Attempting to figure out my degree of disgust

My dear wife and I are working through season two of Mad Men. It took her a little longer to get hooked than I did. I think the writing on the show constitutes true story telling, at least the way I was taught. A story involves change in a character. The twists and turns in Don Drapers life and the changes he endures makes the story fascinating, regardless of his skewed moral compass. Peggy is also an interesting character in that sense.

Fine storytelling aside, there are some aspects to the stories in Mad Men that are challenging to watch. Some reflect "old-fashioned values," other values reflected:

+ Blatant sexism--though it is a heroic storyline to watch what Peggy encounters as she makes her way through the advertising world.
+ Smoking cigarettes wherever you darn well please without consideration for others.
+ For all the talk about the lack of social graces in today's world, the objectification of women is startling, it only happens in different ways and places today that is certainly not "social grace".
+ No social stigma for marital infidelity for a man (Draper is known as a "connoisseur" of women).
+ Alcohol consumption during work hours was no big deal.

I could go on and on, but I was most disgusted by another "old-fashioned value" in episode four of season 2, when the Draper family shares a picnic, and they actively leave their garbage in the middle of the park. I'm not sure why this scene troubled me the most, but for all of the things I could have screamed at the television related to Mad Men--the litter was the most disgusting. For that action of litter I could come up with no sympathy. What was more interesting is justifying that action with the question of daughter Sally to her parents. "Are we rich?" Soon after that statement, the garbage went flying.

Mad Men constantly makes me wonder what our children will find utterly foolish about our social conventions and values. Some of them truly are foolish, and we will be exposed. I think that is part of the intent of the show--and I find this writing and storytelling more provocative and effective cultural analysis of the 50s and 60s than films like "Welcome To Pleasantville." The characters in Mad Men are much more interesting and the story lines still connect viewers to current societal themes.

Song Watch for Daughter #2 (January 14, 2010)

Bad Romance--Lady GaGa
Go Waggaloo--Sarah Lee Guthrie and Family
Take Me to Show and Tell--Sarah Lee Guthrie and Family
England--Great Big Sea
The Night Pat Murphy Died--Great Big Sea

Daughter #2 attempts to make conversation with almost anyone--in the grocery store, church, Target, at the park, etc. She can keep a conversation well, if she chooses to speak on a topic in which the other person is knowledgeable. "England" is easily her favorite song. She'll greet someone ebulliently and immediately say, "we were far from the shores of England." After the confused look (or at least a smile), she'll say, "that's my favorite song. We were far from the shores of England." It's truly a favorite for her. A conversation starter and a mood changer. Interesting how she and much of society assumes that the things to which we regularly pay attention are on the hearts and minds of whom we come in contact. I'm still learning about my limited view on the world, and how it's not as normative as I often think.

Lady GaGa is on a rocket-like rise up my daughter's music chart. I had never heard of Lady GaGa until a little over a month ago, and I've heard a lot of buzz since then. Equipped with an iTunes gift card for Christmas, I picked up her song and wasn't engaged after my first two listens. I heard a Madonna retread--but in some ways, she's better. GaGa has a much richer voice. Her influences of Queen, Madonna and glam rock are apparent. I'm not sure what kind of staying power she has, but we're having fun with Lady GaGa in the car for our commute.

The Children's Music Genre is much more enjoyable and expansive than I ever imagined. I give it closer look because of my parenthood, but Smithsonian Folkways has expanded my engagement with the genre and imagine enjoying songs for myself, and not merely for my children. Elizabeth Mitchell was a first for me in this regard, and now Sarah Lee Guthrie planted herself firmly in my own musical consciousness. Guthrie's latest CD came to our collection over Christmas, and our family is enjoying the songs.

My evolving relationship with coffee (Part 9)

I stopped drinking coffee recently--I can't tolerate it's bitter earthen taste without sugary or chemically laden additives. I've switched to my brother's Yerba Mate methodology for keeping alert via beverage consumption.

