Parenthetically Yours

Favorite Things Friday

It's been a few weeks since the previous FTF and I've come across some great things in that time...but I won't bore you with all the mindless details. Let me, however, let you know about one of my LEAST favorite things these days: Aer Lingus. What is that, you say? Sounds like some airborne fungus doesn't it? Well, it sort of is. Aer Lingus (or Air Fungus to the Brits) is an Ireland-based airline that lost six (SIX!) of our guitars last week while we were in Europe. Not only did they lose them, but they did nothing to find them. Thankfully a kind employee at British Airways did some legwork for us at London Heathrow airport and found them in Aer Lingus' possession with no destination tags anywhere to be found on them. So...a big YAY to British Airways and a big BOO to Aer Lingus.

Now, on to the favorites.

PORTLAND BREW's Ethiopian High Priest Blend - My favorite coffee. Yeah, I know I talk about coffee quite a bit from time to time here. But, this is the mack daddy, the smoothest, the ultimate cup o' joe. Portland Brew is my favorite coffee joint in Nashville (but we desperately need one in Franklin!). In fact, if you look up and to the left at the photo under the ABOUT section of this blog, that picture was taken at PB of one of their more masterful latte creations. They do coffee/espresso right and the Ethiopian High Priest is a blend of African, South American, and Indonesian beans that is smooth as silk, and dark as an African night. It's also their best seller. I'm sipping some at this very moment.

The PALM PRE - Yeah, yeah. I know. The new iPhones are out. I love 'em and I want one. But it just doesn't make sense for me to get one for several reasons. I got the next best thing. And you know what? I LOVE it! The only thing it's lacking compared to the iPhone is Apple's App Store. The Pre only has a few dozen apps available at the moment, but there are hundreds in the pipeline. The Pre is sleek, fast, small, and is incredibly intuitive when it comes to syncing with your calendar, iTunes, mail, etc. Believe it or not, there are a few things it does better than the iPhone. First, it's with Sprint, not AT&T. Second, it has a real keyboard, not a sketchy at best software-based keyboard. Third, it's smaller. Fourth, your $7/month insurance covers it. Fifth, no need for a separate, proprietary phone plan for it. My $94/month (unlimited everything) is all I need. Sixth, you can leave multiple programs open and switch between them...while on a phone call. Plus it has all the other goodies: GPS, WiFi, full web browsing, universal search, cut/paste, multi-touch screen, etc. Phones are NOT just phones anymore.

PROGUITARSHOP.COM - I'm not really expecting many of you to care about this, but whenever I'm looking for a new piece of guitar equipment, this is my first stop. They have a YouTube channel with over 400 video demos of guitars, amps, and effects. The videos are bare-bones simple but do an amazing job showing the products without falling into hyperbole or over-promotion (which is what I'm doing here). If you're looking for gear, begin your search here. Here's one of their videos demonstrating my favorite new pedal, the Electro-Harmonix Micro POG. (that's a birthday hint)

That's all this week. It feels good to be back. Now...y'all come back.

(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)

You Had to be There

There are some things that you just “had to be there” for. The retelling doesn’t do it justice. That’s because the retelling can never satisfy the details necessary to explain why something was so funny, or epic, or sad.

For instance, all the words I could muster up could never clearly explain why it was so funny last night that my friend Lee choked on rice while laughing at Katie as she successfully guarded her tongue after burning herself and dropping a pan of brownies. You'd have to know that Lee also choked on a noodle a few months ago while sitting at the same dinner table. You'd also need to know that he'd just hit his funny bone so hard it put him in the floor with a numb arm. Epic, funny stuff. 

Also,if you happened to be at this year’s Gospel Music Association’s Dove Awards, you know that if you weren't there, you wouldn’t have been able to understand just how poignant and brutal Steven Curtis Chapman’s performance of “Cinderella” was. For those who don’t know, "Cinderella" is SCC’s song written for and about his adopted daughter Maria, who tragically died several months after the release of the song. 

If you were there in the audience, though, you would’ve known that during a commercial break, singer Donnie McClurkin came onto the stage, got our attention, and made an announcement that Aaron and Amanda Crabb were rushing to the emergency room because their two year old daughter had just fallen from a window and that it didn’t look good. We in the audience were shell-shocked. We prayed, we whispered, we prayed a again for little Eva. Then I noticed that the stagehands were setting up Steven’s band. I recognized his son Caleb tuning his guitar. There was his other son Will adjusting his drumset. Will is the son who was driving the vehicle that Maria ran in front of that fateful afternoon. I thought, “Surely he’s not about to come out and sing that song.” Sure enough. He did.

