![The Depower Plague of ot '10]()
by Richard Timothy | Jun 9, 2010 | I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
I may have been mostly joking when I said there was a conspiracy going on when I had two smoke detectors go lame on the same night doubling their efforts to keep me awake all night due to their battery supplies running a bit low… and by mostly joking, I mean completely. That being said, let’s take a look at what happened to me today.
I was a standard work morning. I’m not sure why, but if I have nothing motivating me to get up and go to work, I’ll either get up rather early, or around noon, depending on what happened the night before. But on a typical work day, it’s pretty average and consistent for me to wake up two hours before work, look at the clock to make sure I have two hours to go until I need to be at work, and then I slap the snooze button with the fervor of one who is a trifle annoyed that a little inanimate object had the audacity to work properly and wake me up when I asked it to. Stupid alarm clocks anyway. Then for the next hour I continue to have a losing battle with the snooze button.
After about an hour of this, I reach a coherent level of self realization and admit that I have lost that battle and get up for the day. This gives me 15 to 20 minutes to shower, and 10 to 15 minutes to get dressed and out the door. Then I begin the 25 minute drive to work. This morning was precision as far as that standard goes. It was during the drive to work that I noticed my car was a little thirsty and that I could also use a little liquid snack to count as today’s breakfast as well. I mean it did seem like a good idea at the time. I pulled in to a gas station, filled up the car and then went inside to get a spicy V8 and headed outside to get back on my way to work.
I jumped in the car, pushed in the clutch, and turned the key, and was greeted by … ________ (click). There was nothing, no sound, no lights came on, no radio, no AC, nothing, except a very soft click, which after two more turns of the key fell silent too. My battery was not just drained it was dead, kaput… no more. I would have looked into the trunk to see if I had jumper cables, but I had no power to open the trunk. I did learn that I only have an ignition key which is not the trunk as well. There is, indeed, a difference. So, see I did learn something new today!
Still, how does a battery go from a quick and easy start up first thing in the morning and no issues what so ever getting 10 miles from my house to a gas station, to no charge at all simply by turning it off for about 5 minutes? It was just sitting there with zero power being drained from it and then bam! Nothing! Dead battery! So I did what anyone in my position would do, no I didn’t ask a stranger for help, I’m a man, we’re genetically wired to only ask for assistance from a stranger when no other options are left. This is why it’s almost impossible for us to ask for directions… it’s not our fault. We are born that way. Instead I called my office mate to see if he had cables and a little free time for head down the street and help me out.
Now had Angela been home, yes, I would have called her first, but she was out of town that morning and wouldn’t be back until that afternoon. And because work was only about 20 blocks away, it wasn’t too far of a drive. Sorya (pronounced Soy-ya) showed up about ten minutes later. As we attached the jumper cable to his car batter and then mine, he thanked me for getting him out of the office for a little while, and I, in return, thanked him for being willing to get out of the office for a little while. Ten minutes later I hopped in my car and turned the key. The car stuttered and then started up. Success was ours! We unhooked the cables and got ready to head to work when, in an act of sheer genius on my part, I turned on the AC. My car went from varoom-putt-putt-putt to puwahhh… ah… and all was quiet again.
I tried to roll down my window to yell at Sorya not to leave yet and quickly realized the flaw in this attempt. So I jumped out of the car and flagged Sorya to head back over. I explained the AC oopsy and he told me that the only way I was going to make it to work by driving myself there was by getting a new battery first. Enter phase two of this morning’s adventure. Actually it wasn’t all that complicated, just cash and time consuming. Once we got the new battery, we went to Sorya’s parent’s house to borrow some tools. Fortunately their house was just down the street from the gas station I was at.
Once the battery was installed Sorya headed back to drop off the tools and I headed back to the auto store to give them the dead battery so I could get $12 back, which I used some of to get a little lunch on the way to work. It was during the last few blocks of getting to work that I realized, “Wait just a minute!” This exact situation happened to Angela’s car about a month ago. She parked outside a department store, when in for about ten minutes and came back out and walla, dead battery. Her car refused to take a charge any kind of charge and resulted in a whole new battery being purchased and installed for her car as well. “Hmm?”
