How about a New Year’s Resolution?

I was hoping to lose a couple of dress sizes in 2013. After I thought about it, I knew the reality is that I probably won’t do it. After all, I haven’t kept other resolutions I’ve made… like learning to control the weather or inventing shoes that tie themselves.

Then I found this. This is a good resolution for people like me.

Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.
Isaiah 43:18-19

God never wants us to look backwards. In fact, He gave us a way to erase those “things” in our past and replaced the blues with new songs and thoughts of hope.

Still sometimes we don’t seem to be able to help it. We remember all the failures and regret our mistakes.

Sure, I would do a lot of things differently if I could go back in time. But it’s really time to look at the road ahead rather than in the rear view mirror.

Seems God wants to do a new thing in our lives anyway.

Cheers!

My Friend Jethro

Edited 12/30/2012

Jethro was the first of several family dogs. We adopted Jethro for free through an ad in the local paper. I use the term "free" loosely because in reality Jethro quickly became a financial liability. He had several altercations with automobiles and was involved in a scandal with the neighbors registered Alaskan Husky. He developed heart disease and had several emergency surgeries. 


For many years he was my constant companion. He loved the outdoors and became my fishing partner. Jethro was a faithful friend and would have readily given his life to protect our family. Jethro was old enough to get his drivers license and just shy of registering to vote when he died.


Jethro wasn’t particularly handsome and when it comes to brains...lets just say Jethro was "special" if you know what I mean. Like myself, Jethro also had a sinful nature.


Jethro had many bad habits like fighting and eating the neighbors chickens to name a few. Many moons ago he and I both were known to drink a little bit on the weekends. I had to bail Jethro out of jail more than once in our seventeen year friendship.


Jethro could make me as mad as I can get but I loved Jethro. I loved Jethro enough to do anything I could to protect him from his own demise. I spent countless dollars and time over the years to contain Jethro and respect my neighbors right to illegally raise farm animals in a residential area.  On one occasion I drew plans and spent four days constructing a state of the art, high security prison complex to incarcerate him in. On the day I introduced Jethro to his new environment he made it back to the house before I did. Nothing seemed to deter the wilder side of Jethro.

In a final attempt to end Jethro's life of crime I purchased and installed an electric fence charger. In his first encounter with electricity Jethro danced around like a Holy Roly preacher at a late July tent revival. In a few hours Jethro was transformed in to a model prisoner. He never attempted a jailbreak again. Within a few days I unplugged the charger and gave it to a friend.

The truth is that after I unplugged the electric fence, Jethro could have bolted for freedom at any time of his choosing. Nothing had changed. Jethro could still dig as deep and jump as high as he ever could but he never tried to escape again. All I had to do was deceive Jethro into believing that that there was nothing he could do and then I was able to move on to other challenges.

Satan often uses the same tactics.

Satan convinces older people that they are too old to serve and that we won’t listen to them anyway. Satan tells Deacons that they cannot teach or lead us in prayer. Satan tells Christians that they are more suited to behind the scene tasks and that others are better equipped to sit down with someone and lead them to Christ. Satan tells the small neighborhood church that they don't have the resources to effectively reach the community.


Don't let the lies of Satan make you an inmate in an artificial prison.

OH NO! I Blew My Tweeter.

Over the holidays, I've recorded a perfectly played acoustic guitar track (well...perfect for me) at least 7 times. After every take I play the track back and no matter what adjustments I make, the result is the same.The track sounds like I probably sound sometimes....hollow and lifeless.

This is especially frustrating to me because over the years, I've built myself a decent home studio. I have a couple of vintage microphones, a respectable vacuum tube pre-amp, and a pretty nice collection of instruments. In recent years I have acoustically treated a room so that I'd have some good space to work in. I've acquired enough gizmos that should make capturing that magical guitar moment of a lifetime a sure thing. (if it ever happens.)

Man...if only it didn't sound so hollow and lifeless.

In an effort to identify the problem I've established some known facts.

The problem is not the song. The song is far from hollow and lifeless. The song is one of my favorite praise and worship tunes. I share a common inspiration with the person who penned this song and I want to record it because it speaks to me.

I know what you are thinking BUT It's not the player either. Oh sure there are technical issues like the fact that I can't really play guitar or sing for that matter, and that I have fat arthritic fingers. But on the inside, I'm all about this song.

Last night, after a week of looking for it, I finally learned the source of the problem. I have a bad tweeter in one of my studio monitors.

Go figure....