We were stunned and silent. Honestly, it was too much. Not a dry eye. In spirit, we were in two places at once: on the stage with him and in that ambulance headed to the hospital with the Crabb family. When it was over, we stood for well over a minute with a mixture of tears and applause. It was the defining moment of a show that was, quite frankly, void of meaning. But in that moment, the Dove Awards show was transcendent, and ironically, sacred. It took on a depth and weight that is never present or expected at awards shows. Even tributes and memorials come off feeling put-on and manufactured. But you couldn’t have manufactured this moment, which is precisely what made it bigger than the sum of its parts.

And that’s the miracle of Providence.

But you had to be there.

(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)

Hi Randy. Welcome to 2006.

(I’m working on an article for Lifeway about community in the age of Facebook. The following is just me working out some of my thoughts. I promise I’m not this old-fashioned. I am a little. But not a lot. You may proceed.)

So, I got on Facebook. Finally.

I’d been fighting the process for a while because, quite frankly, there are some people out there that I’d just as soon not ever talk to again. I don’t mean that in a jerky kind of a way (maybe). I’m talking from a purely practical I-don’t-have-time-for-all-this kind of a way. I mean, come on. Really? Do you want to be reconnected, reunited, reintroduced to all of those meaningless acquaintances you’ve had over the years? Not me. Sure, if I was 18 or 24…or 30 even—maybe. But 40? I’ve met and forgotten literally hundreds of people. We all have.

When I was 24, that number was significantly smaller and manageable, for lots of reasons. One, I was younger and hadn’t met as many people because I hadn’t toured or been on the road yet. I’ve had 16 more years of meeting and greeting since then. But I think the biggest reason is that today’s technology wasn’t there keeping us connected.

Think about it: It was 1993. I had no email, no cell phone, I had to get my film developed at Wal-Mart, I had a cassette adapter for my portable CD player, and my Mac had a hard-drive capacity of what amounts to 20 hi-res photos. I was finishing grad school, student teaching, and writing for local paper and had go to the office to deliver my floppy discs to my editor. Today I’ve been writing for Lifeway for over a year and have yet to meet the two editors I work for. Convenient? Totally. Connected? Not at all.

I know I tend to write about this kind of stuff often, but are we really connecting with people? Or are we complicating our lives with minutiae? There are only a handful of people I’d really love to be reconnected with. And you know what? I’ve already “friended” three of them. So, in that sense, Facebook is doing its job for me. What I’m afraid of is that I’ll have to wade through about 300 other former acquaintances from high school and college to get to that prime dozen or so people I’d like to see again. Just because we went to the 1988 Harding University Groundhog party (Go Titans!) does NOT mean we should reenter each others’ lives. Plus, there’s a reason the disconnection happened in the first place. Maybe lots of reasons.

I think what’s happening is that there is such a lack of connection, such a lack of community, that it’s driving us toward these virtual social networks. One where you can’t see expressions, hear tones of voice, smell perfume or cologne, feel a hug, or share a meal together. Not one of our five senses are being used in the process. Is this connection? I don’t think it is.

That being said—I still joined Facebook this week. And I’m on Myspace and Twitter. I mean, sure, it’s amazing to see what folks are up to and there are constant surprises in my Inbox, which is fun. But I have to be honest…I’m going to be one of those people that doesn’t answer messages or write on “walls.” That is, unless I’m your husband or your uncle.

What’s hysterical about the whole process is that it turns out I already had a Facebook profile. It had been deactivated about three years ago from lack of activity.

 

 (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)

Big Picture from the window seat

It’s easy to get caught up in my own superficial issues and personal drama. I mean, it’s happening to me, right? So how am I not supposed to get caught up in it? I can be like a fish in a net, fighting a losing battle. But the drama isn’t the net. The net is me. I get caught up in me. All it is is self-centeredness. If you put you at the center of everything, then everything becomes about you. Even other’s issues or struggles become about how they’re affecting you. It’s a common problem that we have because we’re human beings.

