Gene's Blogosaurus Rex

Losing the Story

2011-11-02T14:32:00.002-04:00

One of the criticisms that seems to always surface about the Bible is that it's a contrived story. There is a lot that underlies the criticism, but one of the things that is usually tied with it is the idea that because it was written with a purpose (or a bias), that it can't be trusted.

Obviously, this is a simplistic reading of the criticism, but it works for now.

It reminded me of one of the quotes from Steve Jobs' Commencement Address to Stanford University in 2005 (the full text may be found here.)

“Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

I'm not advocating Jobs' read on purpose. What I want to bring out is this idea that we all create our own stories. We all connect the dots in our life to show that there had to be some reason for this or for that – it's how most of us try to come to grips with a universe that we don't control. It's how most of us try to define our universe in terms that it might very well be working toward the end of our own beneficence.

But what do we do in a world where there is no editorial management of what is known and what is unknown? How do you connect the dots of “Eating right now.” “Studying right now.” “Walking outside.” etc.? If it's not clear, let me make it so: in a world where relationships are defined, upheld, and propelled by status updates, circles, and tweets, how to we form a cogent story about our lives?

The dilemma probably revolves around the idea that the ideal is a personal story. The Bible is not about your personal story, however. And so a Christian might be placed even more at odds with a culture that places the context of story in an electronic and impersonal environment, an insular space where your story is cultivated by stream of consciousness, selfish ramblings, and arguments that do little to convince.

The Bible is written with a bias. The Bible is written from a perspective that believes that all of humanity is wrapped in the story of a Creator God and how humanity, from very nearly the very beginning, decides that the dots don't connect to God's story, but the story of self-importance and interpretation of life outside of the community of God.

humanity is one reason why I love coffee shops

2011-10-21T11:45:00.001-04:00

I love coffee shops. Part of this comes out of my love for coffee. Part of this is because it provides a forum to observe humanity as it enters. The music is rarely too loud. The environment is rarely less than inviting. The baristas are often friendly and if you stop in enough, they even know your name.

There is a sense in which a coffee shop will put up with anyone and almost anything. Granted, this probably has more to do with economics than a real love for people or a desire for community (though, I wouldn't necessarily say that this isn't the desire of the proprietor of a coffee drinking establishment).

Today, I sat and read in a place called The Green Line Cafe in university city. Hipsters came in and left. Speakers of foreign languages came in and left. A woman with children who were not her own came in and left. The children were loud and multicultural... and fun to watch. A “crazy” man came in, introduced himself to everyone, assured the baristas that he wasn't there to stir trouble (this time), and tried to set a date with some of the female patrons as he explained to everyone that he volunteers at the local V.A.

Today, I sat and read and drank coffee in the midst of humanity. I was reminded that I love coffee and that I love humanity in a way that my upbringing would have never allowed. That, my friends, is a peculiar grace through Christ, Jesus.

Hoarding...

2011-01-31T09:26:00.006-05:00

One of the show's Laura and I started watching during our sitting times with Jude is A&E's Hoarders. The title of the show should give a fairly strong indication of what it's about.

But why am I thinking about it this morning?

My inbox has always been notoriously... full...

Right now, I have nearly 1500 messages there (don't worry... only 21 or so are "unread").

It got me to thinking about my dad. This isn't going to be one of those touching remembrances or a (perhaps) heartfelt lament of what it will be like raising our son having never met his paternal grandfather.

No... this is a little along the lines of the inheritance of sin.

So there's this verse in the Old Testament of the Bible that says, "And those of you who are left shall rot away in your enemies' lands because of their iniquity, and also because of the iniquities of their fathers they shall rot away like them." (Lev 26:39).

I really should mention that the context of the verse isn't dire hopelessness, but a hope found through repentance and the promise of forgiveness from God to His people.

But I'm thinking about this for a few reasons this morning. On the one hand, I think, "What sorts of things will I pass on to my son?" It's really caused me to second guess some of the things that I say and some of the ways that I act when I'm around him. On the other hand, it makes me think of the baggage I'm carrying as well.

I think there are some who would veer to heavily on the personal responsibility side to say, "Well, you just need to 'man up,' (in some respect) and take responsibility for what you do." There is another dichotomy that might say, "Well, you can't help what you do because you've been formed and conditioned by the context in which you were raised." Then there's the middle ground - the ground that I think a lot of us would stand if we really thought at some length about issues of sin. That is, that nature and nurture both play a part in the actions we perform and the motivations that drive those actions.

Specifically, there is the inner influence of the me that believes that comfort must be found (though, comfort is a good thing). That same self might decide that comfort shouldn't... or wouldn't... be found by seeking the Lord. So the outward me comes into view to say, "Look, remember how you may have been taught in the past? Think about the things that bring comfort... the things that bring security..."

In the house I grew up in, there wasn't a lot that went to waste. If we saw something on the side of the road that looked even remotely valuable, then it was valuable enough to be picked up. Granted, we weren't nearly as bad as the hoarders depicted on the A&E show, but we had our moments. We had a garage full of miscellaneous wood.

There were planks of different sizes.

There were sides of old plywood boxes.

There was furniture.

There were old pipes.

There were boxes full of rusty hardware.

I remember that there were times where I couldn't walk into my own room (this, however, was my own fault) due to the piling of things on the floor. And even now... it's really difficult for me to throw away some things, or to give others (that are in decent condition) away as there "...might always be a use for that later."

So this is a light thing, but perhaps heavy in its implications. My own father did not grasp for Christ in this life. And sometimes, I see the actions he pursued to bring comfort and security being amplified in my own life (perhaps they're amplified because they are introspective?). His days were spent by working hard when he was at "the office," and being served and entertained while he was at home. His weekends were spent foraging and gathering and seeing success as what had been accumulated through all of his aforementioned hard work.

And I see a lot of him in me.

On a somewhat side note, I think that we (being inclusive of you if you are of the people who subscribe to this faith of following after Christ) may have a tendency to gloss over sin and to shoot straight to the primary growth of the root rather address the reality of what comprises the secondary growth. Often, then, the answer is "Well, you need to love Jesus more," or, "You need to to worship Jesus rightly," or, "You need to understand that your real problem is you own base sinfulness and not just the effects of that base sinfulness." However earnest the "encourager," in these situations might be, what is often not taken into consideration is the fact that people who believe themselves as Christians are people who are wrapped up in a process of being changed while still living with the residual intricacies and problems of the sin that remains in their (our) lives.

As such, salvation is not the magic wand that removes the sense and belief of the power of comfort apart from God, or security apart from God, or acceptance apart from God, or anything else apart from God from the exercise of our day to days on this side of heaven.

But... a lot of times... we think it is.

A lot of times, it becomes really easy to judge people whose outward lives are a mess.

A lot of time, it is easy to deny the fact that Jesus saves people whose lives are an outer and inner mess.

More than that, there can be a total denial that culture, family, education, history, philosophy, etc. has the power that it does in shaping who we are and are to become.

What Christ has committed to in the incarnation, what he has committed to in His expression of true Humanity and true Spirituality is to call us instantaneously righteous by his death and resurrection while simultaneously living with us through our ineptitude in the process of living a life with him (I've heard a lot of people - professors and pastors - call this the "already" and "not yet" of Christianity. That is the reality of this life of living in faith of following after Christ.

But still... I really need to clean out my inbox.

** I was doing a search for a goofy picture I could add to this, so I searched "Jesus Hoarder" and ended up pulling a great snippet from Ed Welch at CCEF - you can read it by clicking here. He states (shortly) that hoarding is a little unique to western culture and gives some points to work with if you (or someone you know) is struggling with hoarding.

Entertainment Part Deux

2011-01-29T08:18:00.005-05:00

This is a follow up from my last post about entertainment. More specifically, it's about some of the music I listened to and what I'm listening to now.

First off, an album that I downloaded twice (the first time I purchased it, I left it on Laura's

computer... the second time, it landed into mine):Come O Spirit! Anthology Of Hymns And Spiritual Songs Volume 1. So... We apparently purchased this album a year or so and then again this January! In any case, we actually sing many of these during the many of the services of the church we attend here in Philadelphia. What gets to me with many of these hymns is how well the tunes (the musical arrangements) are matched to they lyrics. I think there's a lot of good theology here and it seems to be heart-felt from the singers' perspectives... a least I'd like to think that it is and does. There's nothing really showy about how they perform, and in many areas there really seems to be a minimalist approach to the music - but the music and the words work to really encourage my soul. You can also find the chords to the music (for free) by going directly to the source at Great Comfort Records.

Another album I've really enjoyed over the past year is The Apples in Stereo: Travellers in Space and Time (type is theirs', not mine). I've written more in depth review on amazon.com (you can check it out by clicking here), but my first sentence from that review really sums up what I think about it by saying, "In a musical world of emotional opining and slow beats, this album tends to stand as a breath of fresh air for me." The Apples remind me a little of the Beatles in electro-pop fashion. That may be hard to swallow (or believe) - but again, it is my opinion that they're pretty nice.

Other albums worth listening to (though, not worth writing about right now as much has already been said about them) are Sufjan Steven's Age of Adz and his EP, All Delighted People in addition to The Decemberists' The King is Dead.

Actually... I will comment on the last album.

I haven't been able to stop listening to it. It is lyrically rich and while keeping the storytelling short and interesting. If you haven't purchased this album, you probably should...

Reflections: Entertainment...

2011-01-15T14:46:00.002-05:00

Still posting from Corrin's prompts. Today's task:

Entertainment: What music do you currently listen to? Why do you prefer this genre? What kind of TV shows do you watch? What do you love about them? Do you have a favorite movie that you have really enjoyed watching this year? Game? Pastime?

There's a lot to talk about here... so today, I'll stick with TV.

Laura and I don't own a television.
We never have.

The strange thing about this is that we both grew up around televisions. When I was growing up, I spent my summers sitting in front of a television. People who talk to me will often say, "Wow, you're from Alabama? (after they find out that I'm from Alabama, of course) I can hardly notice an accent." I quickly respond, "Yeah, it's because I was raised, in part, by television," because I know it gets a laugh; trustme, this has been tested many times. Laura has mentioned that at times, her family would leave the television on just for the background noise. My dad would rest in front of his television on the weekends and literally fall asleep while watching westerns, war movies or science fiction.

But when I left for college, I left my television at "home."
There was a reason... but I can't really remember why. Though, I left a lot of things at "home"...

None of this, however, was due to some sort of religious conviction. It was not because a television could not be afforded (I mean, seriously, televisions cost less than eReaders these days). It wasn't due to a strict asceticism.

When Laura and I first married, we decided to not purchase a television so that we could talk more.

These days, we still don't have a television. But neither do we talk as much as we used to (not saying this is good or bad, because we still talk often).

These days, we watch television online.
We buy our music online.
We rent movies... online.

Television we watched online

It would be difficult to talk about our television watching experience without discussing the phenomena of Lost. If you watched, then you know that all of us "Losties," came back to the Island, season after season, for different reasons. You also know that most of us were fairly disappointed by the sad ending. And by sad, I mean "fairly lame." These days, television writers are under the impression that almost all viewers are okay with vast swaths of ambiguity. So Lost continued to spiral around like so many pieces of plane falling to the earth until not too much was recognizable anymore. What I loved about the series was the complexity of the characters... at some point, you could come to love aspects about every main player (even John Locke... even Ben Linus). At several points, it was easy to absolutely loathe the actions that the characters partook in... the expressed thoughts they had... the directions they chose (you might think Hurley is ultimately lovable - but do you remember early on when he was hiding and hoarding the food he found?). But the end... **you might want to stop reading if you're only just now catching up with Lost**... all I can say is "Seriously?"

I mean... walking into a "place of worship," whose stain glassed windows represented all major religions. Coming to find that Jack's dad was some sort of guardian angle. Realizing that while the island was some sort of key to all of existence via space and time... that it all ended with some sort of mushy and confused "feel good" moment.

Blech.
Still, as a series, it was awesome.

These days, as I feed the baby, we've been watching Undercover Boss. One of the great things about this show is that every executive starts by seeming to give off an air of, "I'm going undercover to try to figure out how we can really make this company (read: Bottom line total cash intake) better by seeing what our employees are really doing," and comes out on the other side often realizing how inept they are at the nuts and bolts of their own business.

Another trend I've started to notice is that in every show, there is at least one ridiculously sad circumstance with one of the workers. One show depicted a single mother of an autistic son while also being behind on her mortgage. Another showed a man who was saving up money with his fiance to purchase burial plots next to his stillborn daughter. This is often juxtaposed with an executive that is so blown away by a person's work ethic in spite of their circumstances that he (because I've only seen "he's" so far) gives that person a fat check, or puts them on a path toward a promotion in their company, or sometimes both. What really comes out (for me at least) is one of the the things that several of us perhaps fear - that the divide between those who have much and those who have little is severely deep in our society... but this is perhaps another topic for another time.

There's also The Office, Coco and Colbert (among others) when we want a good laugh.

What I am actually getting into now (when I feed Jude alone, because Laura doesn't like this show) is Dexter. A friend of mine told me he wasn't a fan because the sense of morality in the show is very black and white. I can understand that criticism (i.e. Dexter's vision of what should and shouldn't be done is very clear and doesn't allow a lot of flexibility in understanding the human condition)... but I also can't stop watching...

Reflections: Children...

2011-01-14T09:39:00.003-05:00

Today's post is prompted by Corrin's new list of Reflections.

Children: Who is the most important child in your life and what have you learned from them? If you have your own children, is it everything you thought it would be? What do you want to teach them in 2011?

Unless you happened to stumble onto this blog out of "the cloud", you knowthat 2010 brought about the birth of our son, Jude. So the obvious answer to the first part ofthis question is that our son is now the most important child in our life.Laura and I are still processing those things that we are learning from him and parenthood in general. When I first saw him, and sometimes even now, I am absolutely amazed that in some sense, we made this person (though we confess that it was the Lord who knit him in the womb).

Several people have told me that the first thing they did was to count the fingers and toes of their children (some say by instinct). This is not the first thing I did. In fact, I don't recall a time where I began numbering my child's appendages. For me, the first thing that happened was a flood of emotion and the overwhelming reality that my wife and I were now parents. I try to say this without sounding superficially religious... but there was a real sense of the presence of God during that time. More specifically, I felt that I knew his fatherliness in a way that I had not before.

In October 2009, we lost our first baby due to miscarriage. She was only 9 weeks along, but it was a really difficult thing for us. I say "she," as testing after Laura's operation proved that the baby probably had what is called, "Turner's Syndrome."

That was a time where Laura and I cried a lot together.

There were complications with this pregnancy too. I remember driving to the hospital with Laura for one of her regular check-ups. I remember not wanting to pray - not wanting to be let down by a God who I felt did not listen very often. I remember thinking "Please...please...please," while also believing that once the ultrasound was performed, we would see another lifeless fetus.

I remember that our sadness was thick.
Much of our ride to Pennsylvania hospital was in silence.

In waiting room of the lab where they do the first trimester ultrasounds, we sat. We were given a room and we waited.

The technician came in and pressed the cold machine to my wife's belly. At first, nothing. Then, a flutter. Then... the familiar sound of a heartbeat and the mentioning of, "looks like you have a healthy baby."

I am learning, through this experience and the birth of my son just how completely fickle my faith can be. Jude's birth did not affirm that, "If you pray, God will listen and answer." While I think prayer has been better for me, I think it is still something I am working through.

No, Jude's birth gave me a glimpse (I think) into the heart of God. I loved my son in a way much different than I love my wife and it affected me in a great way to think that there is a fatherly love for me from the Lord as well. At the time, I was also working through a class in Reformation Church History. One thing continually sticks out to me from the writings of Martin Luther (and this is a summary) in that God takes that which is unlovable and makes it lovable. There is (as my professor said) no good analogy that we can make that compares our own love with our understanding of God's love for his people.

It hit me squarely that I love Jude because he is very lovable. He came out with a full head of hair, a generally wonderful disposition and a smile that is indescribable. When I hear him cry, I want to go to him because he is lovable.

I, on the other hand, am not lovable. My heart is laid bear before the one by whom all things are made, and yet he still comes to me when I cry out to him.

He has made that which is unlovable lovable.

