My Trip to Chuck E. Cheese's

Chuck E. Cheese's: Where a kid can be a kid! 

Miss-iss-ip-pi

Aunt Missy and Uncle Dewitt's hosue. Lying out in a hammock under an oak tree as breezes rolling over rolling farmland caress your face. Swimming in a non-crowded pool in the "country" where you don't even hear the roar of cars on the freeway. Jumping in a little Kawasaki "Mule" utility vehicle and hot rodding at breakneck speed over 120 acres of grass, beautiful ponds, and grazing cattle who look at you with indifference. Going back to a beautifully-decorated house where your bend-over-backwards hospitable Aunt has cooked a delicious homecooked meal. Eating fruits and vegetables and beef that's all grown/raised on the premises. Running around with the lil' doggies...

And then back to the city again.

"Y'all come back now."

Oh, I will!

Josh's Collection of Rare and Amazing Internet Videos

Farting The Matrix - Mainly for the immature. I laughed uncontrollably. Warning: A little cursing, as in the actual movie.

Bus Bump - Watch the kid in the backseat of the bus carefully.

Treadmill Fall - And it wasn’t even the blonde girl to take the tumble!

Bush and Blair Duet - Recommending this makes me seem anti-Bush when I’m not. But it’s just too funny.

Fainting Spelling Bee Kid - Kid faints and then gets up and spells word correctly!

Time Attack Mario - One of my all-time favorites. Kid beats Super Mario Bros. 3 in 11 minutes. (But mwuhaha, I can beat it in 15 min.)

Super Mario on Piano - Gifted pianist plays Mario tunes like it’s nobody’s business.

Ouch! - Random guys in a dorm room end up getting a friend with a pair of scissors in his arm. Warning: Brief strong profanity (associated with having scissors stuck in one's arm).

Bush Gives the Victory Sign - Disturbing if this is for real. Rated PG for well, “the Finger.”

Human Beatbox - Vocalist’s voice sounds like actual deejay beats.

My Encounter With Happiness

After 2 six-hour college courses where we read literature and studied various philosophies of how to attain to the ultimate good, Happiness, I had become pretty bummed out. All this time, and I had no tangible evidence of Happiness in my life! Well, everything changed today. As I was awoke this morning to a hearty breakfast of Weedies, made from whole weeds...let me pause to say that I had been of late using the Henry David Thoreau method of trying to find happiness: deprivation. So as I was finishing up my veggi-licious breakfast, lo an behold, Happiness showed up, with his big bright yellow self. We stared at each other for quite some time. I looked at him with a confused look while he just, well, ...smiled. As a matter of fact, Happiness would continue to smile through our entire day together!!

Anyhow, I'd expected Happiness to be a woman for some reason, but he turned out androgynous. Of course, as I'd been anticipating our meeting for some time, I fumbled my words in anxiety when I first opened my mouth. I tentatively offered, "I-I-I'm-m-m, J-Josh." All Happiness did was smile. In a sudden gesture of friendliness Happiness came and sat down at my side. "What an altruist!" I thought. "He's sat down next to me to assuage the tension of our first meeting." I sat there wondering if he'd ever turn and look at me. He didn't, so I glanced to the side to see what he was doing. He was just sitting staring off into space, smiling. I've never seen anyone to really epitomize "all smiles."

When I was starting to wonder when my great master would speak his words of wisdom, he finally squeaked out in a Don Knotts voice, "This will be an intense experience. Think the saddest thoughts you can, now!" I immediately thought of the time my pet aardvark had choked to death on a 99 cent chimichanga. This launched me into spasmodic weeping, many tears being cried into the ball of Happiness. Happiness was again gracious, ignoring the drool and random boogers emanating from my nostrils. He kept whispering "Catharsis, Catharsis" in such a soothing way, I thought it must be the name of a girlfriend in a past life of mine or something.