Daughter #2 questioned the change. On the way home from church on Wednesday, she asked me "Daddy, where's your iced mocha?"

I explained to her that I'm now drinking tea instead of iced mochas. She replied, "Oh! We'll have a tea party!"

Even though our family is looking for a better home base so we have less family commuting, I am going to miss the longer conversations in the car with my three year old. I will need to make sure that we find other forums for our conversations.

Listening...(November 23, 2009 edition)

General Taylor-Great Big Sea
The Chemical Workers' Song (Process Man)-Great Big Sea
England-Great Big Sea
What A Wonderful World-Louis Armstrong
16 Days-Whiskeytown

The first two Great Big Sea songs address my new discoveries after my first GBS concert Saturday night in Bremerton at The Admiral Theater. My dear wife and I enjoyed that the sound wasn't at ear bleed level. The venue was intimate, but not too small. GBS played for nearly 3 hours, and didn't just hit the songs of their newer release, Fortune's Favour, but a wide-variety of their discography. The first two songs of this list were not previously known for me, but their harmonies were instantly addictive and the stories of the songs were compelling. I love Great Big Sea songs for their narrative value as well as the musical quality. I will write more on GBS on a later post.

Daughter #2 has picked up on GBS as well, and her favorite song is "England." I haven't identified the trend that gets her attached to a song. She focuses on one line and gives incorporates that into the title. She calls the Louis Armstrong song "I Think To Myself." She calls "England:" "Wind Cuts Like A Knife." She calls "16 Days:" "Ghost Has Got Me Running." She is not bashful about letting me know, "I don't like that song, play Wind Cuts Like A Knife." We spend about 5-10 hours per week in the car, so we're sharing a lot of music together, though she prefers we listen to a song about 3 consecutive times before we move on.

The Hunter Chronicles (part 2)

I couldn't write anymore about Hunter today. The grief is exhausting. In place of writing a longer entry of The Hunter Chronicles, I sent a donation to the place where we adopted Hunter in Waukesha, Wisconsin. I sent the accompanying note with the donation (I also sent the above pictures):

Hunter was a 2-year old (almost 3) chocolate lab my wife and I adopted at HAWS in April 2000 (29th? 30th?). He was about the best birthday present I ever received. I had never had a dog in my home. He was the best dog I could ever imagine--great with everyone in our growing family. He loved rides in the car, walks, chasing a ball and cuddling. We had two daughters while we had Hunter--he loved them and tolerated them (very necessary).

We were his third owners, and my wife told him we would be his "forever family." All he ever wanted was to be with us. His health declined over the last 2 years, he lost about 30 pounds, and we put him down on Veterans Day (Nov. 11) after 12 1/2 years of life. We had a good day together to say goodbye. We took Hunter on some of his favorite nature walks, gave him some of his favorite treats, a trip to the beach on the Puget Sound, and a bath. He wasn't alone his last 72 hours of life. We have holes in our lives and hearts because he is gone.

I've dedicated a song to Hunter's memory in my own daily living, "What A Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong--I think of him all the time. If I knew what Hunter was thinking, the song seems to match his thoughts. I wanted to share a little bit of Hunter's story and offer a small donation because of the great experience we had at HAWS, and thank you for holding on to Hunter for us before he became part of our family. We are thankful for what you do.

The Hunter Chronicles (part 1)

The story of our life with Hunter began like this: my dear wife had been dropping hints during the first few years of our marriage that she wanted a dog. It wasn't going to happen during our time in seminary, but the hints became more frequent as we moved into a large parsonage in Wisconsin. There were times she walked into a dark, empty house with fear about what awaited her. With a dog, she wouldn't have to worry as much. When she called me upon entering our home while I was at work, I knew that she wasn't kidding around. Security is important.

