Parenthetically Yours

Favorite Things Friday

This has been an unusually difficult past few weeks for many friends of ours--deaths, tragedies, job losses, etc--so today I'm just going to lighten the mood for everyone. 

If you are/were a fan of Napoleon Dynamite and Nacho Libre (and really, who wasn't?), then you'll be excited to know about this upcoming movie called Gentlemen Broncos. It was written and directed by Jared Hess, the writer/director of those two movies. Plus, it stars Jemaine Clement, the better half (in my opinion) of Flight of the Conchords. If you're into ridiculous parodies of ridiculous self-help gurus, then check out Clement's character, Dr. Ronald Chevalier's own website. 

If you can make it through the 30 commercial, the trailer follows immediately:

I'm going to get in line now for tickets. Unfortunately, there's no release date set...yet.

Have a great weekend...next week: Regular blog posts resume! 

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday

So, let's see. It's been a month. I honestly never meant to go this long without writing. But, alas, no one is paying me to do this so you can all get over it. All ten of you out there. See? You're already over it.

There has to be a great spiritual metaphor in here somewhere about best intentions vs. quantifiable actions...but today isn't the day for that.  It's Friday (again) and it's time to kick the weekend off right. Or left.

AMOS LEE

I realize that Mr. Lee is not new news, but here in the Williams house, Katie has inexplicably become obsessed with his song, "Arms of a Woman." I've always been impressed with his voice, but I always filed him away as the male Norah Jones. Plus, who knows how someone actually sings anymore with all the computer-aided correction that happens on 99% of records made these days. I hate to burst your bubble, but Taylor Swift can't sing very well. She can write a good song and wear a dress well...but sing? Not on your life. So, when Katie and I discovered these homemade videos on YouTube, we were transfixed. The guy has deep soul. 

The first video is laid back, like the recording, but delicate. The second video is the same song, but greasy and with attitude--a totally different vibe, but similarly mesmerizing. Notice how his notes are effortless, coming from somewhere other than simply breath and vocal chords, beyond thought. His talent is a genuine, real gift that only comes along every so often and, unfortunately, rarely shows up on pop charts. Think Stevie Wonder, Alecia Keys, Al Green, Jeff Buckley, and Merle Haggard. Old soul, brewing up from hidden places. They all have (had) it. So does Amos Lee.

SURPRISE WEDDING ENTRANCES 

I love this kind of stuff. Try not to enjoy it. Try not to actually feel like those in attendence. Go on. Try. 

MOVING

Ok. That one is sort of a joke. I don't like moving. We're moving this week from our cute downtown cottage to a nicer, newer condo a mile away. Yes, we're leaving the creaky old house (and requisite spiders and poor insulation) for new digs. I love the process of going through our stuff and throwing and giving away things that take up space. It's incredibly therapeutic to simplify and streamline your possessions. Anybody want 10 years of old SPIN magazines?

PUNS

If you know me, you know I love puns. This morning I asked Katie what would happen if such-and-such happened. She said, "I'd have a cow." I said, "Don't do that because then our first child would be a cow." With zero delay she said, "But we could name her Moo-lissa." AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. 

Yessssss! 

(rw)

Rare Gifts from Across the Pond

Yeah, I know. Long time, no write. I’ve been away. I’ve been busy. I’ve had writer’s block. Let’s see…what else? I’ve been protesting Iranian elections. I’ve been seeing a million faces and rocking them all.

I just returned from an 11 day trip to the UK and Europe and any real blogger worth their salt would’ve have been posting daily updates and photos. I, however, am not worth my salt. I’m even on a low sodium diet too.

But it was a fun and exhausting trip, nevertheless. Getting in touch with Katie proved to be more difficult than I’d imagined, though, for a few reasons. One, Sprint doesn’t exist in Europe (nor does CMDA cell phone technology. Nerd alert.), so it was pointless to turn on my phone. Two, using calling cards was only possible at hotels and after the fourth day, we were on a tour bus and didn’t go to hotels. Skype worked when we had a good (as in, really fast and constant) wireless connection—which was surprisingly difficult to find. I guess that’s one benefit of Al Gore inventing the internet. It’s better in America.