I called and told Angela about the whole thing, and suggested that we stop parking both cars in the garage together. My theory is that her car was apparently giving my car some suggestions for ways to get some additional attention and some new parts… gossipy little things. It also got me wondering about my joke about the conspiracy with the two dead batteries. That makes three dead batteries in three days. It’s like some black plague that is beginning, except this time it only kills batteries instead of humans. Although, if the plague does manage to kill the infernal drumming rabbit, I really can’t see how the end would not justify the means.
At this point the plague seems isolated to just me and battery operated devices that I own. However, if it does start spreading I’ll be sure to let you know. There is good news though. Apparently purchasing new batteries and replacing them with the dead ones does seem to correct and negate the powerless effects of battery operated devices. If this does kill the drummer bunny, I wonder where I go on-line to fill out a Nobel Prize application. I think this whole conspiracy just might give me the push I need this year. Plus, I’ll be sure to verbally acknowledge everyone that comments on this Smirk in my acceptance speech.
So, anyone else experiencing these reoccurring battery power shortages?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: driving to work, hitting snooze, starting car, installing car battery, and energizer bunny skeleton.
by Richard Timothy | May 20, 2010 | I Do Suggest, I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something I Know Nothing About
There are some things that I do my very best not to have an opinion about. Things like, is the Loch Ness Monster real, which car would win in a race between a ’70 AMC Gremlin and a ’71 Ford Pinto, or are all babies cute? The answer to that last one, by the way, is no. Not all babies are cute. I have seen some ugly babies in my time, I just lie a lot and tell people their baby is cute…. Ok so I guess I do have an opinion about that last one. The point being, there are some things I do try to remain opinionless about. One of those things just happens to be things of a paranormal nature, or monster related sightings.
This, however, is becoming a little more difficult as of late, mainly due to the barrage of recent television shows focused on these very topics. Let’s list a few of the shows currently dedicated to “finding proof.” We have Ghost Hunters, Ghost Hunters International, Paranormal State, Destination Truth, Monster Quest, Ghost Adventures, Most Haunted, Unsolved Mysteries, Ghost Hunters Academy, Ghost Lab, The Haunted, A Haunting, Scariest Places on Earth, Psychic Kids, Scooby-Doo, and Creepy Canada, just to name a few.
I don’t know about you but that list seems a little excessive to me. I get that the reason more and more of them are popping up is because they are relatively inexpensive to make, and people seem to be watching these shows a bit more than they have done in the past. Still, I do have my gripes. Some shows seem more focused on displaying their designer tee shirts and immaculately styled hair than they are on finding anything paranormal. That’s right Ghost Adventures boys, I’m talking to you. Stop pretending to be possessed because you are not strong enough actors to carry an episode it’s full 43 minutes. You’re not fooling anyone… except maybe all the 13 year old girls that watch the show because they think you’re cute, but they don’t count. That age group is responsible for things like Hanna Montana and New Kids on the Block, not a lot of reliability when it comes to good taste at 13, except maybe Flintstones Vitamins.
Then we have the monster hunter type shows were people interview locals about what they saw anywhere from three months to 47 years ago. Then they spend one evening searching for the said monster/creature of myth and at the end… the one thing you can count on 100% of the time is the use of the phrase, “the evidence is inconclusive,” or as I like to call it the “we got nothing” disclaimer. 
Why do I watch them then? I think it’s a kind of 20/80 reasoning. 20% of it is mildly entertaining and 80% of it I enjoy, but it has to do with the research and history of were these myths may have originated from and I get to learn about new places around the world. Yes there are times when I am the Discovery Channel’s bitch, and discover I’ve spend three hours in one sitting watching that channel… damn you Shark Week.
My true lack of appreciation for these shows has to do with the losers of these shows. Let’s take one of the hunting for ghosts’ shows. You have these people who are caretakers for some estate, cellar, boat, theatre, or deteriorating insane asylum who believe wholeheartedly that they have their own little piece of the paranormal puzzle. Then they bring in these so called experts who put up a bunch of cameras and audio recorders and then spend maybe six hours total in the building and come back telling boasting “I think we got something.”
Then when they go back to the caretakers and reveal, “… they got nothing” and in their opinion their paranormal puzzle piece is just a piece and is not paranormal at all. Those moments always make me sad, it’s like when you discovered ** SPOILER ALERT** Santa wasn’t real, or the Easter Bunny didn’t really lay all those eggs you found in the backyard. It’s one of those moments that you lose a little piece of your imagination. And that is what happens to each one of those people who are told that their paranormal place is not haunted, poor things.