I don't say this lightly... Jude reminded me that God does love his people... that perhaps there is even love for me. He is teaching me that the patience of a father is not even a shadow of the depth of the patience of my Father. These are difficult lessons; while I know my dad loved me I also grew up under circumstances that were not often ideal. Our home was tumultuous and there was not (and even now, even almost six years after his death) a lot of love that came out of the place I was raised (this, perhaps is a topic for another time - and don't get me wrong, my mother is a very loving woman). All to say, Laura and I want Jude to grow up in a home where there is real forgiveness.

We want a home of openness without holding grudges or of judgment behind smiles.
We want a home of graciousness rather than argumentation and bitterness behind yelling matches.
We want a home where life, peace and completion overcomes the curse of death.
We want a home where Jesus is central... where He is more... where we are less.

And we are still learning how to make it there.

Reflections: Fashion...

2011-01-08T08:44:00.004-05:00

Blogging through the week will be a little difficult going this month for me. I started winter Greek this past Tuesday. This essentially means that I am trying to complete a semester's worth of greek (two hours worth) over the course of January.

All to say, bear with me.

Today's assignment from Corrin's blog: What is one current fashion you love and one you hate? Share a photo of a fashion blunder you have made.

I actually chose this one because I have a photo of a fashion blunder that reaches back into my college years.
I actually do not have any sense of current fashion.

So, to the first two questions, I acquiesce to my wife (who is an interactive designer for a well known lady's clothing brand).
(interlude: While my wife is actually thinking about these questions, she has asked me to clean the bathroom... so I turn my computer over to her)

Laura: Sorry, Gene I'm in the same boat as you. I really tried hard to think about what is currently fashionable and came up empty. I'm so immersed in the mommy world of my maternity leave that the only fashion I'm aware of are jeans with an elastic waistband and oversized black t-shirts. Anyway, if you looked back to my college days, you would know how ironic it is that I work in the world of fashion. I lived in baggy pants and paint-stained t-shirts. :)

Gene: Well... anyways, here's a picture of a fashion faux pas from the past (and if you'd like to look back at our college days, you can check out some of our pics by clicking here):

Reflections: Laughter

2011-01-03T22:11:00.001-05:00

I don't know how to say it... it's small... subtle things. I feel like our humor has become similar the longer we've been married.

How so?

Sometimes, everyone in a room will be silent, but you and I will be laughing. There was a time that we were at Bryn Mawr [The Birthing Center] and we were watching a video. Everyone was silent during this one part but you and I were just laughing.

Subtle.

Weird.

Ironic things that we sometimes laugh at.

I don't know how to phrase it, but it's just life's ironies... I don't know...

This is a question that I punted to my wife tonight to answer. The

italicized are her responses.

I really think I laugh at a lot of the same things others do... but I think that there has been a transformation at what I laugh at and why I laugh. I remember sitting in an English class in MiddleSchool... we all had to read an essay we had written. I think my essay was on disassembling and then reassembling a lawn mower engine (it was something I had recent experience in and a task that is uniquely dull and tedious). When it was my turn to read, I remember standing.

And then I laughed.

I laughed uncontrollably.

I laughed because I was unbearably nervous.

The teacher told me I could sit back down.

That nervous laugh left me over time. I can actually stand up and say nearly anything in a crowd (sometimes).

What my wife was getting at though is that there are still a lot of instances where I will laugh and no one will know why (sometimes she doesn't understand either). My imagination runs when I see or hear things and often it creates a context that might or might not exist.

So... I laugh at possibilities of humor.

I laugh at the things in life that a lot of people think of as normal.

Normal is funny to me because I'm usually thinking about the things that lead up to the event, or maybe what might follow. Sometimes I'm thinking about something totally unrelated to the people I am talking to because of something else that happened somewhere else with someone else that happens to be very similar to what is happening with the people I am talking with.

I've been told more than once that this makes other people nervous.

I love to laugh though. I laugh at a lot of things. Laughing means that I'm not hurting and (hopefully) the people I am with aren't hurting. Laughter makes me think that God has a sense of humor even as all of use are created in His image (I laugh at things that happen in the Bible to0 - some of it is ridiculous while still miraculous - when was the last time you were spoken to out of someone's ass; it really happened per the Old Testament! Check it out here in several translations.) Laughing is a stark reminder that even though my soul is broken, there is hope in a world where Jesus promises that one day there will be peace and wholeness.

I like to laugh until I cry. I like to laugh with other people. I am pretty simple to please and will often and admittedly laugh at very crude things.

Laughing is proof of my humanity even while I will act sub-human.

Here are some other things that make me laugh. Hopefully this non-exhaustive list will help you to laugh too:

I laugh a lot.

On Compliments

2011-01-02T14:19:00.004-05:00

Working through Corrin's Reflections Project. Today: "What was the best compliment you got this year? What compliment would you secretly like to get? Be as honest as possible."

The most honest answer I can provide is that I often despise compliments as much as I despise criticism. There is a dark feature of the way my self tends to operate (I think this is an appropriate usage of the possessive noun "my self," rather than "myself"). My self tends to shy from receiving compliments. When compliments are bestowed, I think that my self will often work to down play those expressions or even dismiss them altogether.

There is not any one compliment I could remember that I received over the course of the year (actually, there are a few, but they're all recent... so I think it qualifies as not being able to remember the rest).
I cannot think of one compliment that I would secretly like to receive over the coming year either.

Part of this is borne out of a certain self image - half way puritanical even. There is the thought that to say or accept anything good said about myself would be a work of abject hypocrisy. I say this because I know myself and I know the sort of sludge and muck that rests beneath the surface of the outward appearance of what seem to be victories and failings.

But here's the reality: this view of my self in the rejection of criticism and compliment is borne more out of a pride that neither allows others the freedom nor right to observe what is good and bad about what they see in Gene Twilley. That pride is a sort of denial of the gospel of Jesus in that it attempts to extinguish the lights that shine on my neediness. As it is, self-definition is the idol who rules the roost and fights hard against any real sense of community, or of dependency, or of real humanity in the depths of my own soul.

This is the antithesis to humility.
This is the antithesis to the Spirit of Christ within me.

The two: a denial of compliment and a denial of criticism is so intertwined within me. "How?" one might ask. "How," I would respond, by merit of the fact that if you have the freedom, right or privilege to not only see what might be deemed as good in me but also declare it, then you might also have the right or privilege to see and declare what is bad in me. If that's the case - if my laundry is hung out before the both of us, then that which is damnable really needs to be addressed as it makes for a bit of awkwardness for you to see something in me, say you see it, and for me to leave it out there hanging. And if that's the case, if I can hear and respond gracefully to your criticisms and compliments about me, then I (and this is specific to me) am really getting the gospel of Jesus in that I am understanding the need I have for you in my life.

Objectively, I get this.
Practically, this is a little more difficult for me.

And I'll be honest saying that there are people who do not subscribe to the same set of beliefs that I do who excel in taking criticism and compliment. This is an area that has some elasticity in the spectrum of life. In my spectrum, it just happens to reflect the muck that resides in me.

New Year, New Post

2011-01-01T18:58:00.003-05:00

A friend's wife (and by extension, friend herself) wrote a comment to me as what I deemed a challenge to start blogging again. You can check out her challenge by clicking here. Essentially, it is a thirty day jaunt of reflecting over 2010 (while not being married to having to blog everyday).

Today's assignment: Describe the best moment, the one you really want to remember, from 2010. Paint a word picture and then share an actual picture.

I think that the easy thing to say would be, "The birth of our son." While this event is, undoubtedly, the most memorable and the best even that has happened to the Twilley's in 2010, I'm not going to write about this event (maybe some other time... but not right now).

The middle of the summer was burdensome by measure of heat. Philadelphia is a surprisingly hot city during the summer months. Sometimes, I check Birmingham's weather just so that I can reassure myself that even though we're 900 miles away from where we used to live, the temperature is still (at times) unbearably hot.

I wake up early because I'm used to waking up early for my job. My commute is easily one hour in the morning, many times more. In the afternoons, I am on the road for one and one half hours... sometimes two. As I said, sometimes I wake up early. When I do this on the weekends, I walk the dog so that I can come back and make breakfast for my wife and I. On Saturdays and Sundays, I find that I am strangely unfamiliar with my own neighborhood.

There is a depth of silence that is often yearned for (by some) yet seldom experienced. The silence with the warm morning air is strange and burdensome to me.

My own neighborhood is alien to me.

I worked for Allstate for nearly six years. There is so much that I learned from my experience there... so much that I gained and so much that I gave. But this day marked a new chapter for these Twilley's in Philly.

I walked in to the office. My desk was cleaner than it had been since I moved to Philadelphia (in honesty... it was cleaner; when I moved here there were actually tobacco stains in my desk drawers and on the desk itself). The office was a little different than when we moved here three years prior, but not by much. There were a few new faces, but work, gender and geography really always kept me from developing any sort of more meaningful relationship with many of the folks in the office.

I was actually asked if I could close any loose ends I had early (by noon) because the IT manager had planned on letting me leave earlier than expected (I think everyone else was off for the fourth of July).

June 29 was a weekday. It was also my last day working for Allstate Insurance Company.

June 30 was also a weekday... it was my first day as a full time student at Westminster Theological Seminary.

I had actually taken some night classes at the school and two distance courses during a time of heavy travel at work. I mention this only because being a student is not what made June 30 so momentous for me. What June 30, 2010 meant was that I could start being a neighbor. It meant that traveling to New England and various parts of Pennsylvania was no longer my M.O. It meant that my wife and I could really start focusing again on our marriage in ways that we haven't truly been able to over the course of the past three years. It meant that I could fall in love with my city again.

The ramifications behind this are multitudinous so that they would make this post beyond bearable in length. While working for Allstate was a great experience for me, at the end of the day it was no longer for me. Starting school full time meant a freedom for me that wasn't afforded through a life of long commutes and extended travel. Being a Wesminster student is not what makes all of this so great - it is more of the idea that I can finally live in the city where my home is... if that makes any sense.

I'm sure that more of those ramifications will come out in future posts... but this is enough for now.

Thoughts...

2010-11-02T23:39:00.004-04:00

I still have them. These days they are just finding their outlet in other mediums. I'm still not ready to give up on this blogging thing - but I do need to determine what sort content I'd like see posted here anymore.

Any any case, expect something here soon. Really.

thoughts on time and space...

2010-10-04T23:53:00.002-04:00

Check out this video I've been working on (this has been taking up a lot of time outside of my studies, hence the dearth of blog posts).

http://tinyurl.com/ytts22

Loving Embrace

2010-08-31T08:25:00.003-04:00

Laura and I are project people. We are do-it-yourselfers.

We sit around and daydream about all the things we could be doing

with our house.

With our sidewalk.

With our back patio.

With our basement.

With the community garden.

And then?

Then, we sit on those ideas. For a while.

This weekend, our Lord embraced our (growing) family with His family. We had quite a few projects that needed completion before little man Twilley comes out of the womb, but we didn't have a ton of time with which to do it. So our friends (using just first names, if you are a friend - and you are reading this - let me know if you'd like your name to link somewhere such as another blog or web page or if you want me to include your last name) Dusty, Haley and Jason, Jason, Joanna and Zac, Justin, and Karen came along to help us paint, put up bookshelves, and add some nice touches to the basement.

Libations, snacks and dinner were provided, but those are a measly thanks for the amount of work that went into this past Saturday.

So... those people (or you, if you are one of those people and are currently reading this) are the physical manifestation of Christ in this world to us. It consistently amazes me that the link that we have to so many people in this city comes under the umbrella of a relationship with Jesus and that the same relationship would, in all likelihood, not exist apart from that umbrella.

Most of the people listed live in West Philadelphia (University City) - how would we have met them apart from meeting Jesus first? We have no business in U City except to worship on Sundays.

Jason met his wife Haley through a church here. I met Jason through his sister at my University. We (his sister and I) met because we were involved in a ministry together.

I have been accused, on many occasions, for over-spiritualizing things. However, I think I tend to over-think things more often than I over-spiritualize them. Part of the territory of believing in a God thats sovereign is believing that nothing exists without purpose (regardless of whether I know what the purpose of whatever exists is) so it's often hard for me to imagine a world where everything doesn't have a spiritual aspect to it (even while I still don't always behave as if I believe that).

We are thankful to our friends.

We are thankful for our friends.

There is a lot that happens in our neighborhood, our city, our country and our world that can have the tendency to overshadow the reality of Christ moving to remind us, who are undeserving, of his abundant mercies. There is a lot that I could dwell on (and that I do dwell on) in regard to poverty, oppression and the sin(s) that so easily entangle.

But Saturday was still a reminder that He is the God who lives.

That He cares.

That He loves His people.

That He loves us through His people.

Surreal Self Understanding

2010-08-27T10:12:00.004-04:00

Have you ever seen the Dali (tried to do an accented 'i', sorry) painting, "The Persistance of Memory?" You probably have, but you might not know what it was - it's the one with the melting clocks (google it; you'll find it).

Sometimes, I kind of feel like that's my world, in a sense. Sometimes I wonder if the things that I perceive as normal are completely off by other people's standards.

Look, I'm not just talking about a difference of opinion.

A lot of these thoughts started off with my working through, and ultimately completing two semesters worth of Hebrew this summer. See, I used to think that I got languages. I went through four years of Spanish (well... at least four semesters - two in highschool, two in college) and performed relatively well without trying. I spent eight weeks in Belo Horizonte, Brasil and caught on to the language well enough to have (limited) conversations with people and to understand a bit of what they were saying to me.

I took Hebrew, and I was dashed to pieces.

To some of the folks that I've talked to, I've said that I have not depended on the Lord (intellectually) more than I have during the past two months. My weaknesses were made evident.

But I was thinking... even before this... that maybe I'm not nearly as intelligent as I once thought I was. There's a long history with this (coupled with a sense of destiny in regard to how I view my life - maybe another point for another time) that isn't too worth getting into now.

In one of my philosophy classes in college, I remember talking about color. I remember the discussion led into the fact that color comes at us in different frequencies of light - that wasn't worth debating. What we talked about (at that time... for that class period anyways) was how we know we're both seeing blue. What if my blues are reds and your blues are greens, but another person's blues are really blue? So... that's more of an existentialist type of thing, right? Because the definition of a thing is dependent on the person who defines it.

But what about a more metaphysical aspect. What if I see myself as something, but you and everyone else see me as something completely different. This is meant as no slander, but as an example - does a person with Down's Syndrome realize the effect of Down's? More to the point, is there an internal voice that says "I am different that what might be expected as "normal?"

Please hear me, I am not looking for affirmation from this. It's just something I've been thinking about for a little while.

All to say, I no longer believe that I am as intelligent as I once thought I was. That's kind of a drag. Ancient Hebrew helped me to see that. But existence kind of still begs a definition, right?

Who am I?

How am I wired?

What am I supposed to do?

How am I supposed to do that?

Why should I do anything?

What does "supposed to" mean in the prior statements?

(on a side note, feel free to correct my philosophical connotations of metaphysics and existentialism).

Open Call for Links

2010-08-25T23:05:00.001-04:00

Hi friends, I posted this on facebook last night - but if you're in the business of sharing links, let me know and we can exchange (i.e. - I link to your blog, you link to mine).

Let me know!

-GT

MySpace

2010-08-24T08:34:00.003-04:00

I've posted a few pictures from the past winter. We received more snow that what we (or most Philadelphians) are accustomed to over the course of three or four snow storms.

The snow lasted for days.

There were streets that were never plowed (ours, for example).

People... started to go crazy.

And by crazy, I really mean that most people were living according to how they exist. That is people were afraid, so they protected what they had. People were selfish, so they hoarded what they had. People were greedy, so they took more than their portion.

When I say people here, I am not intending a universal sense of the word but one in which there was a large consensus of many who declared, "this is mine," in one way or another.

What I mean by all of this is that (for those who own vehicles) parking was hard. Some people resorted to "marking" their space by leaving various things to say, "this is mine!" I even heard of a story where an older "gentleman," began arguing with a young lady (not my wife) because she was trying to take a spot that had been marked off in front of his house by means of a bucket in the street.

She was pregnant.

