>tacky relevance

MySpace has stolen my soul!

2006-08-07T14:58:00.000-05:00

There were 97 million plus before me that had joined the not so sub-culture called "myspace". I had heard of it and had a general knowledge of how it worked and was used and misused but never saw the need to be a part of it...

Until now (insert dark, symphonic drama music here).

As a youth minister, my job is to stay current with pop culture in order to maintain relevance in my teaching and relating to those half my age. The kids I'm working with were mostly born in the 90's. That hurts my head. Anyway, over the past 6 months I can't tell you how many times I've been asked if I have a myspace account. I even went to myspace and looked around and didn't see what the big deal was until Sarah, my tech-chick signed our band, Lady Jane Grey, onto it. After a couple of months, I started to dip my toe in with our account and the next thing I know I'm commenting on our friend's profiles and finding old friends etc.

So speeding up to last Saturday, Sarah said "Dude, you need to get your own myspace account". Within 15 minutes the "Tacky Relevance" movement bled over to myspace. Myspace is what heroine must be like. You start out with "Tom" as your one and only friend. It's akin to a first day at school and you don't know anyone else in the lunchroom. So, you look around in people's profiles and find those you either have something in common with or find out that you know a pretty sizable number of these people who arrived before you did to myspace.

So, I invited them to be my friend and their friends invite me! I've also learned that most myspace profiles themselves are really poor quality so now I'm in search of the ultimate template.

I don't even check my email first anymore. Myspace is the first thing I log onto when I get on my laptop and the last thing I sign off on before I turn it off. Before you think I'm a freak, Sarah's the same way. Heck, the other night, instead of me yelling from one room to the next...yeah, you guessed it, I just put a comment on her profile instead.

Myspace has stolen my soul. Check out what I'm doing with my life: DAVE'S MYSPACE

Meet Lady Jane Grey's new back-up singer!

2006-07-26T14:24:00.000-05:00

What I Learned At Camp Pt. 2

2006-07-25T22:41:00.000-05:00

Well, since my last entry, I've taken my Jr. High and High School guys and gals to Westcliffe, CO. We spent 10 days total on the road at this great camp called SnowRidge Camp. Man, we had a great time. I had the privilege of witnessing some life-changing events in the lives of some of our campers and honestly, that's what makes these trips so rich and worth the trouble.

So, I got to come back home for a week and then off to camp #3. I've turned into a professional camper. I've streamlined my packing techniques and have learned the art of nap time during the day. Without it, you're toast.

Camp #3 was a whole different beast. I was hired along with my good friend Chris Taylor to do the musical stuff the whole week for the American Cancer Society in Kerrville, Texas.

The age range was from 7 yrs.-16yrs. of age. There were about 150 kids in all and I think I 'bout near fell in love with every last one of them over the course of the 6 days I had the honor of spending with them. Obviously, I knew what I was getting into. What surprised me was how many kids looked healthy, ones you certainly would not assume had struggled with or are currently in the battle with cancer. Of course, there were others in the midst of chemo. The percentage of kids currently with cancer vs. those in remission was about 50/50.

What struck me was even those like Leo, who 2 days before was in the hospital with a chest tube, was not going to allow his battle to keep him from taking full advantage of the fun he could have. He's still a kid. Kids have this spirit where they can and will take full advantage of every opportunity to have fun. In adult terms, that would be called "enjoying life" or "Smelling the Roses".

Before getting to experience this unique privilege, I knew I would walk away inspired by these camper's lust for life and their amazing ability to put mind over matter. All I had to do was plug in the personalities and faces. Us adults, since we believe we are more evolved than kids, lose site of what simple joys can be found in singing a song, seeing who can clap the loudest, or who can get to the front door the quickest.

Every one of these kids deserves to live and explore all of the good things we all can and do take for granted. Things I even took for granted today like kissing my wife or tickling my son. My prayer is that every last one of these sweet campers get that chance and every other thing that their hearts dream about.

What I learned at camp is that those who get "it", even the weakest and tiniest of solders, know that every drop of life is precious and worth fighting for.

What I Learned At Camp

2006-06-22T13:31:00.001-05:00

As a youth minister, this is my 3rd summer attending camps with our church kids. Being on this side of the fence is interesting. You're expected to be "The Adult" but be a part of all the kid stuff as well. I'm going to be 35 in September. My mind stopped maturing at age 13. So, mentally any underarm noise making, fart jokes, loudest burps, wedgy-giving is right up my ally. My 9 year old son thinks I'm the coolest dad on the planet simply because of my unmannerly manner.

As each year passes, I love doing these summer camps more and more but, you have to take the good with the uncomfortable.

The camp I'm at this week is a sports camp for 4th-7th graders. The RPM level on these kids is pegged at redline. I love it. My body doesn't.