So....
The song is good. I'm inspired by the words and their source of inspiration. I played the song close to the level I wanted to. I used a decent guitar played into a very desirable microphone, patched into my retro/ pre-civil war style vacuum tube type pre-amp, PLUGGED INTO!...get this...
A/D converters set to record at 96 bazillion khz at 24 bit audio!!!!!!

I amplified the playback through a studio reference amplifier connected to.....

a speaker with a blown tweeter. Man......

Despite the song, my attitude, my efforts, my abilities, and my totally cool stuff, it all fell apart at the very last link of the chain. In the end it all boiled down to what my ears heard.

I'm sure my blown tweeter is a result of a mistake I made somewhere along the way.

I likely left a microphone open when I pulled the headphones off my big ole head and switched the speakers on, thus sending some insanely nasty frequency through it.

That happens from time to time and you might get away with it. But if you ever mess up bad enough and send something extreme and ugly enough through a speaker, anything else you try to sing, play, or say will never sound the same.

Despite all of the previous warnings, I was thinking......

An audio speaker is kinda like a mouth.

I can read the Bible and learn how I'm supposed to live. I can listen to good songs that inspire me to get to know the only One who can make be a better man today than I was yesterday. I can give money to the church and others who need it. I can do my best to make my body a good environment for the Holy Spirit to live in. I can tell my story and encourage others to get to know Jesus....

But if I'm not really careful.... I can make one mistake and blow my tweeter.

And then I might never sound the same again.

I really need to be more careful!

_________________________________________________
James 3:2-10

2 Indeed, we all make many mistakes. For if we could control our tongues, we would be perfect and could also control ourselves in every other way.

3 We can make a large horse go wherever we want by means of a small bit in its mouth. 4 And a small rudder makes a huge ship turn wherever the pilot chooses to go, even though the winds are strong. 5 In the same way, the tongue is a small thing that makes grand speeches.

But a tiny spark can set a great forest on fire. 6 And the tongue is a flame of fire. It is a whole world of wickedness, corrupting your entire body. It can set your whole life on fire, for it is set on fire by hell itself.

7 People can tame all kinds of animals, birds, reptiles, and fish, 8 but no one can tame the tongue. It is restless and evil, full of deadly poison. 9 Sometimes it praises our Lord and Father, and sometimes it curses those who have been made in the image of God. 10 And so blessing and cursing come pouring out of the same mouth. Surely, my brothers and sisters, this is not right!

Olympic Spirit

Well, it’s almost over. I have truly enjoyed the 2012 Olympic Games. Competition seems to bring out the best in some people. I think the excitement of the games probably speak louder to me than some due to the fact that I am a bit of an athlete myself. If you’ve watched the Amazing Wonders Aviation video I posted on Facebook then you already knew that.

I would never say that I’m particularly good at any of the events.

In fact, I wouldn’t even say that I like many of the events. But historically speaking, sport events become more and more enjoyable to me. I’m really glad that over time mankind has embraced sports like BMX bike racing and as silly as it is, water polo, and long forgotten other events such as lions eating Christians and that sort of thing.

I can’t really explain why I like the Olympics.

I don’t really like running. It hurts. If you ever see me running it might be a good idea for you to run too because if I’m running it means there is something really bad not too far behind me.

I like water. I like to be wet. But I don’t like swimming. I like soaking. In the last ten years I haven’t done much of either. I like big swimming pools but they are usually full of loud little kids. Loud little kids are like drunk people. Water has the same effect on kids as liquor does on adults. They lose all sense of volume and speak at volumes that would get you an O.S.H.A. citation at work or disturbing the peace citation if you had a party at your house that got out of hand.

I like to jump into water. As for diving, I not jumping head first into anything other than a plate full of crab legs.

My favorite event this year is Beach Volleyball. I feel a kindred spirit with volleyball players. They fall down a lot. Lately I fall a lot too. The only real difference between me and a volleyball player is that when a volleyball player goes after a ball and falls down…people cheer. When I fall down…people laugh.

I don’t get it.

With all that has been good about the 2012 Olympic Games there is something that really bothers me about the entire event.

First let me say that I understand all the hoopla about Calvin Clean (whatever his name is) and Olympic clothing made in China.

But come on! Couldn’t you find something made in the good ole USA other than your underwear to wear to the competition? Did you even bother running by Wal-Mart just to see what they might have?

Obviously not because for two solid weeks there have been scores of athletes running around all over London wearing nothing but a pair of drawers.

It’s not that it is terribly offensive to me.

