking of Brooklyn, Harlem and, honestly, California - the Dream State. Florida going with Hillary, although - with its aging and prune-drinking populace - not a surprise. But that's not a real win, in the fact that there are no Dem delegates coming from the Sunshine State this year because they decided to jump the gun (heck, all of the states decided to jump the gun. Maybe all these states are deciding that this is just too much fun to leave up to just a few rushed days in the middle of the summer). Another surprise was how much of an advantage she had in Bill's state of Arkansas (by a whopping 42 percentage points) verses how little she had in New York (17), while the state where she was raised and Obama was transplanted voted so overwhelmingly for him (31).

Some of Hillary's biggest donors, by the way, are Rupert Murdock and his cronies from News Corp. and Fox News. I guess they think it would be great for their conservative news (had to restrain the impulse to put asterisk that word) channel to run against Hillary Rodham for the presidential bid. Either that, or she's totally in their pocket. Either way, that's not good news.

Obama's winning currently with 0.7% in Missouri.

For the most part, though, this caucus looks too close to call - although McCain is killing across the board. Missouri is a close one, Obama being up by just one percentage point. Apparently that delegate vote may be split in two. Missouri. Compromise. Why does that sound so familiar?

Huckabee's made it pretty good on only 9 million dollars. Able to hold his own. Romney, on the other hand, had ten times as much funding coming in and they're more or less even at this point. Huckabee is shrewd, that much we can say for him. I'm sure he'd find economical ways for us to torture suspected terrorists.

We get to watch the results pull in per county in the US and come up with pretty decent odds. And then watch those odds come crashing to the floor, or just barely meet expectations. It's fun. And deadly serious. Like The Hunt for Red October.

The People I'm Voting for Today

Senator Barack Obama for United States President:

Because he has the audacity to Hope.

Tommy Brewer for Illinois State's Attorney:

Because he wants to and has the know-how to actually bring real justice to the attorney's office. By that, I mean he doesn't want to prosecute someone to the fullest extent of the law when evidence goes against the verdict and wants to put an end to corrupt policies. And I believe he can do it.

Incumbent Iris Martinez for Illinois State Senator:

Because the political machine wants her out - so she must be doing something right.

God help us all.

Snapshot - Slapshot

Remember that beet-red face that I was saying that Joss developed yesterday in response to her daddy-dearest leaving her presence?

Yeah, she did the same when she learned that she couldn't eat the camera this morning.


I am equal to a cheap digital camera in my daughter's eyes.

Daddy's Little Girl 2

I got to play with Joss this whole weekend. I usually don't get to see her during the week except a few hours collectively. And usually she's just getting up or going to sleep. Or I'm fixing her diaper (yeah, because it's broke) or something in the middle of the night and I'm not at my best and I can't really be social with her since we're trying to make her actually sleep through the night.

So, we woke up early yesterday. Or rather, she woke me up early yesterday. And we hung out while mom finally got some sleep. And then we hung out this morning (and missed church) a few short (too few short) hours after she inexplicably woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep.

This afternoon, as her sleep time was nearing, I realized that I would need to leave to run an errand before the world shut down for Sunday afternoon. As I put on my coat, she recognized that version of me. It's the daddy who's leaving and won't be back for the whole day. It's the daddy that, honestly, I know that I need to be but I don't want to be.

She started crying. Severely. Her face turned beet-red. She turned around to see me again and again as I tried to reassure her that I wasn't gone yet and that mommy was there for her. She settled down and reestablished herself with mom. I washed up (man, it really, really tears me up to leave her. Literally.) and left.

I came back in about twenty minutes with a hope bursting in my heart. I would only have another twenty minutes or so with her, but they would gain some significance for me. She's becoming daddy's little girl, all the more precious because of what little awake time we spend together (her mother is far and away her favorite person. But I still like the recognition and appreciation of these fleeting moments from the moment I enter the door and her little head dramatically turns my direction and she flashes that gorgeous little smile of hers).

But, yeah, she couldn't care less. We hung out. She was on my arm and just chilling with me. She went to bed. All nonchalant like a little girl who was more than ready to go to bed.

And as she was passing into that great threshold into the deep caverns of sleep, she gazed at me and burst out her smile for one last appearance.