Tuesday, I'm doing the Track and Field stuff with a portion of my group. These kids are highly competitive and this is the perfect forum for them to push themselves faster and farther. Well, the coach got to a point where she was talking to the kids about long distance running. To demonstrate the concept the only way to really appreciate the idea is to...just do it! Up until now, I was hiding behind my camera, only there to memorialize the occasion with some action shots. Then came the challenge.

"Dave, you gonna run with us?"

Now, to these 12 year old boys asking, it was just an open invitation and a simple question. To me, it was a dare that hung on the last strings of my athletic pride. At first, I said "Aww, guys...thanks for asking but I have to take the pics." You see, what makes this situation tense for me is I'm standing there wearing brand new $80 Nike Running Shoes that I convinced Sarah I needed to buy last Saturday before camp. I bought them for the way they looked, not how fast or far I could run in them. I don't know how long it's been since my feet have moved faster than "stroll".

What choice did I have? The coach yelled "Follow me" and I did. And did. And did.

Dear Lord. I thought she was going to take it easy on these poor little 12 year old boys and the bald, panting freak bringing up the rear. Nope.

If you ever wanted to see a simulation of someone having a massive coronary, you could've seen it in all its violent glory by the time we returned from our very long distance run. Don't ask me how far I ran because I couldn't tell you. Between the sweat stinging my eyes and the heavy gasping, it all came down to "I will not be 'that guy' who walked the last half." And I didn't. I finished. As I stood there, bent over with my hands on my knees, all I could hear was me gasping for air and the sound of my pulse in my head as I took in the sight of my new $80 Running shoes, once again. I should've spent the $80 on a new pair of legs and lungs.

So, after my run, like any true athlete, I took a nap.

I can't forget about the girls in our group.

Now, I have about as much in common with an 11 year old girl as Nancy Reagan has with 50Cent.

Understanding that, I was approached by them last night and they said they had a "surprise" for me. Can I share a little advice? Anytime five 11 year old girls come to you giggling saying they have a "surprise", chances are you won't be getting a cake made in your honor. More than likely, your masculinity will be stripped down and diminished in some way or another.

So, when they approached me with this "surprise", I knew I was in for it and didn't even put up a fight. Like a lamb to the slaughter, they covered my eyes and led me to the girl's dorm lobby. That was when I was met with a tackle box of fingernail polish and all of the junk that goes along with it. One of them massaged my bald head as the others each took a hand (and foot) and proceeded to paint anything nail related. As I type this, I'm typing with painted nails.

This is how 11 year old girls show love for their youth minister and I wear this polish with pride. Although, when I hit the Starbucks here on campus this morning, I'm sure the lady at the register had more than one theory as to why I handed her a $5 bill with painted fingernails.

What I've learned at camp is that being a youth minister teaches me a lot more about myself than what I'll ever be able to impart to these kids. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Got Crazy?

2006-06-15T00:07:00.001-05:00

I'm sure I'm riding the first wave with everyone else with Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" but this is the best song to come from '06 so far. I can't stop listening to it. Cee-Lo and Danger Mouse rule on their own but together they've made a classic with "St Elsewhere" although, Gnarls Barkley is supposed to be a mysterious separate person to which these two guys lend their talent.

Get your fill now before Top40 beats this one into the ground.

Off White Images

2006-06-02T23:19:00.001-05:00

(Punky and Sarah b/w)

Over the past two years, the photography bug has bitten me. I've started my own photo blog for those interested to check out.

Dave's photo blog: Off White Images

Silent Evangelism

2006-05-30T13:19:00.000-05:00

by Mentanna Campbell

“If Christians in the US would be quiet for a year and only do good works, that would be evangelism. Our actions are way behind our words.” —Dieter Zander

I came across this statement in a book a few days ago, and it has been haunting me ever since. My first reaction, and maybe yours as well, was a negative one. My inner dialogue went something like this: “We need both! You can’t divorce words from actions. They are the flip sides of the same coin.” Although I still believe that to be true, I realized that in my hasty analysis, I had completely missed the heart of what this author was trying to communicate. What reality is being exposed here? What truth is there for us to contemplate? And perhaps even more importantly, what sin is there for us to repent of?

First of all, I think Zander is right in the sense that we as Christians have the tendency to exalt words over actions. Most evangelicals hold to the belief that the spoken gospel is the most important thing we can communicate. After all, how can anyone come to a saving knowledge of faith in Christ without hearing the proclamation of God’s word? (Does this terminology sound familiar, fellow evangelicals?) Reacting against the social gospel of the 1920s, we have often regulated “works” to an inferior domain. Words became the venerated method of evangelism and the social implications of the gospel were left to the liberals.

Where does that leave us today? I believe that we are left with something far less powerful than what Jesus intended. Essentially, we have proclaimed the gospel of “right belief” and divorced it from right conduct. I am not just talking about hypocrisy. We all know people who profess one thing and live another. Hypocrisy isn't a new problem. What I mean is that we say that if someone believes a certain set of doctrines then he is saved. His lifestyle could communicate other things, and he could never let that knowledge transform any aspect of his life, but he has right belief; therefore, all is well. Is that true? That is my question.