For now, I am leaving out my interpretation of my own judgement of what people were doing. The pictures I'm posting are garish; they were taken at night and I tried to squeeze in between cars on the other side of these respective streets to get a face forward view of what I was seeing. The light from the flash is harsh. Up to this point, none of these are edited (I will do cropping etc later). I think it just provides a stark reminder of how folks can be in this city.

As a post script, it didn't help that the mayor encouraged this behavior. It's mentioned on a story you can read by clicking here; it's about a woman who had her tires slashed for moving a trash can.

You can check out more of the MySpace pictures by clicking here (or the link on the title of this post)

New Template

2010-08-23T23:49:00.003-04:00

Hi Everyone,

So I've been completely out (of the game) for quite some time now.

Short list of what's happened (if you don't know this, maybe we haven't talked in a while).

I quit working at Allstate.

I started back to school full time.

We found out we're having a little boy (due December).

I complete two semesters worth of Ancient Hebrew.

I hope to read a bit over the next couple of weeks. In addition, I have a goal of riding my bike 200 miles over the next thirty days.

So...is anyone reading this anymore?

Look and Listen

2010-04-29T22:58:00.006-04:00

Here are some things I've read and listened to lately. You can check out my reviews on Amazon, but I'll say a short bit here about them.

Music

I'll start here because there's only one thing I've reviewed lately

(I'm listening to something else that I will definitely be reviewing soon also).

Freelance Whales is my new favorite band. I take them as a kind of mashup of qualities that I really enjoy in other bands and singer / songwriters (Postal Service, Sufjan, Fleet Foxes). You can download their current album on Amazon (11.99 as a CD), Weathervanes, for six freakin' bucks. Seriously, this is worth far more than 1.5 units of whatever expensive coffee crap you're buying today. You can check my review on Amazon

by clicking here. I honestly cannot stop listening to them.

Books

The Other Wes Moore

Amazingly, the day I finished reading this book, I heard an

interview with the author on NPR. This is a crazy (true) story about two guys named Wes Moore. One of them ends up behind bars for life, the other becomes a Rhodes Scholar. Even more amazing, they pretty much grew up in the the same socioeconomic strata... even starting out in the same neighborhood in Baltimore.

This book is incredible - Wes Moore (the author) writes with such clarity and does nothing to sensationalize the type of environment he and the other Wes Moore grew up in. I think it's easy for most of us to be insulated to the travails that many folks in a poorer America go through. We are often baffled as to why anyone would be attracted to the drug life and make it out to be a matter of a life hopeful of ill-conceived gains (think Freakonomics). Wes Moore makes a case that it's a lot more about finding something, or some people, to belong to. You can read my Amazon review by clicking here (you might have to search for my name - CTRL+F and type my name; for Macs, Command+F and type my name).

Street Shadows

This is another Memoir about a kid who essentially escapes the drug life within the ghettos of

Chicago to eventually become an English professor. I don't know why I've been so into these types of narratives lately, but they're really affecting me. This is also a good read. If you were going to read one of the last two books mentioned, I'd pick up The Other Wes Moore, but this is still definitely worth reading.

I think this books gives light to the sort of hurdles some folks have to jump to get out of the cycle of poverty. The writer of this book grew up in a much different way than Wes Moore, however. Both of his parents were with him throughout his life. I think both may have had masters degrees - but the writer still got caught up in some of the drug culture.

Again, pick this book up. You can read my review by clicking here.

Bourbon

This is a fun book full of recipes and history about... Bourbon. I think that there is definitely some content in this book that you wouldn't necessarily find on the net (say, by looking for recipes). But if you don't drink... or aren't interested in making mixed drinks with Bourbon... then don't pick this up. You can read my review here.

So...the experiment was a FAIL.

2010-04-27T22:24:00.002-04:00

The only thing I think I am even remotely close to being on target for the grand experiment is (maybe) running (be the averages) and perhaps reading books.

So, this is just a placeholder before I start blogging more... shortly.

Ugh

2010-01-31T23:17:00.003-05:00

Laura blogged tonight.

I did not.

Now she's making me go to bed. G'night.

Uncle John

2010-01-30T13:33:00.000-05:00

Growing up, I think all my dad's male family members (who were older than him) had been in the military at one time or another. My memory is somewhat sparse so it plays out probably more as a caricature of who they were than as they existed.

There was an Uncle Joe (my dad's uncle) who fought in the Korean War. He rolled his own cigarettes. I vaguely remembering him saying that there were so many Chinese that they fought against in that war that bodies would pile up to the point that they would actually have to readjust their machine guns to shoot over the bodies that were there. He also said something along the lines that the North Koreans and Chinese would actually send people into battle without weapons and that when the people who did have weapons would fall in battle, those without would just pick up where they dropped off (meaning that there were some Chinese and N Koreans with weapons). Uncle Joe is dead - I remember how angry my dad was in how they buried him (his words - in a small pine box).

Uncle Bobby was older (my dad's brother-in-law) but I'm not sure that he actually served. I'm not sure that he didn't either. He still lives in Atlanta and I should probably call him about this. Uncle Bobby doesn't smoke.

There was an uncle Johnny - uncle Johnny only had one eye. As a small child (like under 5) he was very scary. There's not much I remember about him except that I think he rolled his own cigarettes too. He was also one of my dad's uncles. He was a Shannon (my granny's maiden name), as was uncle Joe.

This post, however, is not really about any of them. This is about John Wayne. I used to think that John Wayne was a distant relative of

ours, or a really good friend of my dad's. Part of this might be due to the fact that if the television was on (especially during the weekend and even more so after we got basic cable) we were watching a western.

My daddy's favorite westerns seemed to star John Wayne.

To me, he kind of resembled my dad (which might be another reason for the association). To some degree, I believed that all men knew how to handle a gun, had a southern / western accent, used brill cream and served in the military or was a cowboy (or both). The distance between then and now is great. I know how to handle a gun, but that's where the similarities end. Most people tell me that I don't really have an accent (being their words and not mine, I wonder if most of them think that my accent is in fact nondescript or if there is a geography that it might belong to). I don't use brill cream, but I do sometimes use pomade, wax or gel. I was never in the military. I own a cowboy hat and I've worked in a couple of fields but I've never roped a calf (though... I've known a people who have worked some rodeos).

The distance doesn't end there though. There's the realization that maybe manhood wasn't about that - but that whatever it is, I still don't measure up (and don't know a lot of people who might). There's the reality that all my dad's uncles, my dad... and John Wayne... are all dead. There's the reality that everything uncle John (Wayne) did was an act.

He did it to make money.

He did it to make movies.

He did it to make believe.

Strange that even when looking at an image of a somewhat type-cast multi-personalitied western idol... I still think of lazy summer afternoons in Alabama. I think of sweet tea in mason jars that would sweat just as much as we did, but taste and feel like a little bit of heaven on earth. I think of falling asleep in a t-shirt and a my tighty whiteys while my back was against my daddy's (he would normally wear the same thing). I remember afternoons that never seemed to end as they were inundated with black and white pixels intermixed with commercials for local tire stores and national brands. I remember humidity so thick that it was hard to breath and afternoons that were so hot that we all thought we would combust. I think of my dads menthol flavored Benson & Hedges and how their smoke would waft around the room - how it went in through his mouth, found its way through his lungs and then back out from where it came.

Honestly... this makes me want to rent a few westerns to fall asleep to.

What we do when we get bored...

2010-01-29T22:03:00.002-05:00

Laura and I started playing around last night (this probably isn't going where you think it's going) and found these weird animated screens in the Photo Booth on Snow Leopard.

So we played - and here's a little something we came up with.

Roller Coastin' in the Living Room from Gene Twilley on Vimeo.

Leggo my LEGO's

2010-01-28T23:07:00.005-05:00

When I was younger, I loved playing with LEGO's. And when I say loved, I mean that there wasn't much else I would play with.

Times were kind of strange for us, I guess. You see... I never had a Nintendo. I never had a Sega Genesis. I never had a Commodore 64. However, I had an Atari 2600. I also had buckets of LEGO's. Stranger - I was never allowed to have GI Joe's (not until I was older than 10 I think). A lot of this is discussion for another time, but for now we'll focus on the LEGO's.

I used to build, disassemble and then build again. There was nothing like opening a brand new box, following the directions to a T and then deciding the fate of various parts on my own. For me, most of what I built revolved around space ships and futuristic vehicles (I was also enamoured with Star Wars). I always enjoyed showing my dad what I had "invented."

I guess it's that whole idea of creating something that tends to get us going - right?

In any case, here are several sites where people have taken LEGO sculpting into an entirely different (by different, I mean stratospheric) level:

This is a sculpture by Nathan Sawaya - out of the three that I'm linking to tonight, I probably liked

his stuff the best. Everything on Nathan's site is so creative and detailed - I definitely think that it's worth your time to check it out. You can see more of his work by clicking here.

Another LEGO artist was Henry Lim. The interesting sculpture he had was of a massive Stegosaurus (or...LEGOsaurus - har har). You can view his site by clicking here.

Lastly, there's Eric Harbarger - I'm more amazed by the sheer amount of work he's done with LEGO's. Visit his site by clicking here.

So... don't get me wrong - this isn't an all-inclusive list - but it's something of a start. I know that there's a lot more out there - but this is what I could find tonight. Enjoy!

iPad

2010-01-27T22:35:00.001-05:00

Apple unveiled the iPad today - but it looks likes someone beat them to it three years ago. Check it out.

PHL@Night

2010-01-25T22:22:00.003-05:00

Laura and I drove to the Schuylkill near the Art Museum so that we could walk the dog tonight. I did a little running while we were there.

On the way back, I took a few pics with our cheap (it was literally given to me for free 3 or 4 years ago) HP Digital camera.

We always like that the pics and movies from this camera always come out a little grainy - you can even see it in the blurriness of a lot of what I'll be posting. Altogether, picture taking while driving at night is more of an exercise in drawing with light than it is in composition or perspective. I hope you enjoy them at least half as much as I did taking them while waving a camera around (if you do, you can check out more by clicking here)...

Amazing things you can find in and around Philadelphia, PA

2010-01-24T21:23:00.002-05:00

I was looking up a local grocery store and found the first link that you'll see tonight. Frankly, I am quite dumbfounded by the website (you'll have to click through to see what I mean). Sometimes, people try really hard to capitalize on something that just doesn't make any sense - this is one of those times.

Click here to check out the website for African Sunshine.

You might think, judging by the quality and lack of intuitiveness of the website, that I made this up. You, my friend, would be entirely mistaken. It's the real deal.

This next one is something that people around here go crazy over - something that I never knew existed before I moved here. On my first day in the office, I had a few of these babies on my desk. Welcome to Philly. Click here to check out the City of Brotherly love's affront to Little Debbie. In all seriousness, I've actually seen Tastykake as a sponsor of local running events. No Joke.

Crown Fried Chicken is something that I've had only once before. The reason: They are ubiquitous in this city. I've probably seen more Crown Fried Chickens here than all fast food burger joints combined. You can read about it here. Or, you can check out how another person will make you your own Crown Fried Chicken website by clicking here.

More samples please...

2010-01-23T23:56:00.001-05:00

Looks like Amazon.com (with little surprise) is much like the Sams Club of books - doling out free samples so that you might buy more.

Check it out by clicking here.

I know this sounds gross, and is a total tangent, but I used to love microwavable Chicken Cordon Bleu from Sam's. I think... when I was a teenager... that it meant I was more refined.

Really, I was (am) just fat.

Book Review.

2010-01-21T23:10:00.002-05:00

I have opinions. This is one I posted on Amazon tonight.

Street Shadows (book)

I friends.

2010-01-16T22:55:00.002-05:00

Jason and Haley are awesome.

Nice.

2010-01-14T22:53:00.002-05:00

nice. http://www.johnwayne.com/

Because I travel a lot...

2010-01-11T22:30:00.003-05:00

If you know me (on a personal level) then you know that for the past couple of years I've traveled a lot for work. In fact, I think I spent over 70 nights in hotels in 2009. That is nearly 1/3 of my regular business days when you factor in vacation time and holidays.

Seriously.

So, when I travel for work, I generally try to abide by a few rules to make things more fun for myself.

Pack light. And by light, I mean try to fit a weeks worth of clothes (to include a few casual changes and workout wear) in one bag.
Take the train. There's only one place to book a train too - Amtrak. This makes things simultaneously easy and frustrating. However, the train is cheaper 90% of the time, it goes to most places I need to travel, it is (by far) cleaner than driving, there is always a bathroom and it is faster than driving 95% of the time. Yes, both percentages are fairly arbitrary guesses.
I wear out googlemaps. There is little better in trying to find a place to eat than searching, "Restaurant near X," when X equals my location. I use this even though I bring along my GPS.
Eat local. I break this rule from time to time, but I generally stay away from hotel food and chains. Generally. It keeps locals in business and lets me try something that I may have never had before. I can always eat at a Chili's, TGIF, Cheescake Factory, etc (and be summarily disappointed that I didn't try something different) at home - I can't eat at City Steam Brewery unless I'm in Hartford.
If I don't know what's best, use UrbanSpoon. I like this site better than most other review sites because you have two choices (stars are so subjective and reviews are all over the board) and only two choices... you either like it or you don't.
Bring a good book (you can check out some of the books I've read and reviewed on Amazon by clicking here). This is one of the things that keeps me a little sane when I'm eating alone. I don't like to sit at a bar and I (generally) don't like to talk to my waiter / waitress - unless they have something good to tell me about the menu.
Cash. You wouldn't believe how many places don't take credit cards. Just a thought - but I often wonder if these same places claim my cash meals on their taxes...
Extra Underwear. I'm just sayin'.
Your own [drinking] cups. If you don't know why, then you're one of the few people I know who haven't watched this. There's usually a simple trick to find out if your glasses are being replaced (and they should be replaced - a maid shouldn't be washing out glasses in the bathroom or with glass cleaner). Many times, there is a sticker on the bottom of the glass - write your initials on the glass and fill it with tea or something else - leave it at least half full. When you come back the next day, check the glasses to see if any of them bear your initial. On a strange side note... I've also marked glasses with a permanent marker because it was all I had. By the way, if this (see the video) happens to you - tell the front desk.

There are other things to take into consideration depending on my mode of transport. These are the foundations of what I do when traveling for business though.

Earth: Destroyed

2010-01-10T22:09:00.005-05:00

You can read about a Near Earth Object (scheduled for 2029) at Wired by clicking here. I could be wrong, but I think that the Russian space agency is trying to convince the world that this one has a better chance of hitting the earth than NASA thinks and that we should be doing everything in our power now to prevent a collision in the future. You can actually read that story by clicking here.

And these are pretty crazy numbers - they're saying a 1-in-37 chance! NASA scoffs and says, "No, it's more like 1-in-250,000." Either way, the odds are better than dying via tsunami or fireworks discharge (see here). The odds are absurdly better than winning the lottery (see here).

But what if it wasn't an outside force that destroyed the earth?

What if what destroyed earth, as we know it, was earth itself?

Did you know that Yellowstone is one of at least seven super volcanoes around the world (see here). If she blows - it doesn't matter where you are, it will be cataclysmic.

What about a reversal of the magnetic fields? It can happen and some scientists say that it is happening. Many scientist, such as those who practice science on the Discovery Channel, say that this won't be a harmful event. This guy thinks that it could start a new ice age. He further states that the fact that winter is cold might be proof that we're moving into that new ice age!

What do you think? Does any of this really matter (as obviously, it matters a lot more to some people than it apparently does to me)? Why would it matter?

The experiment is not a bust...

2010-01-09T18:13:00.002-05:00

I'm just spending a birthday / anniversary weekend with my wife and where we are is a place that literally doesn't have very many three-pronged outlets. So...the experiment is still on, but since I never made a resolution I don't feel guilty about not blogging earlier (I've found a three pronged outlet - which is how I am currently blogging).

Five years and one day married.
Twenty-nine years living.

So - Happy Annibirthary to me!

We walked through two small towns today and I did my short run. Also, I finished reading the book I mentioned earlier this week (review to appear within seven days - mark my words).

I received a birthday shout out from my mom and my parents-in-law too.

All's well.

Where spam gets reeeeal big...

