Uhhhmmmmm… who writes this Christian curriculum?

Whether he realizes or not, my brother, Cory (a worship pastor with his kids in a private Christian school), just became my guest blogger. I converted his recent email to me into my newest blog entry:

So, I have a 5 year old who is grown up beyond her years, and I know this, so not much truly shocks me.  But, this week I had the surprise of my life.  She was doing her homework and reading it loud and proud.  It was a study on the letters “d” and “f”.  There would be a picture, and she would have to circle either the d or the f depending on which one the picture started with.  And of course, she would read them all out loud because they were funny to hear.  First there was “deather” “feather”, for the picture of the feather.  Then there was the picture of the dog, and of course loud and proud she reads “dog” “fog” again laughing at the funniness that was ensuing.  Nothing however could have prepared me for what happened next.  Still as loud and proud as before, she looked at the picture of the duck, and being that we had laughed with her at the other funny names, with even more zeal she proudly read “duck” “f***”!
Don’t you know the writer of Abeka’s curriculum is laughing his ass off right now!!!

The Wonder Years

Over a year ago I promised a follow-up to my ages 12 and up blog, one that recalled random yet vibrant memories from my childhood. It’s 1 o’clock in the morning and what better way to procrastinate and ward off such valuable sleep than to blog? Here are the random memories from middle school, a period in all of our lives…full of pimples, puberty, and pure pain.

6th grade: word spreading around my new school that I was a boy because I could dribble the basketball between my legs; playing POGS at recess and winning someone’s spider slammer; running for student council and trying to bribe my classmates with lollipops

7th grade: wearing my hair down in public–for a school photo–for the first time in…I can’t remember; getting a turtle off the side of the road in TX and bringing him home to CO as a pet; getting de-pants’d by the guy I had a crush on and wishing I never owned those granny panties

8th grade: almost choking to death on a wad of gum too big to chew just so I could look cool like the big league sports players; having never played volleyball before, joining the team just because I could jump high and block at the net; running the Indian Fartlek intervals with my fellow track team and cracking up because it sounded like “Indian fart lick”

Your turn…your vivid middle school memories. Go.

My Morning

(originally an email to kate.)

I would love to relay a story from today. Be prepared. Sit down. And put a trash can nearby.

Today I had a midterm for my Italian Geography class. Last night I fell victim to procrastination. I couldn’t study. How could I when I was really hungry and needed to make dinner, when I was thirsty and needed to fill and refill my mug with Gatorade, when Tiramisu lured me like the Sirens, when my computer screen was dirty and needed a wipe-down, when my toenails needed filing, when Ellen’s one-hour standup comedy routine and Gilly’s little Italian friend were just a click away on the same computer I was supposed to be studying on? How could I? My roommate and I decided to call it quits and instead get up early to prep for the exam.

We made it, bright and early, to the little cafe just near the center where our midterm would be. I ordered a bombaloni (creme filled donut) and a hot chocolate, the latter primarily used for warming up my 10 ice sticks some may call fingers. Two other DU girls popped in the cafe with the same intentions as my roommie and me. We pulled out our notes and highlighters, revved up the powerpoint slides, and got in gear for the next 1.5 hours of studying. All was going well. Until…

Sonia and I were at one little table studying away and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, an older man walk right past us, coming from what I thought was the bathroom. As he left, Soni G (my nickname for her, pronounced “Sony G”) and I made eye-contact. The smell of foul poopies were wafting in the air. I looked over at the other girls sitting at a table across from us and motioned with one hand what I considered the non-verbal code for “shut that bathroom door…the one RIGHT behind you…the one with POOPY smell coming out of it!” all the while keeping my other hand pinning my nostrils shut. But then…I witnessed the culprit…

I looked down on the ground, and along the path–where the man had walked from the “bathroom” to where he was standing now at the cafe counter–like stones laid out along a mountain hike, a trail of plops marked his route. Five or six little piles of black tar poo had made their way down his legs, journeyed out of his pant cuffs, and sat perfectly formed on the floor. And they were rancid. And quite shiny. And no more than 2 feet away from me.

I took action like any good gagging citizen would. I played hopscotch around the black blobs and eventually made it to the counter with a look on my face that frightened the employee. I made some grunting/heaving noise, pointed at the poo, then mimicked throwing up once more. Who says you need to know Italian to communicate with people in Italy ?? Her reply: “Oh Madonna!” Yes, she said, “Oh, Madonna.” Poor lady.