Here's a few pics of Edinburgh and Ireland.

1) Old buildings and a park in Edinburgh.

2) A view looking up to Edinburgh Castle.

3) More old buildings and an old cathedral in Edinburgh (on our way up to the castle).

4) The oldest building in Scotland. A chapel inside the Edinburgh Castle grounds.

5) The Union Jack flying above the castle. William Wallace is still turning in his grave.

6) Galgorm Resort and Spa, where we stayed for three nights in Ireland. Sounds like something out of Lord of the Rings. We looked for wizards, found none. 

7) The Underground at Heathrow. 

Whenever I’ve been to Europe in the past, I’ve always come back with a few funky candy bars, breads, or other sundries. They make incredible gifts—way better than some touristy t-shirt or mug. Plus, it turns any grocery store into a gift shop. While in Scotland, one of the first places I went was a grocery store and headed straight to the jellies aisle. The UK always has oddball jams (maybe because they have tea and bread so often) so I thought it would be cool to get Katie a funky jar of strawberry goodness. I searched up and down the aisle, found a really great-looking jar of Wild Strawberry Conserve (preserves) from France that I thought looked cool but would also taste great on toast. You know, a way to remember the trip whenever I bit down into my crunchy morning treat.

I carried that jar with me for 12 days, always making sure it was safely packed in my suitcase as we traveled from Scotland to Ireland to Germany to Holland to Tennessee. I was thrilled when I opened my suitcase to find it still intact (although the honey I picked up in Holland was all over everything) and with excitement and pride I presented it to Katie.

“Hey love, check out this awesome French jelly I got in Scotland,” I beamed.

She took note of it, went back to unloading the dishwasher and said, “I have some of that in the fridge.”

Haha. Silly girl. She was probably mistaking it for Smuckers. “You’re probably thinking of Smuckers. They have a similar lid.”

Katie, choosing not to argue, opened the fridge, took out a jar of jam, and set it on the counter. Here it is next to the unopened jar of jam I brought home from Europe, being oh-so-careful not to harm it because it was such a rare treat. The differences are obvious. I really hate proving Katie wrong, but when she's wrong, she needs to be aware of it. I don't want her living life oblivious to...the fact that...uhm...she doesn't know...uh...where'd you get that jelly?

Hmmm. She must have bought it at some gourmet shop that specializes in imported foods, right? Nope. Kroger. In fact, I was in there yesterday and their selection of this French jelly was more varied than the store in Scotland. In essence, I went to a whole lotta trouble to bring back something that was available 1.1 miles from my front door.

BUT…I have another little treat for her up my sleeve. I discovered an incredible new band in Ireland. They’re called U2 and I think they’re gonna be big. 

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday - Northwest Edition - Pt 2

Well...this is gonna be a quickie, but I wanted to get something up before I'm detained by the Canadian authorities. Ok. That's a joke. I'm sitting at a coffee shop in Seattle waiting to leave for Vancouver, British Columbia to do a show there tonight...so let's jump in.

TULLY'S COFFEE - There's a running joke in Seattle that if you want to find a Tully's, go to a Starbucks and turn around. This is my favorite chain coffee in Seattle, beating Starbucks' burnt bean juice by a mile. I'm enjoying a piping hot Red Eye (coffee with an added shot of espresso) and there's nary a hint of bitterness. Mmmmmm.

VANCOUVER, BC - If you're dying to go to Europe but don't want to bother with all the travel expense, hassle, and language issues, you have to visit Canada. I know, I know. Canada evokes images of snow, bad fashion, Bob and Doug McKenzie, and progressive rock music. Well, at least it does for me. But...three of the most amazing cities in the world are up here in the great white North: Vancouver, Montreal, and Toronto. But for my money, Vancouver is where it's at. I really wish I had more time to dedicate to this paragraph, but just take my word for it. Good memories in Vancouver.

THIS VIDEO - Ok, this has nothing to do with the Pacific Northwest, but it's awesome. Below is an excerpt of a hilarious interview on Conan with the comedien Louis CK. I saw this the night it aired and loved every word of this interview. I finally found it on NBC.com (an amazing site). By the way, if you get irritated by the 12 second Lowe's commercial at the beginning of this, you may be one of the people Louis is talking about. Just a thought. 

