Parenthetically Yours

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)

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)

Dick Clark and Grace

This is an old blog I wrote on Myspace three years ago today. No one read it then, so you'd never know about it unless I told you. I still like it, so here it is. As an interesting sidenote, three years ago today I had my first 6-hour, talk-until-daybreak conversation with Katie and the person I mentioned in the entry who I "wish I had been kissing" was, indeed, her. Worth noting. 

I'm lying in the bunk of our bus, riding along I-40, headed home. The ball dropped in NYC about two hours ago and I celebrated by...well, watching MTV. I know, it's a little lame but my other option was watching Dick Clark's Rocking New Year on ABC. Honestly, I was a little more inclined to watch Mr. Clark. This year, however, Dick was sporting the effects of the stroke that kept him from hosting the show last year. Wow. Talk about a buzzkill. I'm sure his publicists and handlers all were hoping for an appearance that would seem heroic and Oprah-worthy...but instead it was just depressing. But I think that's okay--definitely more appropriate than the joining of two generic bands who formed one superbland on Music Television. Oh, I realize there's nothing wrong to ring in the new year with revelry, parties, and kisses at midnight (which I missed again this year...but at least this year I know who I wish I had been kissing). I mean, there's much to celebrate about the passing of 2005. But there's something a little more human, honest, and sobering to watch a man pass not-so-gracefully into old age. Dick Clark, the world's oldest teenager is now just an old man. There's comfort in that. In an odd way, I feel allowed to age gracelessly, to stumble and fall into my late 30s. To be human without reservation. 

And that is grace indeed.

(rw)

Accidental Sabbath

I suppose I took a sabbatical.

I didn’t mean to, it just happened. First came Thanksgiving week. I knew I wouldn’t be able to contribute much to the blog that week but I figured I’d make up for it during December with my love of all things Christmas. I even was planning a 12-Days-of-Christmas theme where I’d write about that song over the dozen days leading up to the Big Day…but plans (and rules) were meant to be broken.

Break them, I did. Scrapped is more like it. I found myself enjoying the lazy mornings with coffee and conversation too much to even open the computer for writing purposes. Instead, I read and conversed. There’s something that happens when you let information come in rather than only go out. It does something for me, at least. Don’t get me wrong—I love giving my opinion and I usually feel pretty strongly about it. But if you want to see me inspired or contemplative, give me a good book or article or catch me after a conversation with Randy Elrod or Matt Gilder. Or a movie, a documentary.

I love information. I love analyzing it, reformatting it, and disseminating it again. I guess that’s why I got my degrees in Journalism and Education.  And I guess that’s why I took some time off from this site. Just needed to get inspired, watch some TV, listen to some music.

I did just that and now I’m back, inspired (again), and fattened from too many dense holiday meals. In the last 30 days I’ve probably had 15-20 carb-heavy meals, thanks to the Christmas tour I was on. I don’t want to see another potato or cheese or a dinner roll until next Thanksgiving.

Or maybe next Thursday.

(rw)

Where am I?

What is this thing here? Oh…yeah. I have a blog. Sometimes in the hustle and bustle of the season, one can forget what really matters. Important things like peace on earth, goodwill to men, the Christ-child in the manger, and blogging. Not necessarily in that order.

Yeah, it’s been a little busy at the Williams homestead. We’re putting the finishing touches on two Christmas projects, both of which require a great deal of work. Nothing difficult, just time consuming…and no, I will not go into detail regarding the above-mentioned projects because they’re gifts and some of the recipients check this site out from time to time…so GET OUT! I’m trying to wrap presents in here.

To further complicate things, I left Tennessee last Wednesday to be the tour rep for Compassion International on the Point of Grace Winter Wonderland tour. I’ve done this all four years the girls have done this tour, so here I am again. In fact, I met Katie when I was on this tour in 2005. She was helping out when the tour came to Denton, TX and my heart jumped a little as if it recognized an old friend when I saw her. The rest is history, but not necessarily her-story.

Well, my friends, the morning is waning. We’re pulling into Wichita and I need to get back to work on one of the above-mentioned projects. It requires the use of a pretty intense photo-editing program that was designed to be used with newer computer technology. Let me just say that in computer years, a five-year old laptop is 118 in human years. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. But…we do what we can, we soldier on…but not before putting my head through a dozen walls waiting for photos to upload.

…it’s the most wonderful time…

(rw)

CMA, Country is Mediocre Again

So I was all prepared to write a lengthy diatribe about last night’s CMA Awards which was broadcast from our fair city here in Nashville. Diatribe is a little harsh, I guess, but you know what I mean. The main point I was hoping to make is that country music is not simply putting a fiddle and/or a banjo in a pop or rock song. I was getting myself worked up for some morning sarcasm. 