The torrent of tears suddenly stopped as quickly as they'd started. Happy Man next smiled at me and said, "Now, you have been purged of sadness. Think the happiest thought you can think of, and your transformation will begin. You will soon become happiness itself." Just like a housefly crawling out of a pile of droppings wouldn't, a beautiful thought came floating out of the pool of my many thoughts. Almost in a trance, I looked into the mist of my thoughts and saw two men running through the countryside, beating two halves of coconut together. I immediately began to laugh with a hilarity that shook the place of my habitation. Unbeknowst to me, Happiness had started drifiting away!

I turned and looked around desperately wondering where my new friend / sensei had gone!! I expected feelings of sadness to flood me, but I felt so happy! Maybe I should have felt guilty to be feeling happy when Happiness had left, but oh poppycock enough of that. The short of it is that I soon looked in the kitchen window, and upon seeing my reflection, discovered that I had become Happiness. Or Happiness becomes me. Happines became me, rather-tually. Anyhunkadoodle, I felt a little more air-headed, and my smilelicious face was making me declarannounce randomizationalicious thingabobs, but at least I was happified. I had finally foundiscovered Happiness and ...whoa.

My younger sister was the first other human being to notice my transformation.

My Thoughts on "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"

My friend John Collins and I went to see it last night. It was about what I expected. Overall, I like the original version of the Wonka tale better. I found, however, a few things to be improved in the new release.

I like Gene Wilder in the role overall a little better. Too me, he has more of a charisma about his eccentricity. Johnny Depp's talent as an actor is highly apparent in the new film, but there's nothing likable about his weirdness. He's repulsively weird. Of course, that's a viable interpreatation of Willy Wonka, I think. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory will be adored by many and possibly spurned by a similar percentage of the viewing population. It's all in the viewer's expectation about how the Wonka character should be presented.

I haven't read the Roald Dahl book, but perhaps the Depp version of Wonka is more viable and correct. He is quite a bit quirkier. He's no Gene Wilder walking out of his palace of sorts, fake-tripping over a cane, and then recovering to a round of applause. Depp is the cryptic "he" behind barred doors yelling over loudspeakers for the children to enter the chocolate factory. Depp is the reclusive Willy Wonka, a societal outcast. I particularly liked the inclusion of the story of Wonka's upbringing, explaining his "outcast" status with the rest of society, his quirkiness, and his oddly likeable inability to say the word "parent(s)".

The visuals of the new film are highly likeable and are a feast for the eyes, but no more than in the original film. The special effects add a lot to the new film, effects unavailable for the 70's version. But of course, that's what made the 70's version such a wonderland...marvelously detailed actual sets.

I was surprised at how much the acting is, at times, better than in the original. This is especially noticeable when one compares the beginning of the film in both movies. The new version is MUCH better. The emotional buildup is greater through superb acting and the audience was nervously still: we all were on edge, who would be the next to get a golden ticket!? So props to Charlie for a much improved build-up. However, the actual chocolate factory, I think, is better in the original film.

Another thing I liked about the new film is that is shows the ending plight of the misfortunate brats who ended up falling down the factory's treacherous chutes and booby-traps. I won't spoil it, but the end of the movie is not as "happily-ever-after" as the old movie, which I found to be very good. Great ending.

The only thing that was God-awful were the Oompa-loompa. In my humble opinion, the songs this go-round are terrible. Also, one actor plays the part for all the Oompa-loompa. Seeing 15 dozen of them dancing around and all having the same face is definitely weird. I know the film is supposed to be weird, but an Oompa-loompus (if that's the singular form) is weird enough on his own.

Anyhow, my overall opinion is: Go see it. You may or may not like it. It's definitely got its flaws, but Johnny Depp has enough us his sleeve to keep you often-times quite delighted at the spectacle that is this timeless tale.

-Bean

Maybe...

...my life's not as boring as I complain it is. A friend reminded me: "Hey, hey, remember that time we went to Africa and I made you sit in the back of the bocky (African for a "pickup truck") with those two kids and you told them that story of that dude and his magical dog and they kept bothering you the whole time? That was awesome".