2010-01-07T21:57:00.003-05:00

My favorite line is the "Viking's Secret."

Why would anyone buy any of this crap (and you know...someone has to be buying it, otherwise you and I wouldn't get these spam messages).
There's a lot there about unfulfilled promises and a twisted picture of what a man (or manhood) should be. But...tonight I'm too tire to talk about it.

Instead, you get a picture of my spam folder.

When I Used to Write

2010-01-06T22:55:00.004-05:00

When I was in the sixth grade, I fell in love with writing.

Unfortunately, that love affair (as a compulsive and ever-present desire) only lasted through my sophomore year of college. Every now and again, there would be glimpses of that love again - but nothing as it was before. Now, most of my writing tends to be somewhat "journalistic" as opposed to "creative," or "poetic." Most of what I write now has been condensed to one line (or one sentence...or one run-on sentence) about what my current "status," is. Or, more tritely, a one line zinger about your status.

But...I want to fall in love again.

What got me interested [in writing] in the first place was the fact that a teacher in a class I had (it was called ACE - but I never knew what it stood for; when I lived in Huntsville, it was called SPACE) really encouraged me to write. He encourage our whole class to write.

And to think.
And to dream.

It was one of the first times that I felt like the things that I could produce had the potential to be special - even if it was only to me. We produced a literary journal to sell to our other middle-schooled classmates.

As you might imagine, these were pretty hot commodities.

But, as I've already stated, what made this so much of a formative thing for me was the fact that my life was no longer ruled so much by what I could learn or experience by means of math and science nor was life so much about what I could gather from reading another's prose or poetry. Life meant that I could create with words (as opposed to LEGO's, or tinker toys, or plastic model pieces with plastic cement) and that I could manifest a world that was simultaneously other and familiar.

His name was Mr. Craft (I think his first name may have been "Bart," or "Barthlomew"...). He is one of teachers in my life who has really stood out - someone who helped me to sort of shake the snow globe that is my life and realize that there isn't just another side to the globe, but that there's a world outside of it too.

So if you've kept up - part of this experiment is as much about remembering who I once was as it is about telling you about who I am and who I want to be.

Recent Amazon Reviews (Jan 5, 2010)

2010-01-05T20:36:00.006-05:00

I felt like it was the best thing (but not the compulsive thing) to list a date as it seems I've used a very similar title before.

Sometimes...I review stuff on Amazon just because I can. I can be strange in that way. I'll have you know, however, that I never review something that I don't own. Thanks to Amazon for giving me a place where I can let my undoubtedly helpful reviews be known to the world.

So, to take a breather for the evening (because I'm admittedly already exhausted by this Obsessive experiment) - here are a few things that I've reviewed recently and one thing that isn't recent, but seems to have a somewhat legendary status (out of three hundred reviews, it's one of the three spotlighted on the product...)

A Forizzle Frying Force
(Cuisinart Chef's Classic Fry Pan) My review of a frying pan.

Read it for the Subplots
(Her Fearful Symmetry - Audrey Niffenegger) A nice book I read "recent"...

They Are Spoons
(Oxo Good Grips Soft 6-Piece Measuring Spoon Set, Black) They are measuring spoons...and they apparently make some people (who are not me) very angry...because those people don't know how to wash dishes very well.

For the Happiness it Brings
(Panasonic ER421KC Nose and Ear Hair Trimmer, Wet/Dry, Lighted) One of the best investments I ever made. The ladies love a clean inner nose...

Uncertain, scared and mentally blocked...

2010-01-04T22:44:00.004-05:00

One of the things I worry about in this fantastic experiment (mentioned in yesterday's post) is the fact that, at some point, there has to be a form of creative exhaustion. There will only be so many times that I can write about washing my hands before things become truly OCD on my part.

In any case, I've made a hard stop to read a book that I received from Amazon while I was out of the office - Street Shadows: a Memoir of Race, Rebellion, a nd Redemption.

Already, the book is sounding like a repeat of the Night of the Gun (David Carr's own memoir - you can find my review of that book by clicking here and searching [ctrl+f] for my name), which would not be such a bad thing as it is much shorter.

I picked the book because I thought that it might help me to understand some of the culture that I currently live in.

We'll see how that works out.

In the mean time, I'll think of something witty (or not so) to say. One of the things I've been thinking about lately refers to a comment I overheard at a recent holiday party. Essentially, this person asserted that the Bible couldn't be trusted because the people who wrote it were doing so with an agenda. I can agree to that - postmodern criticism would push us to the understanding that no one writes, thinks, speaks, etc. without an internal or underlying bias. But, the argument of what that agenda means and the implications of that agenda is something that's been on my mind a lot today.

Plus...that one's a lot easier than the other points brought up - inequality as practiced by the church, hoarding of wealth, denial of guilt / wrongdoing, etc.

I only mention it without writing about it because I'd like to handle it in a somewhat scholarly manner - you know...with footnotes and stuff.

So...is anyone still reading [this] blog anymore?

By the way...I head that agenda was to [in the future] sell vacuums and anything else that would look nicer with Jesus posted all over it (dental services, medical services, real estate, restaurants, etc.).

The grand experiment...

2010-01-03T12:14:00.003-05:00

I've decided that this would be the year that I would take on some of the traits of an obsessive compulsive without the detriment of having an undesirable and otherwise inexplicable compulsiveness.

So really...I'll just become obsessive with things. This, however, is probably a bit of an underlying trait I carry anyways.

Though many of these will seem like resolutions, they aren't - I'm not promising anything and I'm not necessarily trying th change anything about myself (as I believe resolutions are usually meant for). Also, I think that the general non-commitment of a non-resolution will ultimately aid me by not causing me to feel guilty about something else I haven't done and why I haven't done it.

Right.

So, here are a list of things that I'll experiment in being obsessive with over the next few or twelve months and we'll see how it pans out. BTW: If you notice me washing my hands to the point of bleeding or checking the locks four or five times before I leave the house, please help me.

1. I'd like to blog everyday. This could be anything. It could be a picture or a blurb. I'd like to do it just for the fun of seeing how things turn out over the course of the year. I'm also hoping that this gets me into taking more pictures - which is something I used to love to do.

2. I'd like to run a mile a day. Big whoop, right? Again - something I used to love to do but just haven't been in to since I have such a long commute. A mile isn't a huge commitment though - something I could do in a short amount of time before I leave for work in the mornings (and even on the road). I really wouldn't mind setting a goal of 1,000 miles this year (I didn't run yesterday, btw, but I'm fairly certain that I walked over a mile).

3. I'd like to spend an entire month posting pictures. Look for it. I live in a beautiful city with unique scens I'd like to share with you and the rest of the world. Did I ever tell you that I took a photography class in college? Well, I just did.

4. I would like to read 26 books. Easy - if there's a book I'm in to, I can usually read through in a day or two. I more than likely read more than this in 2009 but just didn't keep track. I'm reading Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris right now. Utter hilarity.

5. Have someone to our house for dinner once a month. That is...someone I don't know very well. There are a lot of people I'd like to know better. That's only twelve meals.

6. Begin martial arts training. Sike.

I think that this will keep me busy while still leaving me time to do that thing I do to pay the bills.

Also...I think it will be fun. You know...if I don't become OCD...

New Year...

2010-01-01T02:33:00.002-05:00

It is 2:33AM.

I am baking bread.

It is the new year.

The night is more still than what I'm used to. Probably because it is now 2:34AM.

There is an occasional car that drives down one of the main streets. For some reason...none of the mufflers here seem to work too well.

At midnight, there were fireworks. I was mixing dough.

It is in the stillness that I can hear the clock ticking. My heart is beating. There is a low hum coming from the fan that Laura turns on to produce white noise when we're asleep.

And still...an occasional car.

Have I ever talked to you about my idea of the relative nature of time? I've talked to Laura a lot about it. This minute now is the fastest minute I've ever experienced, but it's not the fastest minute I'll ever experience within the breadth of all of time.

More importantly... does the shortness of this minute matter any more or less than the span of the minutes preceding or following this point in time?

In terms of time...no.

In terms of substance? Maybe.

I look at our Christmas tree. It's been up for nearly a month. This is something I've thought about for a while now, but just haven't found the time to write it out (until I decided to finish making bread at 2:43AM). That is, this Christmas tree is carrying the weight of sadness from the past. There are relics and ghosts who call out only to find themselves locked behind glass or lamps or plastic or yarn. They show the burden of years and bear memories whose depths are more than may be measured.

2010. Bread.

My recent amazon reviews.

2009-08-21T19:01:00.004-04:00

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;&amp;amp;lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&amp;amp;gt;lt&amp;amp;lt;/span&amp;amp;gt;;&amp;amp;lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&amp;amp;gt;br&amp;amp;lt;/span&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;&amp;amp;lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&amp;amp;gt;lt&amp;amp;lt;/span&amp;amp;gt;;&amp;amp;lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&amp;amp;gt;br&amp;amp;lt;/span&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Check out my full reviews through the links - but if you're interested in short synopses, then here's something to whet your appetite.

1. Don't waste your money on the smoke detector I've listed.
2. The Night of the Gun is long, but it's worth the read.
3. Time is a River is great...if you love Lifetime mini-dramas.
4. "Eh Oh" by Femi Kuti is a free download - it starts out big and has an interesting message underneath its layers.
5. I filter my water, though...I'm pretty sure the water treatment plant does an otherwise satisfactory job at it too.

Spam in my box...

2009-07-17T23:53:00.005-04:00

Occasionally, I recieve some sort of spam in my work inbox, and I wonder "How did they know where to send this?"

Today, however, I received a real piece of mailed spam.

If for nothing else except for the promise of a longer life and a better functioning of my sexual plumbing, it was worth opening. Because it promised that real experts from nowhere less prestigious from Harvard itself would be providing this information...it was worth opening. Plus, I was promised to "be surprised," just by opening the letter!

The crazy thing (to me, at least) is that someone has the job of opening the return envelopes from people who might actually be interested in this.

I very often think that we live in a strange and scary world. This, I think, is just further proof of fact that it's true.

Seriously, I wasn't even nearly intelligent enough to wonder whether or not Viagra would hurt my eyes...

I guess I'm seriously fortunate to not have the need of partaking in the blue pill...

My Wife is in the News!

2009-07-17T07:06:00.000-04:00

15 seconds of fame:

http://www.philly.com/inquirer/business/20090716_13_Phila__residents_go_car-less.html

At home.

2009-07-15T20:48:00.003-04:00

I live in a city of over 1.4 million people.

In the metro area, there are almost six million people.

There are some great things about this. There are times where you want anonymity and it can definitely be easy to find.

But other times, you want to be known.

Jason, I think, blogs about this often (or at times, anyways).

Altogether, it has always been so interesting to me to see people I know in this city. I came home from a long trip today and saw two people I go to church with on my way home. Once was walking out of the train station - those sightings are always a little awkward because you know that the person walking in is in much more of a hurry than the person walking out (sometimes, you'll need to wait thirty minutes before the next train comes!). The other was while I was standing in a subway car. He actually came into the same car and we talked for four stops.

Its a great thing to be known. Its a wonderful feeling knowing that in this huge place that so many people call home, there are so many people that you can call friend - that you can see, that value you and that add value to your own life.

For various reasons, I'm happy to be home.

On graffiti

2009-06-27T08:38:00.008-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I was on a train traveling towards Connecticut and took a few photos. They're from my cell, so they definitely not stellar.

It was sort of a rare day - there were clouds and blue skies mixed with light and and a sort of coolness in the air. Apart from today, everything has been pretty dreary weather wise.

I started taking a little more notice of something that is standard fare for urban living: graffiti. I started thinking about the thought processes behind it. I started to think about the alternatives.

There seems to be a stark reaction from some when graffiti is encountered - I think, more often than not, the reaction tends towards fear or disgust. There is a disdain from some for those who would tend towards defacing another's property. Though graffiti is nothing new. When Laura and I traveled to Italy, we noticed that many ancient structures also had ancient graffiti. One of the stark differences between those [structures] and these is artistic intent. There was an architectural artistry endued to much of what was created as opposed to erecting of a short term and functional building [much of what is built in our current world].

Altogether, there's nothing that I saw on my train ride that just blew me away.

The thought came: is it a rebellion against the premise of ownership (that being that ultimate control is maintained from behind the veil of the capability of financing a loan or making payments; i.e. money equated to power and control) or is ita sort of mutated form of artistic function that holds the artists expression above that of the perceived rights of others?

For equality's sake, I've tried to post both in a negative context above.

Personally...I'm starting to like some of it.

I think that the world might seem more oppressive [to me] if everything was a white walled cube made of corregated tin for the sake of meeting the needs of a consumerist culture. Trust me, I don't mean this as a counter-culture rant, but as a reality of the types of things that are built today (because, it is apparently much cheaper to build a Colleseum type structure with slave labor, so we tend more towards the big box establishment making).

There are other thoughts behind this that I might post later - but I'm really wondering what do you think about graffiti and why do you think about it the way that you do? If you respond, I may repost here. I look forward to hearing from some of you on this (though, I already know what some of you think...)

Um...

2009-06-20T17:37:00.001-04:00

Right. Still not getting the hang of this. Everything is "Back to normal..."

Oops...

2009-06-20T17:32:00.001-04:00

Looks like I really messed something up here. Give me a few days and things will (hopefully) look similar as it was. I hope to be posting a lot more this summer and into the fall (FYI).

In the meantime, enjoy my mistake...

Outrageous

2009-06-10T18:42:00.003-04:00

This much is obvious - when I read what some of my friends from the South write on Facebook about their distrust of our President, of the current administration or of the government in general a vast majority of what is written is not as an outrage against injustice. More than anything, what is written is an outrage against a democratically elected Democrat led government.

Lets be honest - for most of those referred to, there was no outrage upon the revelation that we (America) have tortured individuals for the sake of "truth." There has very rarely been any outrage for the plight of those who slough through the swamps of poverty and destitution. The orphan and the widow remain on the margins, but what comes to the forefront on the minds of those who would carry the banner of Christ in America is the downfall of capitalism by the likes of a president who pushes to enact universal health care and fix the financial & budgetary problems left behind by a previous (Republican) administration (that I, admittedly, voted for - both the current and the former).

All the while, the hungry are still hungry.
The sick are still sick.
The marginalized are still off to the sides.

And the unfortunate thing is that I walked with the mess that is the myopic strains of a faith that is more political than actualized. When it comes down to it, I think that Jesus cares less about your government than He does about how you're treating (loving) your brother.

Maybe...it's a sort of temperament thing. I've never been a huge proponent of talking politics. I just think that the weight of importance given to the American political (and lets be really honest - ideological) process is generally wasted energy and has become more divisive and visceral than well thought and unifying. And this is come about with some difficulty in a faith that declares that Christ is the head over all authority (Col 2:10) and that we are to Be subject for the Lord's sake to every human institution. At best, it's problematic even as we have declared our democracy to be supreme (which is why Arminianism plays such a huge part in our religious dialogue, I suspect) and, by association, God to be mistrusted even as we mistrust our own leaders.

Our failing, then...is that we are not outraged about the thing that Christ was outraged about. I don't weep over the brokenness of the world like Jesus - and in the end, this is only proof of how vast the separation is from Him and me (which is good, because I would make for a very poor Jesus). And that's the crazy thing - right - that Jesus gets outraged about how people are treated (how they are unloved, how they are overlooked, how the image of God is slandered, how the worship of God is corrupted) and not what government is in power.

I have failed to some degree by trusting that certain political powers have in mind the things of God while the reality remains that certain political powers have in mind the elevation of self and the propagation of an ideology that is not Christianity.

We cling to this false assumption that power is found in a vote - a voice amongst others in a democratic republic. We generally abhor the idea that Jesus would have us loosen our grips from the illusion of power (a vote... a voice... in other cultures, all that you have - Luke 18:18-30) and see what following and loving are...

Ten Things Learned While in Italy (not all inclusive, not necessarily all the most important things to learn)

2009-05-31T07:42:00.000-04:00

1. Language: Italian sounds a lot more like French than it does Spanish or Portuguese – but it doesn’t matter because most people speak English in Italy anyways.