Ok...the weekend is your. Do something great or hilarious with it.

(rw)

Private Joys

I could start a new blog called “funny things Katie does” and it would have 10x the popularity of this one. The only problem is that if I posted every funny or outrageous thing she did or said, the internet might run out of hard drive storage.

Here are some recent examples:

We were having a morning conversation about our day’s schedule and she inexplicably starting talking in a deaf/mute voice, using sign language.

She’s been randomly attacking me around the house (I think she’s happy I’m home).

Retelling a story, she said, “I wanted to tell her ‘shut up you Nazi cow! I’m about to punch you in the face!’ ”

Now, some of these things might come across to the uninitiated as cruel or unusual. Unusual? Yes. Cruel? Yes. Especially when she digs her fingers into that space between my collarbone and my shoulder. Wow. That’s a sensitive spot.

Of course, I’m kidding about the cruel part, although she LOVES seeing me rattled or frightened. Some nights I’m as jittery as a newborn calf wandering around our expansive cottage waiting for her to jump out from under our kitchen table. I jerk and spin and giggle like a 4 year-old. Of course, since she lives life at 150 mph, she doesn’t always stop to consider the ramifications or possible consequences (and since I live life at school-zone speed, I stop to consider every possible ramification. I'm a real treat to live with). This means she regularly hits her head under the table, bangs an elbow into the wall, or dives into my knees. I can’t count how many times I’ve held my belly in a fit of unbridled laughter as she stumbles around the house holding her head mumbling, “O wow ow OHH…I think I really hurt myself.” Hahahaha. That shouldn't be that funny. But it is.

She also has the ability to have ridiculous things happen to her, like the time she heard a mother and daughter arguing one aisle over at Kroger. The next thing she knew is that someone walked up behind her, turned her around and slapped her in the face. The startled mother gasped and Katie screamed (with her voice rising two full octaves), “WHO ARE YOU?” The lady (with her hands over her mouth) nervously answered, “I thought you were my daughter.” Twenty feet away, dressed in nearly identical outfits, with nearly identical hair pulled up in the same messy ponytail, was the daughter looking on in horror. The two walked away from their full grocery basket and exited Kroger immediately while Katie was left standing in the baking aisle, face reddening with the slight impression of a hand on her cheek.

That actually happened.

The difficulty with this sort of revealing blog-storytelling, though, is that probably 90% of the time I find myself saying, "I wish I could write a blog about that." Usually I don't because doing so would just be inappropriate. Sometimes it's because it's, well, inappropriate. Other times it's because--well, private, funny moments are one of the eternal joys of marriage that no one ever told me about. I was always led to believe that the best things about marriage were things like sex, kids, building a home together, etc. But for me, it's the things I can never tell you. Plus, they would be silly and nonsensical out of context. They only make sense in the context of the growing landscape of us living out our vows. There are things she says and does, the records of which will never be stored outside my memory. They're for me. Only. I think that's called intimacy. 

It is a whirlwind of joy to be married to this girl.

Of my dreams.

(rw)

Where Do You People Find the Time?

I meet with a group of guys every Tuesday morning for breakfast, coffee, and a little spiritual/creative/career inspiration. It’s never too heavy and is one of my favorite appointments on my calendar. Good guys. Funny guys. There’s only one issue: I can’t keep up with them.

Every last one of these guys blog, they Twitter, they’re on Facebook and/or Myspace, and they run marathons and triathalons, or race motorcycles (or all three). On top of all that, they have jobs that require travel, meetings—and occasionally—work.

[Editor’s note: if you’re over 35 and aren’t familiar with Twitter, think of it as mini-blogs (140 characters or less) that are sent and received in a variety of ways, but primarily via one’s Twitter home page and/or text messages.]

I just can’t figure out where they find the time. I blog and I Twitter, but trying to come up with something witty and wonderful to say every day is like getting blood from a turnip. Twitter is a little easier, given the smaller word count, but trying to keep up with everyone else’s messages (twits) is too exhausting and having Twits directed to my phone is totally annoying. Who wants their phone blowing up all day with inane comments like "going to the gym to run a million miles. Still sore from all those push-ups yesterday." 