In the West (meaning the US and Europe), the problem isn't that the gospel hasn't been communicated, it’s that the gospel hasn't been lived. As Christians, we have a lot to account for in our past: racism, religious wars, discrimination—all in the name of God. We tell people they need God but we don't necessarily feel a need to be Christ to them. I’m talking about a lack of incarnational witness. It is much easier to talk about being a Christian than it is to live like one. I firmly believe that this generation needs to see Jesus and not just hear about Him. They need to see us caring for the poor, treating others as more important and pursing spiritual life over material wealth. They need to witness our concern for injustice, racism and the shoddy way we have of taking care of God's creation.

When did we as Christians give up on these things? When did we quit? Why have we regulated to the government what we, as the church should be spearheading? We are the redemptive force in this country, not the Republican party, not the Democratic party.

So I do agree with the heartbeat of the above statement. Personally, I am ready for people to evaluate the depth of my walk with God not by how many minutes or hours I spend in my quiet time or by how well I can cite the tenets of my faith, but rather by how much His truth overflows into every aspect of my daily life. I get convicted just writing that and even a bit scared when I think of all its implications for my own life. But just think about how a seeking world would respond if we started living out in detail what we spout off so easily. Now, that would be radical. That would be attractive. That would transform this world.

Article from Relevant Magazine

Role Reversal

2006-05-30T11:18:00.004-05:00

As a kid, I was raised in a pretty tradtional home in the sense that my dad did the "man" stuff and my mom did the "woman" stuff. You know, my old man would get under our broken sink and cuss at it for 45 minutes before he dialed a plumber, or my mom would bake a cake and cuss at it for 45 minutes before she would just go buy one at HEB.

I'm just kidding about the part about my mom.

She'd go to Albertson's.

With my dad, any household "fix-it" issue was generally met by him with an elevated blood pressure level and a vocabulary that held an array of zingers within its verbal quiver should such an occasion arise. Honestly, I've never seen more inanimate objects called more names by any other person than my dad.

I remember one time my old man hit his head on a cabinet door in the kitchen , as we're all destined to do at least once, and you could see the dawn of a storm brewing in the horizon of his eyes. It was as if my dad had a sixth sense to where he could literally look into the very soul of that cabinet door (or any other object over the years that he deemed "unfit") before he unleashed a tornado of words that could make that cabinet door weep, if that were possible. When one gets to the point where they believe a cabinet door is truly a tool of Satan, you've got "issues" and some time on a doctor's couch wouldn't hurt.

This isn't the point, forgive me.

This entry isn't as much about tempers as it is about masculinity, or the lack of it. Before anyone starts jumping to one side of the fence or the other here, I'm not trying to really say anything. Let me tell you about last night...

Sarah and I went to Target and got an armoire and a slip cover for our couch. Our couch started out as an off-white khaki color but, over the past 10 years, it has taken on more of an earth tone.

Anyway, we get home and Sarah is foaming at the mouth to get started on "her" project: Fighting with the slip cover?

Nope.

Putting the daggum armoire together. With my help? Are you kidding?

No, I was working with the slip cover and she's over on the other side of the living room with her cordless drill, open toolbox, and an acetylene torch teaching that armoire who's boss. Meanwhile, I'm over here positioning pillows and tying bows on the slip cover as I survey our living room to make sure the position of the couch doesn't interfere with the Feng Shui.

Huh? What the heck happened here?

This is the thing, the assembly of the armoire wasn't even open for debate and honestly, I really wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Sarah's just better at this stuff than I am.

When our toilet broke a while back, guess who fixed it? Yep, momma did. When we moved into our new house and had to have a new cord put on our dryer, guess who replaced it? Momma.

This is my point: I'm not really good at the girl stuff either! With one hand Sarah can be fixing our carburetor and with the other making up a batch of killer oatmeal cookies!

mmm...Oatmeal cookies.

I guess, when it's all boiled down, Sarah rocks and I'm glad to have her. Although, I just can't help humming Paula Cole's "Where have all the cowboys gone" in my head when I look at this couch with its new slip cover.

We're in the new millenium aren't we?

The bra burners from yesteryear would be overjoyed to think this soft-handed neanderthal took a back seat to a hot chick with a cordless drill.

I'm game!

Unos, dos, tres, catorce

2006-05-25T20:13:00.004-05:00

Last Saturday, we were doing a car wash fundraiser for my youth group Soul Asylum Youth. I stood up quickly after cleaning the lower portion of a grill guard on a pick-up and felt as if the pavement under my feet was quickly turning to jello. So, I held on for dear life and 4 seconds later the pavement became, well, pavement again. "Maybe I'm just not getting enough water", I thought.

So, I woke up Sunday morning and my bed, instead of it tradtionally being a stationary object, felt more like a hammock in a wind storm. You see, I get motion sickness anyway and this sensation made me feel as if I needed to use the trash can for other things than trash at that moment.