We 4 DU students quickly made our way outside to take in the fresh air: even the smell of cigarettes and pollution were inviting at that moment. The Madonna was forced to soak up the poo with newspaper and sawdust. At one point she took a break to come outside and chat with us, to apologize, and to ask if I’d seen who the pooer was. I put my Italian language skills to the test and told her, “There was man. Old. Where now? No know.” It was then that I noticed she had tears in her eyes. It couldn’t have been my poor use of such a beautiful language, could it? Nah. I concluded she was either flustered from the entire situation or the fumes were so potent they were making her eyes water. Either/Or. Who knows. No know.

The End.

I later found out from one of the other DU girls that the “bathroom” was actually only a closet. They had noticed the man come to the door, open it, peek inside and then leave. He must’ve been looking for a restroom. He found one. On the tiles next to my feet.

Jackie Chan vs. the Coke Machine

My mom and I were once again privileged to spend our evening and early morning hours in the presence of doctors, nurses, mechanical hospital beds, oxygen tubes, and portable plastic urinals. Partially filled. Lovely. In the midst of our ER visit last night, despite the ridiculous rants coming across the hall from an 18-year-old rebellious and depressed pimple-head, we found solace in the little room playing hangman on the white board and teaching/learning Italian. I must say she’s a good learner despite her age. That melon isn’t as overly ripe as I thought. Good going, Lady.

Hours passed as is common in the Emergency Room, with little direction or progress (similar to the style of US Government…crap, did I just say that?), and we noticed our blood-sugar levels teetering on cliff’s edge. But some genius, 5 years ago, thought to put vending machines in during the construction of Sky Ridge Hospital, vending machines which skillfully accept credit cards from debt-ridden people. “Suck us dry, insurance companies! Suck us dry, hospital admissions and billing departments! I may bleed all my money-blood for you, but I’ll walk away with my Twix and Coke in hand.” In fact, these little machines give us the air of having the upper hand in this business. Thank you, Mr. Vending-Machine Inventor. Mwah.

We’d charged $1.90 already to her credit card and had a bag of Cheetos and a Snickers to show for it. We moved on to the Coke machine. One dollar and a quarter. Note that we’d scrounged for this change before we knew these machines took plastic and literally threw away some of it in the trash by accident, and desperate for ‘nourishment,’ dove in after it. Weary at such a hideous hour, a bit disheveled by the evening’s events, and with eyes resembling alarmed blowfish, my mom sought the coin slot that’d take her money. I watched in amusement at her desperation and confusion. Finally, she found it. Bummer…I was having fun. Oh but fun was about to come. She put the 5 quarters in and in all her excitement about finally selecting and receiving a Dr. Pepper, she balled her right fist and outright punched the front of the vending machine. NOT the Dr. Pepper button as most would do. She punched the logo displayed on the front of the machine with force enough to bow the plastic inwards. The machine was caught off-guard. Who wouldn’t be?! Some desperate 5′3″ over-stressed lady just attacked you, knocking the air out of your gut. Needless to say, the machine surrendered its goods and the Lady walked away quite content and satisfied at her mid-life strength.

Mozart and Me

A homework assignment required I attend a Colorado Symphony Orchestra performance. And like a good school girl I did. Mozart’s Symphony No. 38. Here are some of my non-snooty observations from the night.

1. the concert hall was probably 45% filled but my ticket stub had me sit flush up against another couple. i nudged her leg with my shoe a couple of times. she bruises easily.
2. the elderly lady on my left smelled like milk brought to a rolling boil on the stove. or potentially microwaved milk in a mug. the whole night…warm milk in my nose. not a fan of warm-milk-smell.
3. i witnessed about 5 1/2 kids under the age of 10 1/2 sit perfectly still through a 2 hour performance. and sponge bob was nowhere to be seen. some of the kids even had itchy stockings on but managed to be well-mannered. now that’s high class, high society.
4. very few members of the orchestra tapped their feet to the beat. i counted 3. maybe 3 1/2.
5. the CSO is brilliant. go see them. that’s all i have to say about that.

Please rate the following…

…I was bored and I was at the height of my Midterm procrastination.

So I scanned my face. 

When it turned out I couldn’t decide if I was terrified by it, mesmerized by it, proud of my efforts at artistry, or what.

Please give me your opinion. Is it:

a.) a la Halloween/X-files/Fringe/What-Lies-Beneath creepy movie

b.) artsy fartsy

c.) serene, romantic and picturesque as my nose breaks the plane of the waterfall

d.) none of the above (should you choose “d”, please give an alternate opinion)

This Week’s Prose and Kahns

blog key:

+ = pros

- = cons 

word of the day = whilst

 

+ had a friendly chat with john mccain’s naval academy roommate. this is the academy where you train for the navy, easily mistaken for the others that train you in bellybuttons or oranges. i wonder if john mccain has an innie or an outtie?

 

- got smacked in the forehead by a bee as I was riding my bike on campus at mach speeds. he then went for my hair and, afraid of getting stung should I try and wrestle him out, I continued to ride my bike whilst shaking my head back and forth frantically. quite a sight and quite dangerous.