I’m sure Twitter (like every other social networking flavor-of-the-month) is supposed to make me feel like I’m part of a bigger, more inclusive, global society—but honestly, it just makes me feel like I’m either not working out enough, not living as glamorous as others, or that I'm missing out on everything.

But I’m NOT missing out on anything…that’s why I don’t like being told that what someone else did last night was the one event NOT TO BE MISSED. For example, last night I assisted chef Katie in the kitchen (we grilled fish and veggies and baked about four dozen homemade cookies), watched American Idol, helped her with some sorting for work, and scanned through some things on the DVR. By most anyone’s estimation, that was a good night. A great night, even. By a simple review of last night’s messages, though, it turns out I missed Ben Folds’ hometown show, the jam-packed, epic debut of The Civil Wars (another friend’s band), some sort of game night I wasn’t invited to, a friend’s appearance on FOX news, and a general invite to dinner with a big group of friends.

So now I’m oscillating between Eyeore (sigh…I wish I was cool) and smug (you all just wish you were married to such a cool girl). Neither place is a happy place.

And while I’m ranting, let’s be honest for a sec. Twitter is supposed to make us all feel connected, right? But really, so many of those I’m “following” just use it as a forum for inside jokes and @namedropping. Yeah, yeah…I know you’re friends with Tina Fey. I’m sure you’re really close.

UNPLUG America! Read a book. Watch a movie.

I know I’m going to. First, though, I’m going to send @StephenColbert this hilarious photo I took of me and @TinaFey imitating a donkey and an elephant. It wouldn’t make sense to you, but he’ll totally crack up. I need to call him back as soon as I get back from my mid-morning workout. 

(rw)

Night of Joy

One of life’s great joys happened to me last night. Not just once, but twice.

Last night, Katie and I filled our respective bellies with chips, salsa, and enchiladas from our favorite local Mexican spot. Then we moved on to Curious Gourmet (only because Ivey Cake was closed) for a Lemon Basil cupcake (with the frosting piled so high we threw half of it away…heresy!) and then home for some French press coffee. Well, to say the least, all was right in the world. Katie settled in the back room for an overdue phone call with a friend, and I settled on the couch for an overdue date with a Wal-Mart documentary I’ve been wanting to watch (nerd alert!).

About 45 minutes in, I start nodding off. Bad. Like someone had roofied my coffee. You know, the whole head-violently-falling-into-your-chest thing. After a couple of those moments when I thought I was falling off the couch (or out of an airplane), my heartrate had skyrocketed and I was alert for another hour or so, just enough time for us to fast-forward through the American Idol results show we’d recorded. 

At this point, it’s only 10:30 but I’m barely keeping my eyes open. We’d gone to bed around 1 a.m. the night before, so this was a bit on the early side. Teeth brushed, lights out, kiss goodnight…ZZZZzzzz.

I casually woke up (as I often do around 4 or 5 a.m.) feeling hungover and/or dead. With a heavy sense of impending doom, I slowly turned my head toward the alarm clock glowing in the darkened room to my right. I feared the worse: that it was only 30 minutes or so before the alarm, which means my mind wouldn’t allow me to get back to sleep. If I know I have to get up soon, I can’t for the life of me go back to sleep. In fact, I never actually need an alarm because my body automatically wakes up beforehand. This is only one of the joys of being me. Welcome to my world.

Knowing this, I was certain that my day was beginning. I didn’t want to look at the clock at all because it was going to be bad news. But the only thing worse than knowing something is NOT knowing something, so I made myself look.

But something didn’t look right. Now, if you know me, you know that without glasses or contacts, I have the vision of an 85 year-old bat. As you can imagine, at night it’s worse. So here I am, pressing my face closer and closer to the green glowing numerals until they come in clear. 11:58. 11:58?? Really? It’s not even midnight yet? Oh Hallelujah! I’m not even usually in bed at this point! I have an ENTIRE NIGHT of sleep remaining. Oh Heavenly Day! 

With a cozy sense of relief and joy, I snuggled back under the covers and pulled the comforter up close.