It’s downright dangerous. and there are several other potential consequences.

Trust me. I Know.

I know the appeal of doing what you like or need to do while doing it wearing nothing but a pair of underwear. When I was self-employed there were days when I was out in the field and wore business casual when visiting customers or potential clients. There were other days when I was out in the studio repairing equipment or making sales calls when I went to work in my underwear.

That all ended the day I dropped a soldering iron into my lap.
I woke up that morning singing bass and I went to bed that night as a soprano.

There’s also the potential for emotional injury when you run around in your underwear or the wrong swimwear.

Case in point?...

The only time I’ve ever attempted to water ski could have easily been a day that would have destroyed my pride forever.
I got out of the boat, put on the skis and waited. The driver idled forward and tightened the ski rope. He looked back and yelled “are you ready?”

I yelled “I reckon”.

He kicked the throttle and tore off across the lake. I held the rope tight and went with him.

The water skis and my swimming trunks and underwear stayed behind.

Fortunately for me, my swimsuit and underwear are similar in size to a parachute. I was able to breast stroke back and recover my clothing.

THEREFORE…

I have to ask. What reasonably sensible grown man would put on a pair of panties, walk out in public while on international TV coverage, climb a 40 foot ladder, and dive head first into a swimming pool?

You’re just asking for it.

I like to walk on the beach; however I do not like sand in or on my underwear. A wet suit, flippers and a welding helmet seem like the better choice for beach volleyball.

I get it…I really do. I don’t like Calvin Klein clothes either. I guess it’s a good thing because they don’t make anything in XXXL anyway.

Actually I don’t like any clothes that have somebody else’s name on them. I’ve been that way since I was eleven years old when I came home from Boy Scout camp and discovered that I had on a pair of underwear with the name “Calvin” wrote on the waist band with a sharpie. I freaked out.

You would have too had you ever met Calvin. That was one of lifes bleachable moments.    

On another subject, I really do wish that some designer would make some cool clothes for big folk. Clothes that fit me look like the National Flag of Argentina.

I’m fat, not colored blind.

Fat people want to be incognita. They don’t want to wear something that cries out “look at me! Look at me! I’m fat!”

How come all the models in catalogs for big men clothing look like a yellow m&m or like they just appeared in a Fruit of the Loom commercial and wear their hair like Wally Cleaver?

Bottom line…

PUT ON SOME BRITCHES.

And if you insist on competing in boxer shorts let somebody besides your mama pick them out. Guys, you looked ridiculous.

Tonight I’m writing for two purposes.

I’ve said enough about the first one.

The second reason I am writing is to announce my intentions to go to Rio in 2016 and compete in the Olympic Games.

I’ve given up hope that Chicken Wing Eating will become an Olympic Event in time for the 2016 games so I have decided to petition the International Olympic Committee to allow me to compete under the IOC flag with an independent Synchronized Swim Team made up of Dan Holley, Marc Cassabon, Steve Jones, Jose Perez, Bobby Smith, and myself.

We will begin training as soon as we find a facility with a suitable privacy fence.

While our best shot will be as independent competitors, we will be as American as it gets when we get there. The choreography is already underway and our trade mark routine will be performed to the soundtrack “My Baby Is American Made” by the Oakridge Boys.

See ya in 2016!

 

This is a must read

I support 350 computers and their users at a school. School starts Monday so you might guess that I’ve been pretty busy with getting ready, making sure everything is running at its best, and getting rid of the remains of last year’s crop of boogers which are now securely adhered to the monitors and keyboards of the student computers. (The last school year produced a bumper crop.)

Actually, I like my work. I suppose, like anybody else’s job, mine has its moments but folks are fairly nice to me and I must be pretty good at my work. Like lawn mowers, computers are one of the greatest threats to my testimony but at the end of the day it’s all good.

Other people are good at their work too.

Sometimes I’m quick to criticize others. In particular, many of you have probably read some comments I posted about McDonalds a few months ago involving a meal I had and my policies concerning menu items with the designation of “number two”.

Today, I’m not writing to revisit my viewpoint on that atrocity again. If you want to know my thoughts on this important subject you can scroll down towards the bottom of this Facebook silliness called a “Timeline” and read my comments there.

While it’s true that I am passionately opinionated about many things in the world, today I am actually here to praise someone.

Oddly enough, this posting is also centered on an experience at McDonalds.

Two days ago I was covered up to my ears in work. For every support ticket I closed I got 6 new ones. Around 1:00 p.m. the diabetes medication caught up with my blood glucose and I knew I had to eat. I needed something quick so I jumped in the Ranger and headed for McDonalds.