At least the people that are told their special place is haunted get to revel in that for a bit. I do wonder though, don’t you think TAPS could start some kind of rating system for “officially haunted” places, kind of like a ZAGAT rating for restaurants. The higher the rating the more paranormal activity a location has. Owners of these establishments could place their little TAPS rating plaque for people to see and to use it as a tool to help them plan where they would like to go on their next holiday. I mean, I know I wouldn’t use it, but I’m sure there are plenty that would.
And since I’m giving suggestions for improving these shows, there is one thing that would universally help every single one of these ghost finding shows currently on the air. All you have to do is look at the greatest ghost hunting team of all time and you will know exactly what I mean… they need a pet. The reason for the interstellar success and fame of Scooby-Doo is because they had a pet, they had Scooby. And yes interstellar, the sheer grandeur and magnificence of Scooby-Doo has vastly exceeded our solar system… I don’t care that I can’t prove that statement, the fact is it’s still true. I say pets because I’m not sure if this paradigm is strictly dog related or if it is a bit more open to just pets in general.
Now there are some shows that do attempt to use elements from Scooby’s many documented cases. Case in point Most Haunted. Just like the Scooby, the Most Haunted team spends a large portion of their time running away from every sound, movement, reflection, and anything that could even possibly be connected to any form of paranormal activity. Well done, you learned well from Scooby and Shaggy. The first time I saw this happen, I was all for spending a little more time with this band of “fraidy cat” investigators. After about three more situations like this in about a five minute time span, I gave up and changed the channel.
There was one key element that Most Haunted missed, an element that causes the Scooby performance to succeed and the Most Haunted performance to fail. This is the food motivated regrouping process that occurs after the run. Now if you were to have the Most Haunted crew forget about ghosts and begin looking for sandwiches then you’d have something I’d be willing to keep watching. Not only did they run away from ghosts, but they were able to make a four inch thick sandwich from random food they found in the house… now that is impressive.
Also, there is one final element… the Scooby snack. I have no idea what kind of narcotic a Scooby snack is, but it restores energy and courage to the heroes and enables them to continue with their ghost hunting without running away, and thus the evidence for assigning a location with the title “Haunted” is completed. Perhaps the Most Haunted crew needs to take a bunch of valium after they finish their sandwich, reinforcing in them the state of lucid calm. That way the next time they see the light from the camera filming them reflect in a mirror they won’t run away and instead walk up to that reflection and pet it until it either gets bored and runs away or until they become friends and can go find something a little more ghostly related.
As for the reality of whether these shows are true or false, real or fake, fact or make believe, I really don’t have an opinion. People believe what they want. I do like that it encourages people, especially adults, to use their imagination a bit more. Ghosts or not, I think we could all use a bit more imagination in our days, I know I could. One favor though, when using your imagination please try to avoid yelling, “What was that!” every time you walk into a room. It can get a trifle wearing.
What are your thoughts on the topic?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: ghosts, shark week, The Atlantic Paranormal Society, and Scooby and Shaggy.
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by Richard Timothy | May 17, 2010 | Adolescent Shenanigans, I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something I Know Nothing About, When I Was a Kid
So I walked into my office today, not necessarily with a case of the Mondays, but I was very aware that it was a Monday. I had spent my commute to working listing to Neil Gaiman reading his book, The Graveyard Book and pondering what I could write about today, but mostly listening to Neil. Then I walked into my office and the first thing my office mate said to me was, “Dude, its 80 degrees today. The fish are going to be biting!” And as simple as that, I had a topic.
I’m not sure what it is about fishing, but for some people there appears to be me some magical obsessionary mind control power associated to it. I believe it was Steven Wright that said, “There’s a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore like an idiot.” Besides being obvious, I think there’s a lot of truth in that statement, especially coming from the idiot side of the coin. Still, today was a reminder that of what it means to be a fisherman.
Fishing has been a topic that seems to keep coming up over and over again, randomly and without any real interest on my part. There is the daily discussion I have with my office mate. Then there was some strange that talked to me about fishing for about two hours the last flight I was on. Plus, the last time I was in my acupuncturists office there was a lady having a very loud and intense conversation about the fishing her and her husband had just gotten back from.