I learned that getting a dog as a gift for my wife, either for a birthday, Christmas, or an anniversary wasn't going to fly--so I volunteered the idea of receiving a dog for my 30th birthday. Even though my dear wife wanted the dog, the dog would be mine. I don't recall how we decided to look for a Lab, but I think it had something to do with the size and temperament. I merely didn't want a yippy barking dog. Protection and security, but not dangerous to the household. We decided to go to the Waukesha County Humane Society to find our new family member, our first child, our training in team parenting. This was a new experience for me--my brothers and I never owned a dog in our childhood household--and I was a little bit afraid of dogs. I had German Shepherds and Dobermans in my neighborhoods as a child that terrified me. I also had relatives who owned dogs with temperaments not suited for children--a Poodle, a Chow, and some German Shepherds. I have memories of them growling behind closed doors near the bathroom, or nipping at me, or chasing after me in a yard, or savagely barking at me from behind a fence. For years I wanted nothing to do with dogs.

Hunter changed my attitude of dog fear rather quickly. One day I went to look at dogs on my own and found a dog that seemed interesting. Almost every dog in the Humane Society was barking or yipping or jumping up and down as I walked by. Cheyenne was a 5-year old female black lab. She wasn't barking in the cacophony of dog conversation, but she was active and excited to greet me in a playful way behind her cage. Cheyenne had been there awhile--I think I read somewhere that they keep dogs at that Humane Society for approximately two weeks (?) before they are euthanized. Cheyenne had been there for over a week. Her time seemed short. The Waukesha County Humane Society set up dog interviews for their prospective owners and had a few rooms to accommodate these interviews--an opportunity for owners to meet and interact with an animal. When my dear wife and I walked through the Human Society and saw Cheyenne again, we were both interested. We also notice one more dog who didn't bark. His name was Hunter, and he sat there, sitting down watching us walk by. He didn't jump, he didn't bark, he only looked at us. He was 2 years old--a beautiful Chocolate Lab. We thought we'd take a look at him as well.

Cheyenne came into the interview room first and was a nice dog, very playful and energetic. I can't say we were particularly drawn to her. Hunter came in the room next, gave us each a little bit of a sniff, curled up in a compact ball and laid down in between our chairs in the room. We knew Hunter was the dog for us. After a two day waiting period, Hunter joined our family on April 30, 2000. We bought him a few accessories--a large burgundy dog bed, a leash, a collar, some good food (Eukaneuba), and some chew toys. He was always sad to see us leave the house, and exceedingly excited to see us return from wherever life took us, almost singing every time we were reunited. We originally set up his bed in a spare room near our bedroom, but quickly learned that he wanted nothing to do with separation--he wanted to be as near to us as possible. We placed his bed near ours--sometimes that wasn't even good enough--on chilly evenings he would move his way from the drafty floor to inside our bed. He wanted to be by our side--a common theme for his behavior and how he became a part of the family.

As I remember the details of Hunter becoming part of the family, I remember another young man, about my age, carrying a dog and sobbing as I sat waiting to talk to someone from the Humane Society. It was clear the young man was giving up his dog because he couldn't care for him anymore. This appeared to be a normal occurrence--we were Hunter's third owners before he turned 3 years old. His previous owners both wrote they didn't have time to take care of him anymore. My dear wife reminded Hunter that we were going to be his "forever family." I wonder if he knows that. We were brought together for a reason. I've learned much from Hunter. This morning as we took a longer walk in the woods than normal, I realized how much more I have to remember. These days have been devoted to remember someone who has been in our family longer than our children. I don't know how long The Hunter Chronicles will be, but the memories are filling a blog library. Such is life with my first dog. I am continually awed by my relationship with God's creation--and Hunter expanded that understanding.