2. Wine: Anyone who touts an Italian old school of wine tradition is full of it – wine production didn’t really become as it is until some French guy visited Italy in the 1960’s. Before then, there was wine, but it was mostly what people made for their own families to make themselves “Happy,” after a hard day of share cropping. Also, there is nearly nothing as fun and interesting as a wine tour with a few tipsy Britts.

3. Share Cropping: Apparently, the days of share cropping didn’t end in Italy until the 1960’s.

4. Opportunity Cost: The term “You get what you pay for,” seems to be a misrepresentation – I had some of the best cappuccinos ever for just one Euro. In addition, slave labor effectively built the coliseum which seems to have withstood nearly 2000 years of earthquakes, wars, battles and revolts.

5. Accommodations: The term “Castle,” is both relative and loose in its connotations.

6. Gimme yo money: Referencing #1 – everyone speaks English because everyone you see on the streets of Italy wants your money. It is hard to find an authentic cultural “Taste,” of Italy.

7. Food: Even though everyone will serve you pasta, pasta itself wasn’t a normal part of Italian cuisine (at least, not in Tuscany). Apparently, those in Tuscany only ate Pasta once a week – at the most. Italian bread is not what you think – generally speaking, it is hard and tasteless. It serves as a great base upon which to serve olive oil, however. Another note – you cannot, apparently, bring (cured) sausage from the EU to the US – though, I should have tried as my bags were surprisingly never searched by customs.

8. Travel: There’s no traveling like high-speed rail travelling… except high speed car traveling on a narrow mountainous road where certain drivers are compelled to pass you because they always have somewhere else better to be.

9. Tourism: Tourists really contribute quickly to the downgrading of “sacred sites,” (we helped out) – it’s just a weird juxtaposition to see people worshiping in St. Peter’s Basilica while others are taking pictures of them (because, let’s be honest, it’s kind of weird to bury your prior popes above ground… in a church… that is the mother of all of what you call the true church – and we all want weird pictures) and others are still yet arguing… in loud Italian… about who disrespected who.

10. The One True Church: There is no church but the Catholic Church when you’re looking up churches in any given Italian hotel’s church directory. Don't expect to protest anywhere in the boot country...

15 Miles (wk of 03/21)

2009-03-29T12:59:00.002-04:00

Last week, I did about 15 miles.

One 5k race at a 7:57 pace.
On 6 miler in Gold Toe socks (it should have been a 5 miler, and I should have had my running socks).

I've been fairly impressed at how easy it's been to get back into running.

Today (which doesn't count as last week) consisted of a 6 miler (intentionally) through the City.

You can view last weeks runs here:

5k
2 mi
3 mi
6 mi

Cool website

2009-03-28T21:27:00.002-04:00

Yes, this is totally an advert for GE - but it's a very cool toy; check it out:

http://ge.ecomagination.com/smartgrid/#/augmented_reality

More run less blog

2009-03-24T18:50:00.003-04:00

I'm running again. That, plus a variety of other things have put this space on hiatus for a little while.

I'm posting new runs regularly @ http://www.mapmyrun.com though.

You can keep up with my running stats here.

I'm currently training for a 10 miler @ the beginning of May. This past weekend, I ran much better than I thought I would during a 5k - the results are here (you'll want to pick the March 22 "Get Your Rear in Gear," search for Twilley, I'm the only one in the race).

7:57 pace. Dawg.

We are human

2009-01-26T21:36:00.003-05:00

Today I partook in a rare pleasure that I haven’t been able to enjoy as of late: taking public transportation to work.

Broad Line North to City Hall, connect to the Market Line West towards 69^th St Station, off at 30^th St and onto AMTRAK for the 25 minute ride to Paoli.

But the joy of public transportation has never borne its treasures from the mere riding of a train. The pleasure comes from what I do with the time. During the warmer months, there were times where I would ride my bike to the train and spend the time reading. Sometimes I would pray. Sometimes I would sleep. Every now and again, I would talk to fellow passengers.

This morning, I stared at people.

I wondered at how time, and stress…the brokenness of life…the anger, despair, sadness and loss of remembering humanity worked toward the deterioration of the human body.

There was an old man to my right; he looked, upon first glance, as many of those who might ride the train for warmth or companionship.

I started at his shoes, brown leather – a little worn, but not worn out. Above the shoes, tan pressed dress pants. There was a soft messenger bag type case leaning against his leg. His hands were a little blue due in large part to his somewhat translucent skin giving us all a glimpse at the toil of his life and the reality of his age. There were imperfections on his skin: perhaps they were warts, maybe they were cancer…maybe they were nothing but proof of a life lived over the course of many decades…maybe they were proof of a man who has loved, and hurt, who dreams…or lost hope. His hair was more salt than pepper and his mustache was the same. For the entire ride – 15 blocks – between city hall and 30^th St, he sniffed. It was cold.

Before I actually boarded the west bound Market Line, I stood with the masses of others who were going to work, to school, those who were wandering aimlessly and those who were wandering with the promise of home as their impetus.

A man stood beside me. He was an African American man with thick rimmed glasses. He wore blue jeans and a blue coat. And… I feared that he was staring at me.

I don’t, as a general rule, look at people who are looking at me.

I like to give them the enjoyment of observation.

It was my turn once we boarded the train, however.

This was a man who seemed to be riding for companionship. He looked longingly around – in front of himself and to his sides. As the train slowed towards our stop, he congregated near the door with those people who were finishing out their ritual service of morning train hopping. He interjected himself into the solace of individual riding and pressed for a kinship between his fellow man – something that might be recognized as a common point of contact. As with many who operate within an alien culture, his handling of the time of communion was rough if not incoherent.

But the reality was that this was a soul within the broken shell of a man who was reaching out to be loved and understood by those souls who also traveled in broken containers. In the vacuum of existence where intimacy is a hard currency to accumulate and even seemingly harder to hold, this man tried to create a common plane upon which to walk by pressing others upon which team they rooted for.

As I stared I saw how time stole.
As I stared I saw time’s toll.
As I stared I wondered of those who are alone.
Whose family are those who inhabit the train.

Cold morning’s no match for the sting of death
Nor rhymes or reasons away from the city
Where lives entwined pulse with radiance
Warm smile, strange questions, strange people, cold streets.

No family for those whose lives are lost,
Whereas I stared and saw time steal.
As I stared I saw time demand.
As I stared, I hoped for those who are alone.

Whose family are those who inhabit the train.

New year's resolutions...

2009-01-05T21:21:00.004-05:00

In the vein of Jonathan Edwards, I too have resolutions to make:

1. I resolve to update my status even more on facebook ("our day to day chores should not be interesting to other people...")
2. I resolve to not get any more parking, speeding or moving violation tickets this year
3. I resolve to quit making fun of what other people name their babies (if you have to ask...um...well...please don't ask)
4. I resolve to never be duped by carnival cruise lines again...ever...
5. I resolve to use most of the 30 days my company is giving me as paid vacation this year
6. I resolve to buy fewer groceries
7. I resolve to Become a Better Me
8. I resolve to wield the power of words like the power of greyskull
9. I resolve to not have a baby throw up on my face (scroll to the second picture - thanks Jess!)
10. I resolve to not use baby paraphernalia as life saving devices

nice.

100.

2008-12-29T19:45:00.002-05:00

Brief time lines have never provided much of the intimacy and depth that we tend to desire as those who are image bearers of the Creator.

This is my one hundredth post.

I started blogging on May 18, 2006. That's roughly 956 days which equals a post every ten days or so. My first blog title was, "A Fresh Sort of Start." The post was about how there were no fresh starts... it was about the baggage we carry. It was written two weeks after my friend Eric Harless died. It was written one year and 2 weeks after my Dad died. It was written shortly after my sister told me that she wished I had died.

It was written one year, five months and ten days after my new life started with Laura.

When I read it I thought, "Wow...not a lot has changed sense then." Seriously, if you've kept up with me over the years, you might have thought that this sort of baggage might have been lost on one of my many trip mishaps.

But no.
It's still here.

So...it is a new year. A year ago, Mayor Nutter promised it that it was a new day for Philadelphia. A little over a month ago, President Elect Obama promised change for our nation.

And we? We hope? We hope that these guys are right?

More so...maybe we hope that these guys are right in the sense that change is needed. Maybe there is something deep within us that cries out that this life is not as it should be. Maybe the shock and awe of death, destruction and the currents of the "American Way," are convincing us of the truth that most of us (if any of us) don't have it together.

There's hope there because the reality of realization speaks to this sense that there is something more perfect for us to grasp. The sort of raw sense might be looked at as Plato and his Forms, or maybe...more sadly...Hegel and his Dialectic.

The sense that holds more hope for me is the idea of Jesus... of how he comes and says, "Gene...you're right...you don't have it together." It's the same thing he told his disciples. It's the same thing he told all the Jewish people. It's the same thing he told the whores and the self-righteous priests. It's the same thing he told the poor and the rich.

So...it's the same thing he's telling us.

And that's hopeful.

On the less serious end, below are the 99 words that started my last 99 posts (titles not included).

My
When
That
There's
Right
In
Without
A
Laura
One
My
If
When
If
Sometimes
Something
In
I
When
We
With
We've
What
A
This
I'm
In
La
What
I
I've
I
I
I
What
It's
NPR
No
Official
A
The
Before
I
If
I
Park
Blessed
If
On
Yes
For
There
Working
My
Everyone
Many
I
We've
Spending
No
The
I've
Sometimes
Lately
Screaming
I
For
So
Tonight
A
Rule
If
Last
Nothing
Unfortunately
If
No
Thought
What's
In
We
I
Lately
I'm
Your
For
As
So
Four
You
I
Crown
Update
You'd
You
If
There
Seriously
Last

Cookies = Ticket to Heaven (with a Jehovah's Witness anyways...)

2008-12-26T10:46:00.004-05:00

Last year, Laura and I gave cookies to out neighbors for Christmas. They weren't just any sort of cookie...they were hand made and home baked.

This year, the pressure was on. I literally had neighbors walking by and asking if we were making cookies again.

We were (and did) but, you might ask, "What's the big deal?"

The big deal is that when I talk about neighbors, I mean our whole street - somewhere around 46 households.
We baked around 6 cookies per house.
We are still cleaning.
The words, "Why did I ever do this in the first place," came out of my mouth frequently.

It's always an interesting time though. Some people are very thankful. One kid (he was probably a teenager? mid teens?) gave me a high five. I received a chorus of "Thank You's!" from one house. If you remember our earlier travails, what we received this year is a much more welcome sight than the trash and tickets of yesteryear.

But one person gave something that I would like to share with you: the story of Jesus as seen through the eyes of the Watchtower.

Not really (I mean, he did give me The Watchtower).
Namely, because I don't believe what Jehovah's witnesses believe regarding...well...pretty much almost anything.
But I'll share the story (of how he went about giving it to me).

I stopped by a man's home that we'll call Allen (because...his name is Allen...). No one answered the door at first, so I did what I do with most of my goody packages - hung it out of his mail slot and inadvertently allowed cold air to flow into people's homes. I was a house or two down when Allen poked out and said, "Hey! Thank you! Wait one minute, I have something for you!"

I didn't know what to expect.
Another neighbor gave us a pot of gold for Christmas (I'm not being snide or sarcastic - it's a box of Hershey choco's with that title) and referred to my wife as "27," (we live @ 1427). We've gotten Christmas cards from some neighbors. So, I waited not knowing exactly what was coming out of the door.

Allen came out with a big smile on his face and said, "This is especially for you." I looked down...and being disingenuous as I usually am in situations like this voiced a, "Thank you."

"Well, I hope to see you again real soon," Allen said.

Which is, altogether, kind of funny considering the fact that I live only a few houses down. He could presumably come over any time he wants with another copy of the Watchtower. These situations happen about quarterly with us (not necessarily with Allen) and Laura, I think, always prays that we'll be busy as I always enjoy a good debate in discussing why I believe Jesus doesn't believe the same thing that Jehovah's witnesses believe.

In any case, Merry Christmas Allen. Thank you for adding to my pile of recyclables and blogging experience.

Christmas Bells Are Ringing...

2008-12-23T23:44:00.004-05:00

Seriously. If you're reading this, you're probably in the bracket of "middle class."

Times are hard for people like us. In fact, our new president elect and his team are currently working on ways to focus on the middle class and to infuse our economy with some c*a*s*h because things are just that hard.

But if you are in the middle class, you probably have some wiggle room too.
You probably didn't go to bed hungry tonight.
You probably have a place to sleep.
You probably have clean water to drink.
You probably are an American - someone who is a resident and citizen of the richest country in the world.

This is a late plea, but this Christmas, please think of (and pray for) those who Jesus essentially said embodies Him (remember...whatever you do to the least of these?). Overwhelmed by your charitable choices? Check out Charity Navigator to ensure your cash is going to a responsible place.

There are a lot of reasons to think about this and to mention it here, but I'll mention only one. For most of us, the poor are invisible. In fact, the tone of conversation during the election went from talking about the poor (sometimes people were also referred to as, "The Working Class,") to discussing the middle class.

And we loved it.
And we welcomed it.
And we voted our hearts into it.

Remember, however, that Jesus came to we who were and are poor to make us rich. There is this restorative sense of Christ making things right that we tend to neglect in the midst of our own sorrow and desperation.

And so we neglect them.
And so we tend to "our own."
And so we despise them.

This Christmas, please remember the least of these. Please remember that in their humanity, they too are image bearers of the Creator of all things. Please remember that anything you can do to help might mean a meal for someone tomorrow.

It might mean a warm place for someone to sleep.
It might mean a move towards self sustainability.
It might mean the world to someone who will never have as much physical wealth as you may right at this very moment.

As one who tends to have a somewhat orthodox view of Christ, Christmas means a lot to me. At the very least, it means that there is a God who decided to enter into a broken world at a fixed point in history to really show us that He means to do us good. It means that there is a God who is actively involved with the brokenness of creation and that he cares enough to hurt with us. It means that there is a God who has decided to enter into our story...not because he needs us, but because we need him.

In your own [spirtual] poverty this Christmas, please do well unto your fellow man and give what you are able.

Lord, be good to us...

2008-12-21T10:45:00.003-05:00

There is this guy who I gave a ride home to every now and again.

His name is Lamar.

We were talking a few weeks after the Philly’s won. I’m not usually one who is much for sports, but everyone else around me seems to be. The Philly’s, if you don’t know (or don’t remember), won the World Series.

It was their second World Series win… in 125 (yes, one hundred twenty five) years.
Needless to say, most people remember where they were when the Philly’s won…

Lamar remembered where he was.
He had only just left the hospital…
Right after they pulled the plug on his cousin…
He died from a gunshot wound to the back of the head.

It’s a jarring thought, I think. Few within my age range deal with death in any tangible way. Fewer deal with it as a reference to the reality of the violence practiced by one man to another.

I didn’t think that there was much for me to say.
I don’t think that there’s much for me to say.

For the rest of the ride that night we sat; we would talk but the conversation never came back to Lamar’s cousin. Towards the end, I really felt that the impetus was on me to ask what I could be praying for Lamar’s family (including the obvious loss).

“Just pray that life would be good for us.”

I thought about this on my way home and I prayed for Lamar and his family in North Philadelphia. I thought about my own experience with death – about how, beginning with my Aunt when I was in college, every Christmas and Thanksgiving seemed a little less joyous every year. I thought about how fewer and fewer seemed like they were filled with the joy that usually comes with the holidays. It almost seems as if every year has produced some sort of tragedy (friends who have died, my dad dying, other family members who have died…)

But back to what Lamar asked… isn’t it what we all pray in unnecessary and complex ways?

“Father, I beg you, be good.”

Because frankly, sometimes it doesn’t seem like He is being good to us. Sometimes life doesn’t seem like it allows the room or freedom for goodness to happen. Sometimes (and I really have been wrestling with this in different ways), it just doesn’t seem as if God cares.

Intellectually, I acquiesce to the Apostle’s Creed. I pray the Lord’s Prayer with the Church and I mean every petition (I consciously think about what I’m praying every Sunday with people around the world because I don’t want the word’s to be dead to me). When I speak with God, I ask (in words much less specific), “Lord, be good to me and my family.”

No doubt, things have been good for us in a physical sense.