Then it happened again! I woke up, this time in a heated fear that the house might be on fire because I’M BURNING ALIVE! I violently throw the comforter off and begin wiping the sweat from my face, neck, and torso. Katie’s awake too doing the same thing. I jumped up to turn the heat down (when I say “jumped up,” think “stumbled like a wino across the bedroom”) and came back to bed. Another glance at the clock: 12:48. What? We went to bed later than this the night before! AHHH…Glory to the Lord of Hosts on high.

Twice in one night, I thought my sleep was over. Twice I was given the gift of many more hours of sweet slumber.

Needless to say, I woke up refreshed and ready to take on the day. Lots of writing to do today, quite a few items on my to do list…but I’m prepared.

Maybe after just the tiniest of naps.

(rw)

Creative Hibernation

It’s amazing how much I can care about something yet do literally nothing to actually care for it.

I love this blog. It’s a source of pride for me (the good kind) and I truly enjoy it. Then why have I not been able to get my fingers a-movin’ across the keyboard lately? Many theories abound, much like a conspiracy nut internet forum, but I’ve yet to nail down why I haven’t been able to come up with (what I believe to be) an original thought since mid-December. Maybe it’s the recession. Maybe it’s the temperature. Maybe it’s decaf.

Whatever it is, it shut me down. And shut me up. 

It seems to be letting up, though, and I’m feeling the juices beginning to trickle again—like the first unfrozen drops of water from an icicle hanging on the corner of a house that doesn’t get sunlight. Here comes the sun. It’s alright.

I think I’ve been sleeping a little better too. I’ve definitely been sleeping harder (more on that next week) and I’ve been waking up with that unmistakable crush of a heroin hangover. You know what I’m talking about, right? You don’t? Well…I don’t either. But honestly, how can I sleep ten hours, wake up, and not want to do anything else but sleep ten more hours? It had to be the jetlag.

Jetlag? Oh. Did I tell you I went to Hawaii last week? I didn’t? Here’s proof:

It was good, it was fun, it was tornadic. I think the wind blew a constant 40 mph the entire time we were there. Don’t get me wrong: it was amazing, refreshing, all that (and more). But don’t get the whole Randy-in-a-grass-skirt-on-a-surfboard image in your head. The waves were out of control and I usually only wore the grass skirt in my hotel room.

(rw)

Allergic Reaction

Allergies suck. They also wheeze, and cough, and sneeze. And I got ‘em.

I’ve had allergies as long as I can remember. When I was in elementary school I remember a doctor telling my mom that I was allergic to wool, down, dust, and pollen. I wasn’t a boy-in-the-bubble type case, but it was significant enough that the doc recommended my mother vacuuming the house every day. Tell that to any stay-at-home mom with two kids and note their reaction. Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.

So I learned to cope. It was never that big of a deal. Sure—come springtime I’d have to stock up on Sudafed and wear a mask to cut grass (which I refused to do). But for the most part, I’ve just lived with stopped up sinuses and the semi-regular sneezing fit when the ragweed gets just right.

Soon after college, I found myself in Chicago visiting a friend. Another mutual friend of ours was having a birthday party and we decided to drop by for a bit. I had always looked up to this particular upperclassman and was looking forward to the visit. Kendall was one of those really smart and wickedly funny guys I always aspired to be, yet never quite achieved. The kind of guy who in the late 80s was still listening to Springsteen and Neil Young on vinyl while I was buying Whitesnake and Queensryche cassettes.

The party at Kendall’s uber-cool downtown Chicago loft was well underway when we arrived. The place was crawling with self-important, highly educated urbanites. These were all of Kendall’s University of Chicago grad-school buddies who talked about Film (not movies) as an institution and Kirkegaard like they hung out with him. Pretention doesn’t come close to describing the scene…and I wanted to be JUST LIKE THEM! One problem: I played Christian music. For a living. In this crowd, I could never be cool, would never have an insightful story to tell. No, I was the guy that makes everyone ask “Who invited him?”  My palms could’ve lubricated a Hummer every time I was asked, “So, what do you do?” Not from embarrassment, but rather I knew what the reaction would be. Stunned silence every time I answered, as if I had said I was from Mars. Actually, I probably would have been given more respect and attention had I actually been a little green Martian.