Giving Thanks for the Family Dog, Hunter

Hunter is a our 12 year old chocolate lab who is personally crushed when he disappoints someone, especially his people/my family. It may seem to him that he has let us down over the past two years as his health has declined. He throws up relatively often, been incontinent several times in the last few weeks, he has challenging food allergies that make his skin a mess (literally and figuratively), his joints have significantly deteriorated, he has declining liver function, his body is covered in benign tumors, his cataracts are worsening, his anxiety is growing, and maybe he has a little doggie dementia (he walks and stands in unusual places in the house over the last several weeks). He paces throughout our home in the evening (a recent development), and has lost about 25 pounds in the last two years--he can't seem to keep quite enough food down. Because of his increasing anxiety, he now barks most of the day while we're gone at school and work (we heard from the neighbors, and noticed that he's barking when we get home). Hunter has never been much of a barker in his life, usually only when the doorbell rings. All of these changes have been hard to manage while we have moved and tried to make a stable and healthy environment for our family. The hard part has been making life good for Hunter--and attempting to do so has become an extremely expensive venture. We are at the point where the only option for Hunter to have a peaceful life is to keep him on heavy drugs most of the time, and that is no way for him to live. In the past two years I have learned new lessons (for me) about patience and compassion. I have become easily frustrated with Hunter, and I haven't been very fair with him. He would never intentionally do anything to disappoint any of us (unlike some of the cats I have known)--and I took his good nature for granted. He truly doesn't ask for much, only a little food,love and attention. I could have been much better to him.

My dear wife and I have been seeing the writing on the wall about Hunter. We have been about pushed over the edge when it comes to his anxious behavior related to separation anxiety. The barking is a bad situation in a rental. If the barking was the only problem we were facing with Hunter, then we would find a way to deal with it. The problems are mounting, and they aren't getting any better. This post is the first time I've written them all down--it's quite a list. We're going to have to say goodbye, and it breaks my heart. I try to keep my emotions directed to places like showing Hunter a little extra love, or taking some time to myself. I don't know what it is about Louis Armstrong's "What A Wonderful World" and death, but that is one of the greatest pastoral care songs I know. I've heard it used at multiple funerals as a pastor, and I played it 7 times on my morning run. The experience of physical exertion, that song and reflection this morning was cathartic, thankful, but also deeply sad. I don't ever remember a time in my life when I ran and cried at the same time.

Hunter is truly the first child for my dear wife and me. We have so many memories of him. Putting him down is going to be really hard. In the end, I hope he knows he is loved. In the midst of that love and the questions about life, I know that God is there. That is what really matters. I was planning on writing out some of the memories, stories and lessons from Hunter's life, but I can't do it right now. I knew this transition wasn't going to be easy, but I'm hitting waves of sadness that are difficult to bear. I wish I could be at home, outside, playing with him. But it is raining outside to the tune of a downpour, and Hunter hates the rain. I think we know each other well.

My relationship with the National Football League

After 11 years of ordained ministry, with much of my weekend energy devoted to be ready for Sunday worship services, and fatigue taking most of my energy from Sunday afternoons, I have realized that the NFL and I are drifting apart.

To the NFL: it's nothing personal. It's not you. It's me. Listening to constant breakdown of a Seahawks game that I either don't have the energy to watch, or I completely miss, only emphasizes that we don't have much of a relationship. Our relationship really started to fade when the officials became the game during the Seahawks-Steelers Super Bowl. I'm sure you didn't plan things to happen that way. But I look at that and see that event as the beginning of the end.

Sure, you, the NFL, have more popularity than ever before. You are the best run professional sports entity in the world. Good marketing, good executive leadership, good product on the field. I don't have time anymore to follow you. My relationships have been better cultivated with the Edmonton Oilers, Kansas Jayhawks basketball and football, the Seattle Mariners, anything with the University of Washington (especially football). I will smile when I see Huskies and Jayhawks play in your league and I will pull for their success. I will occasionally peek and listen to bits about the league. I know I'm missing out on one of the biggest leisure activities in the world. I no longer have the time. It doesn't mean I won't watch a portion of a game or even a whole game if time allows, the calendar aligns, and the Seahawks are interesting. But I cannot carve out any time for us to have a relationship anymore. We will be acquaintances with memories from our past.