Anyway, my dizziness progressively got better through last night but, boy howdy, it's back again.

So, I made a trip to the doc and found that I've got Vertigo. It's not nearly as bad as it could be but not nearly as cool as U2 makes it sound like.

I've got some sort of inner ear something or another and am taking meds and steroids for it.

Alfred Hitchcock's poster of Jimmy Stewart on it is a pretty accurate portrayal of the expression on my mug the past 5 days. A very uncool version of the "oh" face.

May I brag?

2006-05-19T13:57:00.000-05:00

O.K. My little 4 year old niece, Taylor, is destined to be a superstar. These pics below were taken with no coaxing on my part. She's a natural.

Defy Yourself

2006-05-11T12:53:00.000-05:00

I guess I'm on a blog roll today but read below what I found on Misty's blogsite (Misty is one of the coolest chicks on the planet, by the way):

Martyn Lloyd-Jones, a minister at Westminster in London from his book "Spiritual Depression"..."(reflections on Psalm 42, 'why so downcast oh my soul..')
"Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself? ...The main art in the matter of spiritual living is to know how to handle yourself. You have to take yourself in hand, address yourself, preach to yourself...instead of muttering in this depressed, unhappy way, and then you must remind yourself of God, who God is, and what God has done. Then having done that, end on this great note: defy yourself, and defy other people, and defy the devil and the whole world, and say 'I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance, who is also the health of my countenance and my God."

Back in 60 Seconds

2006-05-11T09:52:00.000-05:00

In a previous blog post I shared about little Dave's obsession with horsepower. This kid is very advanced in his knowledge of automobiles. In his freetime, he lives at the Concept Cars website.

Dave and I are on a first name basis at the Mercedes dealership in Boerne and at the Ferrari dealership in San Antonio. We have what we call "Daddy/Punky" days where we'll go and basically do whatever he wants to do. Inevitably, we'll hit one of these dealerships for a good ol' fashioned droolfest.

When the sticker says $270,000, it's hard not to be in awe one way or the other!

Anyway, Dave's dream, naturally, has been to ride in a Ferrari. Well, since his old man is a minister with a musician's credit, I won't be stepping up to the counter to buy one of these for myself anytime soon.

(The picture below was taken during one of the many trips to the beloved Ferrari dealership.)

So, we dream together and talk cars. Good dad and son stuff. Well, last week we're at the Starbucks on the north end of town. We're sitting outside and he's doing his homework while I'm sitting back and enjoying the evening. Then a Ferrari pulls in to the parking lot. Of course, what little interest Dave was forcing into his math paper quickly dissipated at the sight of this red wonder.

So Bob, the distinguished owner, winds up sitting at the table next to us and we start talking cars. Come to find out, he's one of the CEO's at Valero. We talked for about an hour and then "the offer" came. He offered little Dave a ride in his Ferrari.

Now, before you call child protective services on me for allowing my son to get into a stranger's car, it was only in the parking lot and the access road in front of the Starbucks. The other assurance is that a $300,000 red Ferrari with a wide-eyed 9 year old boy is kinda hard to miss.

So, Dave hops in and off he goes. Living the dream. There's really nothing like the sound of a Ferrari. At low RPM's, it has this whine like "Oh please, punch the freakin' gas!". So, Bob punched it a little bit on the access road and the tires spun a little. Less than a minute later, Dave was back and he literally floated out of that car. He visited Cloud 9-ville and hasn't come back since. I snapped a pic with my cell phone to commemorate the moment.

It's true that the little things we experience really wind up counting the most to us. A stranger took one minute to make a little boy smile and Dave will never forget it. A little unwarranted goodness really does go a long way. Thanks, Bob!

(Dave taking his first Ferrari ride...awwww yeah!)

2006-04-22T23:35:00.000-05:00

The Confessions of a Bald Man

2006-04-17T16:06:00.001-05:00

It happened close to 2 years ago, summer of 2004...

Hair clippers in hand? Check.
An electrical outlet? Check.
Enough Intestinal fortitude? Check.
One receding hairline? Check.
Mother Nature laughing in the wings? Check.
Wife's approval? Check.
One last look in the mirror? Check.

I flicked the switch and there I went! OFF TO THE RACES!!!!

I started with my right sideburn. In one swoop, it was gone. I grew that sideburn way back in the early 90's when 90210 was in its heyday and Luke Perry made it cool for a clean cut guy like me to look a little edgy. Heck, I landed a wife wearing them. Thanks, Luke.

As I looked in the mirror, my heart began to race because I was *gasp* really going to go through with it! I'd say it has been one of the bravest things I've ever done. I took the buzzing beast and plunged it into the right side of my head.

No turning back now.

One dark lock after another fell into the sink.

My is mind yelling "What are you freaking doing, Dave?!" above the rumble of the clippers against my scalp. After 3 minutes of me doing the zig-zag clipper waltz across my head, I finished the act by running them straight across the very top of it.