Strange and Vivid Dream

I have heard somewhere that the average dream lasts about 30 seconds. If this is true, I must be an exception to the rule, else I have many 30-second dreams strung together. I had, in effect, one long dream last night that was very vivid. I can’t remember the last time I had such a dream; it’s one of those that you walk around thinking about all day, even if it nonsense. Rarely do we share dreams publicly, as it would have been odd to tell your second grade friends of dreaming about showing up to class embarrassingly nude. In a rare and nauseating endeavor, I will share the dream I had last night for your reading…pleasure/experience, whichever is more true.

___

All the sudden, I was in a town that I realized was my hometown. I did not recognize it, but I knew that it was my hometown. I apparently felt like I’d seen all the buildings before. I also had one or two friends, with whom I would go around doing mischievous things. The first major event I recall was being in a little prison cell; I assume that one of my mischievous deeds with one of my friends got me there. It was an Andy Griffith prison cell, just the friendly lock-up in a rural mid 1900s town. I didn’t feel undone or alarmed by being there. About this time, while in the cell or just as I was coming out, I found myself having a foreign desire. The desire to love. Love someone…who would love me in return. Just as in dreams the exact moment of action is always hazy, as in at what point I started loving, also in dreams the desire is almost immediately followed by a realization of the desire. I instantly came across she. I don’t remember the meeting place, but I remember loving her and instantly feeling myself insane that she didn’t notice me. Trying to speak to her, the words came out all weird. I realized that when I tried to converse with her, I sounded, literally, like a mentally retarded case! Needless to say, she didn’t like me at first. I aggravated her, but she gave me the time of day. Eventually I started getting “smooth,” I wasn’t babbling like an idiot, and I could tell she’d been holding out. She started acting more like putty in my hands than sand in my eyes. Suddenly (a lot of suddenlies in dreams) we were in a beautiful garden. (Here’s where I make some nauseating admittances.) We started, in cinematic fashion, to run around looking at each other lovingly, gazing into each other’s eyes. And eventually we kissed…a lot, apparently. I remember thinking, “Ooh this is kinda…good!” I also remember her saying something about how good my lips tasting or something; I also remember wondering if she was making that up because I’m around my mouth a lot more often than she is and it doesn’t taste good to me. Anyway, continuing the fast pace of the dream, we instantly started talking about marriage!...and suddenly I felt the pain of loving her dearly but realizing our families wouldn’t like it for some reason if we got married. We argued for what seemed an hour about how it work out, but suddenly (we’re still in the garden mind you) every member of both sides of our family show up…to marry us on the spot! For a minute, it felt like a scene out of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

Next thing you know, completely different setting, probably another dream started, but my mind didn’t know the difference. My love and I were suddenly at some sort of party or social or something. I started to feel sick, and went into the bathroom. She followed me in because I was acting really sick. She was rubbing my forehead or doing something to ease the pain, and in that instant I realized how much I loved her. We kissed. When suddenly the scene changed again. Apparently whatever this sickness was had hospitalized me. I was looking at myself spread out upon a surgeon’s table in a creepy dark room, with somber-faced doctors spread around. I watched as a doctor grabbed an implement and cut into my skin from my abdomen all the way to the top of my chest. He ripped both flaps of skin apart and revealed…well, my insides. I remember thinking (as I’m watching my own operation) I’ll just watch and grit my teeth and bare it, I’ve seen bloody R-rated movie operations before. But soon I realized this far exceeds the allowable viewing level of carnage. Doc made several other incisions and cut around here and there and eventually he started digging around and doing God knows what! to various organs. I remember thinking that his methods looked a little “unsound,” when he started ripping various body tissues out of my body left and right. That’s the last thing I saw because I literally turned my head, feeling sick.

