Does anyone disagree that it’s Bucky’s turn to hit the streets next on American Idol? It doesn’t matter how well he performs tonight. He’s on deck to exit. I guess we’ll find out for sure Wednesday night. I’m just putting in my bets now. And next week it’ll be Lisa. Then Elliott. Then it starts getting really really hard, so I’m not going to predict any further.
On the Wednesday before the NCAA tournament started, I dutifully filled out my bracket. But, unlike in previous years, I lacked enthusiasm about it, and didn’t really care to spend the time needed to keep it updated during the two weeks of the tourney. I noted that I didn’t fairly well on the opening Thursday and Friday, but then I threw away the bracket. I love watching the games, but felt too busy to spend energy on the bracket.
Just as well. Everybody’s bracket has been busted to smithereens this year. I can’t believe UCLA, my favorite team (since my high school days in California, at the tail end of the Wooden/Walton era) is in the Final Four. According to ESPN radio this morning, the TV ratings are down, because everybody’s bracket is busted. Well, that’s just too bad.
Yesterday was Jordi’s 7th birthday. We got him about six weeks after he was born, and the picture shows what he looked like then. Just a tiny, cute little thing. Now he’s about 16 pounds, and a bit bigger than in picture in the blog header (where he’s obsuring most of my face, which is for the better).
Jordi got to spend a lot of time outside yesterday–clear outside, in the grass, where all of his senses come alive (and hapless mice meet the afterlife). He ate some of the special treats he considers so delicious. He took a ride when we went to get our Sunday night pizza (he loves jumping into the back window on the way to the pizza place, and then nestling into Pam’s arms in the front seat on the way home). He got plenty of attention, and didn’t have a clue why.
Jordi is named after Geordi, on Star Trek. Jordi Picard Dennie–that’s his full name. We got him from a family in Kendalville who had a litter of kittens to give away. They told us Jordi was a long-haired female, which is what we said we wanted. Turns out he’s a short-haired male. But we never considered returning him.
Pam and I are severely afflicted with the Couples with Cats And No Kids Dimentia.
As usual, I stopped at Starbucks this morning. The lady in front of me ordered a grande hot tea, and then said, “I’d like to put the tea bags in myself.” So basically, she got a cup of hot water, with a side of teabags.
This got me thinking. You can buy from Starbucks a box of their teabags. And this being the 21st Century, most homes are equipped with the technology to boil water. This woman could then boil water at home, add two teabags, and be able to skip a trip to Starbucks. The only advantage I can see is if the water Starbucks uses is somehow “special,” like Evian water or something.
But I’m missing the point. The point is, this woman probably wants to be able to say, “Yeah, I stopped at Starbucks on my way to work.” There is a degree of hipness in that. For that matter, I could just as easily brew some Starbucks coffee (with Ice Mountain water, on special occasions) while I’m taking a shower, and then save 5-10 minutes (depending on the store’s busyness) on my way to work. But I’d rather tell people that I stop at Starbucks every morning. It shows that I’m “with it,” I’m a “happenin’ dude,” I’m 49 but still “cool.” Or am I just really, really psychologically screwed up?
Yesterday I ranted about Continuous Partial Attention, otherwise known as the Laptops in Meetings Disease. CPA has been around for a while, and it’s not limited to using computers during meetings. I find myself unable, or unwilling, to focus on something in a variety of settings. And I’m not alone. We quip, “I’m just multi-tasking,” which carries the pretense of being efficient, doing two or more things at once. But the reality is, you’re not giving any one thing your full attention. Like:
Can you think of other examples? I know there are gobs of them.
I discovered a great new term yesterday: CPA, which stands for Continuous Partial Attention. It was apparently coined by an executive with Apple who was speaking at a convention of, basically, geeks. While she spoke, those geeks would have been consulting their Blackberrys, surfing on their G4 laptops, doing stuff on iPods, and playing with their Treos. In other words, giving her, as she spoke, only partial attention. And she nailed them about it.
Our society is seriously afflicted with this Continous Partial Attention disorder. This includes the church. When we have denominational meetings, guys sit there listening to the bishop or keynote speakers with their laptops open, typing away as if taking notes, but everyone knows their actually responding to emails, writing sermons, or doing other things under the guise of “multi-tasking.” But to me–a former transgressor, I freely admit–it’s become simply rude.
When we held transition meetings with representatives from the Missionary Church, back in the merger-talks days, none of the MC guys brought laptops. But on the United Brethren side, you would see four or five laptops open. And when a laptop is open, with a clean wireless connection to the internet, it’s impossible to just ignore it. The keyboard cries out, “Use me! Use me!” And so, we UBs were giving partial attention as others spoke about hugely important issues.
The same thing happened last summer at our US National Conference. Curses on the presence of wireless! And I saw it again a few weeks ago when our cluster leaders met for a two-day meeting in Hillsdale, Mich., to discuss how we were totally re-engineering the denomination. Very important stuff. But as Bishop Ramsey or Pat Jones or Tom Blaylock spoke, or as others entered into discussion, we’d have a number of guys poking away at their laptops.