Still, talking to a fisher-person about fishing is a lot like talking to my niece about Scooby-Doo. They get this look in their eyes as they begin talking about it. It’s a combination of love, joy, reverence, and bouncy excitement. As my office mate said today as he was leaving work three and a half hours early so he could go fishing for the afternoon, “It’s like crack. I’ve got the fever. I’m twitching and getting out of my seat every five minutes to go look outside to see how the weather is. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in an hour if I don’t catch anything.”
I told him he wasn’t going to be back in an hour regardless if he caught anything or not. He agreed, and with that I had the office to myself for the rest of the day. He did ask me and anyone else that walked into our office if we wanted to go fishing with him. It’s not that I didn’t want to go… ok it was that actually. He did dance a little jig in the office when he did get off the phone, commenting that he had found someone to go with him. Apparently fishing is a “bring a friend” activity. I would have never guessed that.
This belief is mainly a result of the one and only fishing trip I took with my grandfather while growing up in Wyoming. My grandpa was an avid fisherman. He had four or five poles hanging on the wall in the entry way of the house between the garage and the main living area. Out of all the things that were off limits at my grandparent’s house, grandpa’s fishing equipment was the holy grail of them all. We’d sneak into the back yard and invade grandma’s raspberry bushes no matter how many times we were told to stay out. We’d sneak downstairs and look though all of grandpa’s old tvs. He was a television repair man so the house was full or old non-operating televisions saved simply for the prospect of possible used parts. But when it came to grandpa’s fishing goods, we would look at them from afar, but never dared get close enough to even touch them.
You can imagine my and my brother Mike’s surprise when one day, my mother informed us that grandpa would like to take us fishing that Saturday. I believe I was 7, so that would have made Mike 8. Self control and patience were words that had been said to us many, many times, but we really didn’t have a clear understanding of what they meant at that age. So you can imagine the concept of sitting quietly so as to not scare the fish did not last very long.
I mean for the first half hour to an hour it was all rather grand, we learned to cast, and reel in the hook, and then cast again. It was explained that we needed to reel in slowly so that the shiny spinning lure could attract the fish. This lasted about four casts. Being only fourteen months apart in age Mike and I were a bit competitive at this point in our lives, and soon the casting game began. We would take turns casting with all our might to see how far out into the lake we could make a splash. The second the splash was made we would reel in the hook as fast as possible so we could cast again.
Grandpa informed us we would not catch any fish that way and to just cast and leave the line out there. We were to sit quietly on the ground and wait for the fish to bite. This lasted maybe 10 minutes before I had a brilliant idea. It was clear to me that the reason the fish were not biting was because they were too far away from the hook and could not see the little worm, wiggling and calling to the fish to come over and have a snack. So I carefully placed the pole on the ground and started throwing rocks as far as I could into the lake.
When my grandpa yelled at me to stop throwing rocks because I was scaring the fish, I told him I knew that. I then explained that if I threw the rocks far enough then I’d scare the fish closer to the shore so they could seem my hook and I’d catch more fish. I mean it made perfect sense to me at the time, and Mike agreed wholeheartedly. It was a fool proof plan. I’ve later come to learn that it was proof that I was a fool when it came to fishing.
Grandpa just stared at me for a bit. Then shook his head and told us to stay around the lake. He was going to the river and would be back in an hour or two. Mike and I followed orders and stayed by the lake. After twenty minutes of throwing rocks and not getting any bites we decided that we needed to go around to the other side of the lake (it was a very small lake). Apparently the fish were swimming away from the poles instead of towards them because we were not throwing the rocks far enough. Once on the other side we started throwing rocks again. After half an hour we went back to our poles, sure that we would have a fish on the end. Elusive little buggers… there was no fish on either of our hooks, and there was no worm either at that point. The fish had picked the hook clean. So we took a break, and got out our sack lunches and enjoyed some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a can of soda, and some homemade cookies, which I ate first.