Ten Reasons Why I Probably Won't Catch the Super Bowl

1. The only significant Super Bowl was 21 years ago. It starred the greatest one-time Super Bowl champions ever. It was the biggest lop-sided victory in the history of the game until recently and it was wonderful. It featured guys named Sweetness, the Fridge, Iron Mike, McMahon the Man, Willie Gault, Ditka, and the rest of the Shuffling Crew.
2. The Patriots already had their Super Bowl legacy rapped up long before this current dynasty. I refer you back to a certain Super Bowl: XX. If those numbers don't jog your memory, then do the numbers 46-10 ring a bell?
3. The Giants? The New York Giants? The Giants?? C'mon, are you kidding me? The New York Giants?
4. I really don't want to watch an angry Friar Tuck coach from the sidelines.
5. If the commercials are the best entertainment for the night, we're all in deep Fritos.
6. Most events to watch the game (even and especially in the local churches) are centered around the guys. Which is not only demeaning and sexist, it also honestly does not suit our needs. Not that my wife likes football. But I'm trying to teach my daughter good habits.
7. Tom Brady had became a father and is with a supermodel. My baby is a supermodel.
8. I don't work on Saturdays so I will have to be able to squeeze in time to work tomorrow, clean up the house, prepare for Monday's Bible Study, and play with Joss, who I barely get to see awake during the weekdays.
9. This is like watching Titanic. Bor-ring! We know who's gonna win. We know NY's ship is gonna hit the berg and sink. Why do we have to watch a delayed romantic movie in the midst of the adventure. Cue the musicians on the deck. Gentlemen, it was a pleasure playing with you...
   
10. The Giants? The New York Giants?? O Cheese Whiz no. The Giants? Are you serious? The Giants?
    
    
    
    

News

• I may never have liked the idea of CleanFlix. I may have thought that the originators of this idea (where the naughty bits in movies are edited out by a machine) should have picked another way to fight what they felt was indecency in film. And I would have definitely suggested that Christians should either watch movies that they believe in or not (or just show some discretion in how much they inundate themselves with and when it's ok and when it's not), but I never would have figured what a creepy flippin' perv one of the [Edit] alleged co-founders is. (Apparently, there's some confusion about what role this man has had or does have with Clean Flix, especially since it opened up a new service once the government called it illegal censoring.) There's a special ring for him... [h/t to Peter Chattaway]
  
• My wife wants ice cream again. She's nuts! It just snowed a foot within the last week. Half a foot within less than a day. I should just mutilate some snow, plop it on a cone and tell her it's a new flavor.
  
• But I won't. 'Cuz I love her.
• Voting is by Tuesday. I have to make a decision soon. And I'm stuck between the fighting pugilist and the optimistic dreamer. It's almost like choosing between LBJ and JFK. We know who got things done, but we also know who's vision it was that fueled Johnson and his energies. Also, what I fear is that this country is too conservative to elect a black man or a woman (especially one as demanding - to put it nicely - as Clinton) at this point. Which means that I think the all-consuming, post-9/11 vote-of-fear will go to whoever gets the Republican nomination. So, I'm wondering if I should cast my vote for McCain now. Although I do like Huckabee (probably because I don't know too much about him). You know what? I'm just glad Giuliani's out of the running. I think I can breathe easier now.
• We won't let these knuckle-heads babysit. But if they want to stick their tongues in a socket on their own, who am I to judge?
  
• The Bulls are super-sucking. I haven't blogged about them all year because they're badder than bad.
• In Brazil, and just in time for Carnival, police entered into Rio's shantytowns of Jacarezinho and Mangueira with automatic weapons and armored vehicles and killed seven alleged gang members. It's nice to know that the tourism industry turns the fascism crank in South America too.
• While we're talking about the poor, some really are eating dirt. And please don't tell me that what we do here with our money doesn't affect how other people live - or die. I don't wanna live a guilty life, but I don't want to pretend anymore.
  
• This town is either stupid or crazy. And no, I wouldn't want to live in a small dairyville that would try to arrest the president or vice-president of the United States of America, in the United States of America, until he can be "extradite[d] to other authorities that may reasonably contend to prosecute them." I'd rather not die in a hail of bullets.
• Apparently, Britney Spears is mentally ill. We had our suspicions - to say the least - a long time ago. But we kept watching her fall from grace with binoculars, endangering her children and everyone else near her - including herself - for well over a year. And the trailers I've seen for Remember the Spartans movie (besides overall sucking and not doing anything new) are, well, mean-spirited in that they highlite her erratic behavior.
  
• That's enough preaching for today.
  

We're going to Medellin!

Medellin, a Colombian city located just a hop and a skip north of the Equator, is about a mile high and is home to 3 million people. Which means that this city is perpetually in Spring/Summer mode, is higher up than Denver and has as many people, if not more, than home-sweet-Chicago. And much like Chicago - in fact, much like my own neighborhood - Medellin (pronounced, May-day-jeen', not Ma-je-len, as I foolishly called it) has extreme wealth and extreme poverty side-by-side.

My wife and I are going to visit some of the poorer people.

We're going on a trip with people from our church to visit others working amongst the poor (specifically, the children of the poor, via futbol clinics, etc.).


We'll need some hefty cash between the two of us. Three samoleons worth. (I checked. In the black market, they're worth a G each.)

We're planning on going early August. But we need to start raising the cash fast. The initial bump probably won't be so bad, but the next two months' deposits are some, as Fred Flintstone would say, hard clams.