Maybe after my children move out of the house and I am retired from ministry, maybe you and I can get together a little more often and even be friends again. I might even jump on a bandwagon briefly if the Seahawks surge back into relevancy (I have no shame in that--we at least have a history together). I realized that we weren't really friends anymore when I turn the radio station or turn on my iPod whenever the talking heads start talking Seahawk intricacies.

I wish you well, NFL and Seattle Seahawks. I am thankful for what we had, and hopeful for what you can be, but I cannot give you my passion or energy any longer. God speed.

The fun and joy of college football

This is one of the reasons I enjoy college football.

Of course one could complain about the resources wasted on bottled water, or that football is a game that causes brain injuries (something I still attempt to reconcile in my somewhat healthy brain), but sometimes it's really fun to watch Nebraska lose, and to see a jubilant team see the fruits of their labors and that team work really matters. I'm with Pat Forde from ESPN--this is a great celebration for college football.

Worn-out blogger (the October 19th edition)

I spent over 50 hours in a car this past week. I know some ride for a living, so I know the amount of time in car travel is relative. We took a fun family trip. It's the getting to the fun family trip that can be painful. Amazingly, I think they still love me.

We were a few degrees away from a blizzard, so I will consider us blessed to be home alive. I'm looking forward to returning to the writing rhythm.

Worn out language (October 12, 2009 edition) "Just Saying"

"Just saying." Or as Rev. Run (yes, formerly of RUN-DMC) likes to tweet, "Jus sayin'"

I quickly tired of this little colloquialism. "Just saying" reared its head in forums from Twitter to the publications of some of my favorite journalists. I've ascertained this phrase somewhat parallels IMHO (in my humble opinion). The spirit of usage is softening a sharp observation--"I'm merely stating what I observe, so what I see is not necessarily my problem, but I've got a problem with what I see." I think this opinion/observation disqualifier was spawned by a hyperbolic outrage culture that screams opinions. People still want to share their opinions and observations, but they don't want to look like jerks doing it. Therefore stick a "just saying" on the end somehow makes the observation uttered with a little more decorum. I think it falls flat. Just saying.

Consider the Southern U.S. cousin to "just saying," "bless his/her/their little heart(s)." They may not have the exact same function, but they both serve as opinion softening agents. Though the Southern version can be much more nasty, yet somewhat compassionate--(for example, "What a jerk. Bless his little heart.") the Southern version has had staying power, probably because of its charm. Though the phrase can be abused as a license to say anything you want about anything or anyone, there is also a spirit of recognizing the sinful potential of one's own tongue. "Just saying" has quickly become annoying. This phrase is well-intentioned, but the spirit of communication should be clear in tone and/or body language (more challenging online) without adding the phrase.

I think my Husky elation has turn into deflation, then maybe to wisdom

Almost nothing could diminish the joy of watching the UW Huskies beat USC in person. I think it would end up hurting if they didn't win another game the rest of season and that win ends up merely in upset lore among my football brethren, like Mississippi State beating Florida a few years ago and getting Ron Zook fired. I don't want that game to be only a fun victory in an otherwise lost season.

The game today against Notre Dame was a dagger, because the victory over USC is looking more like luck all the time (though I really don't believe that). The Huskies have the talent at QB and receivers, and a mere few on defense, but it's not enough to play with the big boys. To secure momentum, they almost have to win next week at home against Arizona. The games don't get any easier. I want them to give Arizona a beat down and get some momentum back.

Though my life doesn't hang on the Huskies success, it's fun to follow the UW and gives me a little bit of reflection about from where I come. It represents my Granddad and his GI bill, a dream, and being the first member of his family to graduate from college, my father and him scraping by to build some vocational hope through his education, young men learning about responsibility, work ethic and grit. Husky athletics represents some pride in a region and a particular way of doing things. Husky athletics represents the higher education experience. I know from my own personal experience as a collegiate athlete about the dark side of athletics, but I will always come back. Even if I feel deflated for a few days.