After lunch we were both certain that grandpa didn’t know what he was doing. It was clear that there were no fish in that lake. We even spent about three minutes not moving and looking at the water and didn’t see a single fish! So we had a water fight instead. Soon we were both quite soaked and shivering and done with this crazy myth called fishing. We wanted to go home, so we started yelling for grandpa. A little while later he came up a small trail with one small fish on a string. It was an amazing thing to see. I kept asking to see the magic lamp grandpa had so he could wish for a fish. At the time it seemed like the only logical explanation there was for where it came from. I suggested that next time he should wish for a bigger fish. He didn’t smile at me once on during the drive back home, which only took about 10 to 15 minutes, but I would have sworn it was closer to an hour.
Once we got home we jumped out of the truck and ran into the house yelling for mom. Having grown up with her father, she was a touch surprised we were home so soon from fishing. She asked how it went and we told her all about our day, interrupting ourselves only twice to ask if there were any cookies left and if we could have some more. After the story of our day was finished, we went to change into some dry clothes and mom talked to grandpa. Once grandpa left, mom checked with us to see if we enjoyed the fishing part. We were honest, we enjoyed playing in the forest, but the fishing thing was not our favorite part of the day. Mom smiled and told us that maybe we could go back to the lake for a picnic sometime soon.
It wasn’t until years later that we learned that grandpa was so unimpressed by our first fishing outing that he had no intention on taking us a second time. It didn’t matter though, he still let up play with some of his old broken televisions when we’d go over to visit, and that was a lot more fun than catching a slimy old fish any day of the week.
I’ve stayed pretty consistent about my lack of interest when it comes to fishing, but I’ll listen and encourage. Fishing folk really seem to enjoy having an ear around that will listen. I still don’t get it. It seems like a rather unrewarding time suck in my opinion. Then again, to be fair, they probably think that spending hours at a computer writing tangents and random observations is a lot like combing your hair with a cheese grater, slightly amusing, but mostly painful. And as that old Chinese proverb says… Give a man a fish and if you’re lucky you might get some sushi, but teach a man to fish who doesn’t want to learn and you’re probably going to get slapped in the face with a wet fish.
What are your thoughts about fishing?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: fishing, gone fishing, throwing rocks, genie lamp, fish slap, and homemade cookies.
by Richard Timothy | May 14, 2010 | I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, My Cutie Baby Sweetie Pie, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Women love shoes. Now I am not going to say this is a universal truth… like gravity pulls things in, cupcakes push things out, and puppies are cute, but I would dare say that if you run into a woman that is firm in her resole that “women loving shoes” is then maybe then it’s a universal truth. As a public safety suggestion, I do advise that if you are not shoe minded then please do not engage in shoe related conversation with a shoe enthusiast, unless you happen to work at a shoe store. I do also concede that there are some men who share this same shoe affinity, but in my experience, and with the backing of endless Hollywood movies as a resource tool, women are the standard by which we give irrevocable evidence toward the statement, women love shoes.
I do get it concept. So put it in a term that I believe most who don’t understand will, it is their collection of choice. Just like some people collect baseball cards, old coins, toys that are never allowed to be removed from their packaging, old cars that will someday be restored but has been in the driveway for the past 8 years with a blanket over the top of it, or first edition books, some people collect shoes. I guess the key difference between the two is that one of the collections does have a bit more everyday type of functionality associated to it. Do I care that my cutie-baby-sweetie-pie-wifey-pooh collects shoes? Not at all, as long as it gets purchased after everything that needs to be paid has been paid. I am the same way about my MST3K Boxed sets.
I think that may be the line between collecting and obsessing. If you are a collector you get things as you can, when you can. If you are an obsessor, obsessee… if you obsess about your collection and you put a second mortgage on your house so you can buy a 1951 Bowman SGC 96 Mickey Mantle rookie card or so you can buy a pair Stuart Weitzman’s “Diamond Dream” Stilettos that’s where the problem lies. Collecting = fine. Obsession = No! Bad! NO! (and you should probably be hit on the nose with a rolled up newspaper).
Now I’m not sure if this is the type of thing all shoe collectors do, but Angela has a distribution system for her shoes. It’s a type of open grazing distribution where her shoes have free range throughout the house. Usually they congregate in small social groups. Some groups choose to be by the front door. Some chose to take action in the never ending game of hide and seek and some pairs of shoes are convinced is always being played. Think I’m kidding, go look under your couch, or bed, or behind the television, or in your ice box… in one of those spots is going to be random pair of shoes giggling to themselves, sure that they are in the best hiding spot ever created by man, woman, or some combination therein.