But, you know that feeling you get when you see someone do something better than you could imagine yourself ever doing that something? It’s part awe and it’s part ugh. Well, that’s how I felt this morning when I went to EW.com. I’m a fan of Entertainment Weekly. It’s a great magazine about “the industry” without the stuffiness of Variety or the pop-trashiness of US or People. They have a blog there called PopWatch. It’s funny, self-aware, and really well-informed.  Turns out, the girl said everything I was already thinking and said it in a funnier, more incisive way than I ever could’ve churned out. Plus, after having read it, all I wanted to do was steal some of her better jabs.

So, with that in mind, and to keep me from plagiarism, I’m going to give you some highlights from PopWatch and suggest you check out the entire blog here.

“…it was like a Chevy commercial that wouldn't end but instead kept bumping up against an ad for Ambien starring Jewel…

“Carrie Underwood. Yes, it was cheating to bring out the wife of a deceased soldier to introduce "Just a Dream" and get the waterworks going before she even sang a note. But this was a true showstopper, the emotional equivalent of Sugarland doing "Stay" last year, and official notice that we can now stop looking down on Ms. Underwood because of how she got here. The girl is learning how to use her voice for something other than blowing the doors off the joint every time she steps to the bedazzled mic -- and then she went ahead and blew the doors off anyway. I didn't breathe during this…

“Kid Rock. Regardless of what you think about the song or its presence on country radio, it is really hard to deny that Kid Rock is having way more fun than all of us.

“Awards of special merit. Hootie, a natural performer who really did write a very good country song in "Don't Think I Don't Think About It"…George Strait, because he is George Strait, and Paisley for obviously rewriting several of his jokes at the emcee mic, resulting in occasional brilliance. ("Left game controller," heh-heh.)

 “Kellie Pickler's incompetence as both a country music superstar and/or Pat Benatar! I give her props for bringing everyone to tears during last year's performance of "I Wonder," but she has now skidded back to zero on the cred scale..

“I will go easy on Taylor Swift because if I went hard on the little dead-eyed darling and her ridiculous ballroom dancing fairy tale fiasco (your move, Twilight), I'd probably never get my rage back under control. So she can't sing, has exactly zero stage presence, and has now used the same My-Costume-Change-Will-Blow-Your-Mind gag on two straight awards shows...Carry on, my wayward waif…

“A strong block…of Urban, Underwood, and Sugarland, while James Otto seemed like a sweet kid who should not be taking hair tips from any of the following people: Billy Ray Cyrus, Ronnie Dunn, or that one dude in Little Big Town. And if I'm to believe that Kenny Chesney and his nervous tic motion of the head to the left are what makes for a 97-time Entertainer of the Year, I should hope he'd come packing more than Bob Marley's backing band, now fronted by the reggae equivalent of that Filipino dude Journey found to impersonate Steve Perry. I'm sorry, Wailers lead singer Elan Atias. You seem very talented...but I am not on a cruise…I know many, many people love Kenny -- but I can't stop respectfully wondering how much rum is involved in that affection, because I just don't get it, and I'm trying to get it, and a bar-band rendition of "Three Little Birds" is not helping me get it. Was Trace Adkins really that good on "You're Gonna Miss This," or was Kenny really that pointless?

“We ended with the night's Big Special Guest, Shania Twain, who did not sing, but instead gave Kenny his EOTY award, got ogled, and disappeared into Canada for what I hope is not another six years of winter. Please come back, Shania. While you're at it, bring Garth Brooks, Faith Hill and, I dunno, Alabama with you. Open your mouths and turn these disposable, auto-tuned posers to dust that blows into the upper recesses of the Sommet Center, never to be heard from again. I know that's mean to the disposable posers, and doesn't give enough credit to the talented folks still holding it down with all their might. And I know that the crossover success of people like Shania and Garth and Faith is greatly responsible for the Pickle(r) we're in now. But if this was country's biggest night (until May)... that don't impress me much.”

Yeah. What she said.

(rw)

Now, let's let ol' Hag remind us how it's done without pyrotechnics, autotune, and stylists.

Bogged (and blogged) Down

You would think that after the previous post here, I'd have been a bit more concerned about getting newer content up here in blog world. That was the intention, at least.  As it stands, however, I'm bogged down in a technological sewage dump and can't get out.

Without getting all Geek-Squad on you, I installed an older operating system on my beloved G4 Powerbook (which is five years old this fall) because the newest Mac OS has been frustratingly slow on it...and I can't run my recording software on it. I got the old system (Tiger) installed fine. Protools works great. But nothing else does. Not Word, not iTunes, nothing. I may have even shut down the internet for about thirty seconds last Friday. Did you feel it?