Worshiping at the Cathode Cathedral: House 9/28/09

Whereas Desperate Housewives is on a writing slide, House is going in a better direction.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that House's relationship with his therapist from the season premier would continue and that the show would not merely be a medical drama, but also about the relationships with just enough snark and twists to be true to some of the original House concepts. I enjoyed House's little foray into cooking that tapped into a lingering romantic involvement with Cuddy while dissecting his battles as an addictive personality--also this guy can do almost anything, but has some major personality flaws. Foreman and Thirteen also have some chemistry while they balance relationship and professional issues.

My dear wife and I have figured out how to balance relational and professional issues--we won't serve in the same congregation. We can then admire each of our gifts from both up close and from afar.

The barfing has subsided, but we took a trip to the ER anyway

Daughter #2 gave my mother and father a barfing show yet to be matched in her short lifetime--my dear wife and I managed to avoid it (though not intentionally), we were working. With lethargy, a low grade fever, and crankiness still present, we were concerned about H1N1 or flu in general. I tried comforting the little squirt, but she frowned at me and said, "Stop being nice to me, Daddy."

Off to the ER--I had flashbacks of my last trip there with her--we were there around 7 hours. I wasn't in the mood to relive that episode and wanted to hold out for the pediatrician. My dear wife persuaded me that it was the right thing to go in last evening. For an ER visit, we had an expedited process. Great nurses, great doctor--the anti-nausea medicine and the intravenous fluids did the trick. She wasn't jumping for joy when she got home--but that 3 hour ER visit was a good investment. We even had more TV channels available, and the hospital was a lot cleaner this time. It doesn't look like influenza of any strain, but we still need to be vigilant.

Thanks to my Mom and Dad for being on the front lines this weekend. Wow.

Barf

Barf is a new favorite word for Daughter #2. Our 12-yr old chocolate lab occasionally has a hard time keeping food down. One time I announced that "the dog barfed again!" She picked up on that word and its connection, so she's become a barf detective. She has an instinct to follow the dog around when he starts making a noise that could produce barf, the she will call out that the dog has barfed again, and that I need to clean it up.

At about 3 am this morning, we heard a cry from her bedroom. Apparently, she joined the dog in the barf club and barfed on her pillow and sheets. I think it was technically an acid reflux, but in the midst of her discomfort, she was a little bit pleased that she shared a bond with her barfing dog. She spoke for about 20 minutes regarding the details of the barfing episode.

This is probably more than you ever wanted to read about barf today (or any day).

Worshiping at the Cathode Cathedral: House

Last year I was drawn into the medical drama "House" courtesy of my Confirmation students in South Dakota ranch country. I was amazed that it was the most mentioned show when I unscientifically polled them on their favorites. I don't just go looking for shows via channel surfing, I find a few diamond in the rough recommendations and give them a try.

During the long, dark, snowy winter in South Dakota, I looked forward to carrying a load of House DVD's or getting a few episodes on Hulu. I ended up watching 4 complete seasons in about 3 months. What drew me to the show was an intelligent man's quest for meaning under the guise of nihilism. It helps that House has an unused verbal filter and is often funny in bypassing the filter. I've always hoped that someone with a more intelligent faith could challenge House, but that has yet to happen. I believe he's met with a teenage quack faith healer, and an overly pious and naive nun--but that's about it. One of the doctors had attended seminary, but had is own crisis of faith. He ends up being the religious apologist when the ladies aren't staring into his dreamy eyes.

The House season premiere reminded me of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," though it wasn't quite as good. My favorite interaction involved House and his psychiatrist--meeting his match in the category of insanely intelligent, yet a bit relationally immature. It was also good that the writing ventured off the medical mystery track for just a bit so we could connect with House beyond his cantankerous shell. He also developed a romantic connection with a visitor to the ward that eventually broke off. What I appreciated about the contrast of characters is that the brain, though resilient, can be very fragile--and that we are all a step or two away from mental illness. The characters who came to the mental illness institution were an interesting mix of everyday and extraordinary people: a world-renowned doctor, a concert cellist, a man who suffered from massive delusions after witnessing his wife's sudden death all overseen by a psychiatrist with his own relational brokenness. What I appreciated about the episode over and against "Cuckoo's Nest" was that the mental illness in House was not mere caricature as it tended to be in "Cuckoo's Nest."