One thing about shoes… I highly recommend keeping them paired up, or lined up, or spread evenly apart, but at all costs avoid leaving them in piles. Sure you might think they are just shoes and not bothering anyone, but just last week I noticed a small pair of sandals next to one of Angela’s piles of footwear. She claimed that she purchased them for our nephew, but I’m not sure I trust her explanation. Part of me thinks that it was just a quick cover-up. They were baby shoes, and she has one of those dispositions that baby things are endearing, and cute, and require you to make that “Ohhhhh” sound when acknowledging anything babyish. In her defense I have not seen any little pairs of shoes in the house since we gave them to our nephew, but in my defense I did place all the shoes side by side instead of on top of each other.
I have come to learn why Angela’s distribution system is actually a system and not a random happenstance. There are two key things that this system enables Angela to do. The first is a sort of working out system. When getting reading for a business meeting, or workshop, or some event that has her dressing up, and wearing snazzy shoes, having the said shoes spread throughout the house enables her to do a few sprints and stair runs as she goes from floor to floor looking for the right pair for the outfit.
The second aspect of this distribution plan is the daily prospect of the element of surprise. Angela is one of those sorts that appreciate a good surprise… or a very subtle simple surprise… or a surprise that had no intention of becoming a surprise, but just sort of turned out that way. Case in point, about a week ago I am in my office, working on a new Smirk and Angela walks in, in this fabulous new flowery purpley dressiley, err, dress. She was on her way to a meeting and came in to let me know she was heading out and to give me a kiss goodbye. As she turned to walk out of the room she noticed a pair of her shoes on the floor in my office, yes even my office is not off limits when it comes to the roaming power of her footwear.
As she looked down she made that “Ohhhh” sound reserved for those moments when someone mostly realizes that what they just saw is exactly what they were looking for even thought they weren’t looking for anything. “I forgot about theses, maybe I should… no they are the wrong purple of purple. I have to go.” I laughed. She smiled innocently, and then was off and out the door with the “wrong purple of purple” shoes still hanging out in my office next to a stuffed Garfield, which I’ve had since elementary school, taunting the cat to try them on.
See the surprise of finding random cute pairs of shoes that you always wanted and actually own, which appear in random situations reminding you of their adorability. Plus it gets you to think about what you are going to wear the next time you go out so you can actually wear those shoes. I’m not sure it’s an actual science, but I’d be there are some people out there that would be interested in taking the class.
For now though, the free range system seems to be working. It’s a system that is at its core, pure Angela… yes Angela does happen to be a verb in our home. Likewise, you would be amazed at the endless supply of smiles, giggles, laughs, and smirks that it gives me on a weekly basis. Thank you sweetie for being so… you!
So, how are shoes distributed in your home?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: women love shoes, shoe under bed, found shoe, running in high heels, and 1951 Bowman SGC 96 Mickey Mantle rookie card.
by Richard Timothy | May 6, 2010 | I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Nearly News, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
I recently had one of my new Australian friends (thanks Heather) send me a link to a news article from the World News Australia. It was the headline that got me smiling right from the beginning. Headlines are tricky in that regard. Some headlines cause you to pause and reflect, and go into the piece with a certain reverence or concern for the people affect in the story. Other headlines make you turn the page to look for something else that is a touch more interesting to read. Some headlines make you smile because of the comical or feel good story you are about to read through. And then there are some that make you smile, because they are so ludicrous that you can’t help but smile and think to yourself, “Here we go again!” The heading “Ash cloud ‘sign that Britons must repent’ says candidate” is definitely one of those last types of headlines.
Ah yes the age old self proclaimed prophetic mandate of calling others to repentance. If I had to wrap this whole topic up in my own headline I think it would read something like this:
Blogger proclaims ‘candidate who said an ash cloud is a sign that Britons must repent is a sign that the candidate must repent!’
Apparently, an ash cloud billowed out of Iceland’s Mount Eyjafjallajokull volcano, which closed British air space for almost a week. So clearly the first thing I want to know is… how the hell do you say Eyjafjallajokull? And second, where can I get a tee shirt that has the name Mount Eyjafjallajokull printed on it, because that is by far the most impressive, fascinating, entertaining, and fabulous name for a volcano… EVER!