This is not peculiar to UBs. It’s just an example of the prevalence of CPA.
For denominational meetings, we–meaning, sacrificial tithes-payers in the pews–will spend hundreds of dollars to fly a guy or gal to Huntington. Why? Because we desire their input and wisdom and experience. But when they pay only partial attention to what’s going on, I think we’ve wasted our money. Yeah, this partial attention malady irks me. Continuously.
The Anchor church board meets every two months on a Monday night, and last night was one of them. We have a small board–the pastor, three elders, treasurer, several others. It’s pretty much a business and policy group, as opposed to a visioning type of group. I think a lot of church boards are that way.
At the beginning of the meeting, Pastor Tim led us in a brief leadership study using some writings of Henry and Richard Blackaby. It was good stuff. We’re trying to “re-engineer” Anchor into a church focused much more strongly on outreach. The last seven years, since we started, have been a flurry of activity. New programs and activities have arisen, but not usually around any central plan. But now we’re standing back, taking a deep breath, and saying, “What should we do during the next seven years?”
Let me comment on some sentences from the Blackabys.
It was an interesting discussion, and fodder for good reflection as we look ahead.
I’m rooting for the Cuban baseball team to win the World Baseball Classic. Not the country of Cuba. Certainly not Father Fidel. It’s the players on Cuba’s baseball team that excite me. They are tremendous players, and may be the Cuban version of “professional athletes,” but they lack all of the benefits (and huge salaries) of pro players in the USA. In quality, they measure up to our pros. In attitude, they are more like college players–exuberant, smiling, thrilled to be there. Watching them is like watching any of the NCAA college teams in March Madness.
Okay, I guess this qualifies me as a communist sympathizer. Go dig up Joe McCarthy and smear me.
I enjoy watching the worship teams from small churches. A local Alliance church played at our church a few years ago, and it was clear that those guys were a close team who loved playing music together. Likewise for a UB church I visited in Kokomo, Ind. I saw them play, watched them interact with each other, and they reminded me of the Anchor team. A bunch of guys engaged in a common mission around something they love doing, and are gifted to do. There is a group from Huntertown which plays at the Seekers coffeehouse frequently, and I sensed the same thing with them.
I don’t see that when I watch polished teams from big churches led by professionals. I don’t sense the team-ness, the cohesion, that I see in little-church teams. The commaraderie we have as a team at Anchor goes lightyears beyond what I experienced for years at a much larger church. It was still fun there. But it was nothing like what we share on the Anchor team.
Go Cuba. Go Anchor. Go little guys.
Today, grown adults across America are examining each other’s clothing for traces of green, and pointing out people who aren’t wearing green. The same scene is occurring in every grade school classroom in the country. Ministers in pastoral meetings are doing it. We did it this morning in our office. Amazing.
I’m wearing bluejeans, and a maroon sweater with a maroon shirt underneath. I am green-less, and unapologetically so. What a spoilsport.
I’ve long been a fan of Robert Parker’s “Spencer” novels, having discovered him back in the early 1980s when he was on his 5th or 6th in the series. Now there are over 30, I’m sure, and he’s added two more detective series, starring Jesse Stone and Sunny Randall. Not as interesting as Spencer, but still good.
Parker has been called the successor to Raymond Chandler, a 1940s-era fellow known for writing “The Big Sleep.” I started reading “The Big Sleep” some years ago, but for whatever reason, I lost interest early on and never finished the book. But a couple years ago, I read one of Chandler’s short stories and was absolutely enthralled. What a masterful writer! I’ve since read several of his books, including “The Big Sleep,” and several more sit on my bookshelf.
But Chandler also aroused my interest in other old-time detective writers, like Dashell Hammet and Jim Thompson and Patricia Highsmith. I’ve fallen in love with the whole noir genre, books starring hard-boiled detectives and set earlier in the century, and written in the first-person with sarcasm and wit deluxe. Part of my attraction to these books is that writers in those days couldn’t freely use obscenity or write sex scenes. Thankfully, plenty of people still get killed. But there’s an innocence to the mayhem.
Most recently, I discovered Philip Kerr’s “Berlin Noir” series, three books set in Berlin circa WW2. He’s a more contemporary writer, so there was some language and other stuff. But it’s still a period book in the same genre. Last night I finished the first book in the series, “March Violets,” which occurs in 1936 at the time of the Berlin Olympics. The plot is a nothing-special murder mystery, but it’s set in the context of Hitler’s consolidation of power. You see people disappear, you see concentration camps arise, you see Jews and others persecuted, and you catch the mood of a city and of a country which is still unsure of what exactly is happening. So while this murder investigation unfolds, a huge drama is occurring all around you. Fascinating stuff. I’m looking forward to the next two books.
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