Next think you know I’m apparently out of the E.R. but in some kind of recovery hospital. My Grandpa is there with me, we’re walking together down a hallway. I remember the first thing I wanted was to be with my love. Where is she? We walked past rows of people in rehab and I realized I’d been in this place a lot longer than I realized originally. As I talked with my Grandpa I also realized that I had some sort of bad speech impediment. Apparently I’d had a stroke or something. I didn’t make any sense. I felt very embarrassed. Talking with my Grandpa, I learned of how my wife had gone off and left me for another man. I felt betrayed and violently angry. I started running around the place in anger, and the more hurt and desperate I felt, the more passionate I felt, the more the effect of my speech impediment left and I began to speak clearly. I felt like I could win my wife’s affection back. I grabbed my Grandpa and we walked over to tell someone at this rehab center that I was okay, that we were leaving. Just as we did, there started to be an earthquake or something. We looked out the window, and the building was sliding across the landscape, eventually until we noticed the whole building was about to be dumped into a ravine. As my Grandfather and I jumped out the window all the sudden I remembered hearing the words of a familiar prophecy: fire would burn everything and no one would escape. Fire would burn everything and no one would escape. (I hadn’t heard this earlier in my dream, but it was as if I had.) I remember thinking I had to disprove this prophecy. My Grandpa and I ran fast, but it was like we were being sucked down into this ravine with a fireball coming right at us, until suddenly God picked us up, literally. I remember thinking that God must be about to supernaturally spare us when all the sudden literally I felt God’s hand pick us up and we shot at the speed of sound straight up through the clouds till we were looking down at a map: earth’s surface.

At this point, my Grandpa disappeared. I was alone, but now I was plummeting down toward earth. I realized I had a parachute strapped to my back. I ripped the rip-cord and my chute opened. As I got closer to earth I remembered hearing that I needed to bend my knees to land without injuring myself. I strained my eyes to see where it was I was going to land. It looked pretty good, as if I was going smack down in the center of a field, when suddenly the wind blew me aside and I was right on top of a highway. I landed in the center of the road. I sort of crash landed and ended up lying down in the road, but I quickly got up and ran out the road because there was a car heading straight for me. I realized that the rest of my parachute was in the road, so I quickly reeled in it just before the car sped past me. I cut myself free of the chute and started wandering around. It was dusk and I was on the outskirts of some major city. I thought longingly of my wife again. The desire to fly came upon me. I wanted to parachute upward this time, but I knew that wasn’t possible. But as I started walking along this highway toward the city, I realized that there was a small parachute strapped to my back. I got the crazy idea to get a running start, and maybe if it was windy enough, I would be able to get carried up a little bit…maybe like a kite…

After several failed tries, I caught a good gust of wind and was airborne, about 3 feet above the ground, just gliding over the road. I landed and then ran and tried again. This time, I discovered that tugging on this thing attached to my back, like you would with a kite, I could gain a little more altitude. Suddenly I was able to climb to being about level with the second floor of some businesses I glided past. The more I tugged on this flying thing on my back the more wind I caught. Mainly, the more I desired to go higher, the higher I went. I remember thinking, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” All the sudden I had a sort of a flashback. I was still flying but it was like I was also talking to a group of people on the ground. It was like a local street gang. But this gang’s main pursuit was doing what I was doing: using this parachute thing to fly around the city. Apparently they’d mastered the art, and the head gang guru guy instructed me about how to climb back up into the atmosphere. The only thing I plainly remember was hearing him say, “Man, you gotta get above the city lights. If you can do that, you’re free.” Free. The flashback ended, and sure enough, I was downtown, and I was almost to the height of some of the skyscrapers there. I just had to get “above the city lights,” above the top of civilization, the tallest of skyscrapers. I was almost there. I felt gravity trying to pull my chute down, but the more I wanted to be higher, the higher I went, and I was almost there, almost free, back up in the sky again…

“Josh,” my Mom said. “Wake up, Dad and I are going to Baton Rouge and I need you to take business calls while we’re gone.”

Happy Birthday Mr. Marion!!