I had hair for 33 years.

I've had baby hair, bowl cut hair, spikey hair, conservative hair, mullet hair, business hair, Caesar hair...less Caesar hair. Now, no hair.

I looked in the mirror at this mass of skin where my precious folicled friends once lived. The only hint of hair I now saw in my mirrored reflection were a set of frowning eyebrows hosting a pair of eyes frozen in disbelief at such an epidermical sight!

I opened the bathroom door and walked into the room where Sarah was. I sheepishly poked my bald head into the room. Sarah's face looked like she had just seen someone's zipper down. That "ohmigosh" half smiling-half "oh crap" look. Now panicked, I said, "What the heck am I supposed to do now?" She quickly followed up with, "Honey, it looks good. Really." Thanks, Honey.

I've since settled into my new and permanent look. I've befriended a Mach3 Razor and will live the rest of my days...a bald dude. I now look at those like Andre Agassi, Vin Diesel, Bruce Willis, Montel Williams, and virtually every player in the NBA, who have all gone before me in baldom, with the spirit of misery loving company. A band of bald brothers. A growing sea of cueballs. A tribe of those whose hands were forced prematurely to the razor by Mother Nature.

So, fast forward to America's favorite game show and talent show: "Deal or No Deal" and "American Idol 2006".

What used to be a little edgy in 2003 has now entered into the mainstream pop culture:
The Shaved Head.

Anyone under 30 gives me the "Hey, you look like the guy from 'American Idol'. You, know...the bald one." I suppose it's still better than being compared to Bucky.

Anyone over 30 gives me the "Hey Dave, you look like Howie Mandell from 'Deal or No Deal'".

Howie freakin' Mandell?

Great! So, now I'm associated with a guy who inflates surgical gloves with his nose?
Can someone give me a break?

No one ever gave that lollypop suckin' Kojack any grief!

Remember back in the day when all the ladies would swoon over a bald Broadway guy named Yul? Yul. What kind of name is that anyway?

But no, I don't get the "bald is beautiful" comments. When I'm not getting the "Do you use Turtle Wax on your head?" jokes, I get Howie freakin' Mandell.

Quick question: How many of you reading this thought, at first, that the picture at the top of this blog post was me? See what I mean? Howie freakin' Mandell.

Anyone got the number to Hair Club for Men?

One Big Mouth and a Malnourished Laptop

2006-04-13T14:33:00.000-05:00

I finally got my laptop back!

I'm here at the Boerne Daily Grind re-downloading all the stuff that I completely lost when my hard drive went south close to a month ago.

I literally lost everything I had from this past year. It's my dumb fault for not backing up my files but I didn't think about it. I'm thinking about it now but that doesn't seem to be helping me out.

It's kinda like a....hold on...

This guy who was eating here with his rich friends a couple of tables away was just now leaving out the front door...and he feels the need to say to me *very loudly* "Hey...get off the porn site".

What? Is he really talking to me? Do I know you?

Oh geeze. Thanks alot. Was that a sad attempt to be funny or look cool?

I just kinda looked at him like he had just thrown up on my left shoe.

Here I am buried behind my laptop, typing in my little blog, minding my own business and now the whole freaking restaurant is turning around to see who the "perv" is behind his laptop looking at uncovered curves.

You all are my witnesses. My activities are all above the Equator.

What a jerk.

Anyway...

Losing all my files, documents, pictures, songs, programs, and probably 10 other things I don't even realize I lost is like having a virtual house fire.

So, I'm going through the arduous task of re-downloading fonts, programs, and other junk.

Get off the porn site.

To quote a wise sage:
"The Jerk Store called and they ran out of you."-George Costanza

Take that!

Life with Martians and Underarm Hair

2006-03-29T11:05:00.000-06:00

Man, it seems like forever since I've been able to get my "blog fix".

My laptop died close to 3 weeks ago. I got a voicemail this week from a guy at Best Buy saying, "Uh, Mr. Martian, you will need a new hard drive." I saved the message because it's not everyday that I get called Mr. Martian. He could've just called me Marvin but, Mr. Martian is fine. He obviously holds respect for extra-terrestrial life forms as well.

I've been called a lot worse in my life.

Anyway, I'm using Sarah's iMac. I really want to get into the whole Burkenstock, granola, Prius driving vibe of being a Mac owner but I just can't. They're so simple that they become complicated to me. I guess at heart I'm just a Wal-Mart lovin', red state livin', Prime Rib eatin', Windows XP user...and always will be.

I do drive a Honda Civic, drink Soy lattes and like some girl singers that have hair in their underarms. That should count for something.

I can't wait to get my laptop back with all of its laptopiness glory. Without this thing, I feel so disconnected from the world. It makes me wonder how much of my life is virtual verses real. The lines are becoming more blurred in my humble opinion. I mean, I keep in touch with most of my friends via email or I put on my voyeur hat and read their blog to find out the juicy info. in their lives. Since when did it become the norm to think we can maintain a relationship with four out of our five senses (barring those who can see dead people) being absent?