Though, more often than not, I feel like we have everything we would want…except for a listening ear from God.

God…please be good to us. Amen.

I heard it on NPR...

2008-09-18T22:59:00.004-04:00

If I didn't hear it on NPR first, I would have thought it was a lie (or a joke).

Click here to read the article - it's short.

Just let you know, ladies... it's my sanctuary too.

Naked and ashamed.

2008-09-15T22:47:00.004-04:00

You know those dreams where you know you've forgotten something only to find out that what you're missing are your pants? It's a shameful, embarrassing thing, right?

Today, I forgot my GPS.

I felt like I couldn't remember how to drive. Seriously.

On my way home, I started to give myself directions like, "In 500 feet, turn right, if possible."

So interweb, if anyone out there is listening anymore, I have effectively dumbed myself down to the point and as evidenced by my inability to drive well without a machine telling me what to do.

Is this what our first parents felt like in the garden? Disoriented by their own nudity? Thrown off by trying to find their path through life without the clear directions that emanate from just under their rear view mirror?

This is another reason why I love the city. At least here, things are on a grid (like a waffle).

We're moving to Canada!

2008-09-13T14:06:00.001-04:00

Update.

I posted this a few months ago and have only just now gotten to changing things around so that my SS# doesn't show when you view my documents (thanks to Jonathan, I pulled the post quickly). At the end of the day, there was resolution on this but no apology from the IRS.

Not surprised.

I recently read through their letter again - I love how they use blame shifting to try to implicate the taxpayer with these form letters, "If you would have filed electronically..." Nice.

And if you never read the post, read it now and all of this will make sense.

"Gene, I've got some bad news," she said over the phone.
I was in Connecticut. It was already late and I was coming off a long day (having been up since 4:40am).
"Um. What is it?" I expected something about the neighborhood or something about one of our friends. Maybe something about crime in the city.
"We got a letter from the IRS."
"What?"
"Yeah, a letter from the IRS."
"What does it say?"
"Well, I just skimmed it."
"Can you read it to me over the phone?"
"It's kind of long."
"Okay, I'll read it when I get home."

For the last three years, I've prepared our taxes. The past two have been with Turbotax. I've always been worried that something like this would happen. Needless to say, my stomach's been kind of upset all day.

So what did the IRS write? They need proof of my withholding entry of $404,500.00. I looked at my 1040, the actual number on line 64 is $4,045.

So I called the number listed on the letter. After 49 minutes of waiting on hold, a person finally picked up. She basically told me that I needed to send over another copy of my 1040.

"Is the IRS going to pay me for the time and postage that is required for me to send this to you since it was a mistake the IRS made?"
"Um...most likely I'm thinking no. But you can contact your local branch to ask."
"Gah! I hate the U.S. Government!" and I hung up the phone.

Lately, on a lot of different levels, I just feel like I'm getting screwed. If you want to hear it from me, then ask because this hits on a lot of different levels. More on topic, however, is the face that our government hates to take responsibility for what it does. It's the reason we wait 230+ years to apologize for something as inane as slavery. It's the reason we destroy countries and leave them desolate and claim that it's all for the fight against terror. It's the whole reason that an ignorant, belligerent and imbecilic administration looks to destroy our natural lands in the short term for a fix that doesn't have a long tail.

My written response to the IRS:
"Dear Madam:

In regard to your letter number <> dated June 26, 2008, please check the original Form 1040 that I sent to the IRS earlier this year. The amount listed on line 64 is actually $4,045.00 and not $404,500.00 (as described in your letter). I called 1-800-829-0922 and was told that I would have to send in another copy of my 1040 but find this an unnecessary and unreasonable expense of time and money on my behalf in lieu of the fact that the mistake was that of the IRS and not of my own making.

Thank you for your time."

Hence, we're moving to Canada to escape Bush (See video below) and his authoritarian, unlawful patriot act bearing and shortsighted regime.

Bush Tours America To Survey Damage Caused By His Disastrous Presidency

City Sense...

2008-07-20T09:11:00.000-04:00

You'd like to think that it's something you get when you live in the city - a transformation caused by some of the pollution around you that gives you an innate and super ability to live, work and play in a city.

But really, it's just an understanding you come to.

Sure, after living in an urban environment, you develop some "abilities." For example, you should learn to parallel park a car - when I use the word, should here I don't use it in a suggestive sense, but in the sense that it's something that will happen as you park your car over and again on a curb in any populated neighborhood.

You learn how to feed a meter. Regularly.

You learn that bicycling is a more environ-friendly mode of transit and that it's generally faster than driving.

You learn (and this is something that I've hit on before) that amidst the beauty of a thing created (like a cityscape) comes the reality of a world that exists in brokenness caused by sin.

It's a funny place where everything can be simultaneously right and wrong. It is right for you to be where you are because you know, in one way or another, that you're called to be here. It's wrong because there are others calling you to move away.

It is right because in the confluence of ideas, art, culture, science, education, government and technology there is understanding that image bearers are able to imitate and reflect the God they may or may not know and recognize. It is wrong because in the confluence of crime, destruction, racism, discrimination, murder, greed and indifference there is an understanding that image breakers are willing and desirous of rebelling against the same God.

There's not really any one thing that got me thinking about this on this time out writing. If you've stopped here before, you know that it's something that comes up from time to time when I write; meaning that I'm thinking about this a lot. A few good examples would suffice to describe the sense that my city (Philadelphia) exudes.

When you're walking the streets here, you can experience two (or more) entirely different "cities," in the course of a mile or two. It's not uncommon to walk down a street and see a home valued at $600k+ next door to one that's dilapidated, condemned or (even worse) the base of a drug dealer. Center City is what you'd be familiar with if you came to visit, however. Center City is where all the large buildings are. It's where all the fun stuff is - the kind of things you do when you visit a city. While there, you'd probably also visit the Art Museum area and Old City. You'd notice that the streets in Center City are relatively clean, that there are friendly people to help you when you're lost and that there's a healthy police presence.

The sense of Philadelphia changes, however, if you go a mile north or a mile south of Center City. As you travel down Broad, away from the big buildings, it wouldn't be uncommon to see a neighboring car's window roll down and watch trash free float from there to the ground. Towards the fall, there are sometimes whirlwinds of trash as the weather gets a little more windy. The trash thing spans all colors of skin and economic status, apparently...

If you ride a train in, you might be awed by the striking beauty of the city (if coming in from the North or East, this view is to your left). Looking off to your right, it's easy to be sickened by the amount of garbage piled beside the train tracks - the amount of bad graffiti tagged on train tunnels and abandoned buildings.

The sense of a city, mine at least and I imagine most, is conflicted. The sense you develop in interacting with it is the same. It's easy to question trust in other people. You wonder when and how you should trust them. While in a town watch course, La learned that when you're walking the streets in any part of the city, you should always be aware of what's around you by turning your head every few seconds.

We've found too that there can be a cultural mistrust at large. It doesn't always seem like a good thing to some that younger people of a different color of skin or background would be moving to their neighborhood. Gentrification has detrimental ramifications and years of discrimination won't be left buried under the guise of hope and promise. In my mind and heart, I don't believe that anything apart from Christ can really work to heal this sense of deep sadness and betrayal that some (not all, trust me, not all) of our African American neighbors hold - it's complicated and ingrained in a few generations who have learned that you can't trust and that you'll never get anywhere for it.

City sense is not necessarily something you get, but something you become a part of. The sense of a city will exist with you in it, or with you away. It isn't a super power or ability, but it is something to interact with - something that can affect you and something you can affect.

A World Removed (thoughts on glacier)...

2008-06-26T22:19:00.000-04:00

Crown of the Continent.
It's another name for Glacier National Park in Montana.

It's all kind of weird. I think that I had just come to an exuberant love of the city (more specifically - Philadelphia). I love the fact that there are people everywhere. I kind of half expect life with Jesus to be like that (what, with one glorious city and all). I love the fact that I can take my bike onto the train to ride to work. I love the fact that I can walk down the street to buy the sandwich.

Montana was something different though. It wasn't just rural...it was wild. Literally, Glacier is said to have some of the most pristine and still untouched wilderness on our continent. There has not been a place that has gripped my core like Montana did, and it has really been hard to get over the experience of just being there.

We visited a few places - we stuck it out in Kalispell while waiting for Laura's folks (unfortunately, they had a 12 hour flight delay). We checked out Whitefish, which was more or less a touristy ski town. We bought groceries in Columbia Falls.

Nothing, however, matched the view we had when we awoke in the morning. The view on the top of this blog is Lake McDonald. The time is around 4:30 in the morning - we were on our way home.

The sun didn't set until after 11:00 pm.

Most mornings, by the time I was out of bed, it was already impossibly bright outside. I would step out into the crisp June air (this isn't a typo or a misplaced colloquialism - it snowed in Montana the day before we arrived in Montana) and took in a deep breath of mountain, spruce, wildflower and glacier. The abundance of wildlife was incredible (to include flora). I've never seen so many deer in my collective life as I did while just hiking the park.

Glacier didn't have the highest peaks I've ever seen.
She didn't have the deepest rivers.
But she was a breathtaking view of unkempt wild.

When I board the train to go to work...I close my eyes and imagine being there again. I know that the unfortunate fact is that a place like that is just not where I'm supposed to be. I don't know if a place like that is where anyone is supposed to be permanently. There's a sort of wreaking of havoc going on when the desire of man to obtain beauty destroys that which it is trying to contain.

If you'd like to see it, go soon - they say at this rate, the glaciers will melt by 2030...

And, for those of you wondering - My love for the city is still there, it's just that something else is trying to crowd for space.

Emphysema...

2008-06-22T23:44:00.000-04:00

I read this story tonight.

Funny how people with stardom, with talent, with ability...all live lives that seem to be a little empty - kind of clawing at the air to find satisfaction.

The story made me think of my aunt. As far as I know, she didn't have much talent and definitely didn't have stardom. She was born during a time in which racism was institutionalized (the 30's) and a place where it was accepted and at times promoted (Atlanta, GA). Towards the end of her life, she started working on our family tree.

She also smoked.

I remember visiting her in a hospital in Atlanta. I didn't want to be there. I've never stopped to think of how many hospitals I've been in since then, but it's been a lot. I remember seeing her in a gown. I remember being in a room with windows that didn't open, with machines that never shut down... with tubes and tape attached all over my Aunt Nelda's body.

She also had emphysema.
The doctors said that if she didn't quit, she would kill herself.
So she quit. She quit for about a month or two, that is.
Now...she's quit for good.

She was able to quit before my dad did - neither, by their disdain for cigarettes, but by the sheer inability of a corpse to inhale the sweet nectar of nicotine.

I haven't thought of her much. Now that I think about it, I can't remember much about her - nothing except how excited I was to give her a call when we visited my granny.

Now...I'm thinking of all the times I've been in a hospital in the past few years...

I feel like I belong...

2008-06-21T08:10:00.000-04:00

"You eat like one of us," she said with an enthusiastic and purposeful smile.

"I'm sorry?" because I didn't understand what she was getting at - plus, it was hard to hear over the box fan.

"You eat like a black person; we like to put hot sauce on everything!" Merl told me this, the smile never leaving her face.

She's the owner of a new breakfast / lunch corner restaurant appropriately named, "Merl's." If you can believe it, for lunch (at this point, a couple of weeks ago) I had fried salmon patties (covered in hot sauce), fried eggs, grits, and wheat toast.

The meal was pretty good. The service was outstanding. Merl's hospitality made me feel like I belong.

There's a lot to make me feel like I don't belong here (that is, in my neighborhood).

The color of my skin.
My family origins.
An accent that slips out every now and again.
Where I work.
Where I play.
My age.
The multiple tickets I've received.

Sometimes, there are stares. When we first moved here, someone saw my truck as an object of their hatred - I think I may have written about this earlier (the scratches). After the truck came the trash - not just normal Philly trash, but the kind that is intentionally left in front of our home in a bag. Following that, there have been at least two people (neighbors - I know where they live on our block) who have asked us for money.

But then, there are the smiles.

There's Mr. Henderson, our next door neighbor who tells us he's missed us when we travel and who tells us he's glad to see us again.
There's Bill and Juliet (members at Tenth Presbyterian) who always greet me with a smile, who always have something to say about what's going on with them or something to ask about what's going on with me.
There's Rahim - our little buddy Rahim - who waves at me from down the street and yells "Hi," to me. He remembers my name too.
There's also Rahim - the adult Muslim who lives down the street - who always has a honk , a wave, and a smile as he's driving past.
There's our neighborhood association - a group of people who want to see a difference in our neighborhood.
There's our church - a group of like minded believers who want to see Christ make a difference in our city.
Now, there's Merl's - a corner restaurant with an owner who tells me that I eat like a black person.

Travel (By the Numbers)

2008-06-17T22:41:00.000-04:00

Four airline tickets purchased with frequent flier miles.

32 nights spent in hotel rooms.

Over 7,000 miles traveled by air.$0 paid to see One Mormon Temple in Salt Lake City, UT (more to come)...

Format

2008-05-25T10:01:00.000-04:00

So, I'm thinking of a new format here - something that would be a bit more regular while incorporating both personal and impersonal content. Though, I suppose it will all be "personal," as I don't intend to enlist others to write here.

The plan would be to write 3 or 4 times a week. I'm thinking something along the lines of, "By the Numbers," (I always love segments / articles like that) "Where I've Been," (Travel), Probably something more serious for the weekends, and the "or 4," would be whatever I feel like doing.

Feel free to feed back anything you wouldn't like, would think is wonky*, or just generally uninteresting.

So, I guess this would qualify as a blog about a blog.

(*Wonky is a word that I got from Laura, she heard this from her mother. It is slang for stupid, British slang for unreliable. On an unrelated note, we recently watched the season finale of Extreme Home Makeover ((on our laptops - for those of you wondering, we've still been television-less and will remain so indefinitely)) that featured "Willy Walker" as one of the two owners of a renovated property - a church. So, perhaps the Rev. Willy Walker would be a more appropriate name. All I could think of is to associate him with Willy Wonka and think that he was living in Ray Nagin's Chocolate City. Wonky > Walker > Wonka).

A truck bed full of wood...

2008-04-26T08:38:00.000-04:00

As you may be aware (from Jotting Ajar), I have a truck bed full of wood. I'm trying to be a little industrious here by making some outdoor furniture - it's coming along okay.

In regard to that, I was out yesterday with a handsaw making legs for an outdoor table I'd like to make. As an aside, standing outside of your truck bed with a saw and some cut tree stumps is a great way to meet neighbors in the city.

Everyone wanted to know what I was doing.
Some even suggested that I use a chainsaw.
My response, "That costs too much."
"But it's only $20 at the Home Depot!"
"I already have a handsaw though." *smile*

That kind of idea is lost in a culture of waste - theres no value in doing something by hand. No value in the care and attention it would take to do something slowly...purposefully. Part of this definitely feeds into our cityscape trash. Part of this definitely feeds into our city's rate of murder (less than last year, still climbing).

Either way, as I'm cutting Raheem (or, Rahim?) our new little from friend from down the street comes bounding up with a jump rope in tow. We met Raheem during our record breaking city wide cleanup a few weeks ago. Raheem helped us clean up the neighborhood and was probably a lot more enthusiastic that we were about it. We wave at him any time we see him and enjoy talking with him when we have the chance. Right now, he's training to beat his mom at jumping rope. He's in the second grade and his favorite subject is math (especially multiplication, division, and addition).

"Why you got all this wood in the back of the truck?"
"Well, someone was giving it away for free, so I just picked it up out of their yard on my way home from work."
"Oh. All this wood would be good for camping."
"Um...yeah, I guess that it would."
"So when we go we can make a big fire out of it."
"Uh...excuse me?"
"You know when we go camping..."

Now, this wasn't said with any presumptuousness. Really, it was said with a sort of innocence that I guess you'd expect from a second grader moving into the third grade. When I told La, she melted...

"So, whatcha doin' March 13th?" asked Raheem.
"What was that date again?"
"March 13th."
"I dunno."
"Well, next week, we're going to a farm!"
"We are?"
"No, we are."
"You mean you?"
"Yeah, me and my family..."

He went on to tell me how excited he was to go and to talk about the things he wanted to see when he went there.