So, please pray for us. People have already lined up to watch the baby (God, that will be probably the most difficult part of this), I've gotta get my passport, I need to work on my Spanish and non-verbal clues (the happy ones, not the angry ones that I'm mastering while teaching) and, then there's the money issue - trying to raise the cashola, if you're wondering what I mean.

The moola, the greenbacks, cold hard, the paper, the cheese, the Georges and Ben Franks, the stacks, In God We Trusts, the payment, gold, mint, dinero, change, chunks, pie, salad, blood.

Here's a little story

I know so well...

The baby is going through The Teething, Act II. Which means she's not sleeping. Or sleeping very lightly. Which means that the Mrs. is sleeping for about an hour at a time, most of the time, and the most I can hope for is four hours a night. Which means that we're all a little fuzzy here.

And I'm always a little fuzzy at three in the morning.

So, she's crying. And I know I have to give her the medicine for her gums, the pain itself and then change her diaper and put her back into the crib and hope and pray to God that she sleeps for the rest of the morning. She won't. But God has been known to have mercy on the most destitute.

I take out the Infant Tylenol. It's administered in a droplet and tastes like cherry. She's never had cherry before, but she likes the flavor. She guzzles it like a toddler eating Flintstone vitamins, like a car needing gas, with just a wee bit of seepage spilling out. And then I rub in the Baby Orajel. She doesn't so much resist it this time. She tends to suck at it and relinquish it of its powers, but I've generally gotten better at getting it into her before she overcomes it.

Unfortunately, now I've got both of the medicines on my hands and I've already placed her down on the changing pad. I can't leave her to go to the bathroom and wash it off. And then I frantically search in my mind for a solution.

And I think, "Gosh, if only there were something in the baby room that is portable and wet that I could wipe my hands with. Kind of like tissue, but a little more durable. Something that would be delicate enough for my hands or a baby's behind. It would be preferable if it were white, so I could see in the dark. I need something to wipe my hands with in this here baby room."

If only...

Someone should invent this product. I for one would buy it.

Talkin' bout my denomination. Denomination, baby...

With ten minutes until the outage, let me present what I think is the future of regional comprehension:

Denominational Maps by County.

Click image for bigger view

Click here for original, larger view, explanation and interpretation.

The colors each stand for the largest denomination in each county. Counties with more than 50% of the population belonging to a specific denomination are marked with a plus (notice Utah area, Southern Texas, Northern Texas and several areas around the South, as well as Garrison Keillor Lutheran land)

One of the things I find intriguing is the deep red aerial view of the Bible Belt.

My area (larger investors in Notre Dame football than in the local college teams, by the way) is largely Catholic. No surprise, even in the home and hub of the megachurch. What of yours?

h/t to MarkO

Going the Way of the Friendster

I'm on Facebook. And so is my wife. And two of my brothers. And several friends from church. Some bosses too. Some old friends that I haven't seen since high school. A lot of people that I don't know that I went to high school with (Actually, the latter, none of the former). Old co-workers. Blogging buddies (some of you, incidentally).

And about 5 million others. Facebook really took off with the advent of allowing anyone with an email address to become a user. And that's had its draws. My wife, for one, loves the ability to get back in touch with a bunch of friends that she hasn't had real contact with in years.

But, you know.... I'm just not feeling the Facebook love.

And apparently, I'm not the only one.

This professor says that the popularity of the social-networking site is going to diminish. He calls it a holiday romance, only meant to last for a very brief, but passionate, fling. I kind of see it as a supernova - except without all the flash.

There's too many danged applications. The place gets cluttered with all of the apps. There's not too many ways of staying connected with your Fb friends, besides the occasional Wall or Superpoke. Outside of that, it really doesn't have much character on its own. It used to be a site primarily aimed and for college students and maybe some profs. But now with the gates wide open, it seems to have the gears grinding to become another MySpace - only without the saving grace of the music.

So, the popularity should be waning soon. It'll go out of style, kind of like Blogger, and only us dinosaurs and some hard-core enthusiasts will remain, along with some weirdos, spammers who attacked too late and never left and... well, a lot of ghostblogs.

What do you think?

News of the Weird 8 - Say What?*

An example of how political correctness runs amok:

[In 2002,] a deaf female couple... used sperm from a donor with a family history of deafness to conceive and give birth to a hearing-disabled son; they explained that they wanted the baby to be deaf like themselves and their older child. This past December the London Times wrote on controversial genetic-screening legislation then making its way through the UK's House of Lords. As drafted, the law would bar parents from using screening to deliberately select an embryo with a disability. The chairperson of the British Deaf Association said, "If hearing and other people are allowed to choose embryos that will be 'like them,' sharing the same characteristics, language and culture, then we believe that deaf people should have the same right."