In recent years I have found a passive interest in faith, relationships and the brain. Pete Steinke first got me interested in brain research, and he plugged me in to many resources. I saw Dr. Daniel Amen speak several years ago and found his work intriguing in terms of how the brain affects congregational dynamics. Some are skeptical of Amen's work. The neo-atheist Sam Harris and his contributions to The Reason Project move into brain research to show how the brain is related to faith and religion. I deeply appreciate the complexity of the brain and amazed how often it is taken for granted in human interaction. The season premiere of House revealed something of this complexity, which is why I enjoyed it's diversion from the typical medical drama path.

Seattle Mariners, Washington Huskies and Elation (part 1)

Wow.

I'm with Seattle Times columnist Jerry Brewer and UDub Football Head Coach Steve Sarkisian. Wow.

After attending the Mariners-Yankees game Friday night and the Huskies-USC game Saturday afternoon, I think my legs are still shaking. Our group of 4 on Friday was looking more for a good night together to see the Yankee juggernaut and entourage--always baseball history in the making. We were looking for a good hanging out activity.

This year the Mariners have their own history in the making with arguably the best pitcher in baseball (Felix Hernandez) and two future Hall of Famers (the still productive Ichiro and the larger than life Ken Griffey, Jr.). The Mariners are still a compelling storyline despite their exit from playoff contention about 6 weeks ago. No one really saw (except for my brother) Ichiro winning the game off of the rarely beaten Darth Vader of relief pitchers Mariano Rivera in the bottom of the 9th with two outs. I still have chills when I think of watching it live and seeing them all celebrate.

What was also fun was that our group of four sat behind a cohort of Yankee fans. I am not a Yankee hater, though I like them less and less as the years pass. I can't hate them because one of my baseball heroes was a Yankee--Don Mattingly. I modeled my own game and preparation after his. I even celebrated his birthday as a high school athlete (April 20, BTW). The Yankee fans were a bit obnoxious (must have been that they sucked down copious amounts of beer and passed around a flask). But they were popping off to the Mariner fans around them--a game 10 year old boy sitting in front of them took the best approach and just cheered louder for the Mariners. I basically ignored them for most of the game (actually, didn't respond to them). I took note of some of their ramblings, but this joke typifies their banter:

Q: What's the difference between a Mariner hot dog and a Yankee hot dog?
A: You can eat a Yankee hot dog in October!

In my first of two responses during the contest, I pointed out to the Yankee fan that one could eat a Mariner hot dog in October this season, because with the World Baseball Classic being held this spring, the final Mariner home stand of the season took place in October. One could buy a Mariner hot dog then. And technically, one can buy a Mariner hot dog at any Costco in Western Washington, as one can buy the Mariner Dog brand there and serve them at home. I told him that if you really want to create an accurate joke, he could say that a Yankee hot dog can be eaten in November, since the recent advent of the opening round of the playoffs now is a best of 7 series, the World Series can fall on the first week of November. But that would also be inaccurate, since the dawn of the expanded playoff series, the Yankees have either been inept in the playoffs or the regular season. Therefore, he can't really tell a joke, and he was just popping off.

My second response was delayed after he said the game was over after the Mariano Rivera entrance. I can't say I held out too much hope for a response. But I did openly call for Mike Sweeney to pinch hit in the 9th, since he's been swinging such a hot bat in the past few months and would be one of the least likely to be intimidated by Rivera. My friend who flew in from Kansas City, part of the hapless KC Royals fan base, was at least happy to see someone with Royals connections do well. With Sweeney's double in the gap, and Ichiro coming to the plate, all things were possible to tie the game. I thought he would double in the gap to tie the game. My brother declared Ichiro was ending it and going yard.