I would like to go camping with Raheem. Maybe that's a little strange. La and I talked about how we could work in a trip with other folk from City Church or something - that way it becomes something that might become more palatable by his grandmother (who he lives with).

As always, this story is probably funnier if you here me telling it. Though, it was definitely worth sharing...

Slavin' Saturdays...

2008-04-19T22:01:00.000-04:00

For the past few Saturdays, we've worked...a lot.

It's not necessarily uncommon for us to work on Saturdays, but the amount of work we've been doing has kind of been tremendous. No deep thoughts here, no introspective reflections tonight.

Nope - just exhaustion.

The past two Saturdays, we've worked at a community garden to try to get things cleaned and cleared so that other people can plant (and some people already are). Jason and I pulled, hauled, and stacked bricks. Later, I grilled up so burnt wieners and some not so burnt hamburgers. Laura planted bulbs and talked to a lot of passerby's.

Maybe later I'll talk about crossing the racial / gender / socioeconomic divide and the implications of in this garden. For the rest of the night, however, I'll be watching Into the Wild with my wife.

PS - There is a winner from our contest; I've been informed, however, that I have to hold on putting out the results until both Twilley's can write about it...

Our Back Yard

2008-04-13T13:39:00.000-04:00

Your vote matters...

Laura and I are doing a little project in our "back yard," and need your help to make a final decision. The final results will be posted next week (when we will commence our work, weather permitting).

This is what we currently have:

Here are our choices:

Horizontal Wood

"In my design, I want to create simple backdrop that warms up the space. I want the plants to be the first thing you notice, not the woodwork."

(click to enlarge)

Vertical Beams

"In my design, I want to create a surface that warms and expands the space. I want the woodwork to create a functional space for some climbing plants while also encouraging the viewer to look beyond the garden itself."

(click to enlarge)

Now vote!

"Stupidest thing...ever..."

2008-04-06T07:44:00.000-04:00

I'm trying not to get sucked in to this...
However, I've noticed that some people complain seemingly for the sake of complaining.

In a class that I was teaching, there was a person who had difficulties accessing certain online courses (sorry to be so vague). In any case, I gave her the correct person to contact. She essentially ignored my advice, and then complained about how the people she called weren't helping her. I told/asked no less than 3 times if she had made any attempt to contact the person I told her to. The answer was no.

When the problem was fixed, she continued to complain about how hard of a time she's had in the past in trying to get it to work.

Ugh.

On the plane ride back from Manchester (on U.S. Air), the stewardess informed everyone during her safety speech that all the windows needed to be open for the sake of safety (albeit strange, it was not difficult to comply).

A guy behind me, when told to close his window, exclaimed "This is the stupidest thing ever."
On our descent, he was asked again to open his window and exclaimed a second time, "This is the stupidest thing ever."

Really? I should have turned around to ask.

Kind of interesting to look from the outside in to see how small inconveniences are literally ruining peoples lives and how, when it happens, they want to suck you into their world to be a complainer too...

Hope through a valley named "Trouble..."

2008-04-04T15:39:00.000-04:00

Lately...I've felt owned by the city.
I don't try to talk about that subject as much, you know?

Sometimes, people say, "It's so cool that you live where you do." While there's some truth to that, it's also so difficult to live where we do (at times). It's so hard to live where we do.

Sometimes, it feels like a lot of trouble.

The other night - really, at this point, about a week ago - Laura and I were sitting and I told her the same thing. We're coming up on our first full year in Philly. During that time, I've literally lost count of how many times my truck has been vandalized or damaged. I've lost count of the number of hours I've spent on the road for work (whether for travel or just commuting). I've lost count of the number of fights Laura and I have gotten in (no doubt, the burden of our city weighs on this). I've lost count of the amount of trash we've picked up off the street (sometimes, even placed in front of our house intentionally).

I've lost count of the fights on the street.
The number of parking tickets we've gotten.
The number of times I've had to contact the gas company due to their immense ineptitude.

Last week - March 25 - things even took a turn for the worse. If you know me, you know how much of an advocate I am for taking public transit. Come to find out, I may be the only one who uses it out of an office of 400. Seems SEPTA (Southeast Pennsylvania Transit Authority) has found out to - which is why they cancelled the route to my office - I now have to walk over a highway that definitely has signs forbidding pedestrian traffic and then 15 minutes at a clip to my office building.

Oh, by the way, I found this out after I sat in the bus for an hour.
Oh, and don't forget, I overslept that morning and missed my Amtrak out to my office's area and had to take a later train.
I left my bike helmet on that same train.
Too, work was really hard that day.

There have been a number of things (personal and public) that have caused me to question whether hope is lately. I don't write this lightly - because without hope, there's not much of a reason to continue forward.

At the end of the day, when I finally made it home (helmetless, cold, angry, etc.) I overheard a conversation down the street.

girl (questioning) - "You're in the fourth grade, right?"
boy (proudly) - "Yeah, but I'm supposed to be in the sixth. You know, they held me back for a while."

The same boy came walking down the street. As I struggled to get my bike into the house, the same boy walked up to me and asked, "Hey, can I ride your bike?"

me (incredulous) - "Where do you want to ride it?"
boy - "Around the corner to my house."
me - "That's a little far."
boy - "How about down the street?"
me - "The bike might be a little big for you."
boy - "It'll be aight."
me (hesitantly) - "Um. ok."

See, this kind of crap doesn't happen. This is the kind of stuff of naivety that leads one to losing their bike and never seeing it again. But...I felt compelled to do it.

So, he rode slowly on the bike, but only after switching it to the lowest (slowest) gear. He rode down one block. Then two. I locked my door - I thought to myself, "I can catch up if I need to - the shoes are okay to run in."

At the end of the 2nd block he turned around and began the work of riding the bike back. As he approached, two older boys rounded the corner.

older boy - "Where'd you get that bike."
boy on my bike - "It's not mine."
older boy - "Then whose is it?"
boy on bike - "My friend's over there."

He was pointing at me.

I was reading through Hosea earlier that morning and thought a lot about the pursuit of the Church by Christ. I thought a lot about how that pursuit of me...as an individual part of a whole...looked.

See, I at the end of the day, I can look at my situation and feel like I've been owned. I can feel like there is no hope. But our feelings, by definition of a reality that has elements of ruin intermingled with the capacity of understanding, can stand erroneously and in contempt of what is.

More often than not, my problem is not that God is destroying me by my environment. More often than not, my problem is that I don't understand my circumstance to be subordinate to the hand of God - to His providence, grace, and mercies.

So when a fellow image bearer, who I've determined to be of ill repute in my own heart - to be of low standing, of little trustworthiness, and disparate motives - embraces me (whether literally or metaphorically), it strikes a cord. I've lent that same understanding to my environment too.

Instead of seeing the boy as an image bearer, I see him as a thief.
Instead of seeing the earth as a means of God's providence, I see it as a prison.

And so what is real is defined by me. I make myself a god. And for that, I deserve to believe that life is hopeless (as, in that context, it is).

Seriously though, thanks be to God - who can show me that through the Valley of Achor (trouble)...there's a door of hope.

Right now...I'm glad to be in this valley, because I know that this valley...this city...isn't the whole of reality. Right now...I know that it something be be engaged - something that I can grow to understand and love, or something that I can fear and hate.

A rare quote...

2008-03-11T12:53:00.000-04:00

I rarely, if ever, post during the day.

I overheard this though, and thought that I couldn't pass up the opportunity to post it out into the blogosphere.

"Hey , I didn't see you come in. I mean, you come in and out unseen - just like a ninja!" (A woman said this, and yes, there was emphasis added by her when the word "Ninja" came forth).

I'm only glad she's not throwing stars, jumping off walls, or throwing pepper bombs.

Also, I'd like to shoot this link out there. I thought it might be helpful for me (because I travel a good deal for work).
http://howto.wired.com/wiki/Fly_Through_Airport_Security?oldid=23402

However, I already do all of this. Everything, that is, except for bypassing all the "dawdlers."

Helpful info for those of you who may be traveling soon. And if you can't read, there are pictures to help you along (though, if this is the case for you, you probably can't read this...).

NY Met = Awkward

2008-03-09T11:24:00.000-04:00

We spent the better part of yesterday at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art next to central park (just in case you didn't know where it was). We've actually been to the "Big Apple," 3 times in the past year (Laura's actually been 4 - so, 3 together).

Like most high-profile public venues these days, the Met has a self-imposed security check at the entrance. We actually stayed in Times Square on Friday night (for free @ the Hilton Garden Inn) and so we had two backpacks - one for clothing and one for electronics (a camera, books, cords, and a laptop).

So, walking through the line - I get to one checkpoint and they tell me I have to go back and have my laptop "checked," by other security personnel. Once there, they ask me to turn my laptop on. I obliged. Apparently, they just wanted to make sure that it was a functioning laptop.

A word to the wise - make sure your laptop is working if you bring it to the Met.
Apparently, you're screwed if it doesn't.

So the guy tells me, "Here, you'll have to show this piece of paper throughout the museum if anyone asks - that way they won't have to check your bag again."

"Wait," I say, "Can't I just check this at the coat check."

"No, things tend to fall off the rack in there - when you see it, you'll agree that you wouldn't want to check it," he retorts. "Oh, by the way, you'll have to wear your back-pack on the front. There are a lot of people here today and it would be kind of awkward to hit someone with your backpack as your walking through."

Right. Because this isn't awkward:

It wasn't until later that I thought that I should have been taking pictures of others like me - people who bought into this idea that it was more awkward to hit someone with your backpack than it was to walk around with it on the front of your body like some sort of Baby Bjorn for a laptop. Despite the enforced awkwardness of the day, it was still pretty fun and tiring. Here are a few more pics from our day - one awkward, the rest not so much so.

But what is, “Normal?”

2008-03-07T23:13:00.000-05:00

In Alabama, there’s actually a place called, “Normal.” In Normal, there is a historically black college called Alabama A&M.

In high school, some friends and I visited the school. It was our senior year. We had a few “college,” days (days where you could cut school to visit local colleges) and we thought that it would be fun to go to A&M for half a day and grab lunch together afterwards.

Normal is normal in the sense that its school is like so many other public education institutions in Alabama. The outside seemed pretty amazing (to be honest, we weren’t expecting much). The inside of the school was literally falling Apart.

But that’s not really Normalcy.
Things aren’t really meant to fall apart.

My city is similar. The other day, the rain washed the streets of her accumulated filth. Grime, salt, trash, and decay cover her during most of the winter. When it rains like it did the other night, there’s a freshness to the pavement and a reminder of how things are supposed to be.

While the outside streets speak of the beauty of ingenuity and industrialism, they don’t speak to the reality of the people who walk them.

It’s a funny thing to think about. When friends visit (and friends, trust me, I mean no harm in this or disregard for our love of your company) I think that it’s hard for them to see the reality of what these streets hold. What we and many of our friends come from in terms of context is prime American suburbia. I think we even still see our home as an adventure rather than a place to live – a place to be, to engage, to hurt with, and to be angry about and for. When friends come, they see it much the same way – a fun place, exciting, cool, or scary.

But it’s not normal.

It doesn’t often compel us to worship.

It doesn’t often compel us to bow a knee to the most High Who has created the drug dealer, dentist, priest, or prostitute in His image. More often, it causes us to ask, “What are you doing? Can you hear us? Can you hear them?”

When God puts you anywhere, He intends to elicit some sort of action from you. That action at its very core is to Worship Him – that’s the normalcy of the life that He has drawn us (meaning me and my wife) in to.

More often though, I’d rather keep things just like Normal though – a quirky place to visit with friends just to have a day off from life, but not a place I’d like to learn, to grow, to minister, or to change.

Lazy Blogger...

2008-02-10T17:50:00.000-05:00

What's better than thinking of posts that will make one ponder, inspire others, and draw the blogosphere to laughter?

Posting videos that will do the same.

Think (Ponder - we live in a dangerous world)

Inspire (This is one of the reasons I'm leaning heavily towards the man - the speech, not the celebrity endorsements)

Laugh (we did...)

Lazy weekend. Lazy post.

Recent Reads...

2008-01-25T19:57:00.001-05:00

Thought I'd put a few of these out there for your perusal - I've been on a pretty "sad," and desolate way as of late (as far as the reading goes). When I say "sad," I'm speaking more about content (really, about the first two books listed under "What I've read").

Although, it may also be sad that the double edged sword of Oprah's Book Club is usurping more and more books (double edged that it's getting more people to read good books while also labeling me as a "book club" reader when people see her ever present "O").

Currently finishing up:
Spiritual Leadership
When Sinners Say I Do

What I've read:
The Road
Night
LeadershipNext

Coming down the pike
possibly, Into the Wild
Love in the Time of Cholera
A Thousand Splendid Suns
Some stuff on "Gospel Communication," and "Pastoral Counseling"

So, I've been on a bit of a reading frenzy lately (which is definitely better, I suppose, than playing games - at least more productive than). With The Road, the question may obviate towards, "Have you seen no country for old men?"

My answer: "No, but I want to."

In any case, I'm going to attempt throwing up some reviews here (one at a time so as not to overwhelm both you and myself).

The Road; The Review
The road is the ubiquitous experiential path that all men walk - that same place that causes you to hate life and mistrust others. Cormac McCarthy describes this metaphorical place by taking us through a post-apocalyptic world where happiness is hollow and hope scarce. At the end of the book, you're left wondering, "Who were the, 'Good guys,' and why is evil so rampant?"

Here is where McCarthy really connects with us on a gut level as at the end of the day, I think a lot of us are asking the same question.

We, however, do not live in a post-apocalyptic world.

At its very core, The Road compels us (or at the very least, me) to really confront themes of trust, hope, peace, and justice within our day to day goings. The Road is certainly a glimpse at how merciless and self serving man can be when driven to the point of dire self-preservation.

I don't want to ruin it all for you, but I would say that the end of the book really reveals a lot of grace and goodness that's hard to see through the father and son interactions throughout the course of their wanderings - it was (without any hesitation) a great relief.

Apart from the nature of the text, this is a very easy read (I read it on a round trip bus trip to NYC from Philly). McCarthy has a style that can be quite disarming on the one hand, and quite confrontational in another. There are no chapters, there are few breaks, and the prose is written is a sort of stream of consciousness style while still retaining the composure of being logical in what the writer is communicating.

While not for the feint of heart, it is worth the read for those who are willing to have their own assumptions about the goodness of self challenged.

This is definitely a brief (I may post it to Amazon as well), but I hope it whets your appetite enough to want to read it yourself (and then to call me so we can talk about it).

Gene Hearts Winter.

2007-12-29T14:45:00.000-05:00

No, winter is not the name of a person, not in the particular context I'm speaking of anyways.

Winter is the time of year when you breathe in the type of air you can taste - air that comes from high atop mountains from far away, that falls slowly from thin clouds in the sky, and that infiltrates through your very flesh and into your bones. It is that time that makes you draw close to others out of necessity, an not mere desire. Winter is definitely a time of year that I love.

You may have already seen some of these pictures on Laura's blog, but I'm posting a few here. It was such a fun time for us - which was a much needed relief from the monotony, divisiveness, and heartache of life. We probably saw more snow than we've seen in our collective lives and generally loved most of the time we had with each other.

I couldn't help but post this picture of Laura because it really encapsulates the fun we had with each other. The blur beside her right hand is a snow ball that she threw at me [without as much success as some of her others].

I also love winter because of the season it brings - we've enjoyed having Laura's family up over this weekend and are currently taking a "time out," from running around (we walked all around NYC yesterday and around the Schuylkill River today - we plan on heading out again tonight). I love the idea of reconnecting with family and friends and hate the fact that I don't do it more often.

On another subject, I read through The Road about a week and a half ago and think it may definitely be worth your read. I'll be posting a review soon.

Sonuva...

2007-12-20T22:39:00.000-05:00

If you've tried to call me in the last few days, I probably haven't answered. Perhaps, however, someone else did.

I've been looking for my cell for the past few days (I'm currently in Portland, ME for business) and haven't had any "luck" in finding it. I was checking my usage this afternoon and noticed that my last call was at 2:52 this afternoon.