Chuck Shepherd, Chicago Reader, 1/24/08 p. 99.

One, whatever happened to the practice of adopting? I know it's expensive and a red-tape nightmare, but we should work on that system, instead of artificially creating babies when too many that are alive already are neglected (and yes, my wife and I have talked about the possibility of adopting. It's not a yet, but it is an open door that we've been considering).

Two, I know, understand and sympathize that many hearing-impaired have built a large and tight-knit community amongst themselves. I'm not against that preference - although I believe that we could all benefit from more positive interaction and integration with all types of people. What I find troubling is this belief that we should choose a deficit (and I'm sorry, it is a deficit. Just like my severe near-sightedness) for a baby in order to make it a part of your family.

As a limited metaphor, my baby is MUCH more attractive than I am or ever was. I would never think of uglifying her to make her more relatable to me.

Now, for a good politically-correct idea, how about No Name-Calling Week? (h/t to YPulse)

*Cheap joke, I know. Sorry.

She's trained too well

My wife trained our daughter to smile at the camera. And it's a wonderful, heart-melting smile. Seriously, whenever a camera - and especially our camera - is focused on her little six month old face, she beams and looks directly at the lens. It's kinda pavlovian-scary. And it works. It's not something that most little ones do.

But yesterday, in our continuing quest to independitize our baby (although not too fast), we fed her oatmeal. We've already been feeding her rice, and she took to that fairly well, but we've graduated her from little tastes to peanut-butter thick concoctions of her milk and the cereal.

I think with the oatmeal, we went too fast, too furious with it.

And now, well, I guess she cleared out her system.

All.

Day.

Long.

It was so bad that my wife couldn't go in to work today.

The little booger was making "O my god i've got lower intestine problems today" faces. And, from the way Jen described them, they were also really funny.

So Jen, being a parent of a future teenager, wants to document this for future posterity (and blogging posts) of course. "Do I need to remind you of how you look when you're upset? See this, this is what you look like, little missy. Now, quit arguing with me and put on a sweater!"

But the baby pauses from her suffering to smile for the camera. She's still flush in the cheeks, but that's the only thing that looks flush-esque about her.

God, I miss being home.

The Disappered

"They disappeared him."

I thought that this subtitle was another error in a documentary that, simply put, was a bad movie.

I should say that it was bad as a movie. Not very filmic. The plotting was slow, the editing couldn't seem to find a rhythm, the whole set-up was less-than-inspired.

But the stories, the reason for the documentary (and unlike most documentaries, not the other way around), were profoundly gripping. Justice Without Borders was a movie produced by the human rights watchgroup Amnesty International and it was a bit on the sprawling side. The theme of the movie was the reign of terror of despotic leaders of state and paramilitaries who rely on the lack of international law to hold them accountable and about the efforts of organizations like Amnesty and the International Criminal Court to bring them to justice.

But this phrase, "they disappeared him." It just sounded so obscure and out of place in this sentence structure, I almost spit out my Corona (along with its little lime slice). Couldn't this grand community with chapters in nearly every country have found someone who could actually translate from Spanish? What's next to crawl at the bottom of the screen? "All your syntax are belong to us"?

But then the word appeared again. And again. And many times over, in subtitled Spanish and plain English, in verb usage as well as descriptive nouns.

They were disappeared.

My daughters are disappeared.

They disappeared them.

The disappeared.

Forced disappearances is what it's known as in Wikipedia. And it's happened all over, but especially in Latin American countries and - as far as I know - throughout the 70's and 80's, when the U. S. government was most worried about Communists and we were best friends with anyone else who was worried about the Communists. That spirit has led to atrocities and blinded eyes.

(Click here to view the video)

After the screening, a woman who was featured in the movie, who had both a father and her two daughters disappeared during an over-night stay, spoke poetically, bravely and achingly about her loss and plight.

I could not imagine being in her shoes. I physically wince every time someone mentions the death or even the hurting of a little one now. And if someone were to hurt my daughter, I don't think that I would have the patience to await justice as served by the courts - certainly not the fair trials that many of the loved ones of the Disappeared call for.

The actions in Guatemala - which were the ones depicted in the film - and many others happened over two decades ago, three in other states. There has yet to be resolution, which is why this U2 song, haunting me in its hushed melody and forgotten lyrics, seemed to so-appropriately abide in my head for the rest of the night.

Mothers of the Disappeared

Midnight, our sons and daughters
were cut down and taken from us
Hear their heartbeat...
We hear their heartbeat

In the wind
we hear their laughter
In the rain
we see their tears
Hear their heartbeat...
We hear their heartbeat

Night hangs like a prisoner
Stretched over black and blue
Hear their heartbeat...
We hear their heartbeat.

In the trees
Our sons stand naked
Through the walls
Our daughters cry
See their tears in the rainfall

Eli Manning in the Super Bowl?

I may pass this year.