The Clayton family went and had a visit with the Collins family, a visit long overdue. It's amazing how life has this way of our separate roads at times being parallel to each other and at times the roads wind separate ways, taking us apart, and eventually bringing old friends back together after many wanderings through separate valleys mountains and hitchhikings through distant galaxies. At the risk of being "emo," I'll say I love the Collinses very much and 5 hours of prayer and fellowship felt like 5 minutes. So why should this interest you, oh blog reader? It probably shouldn't. So treat yourself for the day to clicking one of my list of recommended links on the sidebar, after of course visiting one of my list of friends' blogs and reading the top post on that particular page you choose.
Love peace and a pan of grease,
Bean

Addendum

My parents aren't mad at me, and really nor am I at them. We've always been close and nothing as far as I can see would ever be able to destroy that. I may think they take crazy stands at times, as in now, but I respect the integrity and stedfastness of their decisions. The problem for me, as it is for every coming-of-age young person, is that I must now be independent to a large extent and make similiarly firm resolutions and follow them...even if they are in opposition to those of my parents. Life goes on. And so does the following words spoken by Samuel Clemens, who used the pen name "Mark Twain": When I was fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have him around. When I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years. Of course, only a couple years away from that "21."

The Inevitable

It finally happened. I didn't know what the clash would be about, but I knew it would be. It was inevitable, though I was surprised it happened so suddenly and is especially ironic, if you read my last blog post. The humanity-wide once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon of having that talk with one's parents that makes one wonder, literally, "Where do I go from here?"

When I got back from the trip in the aforementioned blog post late at night, I noticed several CDs in my collection missing. "That's funny," I thought. "I don't think my parents listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd or Jimi Hendrix." Before I left for work the next day, Mom and I talked about her and Dad's "concerns" about some music they'd "found." I quietly worked my cashier shift and headed home, to be told Mom and Dad wanted to take me for a drive and "have coffee." I was immediately concerned about such a proposition, because my parents have never suggested going to talk over coffee, ever, in my life.

Sipping an iced mocha, I listened to my parents describe the drug habits and improper lyrical content of these bands, and the "liberal" philosophy of the other secular music I have. I've always known my parents are opposed to secular music, but as with many other things, we've always agreed to disagree. But tonight, after I politely but firmly explained my stance on this issue at length, the sentence proceeded from Dad's mouth:

While I am at college, I am outside of their control. But while I am at home, they are responsible for me and what they allow into their house. My secular music cannot remain in their household. I am exhibiting a worldly attitude through listening to worldly music, my hair is too long, I stay up too late at night, I haven't cleaned my car enough, and I have become generally lax. When asked, I regrettedly confessed my devotional life has been lacking when I don't make time for it when I get home from work. After chewing my upper lip for some time, I stated that I did not expect him to back down from his stance, but by the same token nor can I from mine.

In terminus, I'm distraught, you're distraught.

In My League

After a year of college (=university for British readers), it's been good for me being back home spending time with the family and them with me. I hadn't seen any of my friends at LSU in the longest, so I finally carved out a little over 24 hours to go "hang" over there this weekend. I'm glad I did.

Friday night I slept 30 minutes, due to a rare case of insomnia, followed by a 6:00 a.m. -- 2:00 p.m. cashiering shift, 2-hour nap, and eventual car trip to Baton Rouge Saturday evening. It felt good to be on the open road again, not putting around Slidell, but blaring the radio and going 75 down the interstate. Seeing LSU deserted was weird. I could have pensively walked the beautiful campus in melodramatic fashion, but I refrained. My post office box, which I hadn't checked in ages, was full of mail. The first order of business was the primary reason for heading out to B.R.: a concert at Cafe Chi Alpha.

Over 3 hours of music, 3 great bands, 3 dozen coffee beverages floating about (well, actually not floating, held in people's hands). It was a great night of music. Most of all, it was great getting to see all the familiar faces at the Cafe and catch up on everything with people. First was Jake Smith Band, an acoustic group with a worship leaning, sounding a bit like Gavin Degraw at times. Great lyrics, innovative melodies.