At least with a hand-written letter a postage stamp was licked by a human being and probably held by a dozen or so hands. What I'm saying is that there are at least some traces of DNA on the dang thing when it arrives in my mailbox. I'm just thinking that relationships should be more than a blank canvas, a spellcheck and a left click.

I realize I'm getting all "soap boxesqe" on you but, rest assured, as soon as I get my laptop back, I'll wind up forgetting all of this self-righteous ranting and will rejoin the rest of the 21st century with all my high-tech nuanced friends and smirk and sniff at all of those "face to face" talkers with their eye-to-eye contact.

If only they could all be as advanced as us nuanced.

I feel my inner Frasier Crane smiling.

2006-03-09T21:11:00.000-06:00

Dirty Soap

2006-02-21T11:53:00.000-06:00

I'm here at Gunn Honda getting my new car looked at. When I drive, I hear a loud metallic clink-clank coming from the front left corner of my car. So, they're checking it out for me. For the last 20 minutes here, I've been in their waiting room with all of the other Honda owners. The area is nice. Free Krispy Kreme donuts, bottled water, complimentary USA Today, and a very loud TV.

They have a soap opera on and at first I was able to block it out but, it's amazing how sensitive we can become to content when you're sitting in a room full of strangers. There was first a new comedy TV program advertised and in it the little girl says "Mommy, we're going to hell because we're Jews." and then it goes to the next scene and we find out that grandma is the behind the propaganda and while asleep, one of the kids has painted a Hitler mustache on her. It's supposed to be funny but who is allowed to laugh in this age of political correctness?

Nobody wanted to make eye contact, including me. What if I looked up and saw someone grinning and they looked at me as if to include me in on the joke? Would I smile back or turn my head from such a person?

Whew. That moment is gone.

Back to the soap.

Next commercial. Feminine products. You don't realize how graphic these commercials can be until you are sitting next to a grandmotherly-type lady to your left. Bear in mind, the TV is blasting. Words are being broadcast across the waiting room like "flow", "clean", "itching", and well...you get the idea. T.M.I.

Back to the soap.

I'm reading the paper and for some reason, if you've noticed, commercials are in general like 10 times louder than the actual program you're watching. Can you take a guess what commercial came on that 15 strangers in a room had to act like they couldn't hear?

A genital Herpes commercial.

O.K. That's it! I'm out of here.

I took my free water and paper and am now sitting at the free computer that they let us losers use until they come in here, call our name, and tell us how much we're actually indirectly paying for the free paper, water, and computer.

Oh, thank God. The tech just came in. The noise was just a pebble lodged in the something or another.

Now there are 14 left in the waiting room having to ignore the loud white elephant in there selling herpes lotion and feminine stuff.

Where's a Bow-Flex commercial when you need one?

An encounter with a Munster!

2006-02-20T11:46:00.000-06:00

Little Dave and I are car fanatics. We religiously pour over the pages of the latest editions of Car and Driver magazine upon its arrival in our mailbox and we ooooh and ahhhh over any car we see on the road that has an $80K plus sticker price or that has been customized. We tend to see the more "customized" ones the closer we get to downtown.

Anyway, attempting to play the "Good Dad" role, I decided to surprise Dave and take him down to the Alamo Dome to the Hot Rod Extravaganza.

As we descended onto the ground floor of the Dome, our view opened up to a sea of chrome, rubber and a maze of fine autos from yesteryear for Dave and I to explore.

He was very excited and I was excited that he was excited! I mean, how could someone not appreciate art combined with horsepower? So, as we made our way though the various displays of pure Americana, you couldn't help but share in the pride that the owners of these cars take with every ooh and ahhh they get from the young and old alike.

A new Benz or a pimped out Escalade with its Navigation and plasma screens are impressive but they could never match the charm and the beauty of a fully restored '57 Chevy Belaire.

Anyway, we were getting close to seeing everything that could be seen for the exception of this one particular isle hidden in this automotive maze that we somehow passed about 10 times without noticing. We soon found out we had overlooked the best part of the show!

Until now...

As we made our way down this isle, we came upon the ultimate Hot Rod in all its nostalgic glory, the Original Munster Koach! You see, I grew up watching the Munster reruns on channel 5 after school at 4pm. The Brady Bunch came on after that. This was the early 80's and I would come home from school and eat a bowl of Spaghetti O's or a bowl of Cornflakes and watch the Munsters. I had forgotten how much I loved this show until I stood before the Munster Koach, in person, some 25 years later. I used to think this was the coolest of Hot Rods. I used to have the toy version of it in my fleet of Matchboxes but here I am, I could actually reach out and touch the color version of what was before only a black and white memory.

So, I'm filling Dave in on why this car is not only cool but also gave him one of the old "When I was your age..." stories about how much I dug watching this TV show and how cool I thought this car was. Well, I glance to my left and see Butch Pat...in the flesh! It's Eddie Freakin' Munster himself! I had to meet him.

