This is wrong, just so wrong. But I took the test. And it turns out that I could fight off 15 five-year-olds at once. That does not sound like anything to brag about. In fact, I feel downright wimpy.
The Road Untravelled by the Likes of Me
Last year, on the Sunday prior to Martin Luther King Day, we showed a clip from the “I have a Dream” speech in church. That was really neat. We’re not doing that this year, but last night at music practice, we pulled out a song from the 1960s that goes along with the Civil Rights movement: “Get Together,” by the Youngbloods.
Come on people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now.
We decided to play it as part of the service. So we practiced it last night, and it came together real nicely. A fun song to do.
And yes, it took me back…back to my days dropping LSD, smoking weed, the constant sex, cruising the country in a VW van, sticking flowers in soldiers’ guns, wearing hideously unmatched (and probably tie-dyed) clothes, getting wasted at Woodstock while Jimmy played….
Oh wait, I must be thinking of somebody else. I didn’t even wear my first pair of bluejeans until 1972, a radicalizing turning point which left me awash in euphoric sensations of counter-cultural rebellion. Wearing bluejeans and listening to the Carpenters (my first album, “Close to You”), are about as rebellious as I ever got. I sure missed out on a lot. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for raising such a boring kid.
Now Playing Left Field for the Yankees….
I dreamed last night that I was playing left field for the New York Yankees. And at third base was Cosmo Kramer (a.k.a. Michael Richards). A-Rod was evidently injured or in contract negotiations.
A ball flew over my head, hit the wall, and bounced to me. I grabbed it and threw a really nice bullet to try to pick off the runner streaking toward second base. Unfortunately, my throw, though straight and fast, was not in the vicinity of the second basemen’s glove. So the runner made it safely to second.
That was my first error. Then a fly ball came my direction, but short, so I had to run in for it. I had my glove out, zeroing in on the ball. But the thing missed my glove entirely and struck me in the gut. Error number two.
At that point, Cosmo told me bluntly, “You can leave now.” I looked into left field, and my replacement was already there: my good friend from church Russ Baker. He gave me a shrug, as if saying, “Sorry.” And then I must have awakened, because I can’t remember anything else.
Why the Yankees? Maybe because my first year of Little League, I played for the Yankees. We ended up winning the league that year (after my 4th grade year). I played shortstop most of the time, but I remember playing first base a few times. One game was especially memorable. Someone hit the ball over the head of our right fielder, a very young, unathletic fellow with minimal interest in playing baseball. He just stood out there, his glove tucked under his right arm, daydreaming. I yelled at him to get the ball, and that startled him out of his alternate universe. But he didn’t understand what I was telling him. I ended up running out there, getting the ball myself, and heaving it toward home plate. But alas, it was too late. An inside-the-park homer.
So maybe that’s why I dreamed about the Yankees, as opposed to the Phillies or some other team. Why Russ Baker turned up in my dream, I don’t know. I hope he played better than I did.
Latest Chinese Toy Recall
Another Chinese toy that, after several months of US government study, was ordered to be recalled. Thanks to Brian Magnus for alerting me to this.
The Endless Tube
It seems that no matter how flat the toothpaste tube, you can always squeeze out enough for another scrubbing.
Fear and Loathing on the John
I sat down on a toilet in a public restroom, and somebody moved into the stall right next to me. It felt very eery. It’s never exactly comfortable to use a public restroom. But now, the experience inflicts all kinds of anxieties. I even found myself, for the first time in my life, reflecting on my stance.
Thank you, Senator Craig.
Traumatic Tag
Several elementary schools in Colorado have banished tag from playgrounds. Seems some kids complained that they were chased against their will. Running games are still allowed, but only if students don’t chase each other and there is less physical contact.
All I can say is: it’s about time!
I still sometimes wake up in a cold sweat after dreaming that classmates are chasing me, culminating in being tapped on the shoulder and told, “You’re it!” Is any declaration more horrifying that being told, “You’re it!”
I live daily with traumatic memories of playing tag. That, and dodgeball. And I yearn for a world in which today’s fragile children are free of being forced to play tag, a world in which they are not subjected to the torments and resulting years of therapy which have characterized my woefully diminished life.
Vente, Grande, Whatever
Although I’m a big Starbucks fan and stop there most mornings, I don’t buy into the whole coffee officionado experience. Specifically, I don’t use coffeetalk in regard to drink sizes. I refuse to say, “I’ll have a vente decaf.” Tall, vente, grande–what’s with that? Can anyone really keep them straight?
So I use AmericanTalk: small, medium, and large. It doesn’t seem to unduly confuse the baristas (er…clerks). When I say, “I’ll have a medium decaf,” their minds are nimble enough that they can automatically translate it mentally and subsequently hit the appropriate button on the cash register.
If English is to be our official language, we need to resist attempts to replace our common usage with strange foreign terms. This, I believe, is important enough to be inserted into the Republican Party Platform.
Baby Aspirin Meets Homeland Security
I went to the doctor yesterday, the first time since I turned 50. Visits to the doctor are going to be decidedly less fun than in the past. As if they’ve ever been fun. Maybe fun, if you compare them to going to the dentist.
For several years, I’ve been taking a 5mg tablet for high blood pressure. Well, Doc didn’t like my blood pressure reading. So he wrote me a prescription for a second pill. And then, for good measure, he told me to take a baby aspirin once a day. I’ve gone from one pill to three pills, and I’m only 50.
This morning I took the two prescription pills, which come in simple containers, and saved the baby aspirin for last. It was not easy to reach.
I tore open the box. The bottle had one of those plastic casings holding the cap in place. After some effort, I nicked it with a fingernail and was able to tear the plastic off. I then tried removing the plastic cap, but it wouldn’t budge…until I realized you had to line up two arrows just right. Even then, the cap was too small for my fingers, so I used my teeth to wrench off the cap.
Now I was confronted with one of those cardboard circular inner caps. I tried pushing it in with a finger, but couldn’t do it. So I hit it with some nail clippers. Finally, I could get to the baby aspirin.
Not so fast. There was still a wad of cotton blocking the way. I stuck my fat index finger into the bottle, but couldn’t find a way to force the cotton out. So I just pushed it to the side so I could pour out a pill.
By that time, I was definitely in need of a hypertension supplement.
I’ll work on the cotton ball tonight. I’ll extract it using my Channellock needle-nose pliers.
Lord of the Propane Tank
For several weeks, I’ve been forgetting to refill my spare propane tank. Don’t want to run out of gas with steaks half-way grilled. I finally got it filled on Saturday. And wouldn’t you know it…as I grilled two Mother’s Day steaks yesterday after church, I heard the distinctive “whoosh” of the gas quitting. Fortunately, I had me a freshly filled tank.
I guess I should say something about God’s timing, and how this was a God-thing, that God knew I would be needing that tank filled, and he arranged it so I would have it just in the nick of time. Maybe I should mention it as a moving testimony during the Sunday morning praise time.
But I think we can safely put the episode under the general categories of “free-will” and “that’s just the way things worked out.” While God is sovereign over all things, including propane tanks, I doubt that he saw this as a situation requiring divine intervention.