Next up was A Soup Named Stew, a band that is creating a new genre: "humorcore." This is seriously the funniest musical performance I have ever witnessed before. Look no further than their "All Punk Rock Sounds the Same," a parody of the very music they make, but a witty statement about modern music, as the name suggests. The literal show-stopper is the piece they always close with, "She Broke Up With Me," a parody of "emo" music. It sounds like emo, it's got the familiar wa-wa cry of lost love like emo, and it's downright hilarious. At the song's climax, the singer, David Loti, decides to "listen to my Dashboard Confessional CD" and the drummer screams emotional lines like, "MY PARENTS ARE RICH!!" My personal favorite is "Robot Dentist," the typical meaningless song they put on with funny lyrics. I could go on and on: the drummer's habit of putting giant cookies on harmonica stands and eating them while playing, David's habit of jumping off the side of walls and throwing his guitar around while mocking music genres...Just look at the bumper sticker they're currently selling: "A Soup Named Stew -- Making you feel better about your own band."

Lastly was the refreshing B.A.Holloway, which I love. This is no humorcore. This is acoustic rock at its best, with a blues leaning at times, with funky bass lines and guitar ... and at other times reminiscent of a reworked John Mayer, with Chris Simmons' soaring vocals. I've seen this band many times live before, and will many more times. They were on top form as usual. What can I say? They're a favorite of mine, and since I know all the band members and even went on a missions trip to South Africa with one of them recently, ...i know we're cool.

After the concert, Zeke, Will and I played some... the return of the... PERFECT DARK FOR N64!! Um..actually till 5 a.m...

I crashed at Zeke and Timo's house. I awoke sometime around 11 a.m. to the sound of Timo's girlfriend banging a spoon around, which I later learned was the cooking of grits. I went back to sleep and awoke a few minutes later, on the living room couch, to see Timo and Shelley eating breakfast a foot away from me on the other couch. I yawned out a conversation with them for a few minutes. It was like a weird talk show, like I was hosting two celebs from my bedroom. Except it was a living room. And now I'm not making sense. Because they were hosting me, as it was not my abode.

Slept some more, awoke at 2 p.m. Yep, I would have to catch a night church service. Zeke, Timo, Shelley, Tollie and I hung out all day and watched movies, played video games, and chatted. I caught an evening service at the Chapel on Campus. I eventually left and just got back home around 3 a.m. Monday morning.

Yep, it's been good being home for the summer, but I'm in my league ...when I'm independent. I'm ready to go back. I mean, a shopping trip yesterday summed it up. Jumping in a shopping cart and being pushed around the store is my thing. And telling everyone that Timo and Shelley were my parents as I "misbehaved" reaching for store items and trying to convince the cashier to scan me at the checkout...nope, none of that could compare to making an aerial entry into the car once we got back into the parking lot, literally going through the roof. Hey, I didn't even climb the side of the apartment complex to the second floor this weekend. Timo said Shelley doesn't like that. I leave you with the words of A Soup Named Stew's "Robot Dentist": Every town needs a robot dentist, someone the robots can relate to...Is a robot dentist a dentist for robots, or a robot who's a dentist? Who knows if they even have teeth? No one knows, NO ONE KNOWS!!

The Big 3

I already mentioned Batman Begins and Star Wars as being must-see movies this summer. The third movie to top things off nicely would be War of the Worlds. I was afraid things would get campy and that it would be, well...another sci-fi. But the acting and dialogue are good, and drama complements the action/thrill element. The alien onslaught is progressive and the film gives you gradually a little bit more thrill factor, allowing the suspense to work its way under your skin rather seamlessly. I've seen part of the original make of this movie a half-century ago, and the 2005 version does justice to making this THE War of the Worlds.