There were 3 other people at his table in front of me getting his autograph while 30 more just walked by like it's no big deal! Huh? This is Eddie Munster! I plopped down my $10 for the 8X10 pic you see above and waited in line to meet the more weathered version of Eddie. All I could do was stare at him. I felt dumb because I didn't know what to say. I thanked God I had little Dave there with me. So, I positioned Dave in front of me as we stepped up to meet Eddie Munster. Honestly, to little Dave, Eddie Munster could've been the guy behind the counter at Auto Zone. So, Dave just says "Hey" and shakes his hand. Eddie shook mine too but mine was sweaty.

45 seconds later, as we're walking away from an under appreciated American Icon, I'm allowing Dave to carry the autographed picture but I'm telling him to be careful with it and not fold it up. I have big plans for this pic and I am already thinking about which wall in my office to hang it up on.

Moments like those won't end world hunger or abolish ingrown toenail suffering but, I do think it serves as a little time machine that takes you back to when you felt more innocent and maybe not as sophisticated as we think we are as adults. I briefly went back to a time when I dreamt of cool cars, ate Cornflakes and allowed B-Grade actors to entertain me.

Little Dave is in the other room, as I write this, ironically watching reruns of the Dukes of Hazzard. Maybe one day he'll get his chance with his son 25 years from now to see the General Lee in person.

Now, if I could just meet Gary Coleman, my life would be complete.

Valentines Day=Corporate Scam

2006-02-16T17:22:00.000-06:00

For those of you who have read my blog and Sarah's, please don't get the wrong idea. We believe in romance, Love, and gooey sweet stuff but we are increasingly becoming more anti-Valentine as each year passes.

This sentiment isn't directed toward each other. No, we stand united against the day itself and what the Hallmarks and the Victoria Secret's tells us it's supposed to be.

At face value, most would go "Oh, come on Dave! Where's your sense of romance?" I would retort back "Oh, come on man! Where's your sense of obligation?". Who likes being obligated to anything? Obligation and "fun" are rarely in the same sentence unless you're talking about how little they have in common.

You see, on most Valentines, Sarah and I are hired to play music to those that are under the rigid dictates of St. Valentine. We get to watch couple after couple shell out $150 + for a 45 minute meal while crowded in a room full of other people doing the same thing.

Anyone that really knows me knows that I hate faking it. I just don't have it in me. Having to fake it not only gets on my nerves but I can't stand it in other people.

Bottom line: If I want to be romantic, I'll buy the fancy underwear and shell out the $150 on the days I feel so inspired.

I guess the problem I most have with Valentines Day is the utter predictability of it: Flowers, lingerie, chocolate, mas dinero loss, and the color pink. I hate that color almost as much as Sarah does. It's the only color outside of baby blue that can actually make me nauseous if stared at too long.

What's great is, I'm not the lone voice in the proverbial Valentine wilderness. My partner, Sarah, feels the same way I do! Go to Sarah's Blog and read her take on the whole deal.

Thank God she sees it the same way! So, we agree to let each other off the Valentine hook in protest as we get to sit back and enjoy a joke that seems we're the only ones privy to knowing the punchline to.

Now, that's real romanticism if you ask me.

For those reading this and find that my Valentine slant is just plain wrong on 13 different levels, take heart and know, we did get each other V-Day cards and I went all out and actually sprung a whole $1.88 for a small box of Whitman chocolates that I wound up eating over half of last night.

Belch.

Pinky swear?

2006-02-07T02:10:00.000-06:00

"Love is a promise delivered already broken."

Baby, ain't that the truth.

Just watched a documentary on Steve Martin. It's a quote from a play he wrote. That's a nugget I could've gotten some use out of in my life. At least I found it now.

Happy Valentines!

Steamed Meat

2006-02-02T16:24:00.000-06:00

O.K. I'm back. Sorry for the hiatus. I'm here at the Boerne Daily Grind. I love this place. I always sit in the picture window in the front where there are two club chairs that position me to enjoy the small town shuffle of Main Street. Little Dave is with me today, he's out of school. He's living life today as if he just got out of Sing Sing after doing 20. Glad to have my bud with me.

So, I was in town buying some used (very used) couches to put in our youth room to create a more "loungey" effect and met with a great guy, Paul, who's interested in working with our youth kids. He's got a great heart and is someone I can trust. That's a big one. I guard these kids in my youth group like a mother hen. I'm like the Aunt Bea of Youth Pastors in this respect. There's enough junk in these kid's homes and schools and the last thing they need is to have their innocence further compromised and taken advantage of by someone at Soul Asylum Youth.

Anyway, Little Dave and I met Paul at this "All You Can Eat" Chinese Buffet near Lackland A.F.B. It was comical to see all of the signs posted around the buffet saying "Do Not Waste Food". I could almost see the owner behind the counter sweating bullets with his trusty calculator in hand figuring to the penny how much of his precious Chicken Chow Mien is leaving his pan to the plate.