I’ve always heard that the best way to get over yourself is to serve someone else. Whether it’s a spouse, a friend, a relative, a homeless guy…whatever. Just go do something for someone other than yourself. It really does work, at least for a little while. Definitely worth the time.

Me? I take a flight.

My dad worked for Texas International Airlines (which became Continental Airlines) when I was growing up so I was flying at an early age. I loved the window seat then, and I love the window seat now. Sure, it makes it difficult getting up if I need a restroom break, but the pros outweigh the cons. See, I’m kind of a Big Picture person. Ask Katie about this, who is a details person. I may not remember word for word the conversation, but I have a general idea about what we were talking about. It can be annoying, to say the least. Again, ask Katie about this.  Here’s an example:

Did you hear so-and-so is having a baby?

No way! When did they find out?

Uhm…

Well, do they know what they’re having?

I, uh…

When are they due?

I think they, uh…(I’m still thinking about the first question)

Randy! Did you ask them anything?

They, uh…she’s, um, having a baby…? I think?

So, being a Big Picture person, it always serves me well to take a flight. I remember taking a flight at some point in high school (who knows when or why I was flying? Remember, Big Picture.) and having an epiphany-type moment. As the cars and houses became smaller and smaller immediately after takeoff, I remember having a sudden realization that inside every single car, and inside every single house were actual people dealing with life that day. There was hurt, joy, apathy, success, distress, boredom, genius, secrets, and on and on. This overwhelmed me and it’s all I could think about for hours.

Since then, I can’t get in a plane without thinking about it and it spills over into everyday life when I’m in traffic or standing on a stage looking at hundreds of faces staring back at me. I’m constantly reminded of that Big Picture epiphany I had in that window seat all those years ago. We’re ALL going through it. Fill in the blank. Everybody hurts. Or laughs. It’s overwhelming, but hopefully it makes me a little more understanding. A pinch more compassionate.

Now, don’t get me wrong. More than I’d like to admit, I’m a thoughtless, self-consumed cliché of a jerk. But every so often, the revelation will unfold and remind me that I’m not actually the center of the universe.

(rw)

Crazy Plane

Far be it from me to complain about someone’s kids, because I know that children are fundamentally flawed. Or, to use a clinical term, friggin’ crazy. Equally so, it’s rare that you would ever hear me complaining about someone’s parenting skills because I know that parents are fundamentally exhausted and confused. They’re just trying to find a little logic and reason behind why little Calvin thought that hammering nails into the coffee table was not only a good idea, but that his mommy and daddy would be rejoicing in the hallways at both his artistic achievement and his superior command of his still-developing motor skills.

All that to say, it takes a lot for me to really question a person’s parenting skills.

Monday night I was on a plane with a lady whose skills I questioned. Even as I write these words, I don’t think I can adequately describe what I saw and heard.  

It all started out with a little guy (maybe 2) freaking out because he wanted to sit on his big brother’s lap next to me. That’s normal—little bro wanting to hang with big bro. Well, big bro (maybe 7) kept staring out the window, obviously wishing little bro would just be quiet. This, of course, made it worse for little brother and he started doing something beyond crying. He was out of control wailing. Mom could do nothing to settle him, so instead she took the victim route and started to explain to him why he wasn’t allowed to sit with her brother—the TSA regulations, the airline rules, etc. This was done at such a volume it was obvious she was letting everyone on the airplane know it’s not my fault! I would love to let him sit with his brother, but the airline won’t let him! Sure, these behaviors are manifestations of a total lack of boundaries and discipline in our home, but it’s someone else’s fault! I kind of doubt the little brother understood anything she was saying because the wailing became puking. Yep. He cried so hard that he threw up. Three times. Then the mom started explaining how he does this any time he doesn’t get his way and how he threw up 5 times on their previous flight. She loudly explained that this is just an attention behavior that he does daily. I couldn’t tell if she was a hippie or a child psychologist. Or an alien from the planet MyKidNeedsToBeSpanked. Of course, she was telling this to no one in particular. In a darkly comic turn, the seven year old next to me then began explaining to me all the various things that could happen to make our plane crash and how if part of the propeller came off (we were on a small commuter plane) it could fly inside the plane and kill people. All of this was happening at the same time as the aroma of fresh vomit began filling the tiny fuselage.

This was all before we took off, mind you. 

(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)