The problem I have with this whole thing is it’s a personal interpretation that has been around just as long as the idea of gods has been around. Plus, as far as signs from a god go, it’s so ambiguous. It’s a perfectly natural aspect of Earthly functionality. I usually call this type of nature activity an Earth fart. Plus, in this case, this event has been happening repeatedly for a very long time. Documented cases of this volcano erupting have occurred in 920, 1612, 1821, 1823, and twice in 2010. I wonder if Britons have had to repent every time it’s happens. So maybe John, our friendly neighborhood Christian People Alliance candidate, is only following tradition by telling anyone who will listen to repent. I mean, scientifically it seems like a rather common action for a volcano, especially that one. Still it would appear that there are some that think it’s the result of some obscure smoke signal from their god informing the world that every Briton needs to repent.
I’m not trying to be rude, but I would like to point out to the Christian People Alliance candidates and like minded folk everywhere, Mount Eyjafjallajokull is not now, nor has it ever been a “volcano of sin awareness.” It’s just an old volcano that ate some bad magma and has had a case of the windy puffs the past few months. By pointing this out to everyone and making such a big deal about it you are only embarrassing the volcano, and yourselves. Please leave Mount Eyjafjallajokull alone. It needs some to rest so it can get feeling better. Thank you.
This whole concept is like watching a video of a baby sneezing and then having the audacity to publically proclaim that the sneeze is a message from god informing the world that the all of the head statues on Easter Island need to repent for making those faces at the ocean for all these years. There is no relation between the two, and it really just doesn’t make any sense. Now, if the parents of the baby had named the baby Squiggy, then I can see calling the parents to repentance, but that’s about it.
Nature is not a warning sign from any religious icon, even if you chose nature as your god. If you live in a place on this planet that has a tornado 5 out of 7 days a week, every week of the year, and your house gets destroyed by a tornado, the nature god is not telling you to repent and plant more rhubarb in her honor. I would dare venture that to me, from a common sense approach, it only means that you live in a place where there are tornados 5 out of 7 days a week, every week of the year.
Here’s my thought about people telling other people they need to repent… they, meaning the tellers are probably the ones that need to do a little repenting. The thing is, if you are not a supporter of a repentance culture and someone belonging to that culture tries having a “repent sinner” conversation with you, it’s a lot like asking a bear if they would like bless the food before they eat you. It’s an incredibly irrelevant conversation.
If you think you should be the one to tell others to repent, can I recommend you take some time off, start looking at your own life and make a few changes to yourself? Leave everyone else alone until you are ready to have a respectful conversation with other people. When people try to inflict repentance on others, it has a tendency to come across as a rather judgmental thing to do, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard people say that there is a story somewhere about someone saying something about how people should not be judgmental. Then again that might just be me making a judgment call.
What are your thoughts?
Source Images:
World News Australia and Google Images, key words: Eyjafjallajökull, repent sign, and do not judge.
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by Richard Timothy | Apr 22, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something I Know Nothing About
I’d like to say that this past weekend was a road trip, but I’m not sure it was, even though I spent 4 days on the road, and I don’t mean that in the Kerouacian way. It was fun. It was also very exhausting, a little uncomfortable, highly butt numbing, but still fun. I equate that to the company I was traveling with. You want some random relationship advice? When you meet someone you rather fancy and you are deciding on whether you want to take it to the next level or not, go on a road trip with them. The driving time should be a minimum of 10 hours to your destination and 10 hours back. If you still fancy them, or even mildly like them. It’s worth moving forward.
The reason I don’t really consider the trip a road trip is the adherence to a schedule and destination. I’ve always looked at road trips being 99% about the journey and 1% about the destination, which was not the case this past weekend. Our trip was predominantly about the destinations. Still there were a few things that did fall into the realm of the road trip.
I’m not sure why it is, but there are levels of trust and acceptance that happen on a trip of this caliber. These processes may seem insignificant, but there is something incredibly bonding about them. The first of these two steps happened maybe 6 to 8 hours into the trip. It was subtle and innocent and placed very properly at the end of a sentence. It was the first burp of trip.
Yeah, I don’t get it either. Being of the male persuasion, burping is a, well, a rite of manhood. Learning to burp the alphabet is how the team leader of kickball was decided during recess. He that could burp it the fastest got to pick first. I dare venture to say that this necessary function is viewed with a bit more reserve by your average woman.