Stupid Green Bay defense making stupid mistakes!

Batman and Gangster

1) Really, really looking forward to the Dark Knight movie. And especially since I heard this:

"Harvey Dent is a tragic figure, and his story is the backbone of this film," says [director] Christopher Nolan... "The Joker, he sort of cuts through the film -- he's got no story arc, he's just a force of nature tearing through."

The thing is, the Joker scares the crap out of me. It does somewhat remind me of the latest Spider-Man movie, where the Sandman and his dilemma was really the emotional arc of the movie and Venom was a nightmare-inducing guest. Venom gives me nightmares.

The difference though, of course, is that although Venom was around for a bit, he wasn't permanent. The Joker should last for a long time in the movies, unlike in the Jack Nicholson part. But his presence should always be felt, like a flippin' hurricane.

2) I don't care for American Gangster. I thought it was a pile of historical bullshit - as well as other bits of bullshit. And not in the not-as-right-as-it-could-have-been way that Denzel's character in the Hurricane was.

I was right. The caskets. The informing. All piles of heaping, flaming rubbish.

H/t for both to Peter Chattaway.

Zero Degrees. Fahrenheit.

If zero degrees Celsius is when water starts freezing, then zero degrees Fahrenheit has got to be when body parts start falling off.

Can't believe I ventured out into this weather twice when neither my job nor life was dependent on it.

I met someone from California last week who said that she had never understood when friends from Chicago would call her and ask how the weather was. Seriously, we live on conversations about the weather here. It is flipping interesting, especially in January. By February, though, it's over. We just want it to end, don't want to speak of it anymore.

Hopefully, this'll be the only two day stretch where it falls below 0 F.

Don't wanna jinx it, though.

The Wonder of Saturday Mornings

Born in the mid-70's and the oldest of five boys.

We lived for Saturday mornings in the 80s and early 90s. Sleeping in. Or not. Sugar blasted cereal when we could get it. Wheat Chex blasted with sugar most of the time. Sitting in front of our black and white model or our grandmother's color (wow) TV. Parked for immovable hours at a time at the feet of Superfriends, Transformers, G. I. Joe, Voltron, Spider-Man and Friends, Pee-Wee's Playhouse, Punky Brewster (with the little ugly alien at her side), Alvin and the Chipmunks, Garfield and Friends, Archie, Josie and the Pussycats, Bugs Bunny and Friends (are you catching a pattern with the names here? And how do we know they were friends? Garfield was not the sociable type. Bugs was always looking out for numero uno. Spider-Man probably didn't do late night poker with Ice Man), The Harlem Globetrotters, The Incredible Hulk ("Hulk Smash!"), Rubik's Cube, Ghostbusters, Gummy Bears, Menudo, Muppet Babies, Fat Albert, Scooby Doo (and Scrappy, too), Saved by the Bell, the Snorks, the Smurfs.

The Smurfs are 50 this week. I liked watching them. But I always figured that they were somewhat effeminate and was a bit ashamed of my fondness for the show (unlike with the superheroes, I never owned Smurf merchandise, though. So I'm ok in that regard). It wasn't until yesterday that I figured out why it might be harder for a parent to have a young girl watch these shows. In fact, although the American version probably wasn't any where near as sexist as the auteur would've preferred.

From the Straight Dope:

The character Smurfette... embodies some unflattering female stereotypes, and does so on purpose. In a recent biography of Peyo, Hugues Dayez relates a story about the cartoonist's negotiations with NBC for the upcoming Smurf animated series. Peyo apparently spoke little or no English. When the discussion turned to Smurfette, Peyo's interpreter explains:

Peyo began by saying that she was "very feminine." They asked him to be more specific, so he went on to say: "She is pretty, blonde, she has all the characteristics of women."

Knowing the feminist spirit in the U.S.A., I diplomatically translated this as "all the qualities." I was banking on the fact that Peyo did not understand what I was saying (in English) and the others did not understand what he was trying to say. So naturally they asked him to expand. So he kept on going with: "She seduces, she uses trickery rather than force to get results. She is incapable of telling a joke without blowing the punch line. She is a blabbermouth but only makes superficial comments. She is constantly creating enormous problems for the Smurfs but always manages to blame it on someone else."

I did my best to minimize the sexist nature of this description, but one of the participants at the meeting asked: "Would she at least be able, when the Smurfs are in danger, to take a decision that can save them?" When I translated this to Peyo, he looked astounded. "Come on now, do they expect me to make her a (female) gym teacher?" I obviously did not translate this remark.

Read more interesting facts here.

h/t to Mark O.

2) One thing I miss about Saturday mornings (and especially this Saturday morning) is being able to go to the cafe and ruminate for several hours. Reading. Writing. Wonderful Letizia's natural muffins. Getting away. Sips from a large, never-ending (but sometimes chilling) cup of international coffee. Shutting off the world or engaging with it. Actually, with the exception of shutting off the world (more on that later) and the muffins, I'm enjoying all of that now. Yeah, life is good.