So, all weekend I've been trying to figure out how to import (or even find) my contacts and emails AND since none of the updated apps work I have to reinstall the original versions of them--iTunes, iPhoto, Office, Protools, BLAHBLAHBLAH. On top of that, I'm trying to delete about 40 gigs worth of info. 

Sitting me down at the helm of this is like putting a monkey in a scrap yard with an acetylene torch and expecting the Eiffel Tower in 3 hours. In that three hours, all you'll get is a broken torch with monkey poop smeared across the tank. 

Let's just say this is taking a little more time than expected. 

(rw)

Shameful Self-promotion

Dear (insert name here)

First of all, my heartfelt apologies (not really) for the lack in humorous observational content as of late. Typically I try to write these (as Katie calls them) “bloggy-boos” in the morning hours between 8-10. After that, my day is rolling along like a train running 45 minutes behind schedule. Of course, if I would prepare these things in advance, my train would always be on time. I think I can, I think I can.

This, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m writing about today. I just started writing a brief apology to those of you (about 100 altogether) who find some sort of joy (torture?) to type in my little ole web address and read my words. I appreciate it. I really do. It’s pretty cool that anyone would find it that interesting. For me to go to website it pretty much needs to deal with guitars, music, or Macs.

But you, you are my faithful, loyal few. And that’s why I’m asking this of you today: give me $1,000 in small, unmarked bills, do not touch the silent alarm, and... Wait. Oops. That’s a note for later on today. You didn’t read that. Ok…here’s what I’m getting at. If you like what you’re seeing here, why not share it? In an incredibly vain (and a little embarrassing) way, I’m asking you to do some marketing for me. I’m trying to increase my readership and, as silly as it is, I’m kinda serious about this blogging thing. I’m proud of it, committed to it, and maybe one day it’ll pay for my kids college. Or a chicken sandwich.

So…all that to say (can you tell I’m not so good at asking people to do me any favors?), if you have any friends who enjoy a funny story from time to time, or like an anecdotal, observational thought here or there, or don’t have anything better to do, invite them over here to the party. To make it easier, I’ve written you a sample email to send out.

My dear good-looking, smart friend.

Let me clue you in to a great opportunity. No, you don’t have to sell anything, you simply be yourself and the checks will begin arriving in a matter of weeks.

Wait. Once again, that is an email intended for another group of people. Take two.

Dear smart and funny friend, (you may consider including their actual name. It makes the note seem more “personal.”)

Let me invite you to the party. What party, you ask? I’ve never been invited to a party, you mutter under your breath, especially by this person sending me this unexpected email. Why haven’t they called lately? They still owe me $50. (I’m taking some liberties here, but the point is that your note will get them “thinking.”)

I’ve been spending valuable work/study time reading what could probably be described as the funniest, most culturally important blog of our time. It’s by a man who is sometimes described as “funny,” or “articulate” or, “deluded” by himself and/or others.

To get there, go to www.randywilliams.com (if you’re a nerd, you can make this a “hot link,” but in the Williams house, a “hot link” is something you grill) and enjoy a little free entertainment during these taxing financial times. You’ll be glad you did and I’ll get a $50 referral fee which I can use to pay you back (you won’t really get a referral fee, but this will create “trust” in your “friend” and will “trick” them into coming to the site).

You’re welcome,

Your good friend (“buddy” works just as well here)

Copy. Paste. Send.

(rw)

The Girl in the Window

Yesterday Katie sent me an email that simply said "Go read Dooce and watch the video." So without hesitation I went to our favorite blog Dooce.com and her post led me to a story from the St Petersburg Times in FL that is one of the more disturbing AND inspiring stories I've ever heard. It's a story about a little girl found by police in complete and utter neglect (repulsive, total forgotten neglect). It's a story about the healing hand of love and the family that adopted her. Here's the link for the video and story. If you don't want the audio or video, you can click here to simply read the story.

If ever there was a family that deserved an Extreme Makeover Home, this is it. Any of my Los Angeles friends have any connections to the producers of that show? Anyone know where this family goes to church?

Love and Hope and Faith are winning in this story. My pea-sized brain is envisioning this spreading like a virus through the internet and seeing the family cared for in a way they've yet to see happen.

Come back tomorrow for stories from the Wisconsin State Fair...but today, pray for this family.

(rw)

Tavin Dillard

It's Friday. You need a break. You need a little Tavin Dillard. We all could use a little Tavin Dillard. If you're like me, you have a distant (or not-so-distant) relative a lot like him.

Tavin is the brain-child (without a brain) of my friend Joel Berry from Riverside, California. Joel is an aspiring screenwriter and filmmaker who loves the South (especially Arkansas) and I could always count on the Berrys and the Lamberths to make me feel at home when I lived out there.

Here's his site: Sweet Tea Films. Here's his You Tube Channel. Go ahead, spend some time there.

(rw)