I just wanted to skulk in a corner in anonymity until we left. Just stand still, Randy, and don't draw any attention to yourself. Then it started. The sneezing. And OH HOW I SNEEZED! And sneezed. Over and over and over. What in the world could I be so allergic to? There’s no down or wool or dust to speak of…what could it…wait. Is that a cat? Do you think I might be allergic to cats? I’ve never noticed that before. Wh-wh-whAAH-CHOO!!

I must have sneezed (no exaggeration) thirty times in 20 minutes. There was snot all over me, my eyes were running like faucets, and I looked like I was either dying or had been smoking meth (which hadn’t been invented yet). Utter humiliation. Needless to say, I left the party 30 minutes after arriving. Good to see you Kendall.

That was the day I learned that I was allergic to cats. Since then I've learned that I’m not allergic to ALL cats, though. I’ve even found one or two whose company I've actually enjoyed (Nadia, you know who you are). However, there is one furry critter named Henry that makes up for all those that don’t affect me.  And I spent three hours with him on Saturday.

My buddy Greg (who was my best man) married my cousin Amy. Great people. Love them. Their daughter Kate makes me want to have kids. Their cat Henry, however, makes me question God’s judgment when he created the feline species. Because of Henry, it’s impossible for me to see them without sneezing…and I don’t mean polite little micro-sneezes. I’m talking about violent, multiple neck-snapping nasal eruptions. It’s as if he has some sort of allergen magnification force field around him against which I’m completely powerless. I took a Claritin and three Sudafed. Nothing. No difference whatsoever. Oh…it was awful. Every time I’d have a sneezing fit, I’d do it six to ten times. Multiply that times the eight or ten fits and I figure I sneezed at least 75 times on Saturday. The first 40 or so were pretty funny and it gave Katie the giggles whenever I’d start up. Somewhere around sneeze number 43 or 44, though, her laughter turned to sympathetic coddling. It was appreciated because the muscles in my neck and shoulders were in absolute shambles by the end of the day.

Yesterday morning, my neck was so wrecked I literally couldn’t turn my head to the left. I nearly ran into a little red BMW getting on the interstate because I couldn’t turn my head to look beside me and I spent last night ignoring practically everyone to my left at a Super Bowl party. If I did turn toward them I resembled Frankenstein, turning my whole body to face them. This morning I feel much better, but my sinuses have yet to drain and my entire upper body reeks of Bengay, Icy Hot, and oatmeal. I smell like a convalescent home. 

This is what kitty cats do to me.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday!

First of all, let me start out by telling you that it's 6 outside. No, that's not a typo and I am not exaggerating for comedic effect. It's 6 degrees. So, when you live in a house that was built in 1924, well...let's just say that insulation technology has come a L-O-N-G way since the roaring 20s. Our thermostat is reading...well, it's not reading anything. It's totally pegged all the way to the left, resting somewhere below 55. My guess is that it's high-40s, low-50s in our house right now. I'm wearing snow boots, thermal underwear, lined pants, a sweater, a scarf and a winter hat. This is an intro for my favorite thing today: Drew's Brews Coffee. Drew Park roasted coffee for years at Nashville's first artisan coffee house, Bongo Java, and started roasting his own beans in 2007. He's slowly built a following around his own hand-made recipes, roasted daily in small batches. Today I'm having a cup of his Gravel Springs roast. Dark and smoky...sooooo good on this frigid morning. Mmmm...hands warming.

#2 on the list is Fred Armisan and Kristin Wiig.  The time I saw Fred Armisan on SNL several years ago, his humor and delivery was so subtle that I thought, "This guy is either an idiot or a genius." Turns out, it's the latter. He can be Adam Sandler ridiculous or Andy Kaufman awkward--either one cracks me up. Kristin Wiig is the funniest girl on Saturday Night Live since Amy Poehler and Tina Fey. Her characters and accents are uncanny and she's not at all afraid to look ugly for a laugh...and that makes me laugh. Suffer though the ads for a couple of my favorite sketches featuring these two.

Finally...this photo by my friend Jeremy Cowart. It's an older photo of his, but one of his most enduring. Go to his website and freak out. For this one, from his book Hope in the Dark, I'll let the picture speak it's thousand words.

(rw)