 

- same bike. same ride. almost slaughtered a squirrel when he jumped out in front of my bike. he lost his acorns at the site of me and thankfully darted back to the tree. i mean c’mon, Squirrel, don’t even try to compete wit me. i’m a cheetah on wheels.

 

+ made one heckuva witty comment about the fall of the ottoman empire. it involved a mutilated footstool.  just ask kate.

 

- watched my first italian silent movie clip. it was your typical 1920s theme, ya know…guy captures and kidnaps woman, woman fights, woman pleads, woman begs, woman grovels whilst holding onto man’s calf, man conquers and woman is wooed. romantic.

 

+ met a real astronaut that has been to space, the final frontier. she tried to feed me a freeze-dried neapolitan ice cream cone but i just gawked and gagged at the offer. rude on my part?

 

- drew smiley faces all over a pumpkin pie. my dad retaliated and drew a frowny face. killjoy.

 

+ watched, rewatched, and re-rewatched the Lawrence Welk Show sister act skit on nbc.com/snl. Oh man, the tiny hands. The honey-cat entree. The blimpy forehead. The jutty tooth. “With my by myself.” Can’t get over it. Cannot get over it and cannot stop watching it. I know, I’m horrible. Kristen Wiig, you’re my hero.

 

what are your prose and kahns for the week?

Hi, my name is Back. I am Back.

Yes, yes, I know. I’ve been gone for a little while. Ok, a lot while. Maybe even a plethora of while. But my feet are back flat on the ground and I’ve got band-aids on my head, my heart, and my big toe. It’s gonna be alright. And I’m gonna start bliggety-blogging again. Do I hear an applause? A roar of approval? Hooting and a-hollerin’? Yes, yes. Yes, I do.

In my attempt to get the juicer out and fresh-squeeze some creativity (get it?! creative juices??), I figure I’ll go light n’ easy and simply post some of the things I really laughed at this week. Don’t worry, out of the kindness of my heart, I won’t list your name. 

• my mother, the conspiracy theorist. this week she warned me of stalkers plotting my every move at Barnes & Noble. folks, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. you gotta hear some of her other ones (e.g., Japanese communists poisoning my edamame). seriously. i’ve devoted a blog category specifically for them. it’s called “conspiracies.”
• Sarah Palin kicking tail in the veep debate. it was one of those relief-shock-awe laughs.
• the BBC’s article on the 7-year old Australian that bludgeon a zoo’s rare and expensive reptiles and fed them to the crocodiles. no one noticed his anti-Irwin rampage until 30 minutes later when the kid approached the ice cream stand asking for more chameleons and when denied, settled for a napkin to wipe the guts off his hands and the smirk off his face. i tell you, the BBC is often a great source of humor (e.g., Hari Puttar and this).
• my song about Nate’s chocolate pie. it was original, it was spontaneous, and it was a rap. what can beat that? sometimes i sit back and thank God for the rap talent He’s given me. Shout out!
• and lastly but not leastly, a 2nd grader telling me she knew why i wasn’t married. “you’re not old enough.” yes, my child, that is the reason.

folks, i’m Back. it’s been a pleasure. good night everybody!

__________________

__________________

the best part is the mannequin safety demonstration

_________________________________

_________________________________

blog key:

blue = link

orange = topic of this post

Best Summer Ever: Weekend #11

 

• Got stopped by the lightrail fare collector men and sadly came to the realization that my student pass was expired.
• The pouring rain stopped just short of the game. I put on my $.99 poncho anyway.
• Watched a kid staring up into the night sky, stadium lights in his eyes, tongue out trying to catch the drizzling rain.
• Wished the cheerleaders would put some clothes on. They must’ve left the turtlenecks and baggy sweatpants at home. On accident of course.
• Got one stinking cool Broncos’ trucker hat at the team store.
• 6th row behind the Broncos bench. Oh yeah, the tickets were FREE.
• An awesome time with the Pa, the Bro, and drunk fans yelling all around us.

 

Poppa Dad, pb&shelley, and Brother Bear

the best part are the fans in the background

Fan #1: The Sleeper (or the Passed Out)

Fan #2: The Digger (hard hat area)

Part 2: He is here for the hurting and broken

After yesterday’s post, I decided to add part 2 for all those hurting and broken in their world right now. We’ve all been there. We’ve all felt the gritty sands blowing around us in the desert times. But we can also learn the peace of the Spirit of God in the middle of our sorrows. We can learn to emerge triumphant in the strength of Jesus.

Here is the documentary for Desert Song, another worshipful addition to Hillsong’s latest album, This is Our God. The song immediately follows the documentary in the following video.