3) I usually have to rush out of the house just as Joss is waking up. And I usually make it home just as - and increasingly, just after - she goes down for the night. I'm lucky if I get to spend more than three hours of wake time with her during the weekdays. And Jen is an early-morning sleeper. Since she usually has the wee-early morning hours when my spud body is most potato-ish, if my wife can sleep in when she doesn't have to rush for work or church, then that goes a long way.

So Saturday mornings are still wonder-filled. Joss was screaming her little head off as I was putting her down last night, partially because it didn't look like night. This morning, I held Joss for twenty minutes as we lay on the couch observing each other. Yes, life is good.

I do miss Count Chocula though. Not the Wheat Chex.

News of the Weird 7 - Clive Owens They Ain't

Arthur Cheney, 64, was pulled over and arrested on Highway 70 near Marysville, California, in December. His Mercedes matched the description of a car linked to a string of 16 bank robberies, and in the vehicle's center console officers found a Post-It note reading "Robbery - 100s and 50s only." Also in December, police said they'd arrested 26-year-old Orlando Taylor as he approached a bank in downtown Brooklyn; a special task force had been assembled to stop him after he'd allegedly robbed the two banks on that block a total of four times in the previous four days.*

One: The man stole from 16 banks before he got caught. In the same car! I'm not quite sure if he's dim or brilliant or just a lucky S. O. B. (But, with a last name like Cheney, you can't go wrong.)

Two: Two banks. One block. Four times. Four days. Is five in five days really all that necessary, Orlando?
And who was this special elite team made up of? I can only imagine a tough, cigar-chomping leader who loves it when a plan comes together. A handsome man who has multiple fake identities and can read phone numbers from the sound of the dialing. A no-nonsense beef of a mechanic with aerophobia and a zany and crazy pilot who comes to the rescue at just the right time. I also imagine that this team shoots randomly toward people, possibly blowing up cars but never hitting any one.

Hmmm....


* Chuck Shepherd, "News of the Weird", The Chicago Reader, January 17, 2008

The Many Faces of Jocelyn Carrisa

Six months. Half a year. One glorious and sleep-deficient day after another.

On July 17th, 2007, at 11 pm Central Time in a hospital on the North Side of Chicago founded by a mysterious and secretive sect of powerful men, our daughter was birthed. The following is a snapshot (or several) really, of just our amazement at how cute she had been and has been, of how her little face (and big smile) and body is continually changing.

I'll stop talking now and let you dwell, or just enjoy Six Months in the Life of Jocelyn Carissa.

And after you've viewed that a million times, you can catch this pretender.



See? He doesn't change nearly as much nor is he anywhere near as cute. But blah, blah, blah, guess who gets all the attention and the Simpsons Movie spotlight?

Speaking of Lego's:

Superheros in real life

Crimefighters fighting crime. But often delivering sandwiches. Or safeguarding kids from probable pedophiles. Or walking on fruitless patrols.


Catch this photospread and this story on real life superheroes.

It can be scary. It can be a good use of resources. But what it is, is funny.

Maybe now they can band their uncanny abilities together and can finally find and put a stop to Osama bin Squirrelama.h/t to RelevantMagazine.com

Kenya on the mind

I just did a search on Kenya on my Google News Reader. Nothing since the 5th. A week and a half ago.

Nothing.

Not a blurb.

Not a peep.

As if the country stopped existing.

Or maybe as if everything is just fine and dandy again. And just as it should be.

Status quo.

And I suppose that's how it is. Once again.

The status quo of our news coverage is that we chomp down on international horror stories until we've had our full. And then we vomit. And then we gorge down on Britney Spears and have our full of that until those days are beyond us.

As if we're afraid to chew on and digest slowly the bitter roots that happen around and, indeed, within us. We have tasted it (or so we think), and that is enough. Give us saccharine.

I am a bit frustrated. Not just about this particular instance. Or the many similar (albeit in larger scale) ones from before (Liberia, Afghanistan, various regions of Iraq, Rwanda, Bosnia...). But what I see in myself as a willingness to go along with the tide. To be satisfied in being satisfied. To think that what goes, goes. And so should I.

Fortunately, the voices of the shut-out don't shut up.

Pastor Eugene Cho from Seattle had a guest blogger on his site last week who talked and amalgamated and linked to and wrestled with stories on Kenya.