I pulled up to the ordering kiosk where you pretend to understand what the words coming out of speakers with sound quality that reminds me of a movie at the old Thunderbird Drive In. I sucessfully fought off the high pressure up sale attack and finally convinced the voice that there wasn’t going to be any “go large” or 2 fried pies for a dollar.

I ordered a number 5. I wanted a number 4 in reality but number four is a multiple of number 2 and I just wasn’t in the mood to defend myself for anything that could even remotely be construed as selling out my life long pledge to never eat anything identified as “number two” EVEN if “number two” and “number four” are only distant cousins.

I pulled up to the first window to pay where there stood the most…how can I be nice…UNUSUAL looking young man I’ve ever seen. He relieved me of the biggest part of a ten dollar bill.

When I say unusual I mean--- at birth the doctor turned around and slapped his mama- unusual.

It wasn’t the cocked eyes or the 10 speed bicycle chain that pierced his bottom lip. It was more than the way he looked, rather the way he looked at me. I can’t explain it. It was like - the little chills and goose bumps you get when you see a flash of light in the corner of your eye that you can’t identify or when a great poet like Billy Ray Cyrus steps up to a microphone and the words “Achy Breaky Heart” spill off of his tongue….*SHIVERSSSSSSSSSS

We criticize McDonalds for their shortcomings but for the most part they are as fast at fast food as fast food gets. (Say that 10 times if you can!)

I pulled up to the window, got my cup and my happy sack and rolled out into the parking lot. It was only when I reached into my golden arched treasure chest did it occur to me what had actually taken place just a few moments ago.

The young man was not the serial killer I had first suspected him to be. Nor did he have a thing for middle age fat guys.

It was so much more than that.

Theres no other way to say it. This young man is GIFTED.

This young man is nothing short of a fast food prodigy, comparable to Einstein in his field of expertise.

While I was busy misinterpreting his scrutiny as something sinister this young man..this…..GOLDEN CHILD was quickly evaluating my needs as a customer and custom tailoring a culinary solution to match my specific needs.

OK..I’ll prove it.

I was in a hurry. BUT....I did not tell him I was in a hurry.

Yet, he instinctively responded to the urgency of my day in the following ways that I can only describe as phenominal.

#1 - I received a refrigerated Hamburger instead of a hot sandwich, thus eliminating the time it would have normally taken for enough reduction in temperature before my sandwich was safe to eat.

#3 - Instead of trying to drive while fishing French Fries out of some greasy cardboard container this wonderful young man had the foresight and customer service skills to put my French Fry container in my happy sack Upside Down…YES…you read it right. UPSIDE DOWNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.

AND EVEN THOUGH I really didn’t even need the box he never even considered shorting me any of the value included in the meal. I received the empty box anyway.
Napkins? He obviously determined I couldn’t afford the time it takes to wipe ones mouth.

#4 And last but not least, I got a FREEBIE!

I ordered a soft drink but I was apparently upgraded to their latest fancy beverage. I think its called a “Mc’Boil”. It’s a 16 ounce cup of hot, flat, iceless Coke Zero.

In closing, I just wanted to publicly thank this young man for his devotion to the needs of the consumer. You see, I didn’t ask for anything special yet this young man took it upon himself to become a bright spot for me in an otherwise crappy day.

With his brand of work ethic and natural ability I’m quite sure that he can expect a long and less than rewarding career in the fast food industry.

 

Bieber Fever?

It's...fair to say that I don't post often. When I do, it's usually when I am moved in a significant way.

I read a news story today which states that Justin Bieber is wanted for questioning after an "incident" with a photographer that was making unauthorized photos of him and his main squeeze. From what I've read, the "bieb" alledgedly roughed the guy up.

BOLOGNA! (pronounced Bah-lone-eee)

This is obviously yet another ploy to get the 'bieb" in the headlines. Apparently his addiction to squealing has reached a new level.

You don't have to be from EllenHood to recognize that Bieber couldn't beat himself out of a wet paper bag.

And the photographer? What self respecting heterosexual male would cop to being man handled by Justin Bieber? If there is any truth to this I will personally fund a scholarship to a tae kwon do summer camp where hopefully, with hard work, he can rise to an acceptable level of manliness.

It hasn't happened yet but if I ever show up with black eyes and butterfly stitches you can bet my story is going to begin with "there was at least 20 of em".

Come on "bieb". I'm a little low on cash.....

But not THAT low.