Well, he didn't have to sweat Dave and me taking him to the cleaners. We sipped on some egg drop soup but all the while our hearts and stomachs were holding on to the hope of a greater culinary experience. A place where the only signs you see are ones saying "Family Sack" and "Double it for only 39 Cents". I'm referring to Krystal Hamburgers. Mmmmmm...Steamed meat. We just got our first Krystal's in San Antonio. I first fell in love with Krystal in Nashville. I've haven't been the same since and neither have my cholesteral levels.

Little Dave ate his first one and from that point on, he repeatedly thanked me for allowing him to indulge in the steamed goodness that only a Krystal will allow you to bask in. Yet another bonding moment for us. He'll remember it as "The day my Pa took me to have my first Krystal."

He'll never forget it.

If you think I'm nuts, then you obviously haven't sunk yer chops into one of these bad boys. I did. Seven gut bombs later and a messy pyramid of boxes littered on the passenger side of my car, my stomach gave a hearty belch to show its approval for such a gift. I managed to save 3 of them and brought them to Sarah at work. She was grateful. I didn't tell her I could've brought her 5 but her gluttonous chubby hubby shoved part of her share into his cavernous mouth.

Mighty fine day it was. Mighty fine.

How come no one ever freaks out like this over broccoli?

My Krystal can beat up your wheat grass any day.

In the spirit of...

2006-01-23T10:46:00.000-06:00

EXPOSED! Shane Kyle and his family slept in yesterday (Sunday) instead of going to church.

Personal Responsibility

2006-01-19T14:52:00.001-06:00

For those who've read this blog and have found it offensive, misleading in truth, reckless, and irresponsible, please know my heart and the context behind the entries. If any apologies are in order, please accept them from me. This is a personal web diary and not intended for mass consumption and I've adjusted the accessibility of this particular site. These entries are unfiltered thoughts with no other point than to document my personal feelings, reactions and ideas to the life I observe and live.

If anyone desires further explanation for any content I log here, please email me and I will be more than happy to clear any contextual issues one may have.

As a husband, father and minister, I want my life to be as transparent as possible and please know it's not my intent in any way to lay out a stumbling block to anyone...especially to my beloved youth kids to whom God has entrusted me. In the spirit of confidentiality, any of those who trust me with some of the deeper issues they are struggling with, they will always remain nameless. Always.

My intention is not to exploit anyone but to take a given topic and make a broader more universal point only in the hopes of bringing some spiritual insight or clarity to some of the tougher issues that we all face.

I still maintain that our #1 priority as Christians are to adhere to the words of Christ when He said that the two greatest commandments are to Love God and Love People. It's not a catch phrase but a lifestyle that I've yet to master.

"For judgment will be merciless to one who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment." James 2:13

In my opinion, we can be loving without affirming.

"May grace, mercy, and peace, which come from God our Father and from Jesus Christ his Son, be with us who live in truth and love." 2 John 1:3

Grace be to you.

I like girl music.

2006-01-16T12:52:00.000-06:00

O.K., during my adolescence and early 20's, anything that wasn't the heaviest of metal not only sucked but was considered girl music in my book. The Depeche Mode's and the R.E.M's of the world drove me nuts and it made me that much more vigilant in keeping my metal purity. If a band didn't have a singer that could scream at frequencies that only K-9's could appreciate, they sucked. Yes, I was a metal Puritan. This was all true until I met Sarah.

I don't know how she did it, but over the past 10 years, I've completely turned my back against the allegiance I once pledged to all things spandex and Aqua Net. Sarah was the Yoko Ono to my love of metal. Little by little, she wound up slipping some great music into our CD player. Music that is great and really opened my eyes to things deeper in content than demonic warfare and hot chicks. So, it dawned on me just today that when you boil it all down...I like girl music. I couldn't give you more than 2 CD's in my collection now that would be classified as rock. Not unless you classify Sheryl Crow or Patty Griffin as rock. They rock but I never see many lighters in the air at their concerts. Lots of tatoos on girls though. That's kinda rock and roll or, something.

Anyway, back to my point: The reason why I'm writing this is, I'm here at the office today and I downloaded the Keane album from a killer MP3 sight. The Keane CD is just unbelievably good. So, I'm sitting here just really getting into this CD and it dawns on me that...*gasp*...this is girl music. Now, I don't mean that as a slam against the smarter sex, I'm just saying that my musical tastes now fall more toward the estrogen charged genres of music than any of that with a testosterone bent.

Let's face it, I've gotten soft in my 30's. Dude, I used to hate guys like me. Call me a wuss, but now I feel at home nowadays with all these falsetto singing English bands.

Look away from me, I'm hideous!

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. O.K., I like girl music. Happy now? Maybe I need to go play poker or go deer hunting to even this one out.

When I start hanging posters of Unicorns on my wall, just shoot me.