This is my favorite of the three part series. It is from the mouths (er, keypads) of the countrymen/women themselves. Here are a few excerpts:

I was watching CNN as opposed to Kenyan television channels because I wanted to see what the world was saying about us. The world is saying that Kenyans, who had been on the brink of one of the most astonishing democratic transitions witnessed in Africa, degenerated, very conveniently for the West’s stereotypes, to a ‘business as usual: chaos and anarchy right on schedule’ version of the African story. These broadcasts are brimming with just barely-suppressed glee at being able to say that tribal violence is tearing the East African nation of Kenya apart, long regarded as an exemplary bastion of stability in the region. We have confirmed some cherished stereotypes and validated many racists worldwide. (read directly here)

By the way, how come CNN does not cover American soldiers or civilians bleeding and writhing in pain, yet they show such images from other places?? (here)

and:

Our politicians are not suffering. They have running water. Milk, eggs, bread, meat and even cake are delivered to their doorsteps. It is me and you, my friends, who risk being beaten up by mobs and shot by the police as we look for milk and bread for us and our own. And while our brothers and sisters and cousins and nephews and nieces are dying, pseudo-leaders wallowing in crass stupidity appear on TV to grandstand, blaming the chaos on each other. Listen, nitwits. We are not interested in your grandstanding and finger pointing. We want solutions. (here)

How soon we pass

My cracked fingers are dirty and splochy with all sorts of marks on them from various types of markers. As I'm writing this on the bus, I can only find a red chisel-tip Sharpie and a handful of orange notecards.

At an intersection, a man walks adjacent to the bus wearing an aqua-green plastic robe. It looks a bit like a garbage bag. Or a cheap Halloween costume. On his head lies the pastel foam crown of Lady Liberty. He is advertising criminally high-rate fast loans to the poor from a walking billboard that promises freedom.

We pass the Faith in God Nails and Hair Salon. I doubt at this moment that I'll get home in time to hold my daughter. She did not nap this afternoon. Which means that she was screaming all afternoon. Which means that she is going down early. Which means that she'll be home before my half-hour ride gets me within vicinity of her squeamishly happy hug.

On Friday I picked her up from my wife's job. My wife's boss was sad to see her leave so soon.

My wife's boss is great. Jen and the baby get to come into a downtown women's empowerment firm's office three times a week for several hours. And the baby is adored there.

Jen needed some extra time to finish some projects. I was the delivery man, bringing baby on a sling, only in style.

She wore a faux-fur coat like she was born to wear it. Her deep blue eyes and edible cheeks would only guarantee that she had to be something out of a television commercial for baby angels who don't murder furry animals for clothing.

We bounded through the State of Illinois Center. The little one is drawn to windows like a moth to the flames (the difference being that she is not burned to a crisp by windows) and stretched her little neck back. And arched her little head back all the way until she was dizzy. I waited for her to get a grasp on what she was viewing. She is amazed. I am amazed at her amazement.

She is looking at the passengers as they pass by our perch on the bench in the subway. Busy people leaving their busy offices. Still buzzing from the joy-kill that was a week spent in an office, haggling with people every work-day for five days straight about things that they do not care about, and neither do the people they are doing business with.

And they notice the little girl with the big blue eyes gazing at them. And just as they pass, for an instant and just for an instant, they smile back. A warm, inviting smile. A smile that seems to transport them to another time, another place, another season, another mood. They are in the woods. They are walking their child. They are kissing their lovers. They are breathing deep. Their hair is being run through by the wind, or by a loved one's fingers. Their steps are lighter. They have the ability to say anything. They have the power to say nothing. They are gorgeous and bright and the world is happy.

And as Joss arches her back and her neck and lifts up her legs to continue her glancing at them while they pass, they move on. They correct themselves. They are grown-ups, living in a grown-up world.

Albums by Christians that Rock: Link List

This is a link list of all the blogs that have participated so far in the blog-a-thon on Albums by Christians that Rock. Yes, I'm aware that it's a suck-y title. But I tend to think less of "Christian rock" and I just thought I might as well go all the way clumsy (and 80's hair-metal fan sounding) if it's going to be a cumbersome title anyway.

This list will be constantly updated and brought up to speed throughout the next week or so. Hopefully, there'll be more than just these two.

Jasdye: Dig, Adam Again (12/30/07) [Yes, it's obscenely long. And no, it's not definitive. But it is a work of passion about an extremely obscure college-rock-funk band. That's gotta count for something.]

Art: Achtung Baby, U2 (1/2/08) [Yes, wonderful choice.]

Update:

The Arachnerd: Diamonds on the Inside, Ben Harper (1/14/08) [Who does not love Ben Harper? If I didn't already have a girl, I'd want to have Ben Harper's baby.]

Uh-oh, this is starting to look like an actual marathon and more people keep adding to the fray! Watch out; it's Blogger-mania!

The Cubicle Reverend: Various CCM records, including the Adventures of the O. C. Supertones, Supertones; Take Me to Your Leader, Newsboys; Free Signal, Beanbag [a new one for me]; and 21, The Blamed. [Incidentally, I did not have an alcoholic beverage at the age of 21. Yes, a dramatically boring life.]