You might remember, I just said that I haven't had my phone for the last few days.

Ass. That is, stubborn mule - you jerk. You, the one who refused to answer my calls from my wife's cell phone on my very own phone. You, the one who is enjoying my chocolate while I cannot. You, the one who is stealing.

No more.

If you try to call me in the near future, you'll get some kind of message that my phone has been disconnected. Verizon suspended the number until I get a new phone.

Sorry that this is the next new message after weeks of dark quiet, but if you know of a place where I can get a new phone for next to nothing (just need one with e911, Verizon won't allow me to activate a phone otherwise.

So, for now, I've been thrown back into the early, um, 2000's. That is, that point in time before I ever had my first cell phone.

Home sweet home...

2007-11-24T21:27:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately... at least for those of you who have, in the past, taken great pleasure in my traveling woes, our Thanksgiving travels went off pretty cleanly.

Of course, it wouldn't be a Twilley Travel Time without some kind of hitch.

Though really, when it comes down to it, this isn't typically of Twilley Travel. I think I've mentioned this before, but prior to my marriage I rarely had travel woes. In fact, I was once even bumped up to first class on a flight for nothing. I've talked to my bride's father and he concurred that these traveling times are more typical of something that would happen to them.

So here is a recent Twilley Travel update.

We left Amanda and Renee with our home last Sunday [they both ran the Philadelphia half marathon, congratulations!] in hopes of making it to the airport early... by regional rail [which is kind of like a subway, except it's mostly above ground and goes throughout the region...on rails...] We made it to Suburban Station [basically the regional rail's hub in Center City Philly - all the trains out to the burbs end up here at some point] about ten minuted before the RR [regional rail] was supposed to show.

I looked up, and our RR had a number "29" beside it and the word, "Late."
Laura and I debated a little about what the "29" meant. That is, we debated until the LED for our RR disappeared altogether. Why show up 29 minutes late if another train is going to be there @ 8:30 anyways?

We decided to run out and catch a cab [the RR would have couse us circa $14, Philly cab? $26.50].

Did I mention that there was a marathon, half marathon, and 8k being run on the day of our departure? Did I mention that there were somewhere around 15,000 runners out that morning? We walked south and smack into a wall of runners [actually, when it comes down to it, our path was perpendicular - ancillary point].

We walked two blocks east and then a block north to city hall [this is where the major N, S, E, and W roads that dissect Philly converge] in search for a taxi. We found one and he brought us to PHL post haste.

No real hangups in the security lines [and actually, you can read a new installment re: travel on Twilleynomics - because I'm going to try to run with the idea of Twilley based economics there].

The plane was [surprisingly] on time.
Our actual departure, not so much.

We sat on the runway a while. You know, because it takes a while for 17 planes to take off before your's does. Yes...seventeen planes.

So, we made it to ATL after some time in the air, grabbed some lunch, and headed to our gate for a flight to BHM.

A few situations here.
First, our preferred mode of travel is with limited luggage - meaning we've usually got our lap tops and a carry-on with our clothes with nothing else.

Apparently, the gate domimistress decided that Laura's bag was, in fact, too large for the plane. Checking the baggage at the gat was completely against our plans, yet we obliged.

Then, as we are literally on the runway [of couse, after we had already boarded the plane and left the gate], the captain informed us that one of the doors appeared to be open on the plane. Not only that, we'd also have to head back and wait for an open gate before any of the doors could be checked and rotated through their sequence. He knew that it was open because a light on his dash told him so.

The question begs, why didn't someone check this light before we left the gate?

After an hour of waiting, a gate opened up and we were checked out and back out on the tarmac in little to no time. But, you see, we were taking off close to when we should have been landing in BHM. I was actually composing my letter of complaint to Delta in my mind during the flight. However, my dreams of compensation were short lived - we actually made it to Birmingham in little less than a half hour than we were supposed to.

All to say, pilots must be regularly flying much more slowly - which I am sure helps with fuel economy.

In BHM, we thought Laura's carry-on was lost - for some reason, they had taken it straight to the luggage office instead of tossing it on the conveyor belt with everyone else's.

In a nut shell, that's it. We actually made it home early through one of the world's worst [read - most congested] airports [PHL]. I guess, you could say the only thing we regretted about the trip home was that we didn't get bumped [last year, we gave up our seats for $400 worth of flight vouchers, two free meals, and extra skymiles - see Twilleynomics for more info].

A Short Look Into My Past...

2007-11-09T22:20:00.000-05:00

Nothing deep here [though the title may allude otherwise]. Just thought it might be interesting to post a link to snippets of my past. In High School, I was one of maybe 3 football players that played a collectible card game [CCG] called "Star Wars."

You can see my e-bay sale here.

I don't get sentimental about too many things, but this was literally such a large part of my life in High School.

Altogether strange.

BP also posted this video of me on Youtube. Thanks - thought the video might have been lost or something...imagine my relief to know that Brian's e-mailed this to me and God knows how many others;-).

Gene loves the city...

2007-11-07T09:08:00.000-05:00

Last night, I thought a lot about movement and windows.
I thought a lot about the lives people were leading – how they were doing, where they were going.

I’ve started taking the train to work – I’ve talked about this before, but as every day passes, this seems to be more and more of a viable option for us. To be honest, I feel so much more rested and composed when I do not have to drive for 1 ½ hours on one of the busiest roads I’ve ever driven. More than that, riding while someone else is “driving,” gives me the time and opportunity to sort and process all of my thoughts from a given day, or a given week, or a given relationship.

Last night, I was reminded why I love to live in a city like Philadelphia.

When you’re riding in from the suburbs in the evening, there is darkness. Even from the tracks of public transit, you can see the homes, lawns, and privacy fences of those who were tired of the City and ready to literally “get away.” There’s less graffiti, more trees, and the tracks become slightly more removed from its surroundings.

Riding back into the city, there are monolithically constructed buildings of mortar and reflective glass. There, all the tracks seem to coalesce at 30th Street Station in University City. The remnants of older trains stand guard as you enter into a grand old station.

There is graffiti.

There are few trees.

There is chain link, but no privacy.

There are city lights. There, on the left, is the art museum. There are people bustling to get out of the city and people hustling to get their next meal (or, their next drink, or, their next fix). The buildings of mortar and reflective glass are lit like Christmas trees covered with votives and garland – beautiful in a way that an urbanite would appreciate.

In a city like Philadelphia, the tower of Babel has fallen and there really seems to be mass confusion. Despite the fact, people have decided to stay for one reason or another; they have decided to love the city. Perhaps it’s a mere tacit approval; perhaps they’re here because they couldn’t have afforded the quiet life in the suburbs – but the fact remains that all 1.4 million of them are here.

Last night I thought about movement and windows.
I thought about how the past has been left behind and how that same past has shaped my loves and desires today.
I thought about all the people who had come and gone through my own life – where they were going, what they were doing.
Sometimes, I wonder if they ever think of me.

A city in all of its grandeur is a stark reminder of the reminder of a world broken by sin. Someone once asked me what I like about the city, and that (in a nut shell) is it. It’s easy for my skin to become thick when I am removed from a situation, a people, or a reality. The city allows me to be surrounded by the beauty that is man created in the image of the Divine. The city allows me to be surrounded by the death that is man breaking the covenant made with the Divine.

[The picture used in this blog was found on Wikipedia and taken by "surplusparts." Picture used under the guidelines of Creative Commons Attribution 2.0]

Link laden and laughing

2007-10-30T23:26:00.000-04:00

If you watch The Office, you'd probably agree that Michael [Steve Carrell] is so funny because he doesn't know that he's breaking the rules. It's a part of the show that hearkens back [or maybe for you, even presently] to the problems of sexual harassment, cultural ignorance, and self-centeredness [come to think of it, a time much like the 80's].

Switching gears, I always thought Birmingham, AL had a lot of problems - especially with the Municipal government. Everything there seemed a sham and the problems of the city seemed to be far from those who were in authority.

Switching gears again - Gene and La move to Philadelphia. Statistically, a safer city than Birmingham [to the senses, it's a much harder place however]. Gene begins to hear of the disdain of the current mayor and the hope of a new leader moving up through the ranks. Gene sees why folks are so upset with the way things are now.

You see, our mayor now [John Street] seems to be the personification of Michael Scott [in a slightly larger, darker, and lighter haired way]. When the new iPhone hit the streets, John Street was one of the first in line to get one...because he had been in line since 3:30am [at that point too, the Philly murder rate exceeded 200 - but taking into consideration that the city has 1.4mil people, your chances aren't that great of being one of those 200, especially if you're reading this now]. You can listen to NPR's story on Street's time in line here. Listen particularly closely for the talking points where he becomes defensive.

5 Days ago, our mayor decided to spend a day in a wheel chair. However, according to Street, this isn't the first time that he's done this. You can read an article here [as well as watch a video]. My favorite quote is, "I'm having today a sensitivity experience. I'm going to be in this wheelchair all day. This is not the first time I've done this..."

In times like this, it's hard to submit to the command of respecting the authority that has been placed over me - seriously.

Auto Autonomy

2007-10-27T15:23:00.000-04:00

Rule number one: Oil and Water don't mix...especially when you're talking in terms of brake fluid and power steering fluid.

Oddly, Laura's car seems to be leaking power steering fluid. When we leave her car for extended periods of time without driving [i.e. because she's traveling on business with me, or because she's not using her car], it becomes difficult to steer [well, at least for her - my arms are so strong I can barely feel a difference...]. Last Saturday, I decided to fill her power steering reservoir with what else but power steering fluid.

__________
I'm going to pause here, because I want you to know how very competent I am with car repair [wow, humble post today].

My first vehicle was a 1985 Ford F-150 [affectionately called "The Brick" by some of my friends] - American Assembled Ford Tough. During the latter of my teenage years, my dad [I affectionately called him "daddy," - that's what you do growing up in the deep South, even if you are half Asian] put it on me to repair the family vehicles. He would usually watch and direct - sitting in a chair that looked too old and worn for normal use - while drinking sweet tea out of a mason jar and smoking cigarettes. Every now and again there was something that was too difficult for me to do, and he would make the monumental effort he needed to get on the ground beside me and show me how to do things the right way - always start with your hands, always clean the parts before you put them back on, don't stop until your finished, etc.

Over the course of time, I changed the brakes on my truck, my sister's car, and my mother's car. I replaced 2 clutches, replaced tie rods, changed out a rim, added a muffler, and replaced the master cylinder on The Brick. During those formative years I learned how to change a tire in less than ten minutes, how to change my own oil [and I did it for a good bit of the family], and how to listen for what was wrong with my vehicle. Later in life, I also replaced an EGR valve on my '94 Cougar.

My crowning achievement? In one evening, I replaced a head gasket on The Brick [started before my dad came home from work so I could show him just how competent I was].
__________

Last Saturday I was tired to say the least.

I walked outside, opened the Sentra's hood, and marveled at just how much power steering fluid was left in the power steering reservoir. Unfortunately, I wasn't looking at the power steering reservoir, but the master cylinder's [which is what basically helps your brakes to function correctly - ergo, only brake fluid should go there].

Still, I proceeded to top her off.

And after my work was done, I realized the error of my deeds. I ran into the house and immediately consulted Google. The multitude of other words meant to advise other people proceeded to tell me just how wrong I was to pour power steering fluid into the brake fluid.

You see, power steering fluid has a water base and brake fluid has an oil base. My hands haven't been clean for a week. Laura hasn't been able to drive in a week [and this is a week where a car would have helped her more than usual].

Today, however, she has auto autonomy.

I drained the fluid out of the master cylinder and bled the brake lines. Testing the car out proved that the job was done well [i.e. the car stops quickly].

My hands are clean.

Where I've been part deux

2007-10-17T09:22:00.000-04:00

A followup on my last post about work travel: Where I've Been

While a great deal of my travels take me to different states in the NE United States, I also travel within the Keystone State.

Scranton, PA. Don't let The Office fool you, Scranton is not as "hip" as it looks on TV [for those of you who need it, this is a form of "Sarcastic Irony"]. I'm sure, if you looked, you could find a Chili's, but the entire place seems to be pretty Sub-urban [there's a movement in the city to become the urban center of NE Pennsylvania. If you know NE PA, this will not be a necessarily "great" feat]. To their credit, they do have the only Krispy Kreme that I've seen in the NE [this place is saturated with Dunkin Donuts].

Also, if you're ever in the town of Scran, you should definitely hit up La Trattoria, a small italian restaurant within walking distance of Scranton's Radisson hotel. There are a few things that made this place special - fresh baked bread served at your table, huge tastey portions [with free seconds if you can handle it - I couldn't] and a wonderful family atmosphere.

Altogether, I may not be giving this small city in Lackawanna county a fair shake; I was only there for two days [it was a split trip - half of it was spent in Farmington, CT, the other half in Scranton, PA]. If I go back, maybe I'll stick my hands in a bit deeper to let you know how it is.

Pittsburgh, PA. I am actually in Pittsburgh as I type this [this is my second time here]. I can definitely say that the trip is better with La than it is w/out her. I don't know what I've expected of the city, but I figure that I like it better than I thought I would [there's a lot of Pittsburgh bias vibes coming out of Philly]. There's a lot that I'm sure she'll want to post about it, so I won't put too much here except that the food's been great and that I wish I would have found $2 Yuengling before tonight.

One thing I didn't expect in Pittsburgh: Dinosaurs.

Check out some of our Pittsburgh pics at fotki.

Thoughtless...

2007-10-13T10:59:00.001-04:00

Tonight is one of those rarities where I just can't sleep.

We had dinner with a great many new friends in our new city from the church we've been a part of since we've been here [today = 5 months...I think]. In part, this was a celebration of the fruitfulness of a couple, and the fruitfulness of God's people. This couple had basically invited everyone who had brought them dinner after their giving birth of a new son. Needless to say, there were quite a few people there [hospitality is not patently Southern].

Fruitfulness is a wonderful thing. It is also a wonderfully scary thing. I imagine, however, when our first child comes along there will be a mix of emotion much to what I'm feeling tonight. I imagine that our child [our = me and La] will be a lot like I am; that literally scares me on more levels than you know [and I am not "just saying" this...] Part of what scares me is remembering how I reacted when taken to a grave site growing up.

That is, with indifference.

It was not with a flagrant disregard or in abject disrespect - it's just that I didn't know the person in the grave. I couldn't relate to who they were. I didn't have late night conversations with them, I never sat back and drank sweet tea on a hot Southern summer's afternoon with them, I never shot pool with them, nor did I play Scrabble on the living room floor with them.

But I did with my dad.

And so I think about taking my children to his grave in Huntsville, AL and how they'll react. What will they be thinking? I doubt that they'll have much of a thought of what life would have been with him - I never did [in regard to visiting the graves of people I never knew]. I don't ever think of life with my mom's parents, right [I had never met either of them before they passed]? Thinking about it the other way around - he'll never get to hold them in his lap and tell them about how goofy I was when I was their age. He'll never get cherish them, to see them grow, to see them change, or to be loved by them.

A lot of what I hoped for when he was still alive was that when I had a family, that he would get to see a different kind of faith being lived out than what he was accustomed to [being generally skeptical of "Chrsitians" altogether]. I literally used to dream about what it would be like to pray with my children in his house - how something like that might grip his heart [as none of our conversations re: Christ ever seemed to].

And now, all of that is...impossible.
And now, I rarely even pray with my own wife except for meals.

That aside, when I am in Huntsville, I rarely visit his grave. Being at his grave once was enough. His bones are there, his casket, a concrete vault, a suit [he only wore it twice in public that I know of - my wedding and his own funeral - he said it was what he'd be buried in], and a headstone paid in part by the US Government [your tax dollars at work in memory of a Vietnam Vet] are all there.

There are no memories there.

It is an unfamiliar place...a literally lifeless place. It was a place that he'd only been to once and was never able to leave. It was the last place I saw his body, but not the last place that I saw him. And if I were to ever take my children there, they might remark about the trees, the landscaped lawns, the pond down the hill, but not about how life was with him; they'll never know that life or his.

Tonight is one of those rarities where I can't sleep - even after being surrounded by new friends, after enjoying good food and drink... even in bed with my own wife... as the loneliness of death is weighing upon my own heart.