Working for the Weekend

What've I been doing lately? (besides blogging about chivalry.)
I've been workin'. I'm finally actually getting some overtime! A little bit. I did an 11-hour work day today and will be doing well to get 4 hours of sleep to get up and go to work for 6 a.m. tomorrow. But hey, I need the dough, so...ho ho ho! I went and got some extra hours at a Sav-a-Center an hour away that needed help because they lost a lot of frozen food in the recent tropical storm that came through Louisiana. Speaking of which, I'm glad Hurricane Dennis is by-passing Louisiana again, but pray for those poor people in Florida who lost everything last year and now are about to go through it all over again! Also, my heart goes out to those who died and to the families in London. Psalm 91 is a comforting thought these days.
On a side note, I had some real jerks come through my cashiering line today. Having worked with the public is teaching me to be gracious when I'm the customer. So, once you're shopping again and going to customer service to deal with that spoiled milk, do demand service and a refund, but don't be an idiot and yell/scream/curse/defame the workers. Look at the "Mr. Fish" post several posts back and you'll find that we just might "call the police." ;-)

The Female Cranium

My mom reminded me recently that a conversation for a woman is not the means to and end. It is the end itself. I sometimes forget this.

I must admit after watching Mel Gibson' What Women Want I worked today and every female that came through the line, I could have sworn from looking at their faces I heard every woman's thought, just like Mel. I wished they would have make the movie less lewd, but I really...laughed a lot! And was awakened to the need for men, i.e. *me*, to be more sensitive to the desires of women to be accepted and to be treated well. Enter Aretha Franklin and R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I've always tried to be generally polite, especially to women, but that didn't always come out of sympathy. Often it was more motivated by a I'll-tip-my-hat Roy Orbison "Oh, Pretty Woman" moment. We men can be jackasses when it comes to respecting all women and loving them for who they are, not just those we find particularly exteriorally pretty. By the grace of God, I am committed to understanding that, yes, women do have brains that do operate like machine gun bullets spraying in many directions, but I need to be patient. And I want to treat every woman like she is a queen.

Chivalry. Some of us still use that word. Oh, I know I'm old-fashioned, so hang it up already.

Great Gig in the Sky

Anyone else go see fireworks/ shoot them yourself on the 4th?! I went to a show and it was brilliant!

Happy 4th of July!

Happy 229th birthday, America!!! 

New Music Awards

First half of 2005 is over, and out of the new music released, I shall pick 3 favorite songs:

1. "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," Green Day. Perhaps this is not a legit choice as it was technically album-released end of '04, but in the first few of months of '05 it saw huge radio airplay and success. It's a simple song but it rocks forth like thunder.

2. "Fix You," Coldplay. A rock ballad worth its weight in gold. Organ...piano...acoustic guitar...leading to a stunning guitar riff that is breathtaking.

3. "Paperthin Hymn," Anberlin. Thank goodness the Christian music industry has released some gems this year, and Anberlin is one such band. At times the vocalist's singing range is almost unbelievable. You are listening to it as you read my blog right now.

Congratulations, songs.

"You're Pitiful"

A story I heard of an experience a relative of mine had recently:

My aunt had to return a water filter to Mr. Fish, a pet supply store, because it did not fit her mini fish pond. At the store, a cashier refused to refund her money. My aunt tried reasoning that the filter didn't fit and that she had her receipt, etc. The cashier refused to give her her money back. She asked to speak with a manager. The cashier called someone over, apparently an approx. 19-yr. old guy. She explained the situation, but the "manager" refused to refund the money, saying, "The bottom of the receipt says that we can't refund electronics!" My aunt responded, "Do you ever read the bottom of a receipt?" The "manager" still was stubborn, so she figured this must not be the manager and asked to speak with THE manager. The guy told her, "I am the manager!" She said, "You're the manager!? You're pitiful!" He responded, "I'm pitiful?!...I'm calling the police!!!" My aunt then demanded to speak to the actual manager. The "manager" refused to say who the owner or any higher manager was. She asked again, but he said, "No, I'm not telling you anything!" She responded, "OH..you're not telling me, you know why? Cause the manager is your daddy." After enough ruckus she finally located the owner of the place and got things straightened out.

I almost died laughing hearing this story. Now I know what to do if a customer in my check-out line ever says I'm pitiful: CALL THE POLICE. ;-)