Don't you wanna be linked?

News of the Weird - 6? More squirrels attack

As if to further prove the points of NotW vol. 4:

A parked car belonging to Lindsey Millar of Bayonne, New Jersey, burst into flames one October afternoon; authorities reportedly concluded that a squirrel had gnawed through the insulation on overhead power lines, caught on fire, and fallen close enough to the car to ignite it as well.

I'm telling you people. The squirrels are going kamikaze on us. Although, to be quite honest, it sounds like something from the A-Team.

Why the Writer's Strike hurts so much (even if you don't watch TV)

I miss sharp rhetoric. And politicians in New Hampshire are just too bitter to make me laugh now.

So, uh, what's going on?

Thanks for asking, Peter. Let's see:

• After this weekend, not only am I going back to work, but so is the Mrs. And she's taking the baby along with her.
• I finally hung up some shelves for our micro-kitchenette.
• My wife and I have been sharing a computer for over half a year now. First mine went ka-put, then hers. She should be getting hers back in about a week. Thank God. The A/C chord on my machine is acting all loosey goosey.
• My brother's 28th birthday is today. His girlfriend has been planning a surprise party for him for well-over a month. She told him about it several weeks ago.
• Joss is teething. Bad. And the usual suspects (including Baby Orajel) aren't working, or at least not for any measurable moment of time. But we found that the Baby Einstein videos do work. And I know that I've criticized them in the past (lack of vocab for viewers, according to a study), but we try to watch it with her and interact with her when we can.
• And it's only until this horrendous period passes, right?
• And it'll pass any moment now, right?
• I'm leading Bible study for our small group on Monday for the next three weeks. We'll be talking about Jesus and the Kingdom. Gospel of Matthew.
• The CEO of my district is coming in on Monday. I just found out today. I am so scared.
• I'm trying to get at least a post up each day. So that way, I can soon have an audience in the millions like Scot McKnight has. And then I can sell books too.
• I got some work done on my memoir/collection of essays that I've been working on & off with since the summer. I feel good about it. I may post some stuff soon. Especially if I can't think of anything else to post.
• We moved Joss to the other bedroom. There's a monitor in our room. This way, we won't bother her when we go to bed. Unfortunately, she can still bother us.
• My computer's AC adapter is broken. New one coming by the end of the week (hopefully). So this kind of delays my plans to write a new piece every day.
  

Obama and Huckabee?

In Iowa?

This may very well be the most interesting (if not essential) presidential race since the peanut farmer from Georgia came away with the keys to the White House.

Notice who is behind and to the right (your right) of Governor Mike. That's why Iowans Heart Huckabee.

In other news, the baby is teething. Has been for several days. And nights. Nobody's sleeping. And her first go at the Baby Orajel didn't go so well. Update: Her second didn't take didn't go much better, if at all.

We've also been trying (lately) the old frozen rag trick (no, it's not oily) as well as gently rubbing her gums. These seem to be only momentary and oh-too-temporary distractions for the constant pain.

I don't want my baby to start on pills already. She's too innocent.

Parents, I beg of you: any suggestions?

Kenya??

I suppose I would have never figured Kenya to devolve into these tactics. Maybe, no, especially, their neighboring countries. But not Kenya.


I knew it was a corrupt state. But I always thought that it was more, um... civilized, I suppose. I sound ignorant. And despite the fact that I once knew a good number of Kenyans, I am.

I wonder if, though, this had happened here in the US in 2000, after our hotly contested, and highly controversial presidential election (to put it nicely), how things would have turned out differently.

But rape and machetes and water cannons and banning of political marches and burning of villagers hiding in a church? There is a lot of desperation, and I suppose that I do not know nearly as much as I thought I knew about the state of the downtrodden and poor and ethnic conflicts (way to go, stupid imperialism!) in that nation.

Pray for Kenya. Pray for Kenyans.

By the way, from what I've read from the BBC: Focus on Africa magazine for this quarter, the two top contenders (incumbent Mwai Kibaki and Raila Odinga) are very similar - at least in terms of policies and political views. (Note: The Time article confirms this. Also worth a read for a brief recap and catch-up on the reasons behind the rioting and ethnic killings.) Odinga is calling himself a reformer, but apparently the only thing that will change if he's in power will be the temperament of the president - Kibaki is seen as laid-back and indifferent while Odinga is seen as a hot-head who does not suffer disagreements.

College Life and Binocular Sports

I saw this video a while ago, but while cleaning through my Google Reader files, I discovered it again. Thought it's worth a view, if nothing else.



h/t to Scot McKnight

And, while we're at it:



h/t to YSMarko

I think I also owe marko a hat tip for this, my favorite video of last year and a hit with my bilingual community and fam:

No remembro how to say eleven

And for all you myth lovers, there's Charlie. He's a unicorn. Here, let me show you:



Enjoy