My brother was right--and we went berserk. Pandemonium. Pure elation. My dad and I each shared that our legs were shaking. Such a calm evening turned into a gigantic celebration. No one wanted to go home. We soaked in the moment and gave thanks we didn't have to run around like Jim Valvano looking for someone to hug. We had our troupe right there. We were the re-incarnation of the High Five'n White Guys.

Driving Miss Daughter #2

About half of my commuting days to work involve daughter #2. She seems to like music (though she doesn't like to hear me sing) and talk with me about what she sees. She may talk a lot, but she has a narrow focus of topics:

1. "Hey Daddy. That's broken. You need to fix it." Usually this means she sees a construction site or a decaying urban structure.

2. "Hey Daddy. That's dirty. You need to clean it up." This means she has seen anything involving dirt--from a large dirt pile, to anything that looks disorderly.

3. "Hey Daddy. There's the Tamoma Dome. It's a castle." She refused to believe that the Tacoma Dome wasn't a castle, but I eventually convinced her it's a dome that hosts music, basketball and football games. This now sounds plausible to her.

She will also point out airplanes and the many cars on the road.

After our commute, I drop her off at the preschool/child care facility. She is generally excited upon arrival, but she's shy when she gets in there. The teacher says it takes my little girl about 30 minutes to warm up to everyone. She's back to taking an afternoon nap, which is probably a relief to the teachers--they need some peace, too. She's learning letters A and B these days and the accompanying sign language.

This Show Stinks: Mr. Tony is back on the radio, boys and girls!

After listening to Tony Kornheiser on the B.S. Report podcast last week, I learned that after leaving Monday Night Football and the Washington Post, Mr. Tony is back on the radio. I am glad for this. I have completely gorged myself on local sports radio this summer. And though I generally like the local radio personalities, especially Kevin Calabro, Mike Salk and Brock Huard, with a smattering of the KJR personalities if I can't stand what's going on with the other guys. I can't say that I feel more intelligent after I listen to my local sports pundits, but they provide the background conversation to some chores where I need to concentrate--and I love the daily rhythm of baseball in the summertime for which the radio is a great companion.

Kornheiser is different than most sports pundits. Like Colin Cowherd and Keith Law, I feel a little smarter after partaking of his material. He doesn't confine himself to game breakdown or emotionally fanatic rants about a particular team--he brings in his own cultural niche. Cowherd appeals to his target demographic in a smart way with cultural features other than sports. Keith Law also comments on books and food/cooking/restaurants. Mr. Tony hits politics, relationships, movies, news, a little pop culture, a little feature called "Old Guy Radio," and sports, in no particular order.

The show announced that the iTunes link is not quite working yet, so here is a link to listen to Mr. Tony. I'm looking forward to listening to this on my commute or in the office when I'm doing the more mindless section of work as a pastor.

If you don't know anything about Tony Kornheiser on the radio, just know this: THIS SHOW STINKS. It stinks.

First days in preschool for child #2

We've been talking for weeks with daughter #2 about going to school. She doesn't exactly know the scope of institution--but she wants to do the things her older sister does, yet she wants to be independent. She had to acquire "Skechers" just like her older sister--picking out her own style but the same brand at Fred Meyer. Before she started on Tuesday, every building we passed brought the inquiry: "Is that my school? Is that my school?"

After 2 days, her ebbed enthusiasm makes me wonder if this is the right course, but we're already traveling this road. I can't quit my job now, and hers is a natural reaction to a completely different social situation. It's only three days per week, and her days aren't always full. I also admire her skepticism about the whole socialization process, I can relate to looking at any crowd with apprehension.

I miss the small, regular interactions throughout the day, and I look forward to Friday when we can hang out together at home. I will be off doing my chores somewhere in the house and she will come find me and say "Hey, Daddy!" Then, all will be right with the world.