It was impressive to notice the air lift in the car when the first burp accidentally escaped. It was that sigh of relief that the bond of friendship between everyone in the car had now reached the “burping is an acceptable activity to do around these people” step of road trip etiquette. Another thing I learned, in the confines of a small vehicle where the burp bonding portion of the trip is engaged, women find burping just as funny as men do. The key thing to point out is that these are unsolicited burps, meaning mostly accidental… which means people start drinking soda instead of water to make sure they have the opportunity to make their contribution to the burp bonding that is now in full stride. Cheers and congratulations are also implemented at this point. If a burp is expelled with purpose, volume, and vibrato the others, after the laughter has subsided, offer their verbal support with a “oh nice one”, “well done”, or “nice push.”
There is a natural progression to this venue of trust, openness, and bonding. There is something inherently accepting about arriving to that stage of comfort to allow your body to perform a very natural and necessary process of human existence. The pungent bodily produced aroma therapy designed for release and traditionally lit on fire by males ranging between 13 to 24 years of age is one of those defining moments in a relationship. Men commonly slip open first, but when a woman finally reaches that level where she can pass wind in front of a guy when she really has to let it out… let’s just say if you are not already living together, get ready to have that conversation.
Does that mean that windows were strategically rolled down and back up a minute later during our trip? Here’s what I can tell you about that… maybe. But, and this next bit is just for the guys, I did learn something about the female mind that I had no idea of until this trip. It’s a girl thing that I had never heard of before, but apparently, women are very conscious and weary about using your toilet early in the relationship. It‘s a very real relationship marker when a woman feels comfortable to finally use your lavatory. Who knew! Well obviously they did, but now we do too. It’s like finding out a secret that you were never supposed to know, like it was a Roswell aliens that were responsible for the assassination of JFK. Sure it’s a mute point to most men, but it’s also oddly fascinating.
I do have to say that the core road trip element of the entire trip occurred in Vegas, namely at Trader Joe’s. Trader Joe’s is the store that Whole Foods wishes it could be, but is just a little too posh and insincere to ever become. There is one key element concerning Trader Joe’s and it can be summed up in one word… wine. Cheap, yummy wine… ok so let’s make that three words.
Utah liquor laws are mostly silly, with a hint or two of mind lobotomizingly stupid. What does this mean? Easy, bootlegging! The art of smuggling alcohol across state lines to assist the never ending urge to completely fill your wine rack at home. I’m not sure why, but the true road trip framework always seems to have an illegal or walking the line of illegal element associated with it. Bootlegging wine from Nevada to Utah was our truly road trippian moment, and it was worth it! I had a glass of one tonight. Besides, it was only one case of wine. I very conservative run based on my bootlegging batting average.
The trip did result in me getting to know two friends a lot better. It was wonderful, and it left me loving my wife more that I did before we started the trip. But she’s one of those people that you can’t help but love more and more every day. So it really was a challenge or a surprise. All in all though, it was a grand and immensely successful trip.
Any road trip insights you care to share?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: road trips, burping, farting, and bootlegging.
I may have been mostly joking when I said there was a conspiracy going on when I had two smoke detectors go lame on the same night doubling their efforts to keep me awake all night due to their battery supplies running a bit low… and by mostly joking, I mean completely. That being said, let’s take a look at what happened to me today.
I was a standard work morning. I’m not sure why, but if I have nothing motivating me to get up and go to work, I’ll either get up rather early, or around noon, depending on what happened the night before. But on a typical work day, it’s pretty average and consistent for me to wake up two hours before work, look at the clock to make sure I have two hours to go until I need to be at work, and then I slap the snooze button with the fervor of one who is a trifle annoyed that a little inanimate object had the audacity to work properly and wake me up when I asked it to. Stupid alarm clocks anyway. Then for the next hour I continue to have a losing battle with the snooze button.
I jumped in the car, pushed in the clutch, and turned the key, and was greeted by … ________ (click). There was nothing, no sound, no lights came on, no radio, no AC, nothing, except a very soft click, which after two more turns of the key fell silent too. My battery was not just drained it was dead, kaput… no more. I would have looked into the trunk to see if I had jumper cables, but I had no power to open the trunk. I did learn that I only have an ignition key which is not the trunk as well. There is, indeed, a difference. So, see I did learn something new today!
