Helloooo, Producto de Colombia!

I think that I may be drinking too much coffee.



MAY.. be. I'm not cool with saying that I am drinking too much coffee, because that raises all kinds of tough questions like, "How much coffee, exactly, is 'too much coffee'?", "How much coffee should a person drink?", "How does Jesus feel about coffee drinking?", "What will happen to all the poor Colombian coffee farmers if I stop drinking their coffee?", and "Hey! Why don't you all stop hassling me about how much coffee I drink!? Sheesh! It's not like I have a problem or something.. you don't have to have some kind of intervention! It's like the Spanish inquisition in here!! Just like the Spaniards to be all bustin' on the Colombians, isn't it!? Haven't you ravaged enough native South and Central American peoples, huh, Cortez!?! IS ANYBODY ELSE HOT, OR IS THAT JUST ME!!??!!!


uh.. I've gotta.. go now.. so... yeah. G'night everybody!!

throatless

In my little circle of blogging friends, it seems no one is doing much new blogging these days. So I'm breakin' tha mold, Yo!

Also, I can point you to a blog by Aaron Sands (www.aaronsands.com) that I just found out about. Aaron is an all-around great guy, and once did me the favor of pretending to be in a band with me.

I just want to share a recent dinner-table conversation between me and Markus.

Markus: Hey Dad, I just realized something.

Me: oh?

Markus: If you didn't have a throat...

Me: yes?

Markus: You couldn't hum.

Me: Yes. That is truer than you know.

The End.

The dark of night

After some thought, and good counsel from a couple wise friends, I think I've got a better line on blogging.

Don't think it can be journaling, per se--too personal. Don't think it can be editorializing--not personal enough.

Not my inner monologue (at least mostly not)--we've all seen that now. Even if you all don't mind it, I find it quiet unsettling to see my brain poured out messily onto the paper like that.

Just needs to be things that I think about things.

Yup.

So you all know that I think about things.. so it's only a matter of time until I begin taking the time and making the effort required to really write about something that's maybe worth writing about. (as opposed to writing about writing--which has now grown horribly old)

Here's a little morsel of the type of thing that I'm talking about. Not up for fleshing it out, but...

+++++++
I have this little book called "Something Beautiful for God." It was written by Malcolm Muggeridge about his experiences with Mother Teresa.

(I was introduced to Muggeridge--British journalist and gadfly--via Ravi Zacharias--Indian Christian theologian--via, I believe, the Chuck Swindol radio ministry. Weird how the world works, huh?)

One of the points that Muggeridge brings out (oh, so skillfully!) about the lady is her attitude toward the poor and dying with whom she and her sisters work.

They do not pity them.

Anyone can pity, Mother Teresa claims simply. The thing that keeps the work from being merely social work is the love... the love that they show to their Jesus in, as she constantly refers to it, "His distressing disguise." They don't care for the poor and dying because of Jesus--they care for them because they are Jesus.

How novel is this, to see each person as Jesus? Not to see them as some kind of representative figure.. not to see them as a challenge.. "as much as you have done... so have you done to me".. Okay, Lord! We'll feed, clothe and visit, but we want it on the record! We did this to them, so we did it to you, so it counts! We get in!

No. Each one of these people *is* Jesus. Every single one of them. And in order for Jesus to do His work on this earth--even if "His work" somehow equals nothing more than dying quietly in the cool peace of the sisters' grotto, surrounded by hands of compassion.. hands that love Him, despite His squallor and stench and humiliation.. His untouchability--it is necessary that He not be pitied. It is necessary for Him to be valued. In recognizing His value, they somehow cause His work to be complete.

What a good book. What a challenge. What a humbling portrait of love.

What do I take away from it? Kudos to Muggeridge and Mother Teresa--I just want to do Something Beautiful for God.
+++++++

The light of day

This is awful.

Refering to the blog below, which I did in the dark of the night.

It's like I contracted Richard Lewis to write my inner monologue.

So, I'm new to this. And I'm not sure that's the way to go with it. I think that some of my blogging betters.. like say, Brant Hansen, ( http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=branthansen ) would agree with me that it's kind of yucky. And possibly suggest that if I don't have anything to say, I shouldn't.

Hrm... I'll study on that. You all have a good day.

writer's blo[ck]spot

I have never had writer's block before.

At least not when it comes to writing like.. you know.. words. About stuff.

Me real good that! Unga!

..But you know, writing is a funny thing... (for those of you whom I have not bored to death, in person, with the intimate details of this endeavor.. a large part of the impetus for launching this blog is that now I'm done with college classes and I'm trying to ramp up my writing regimine. ..So for to build up my flexy copy/song-writin' muscules, y'see...) There's this delicate mental balance to the whole stupid thing--creative process that it is--and, ironically, writers tend to be an unbalanced lot. (self included)

This particular writer is working--under a little deadline--on an ad copy job. And I'm getting my first official, professional-level run in with the hairy-scary nightmonster of every copywriter's closet.

The last couple weeks have caused a lot of jostling in my creative subconscious, and I'm afraid that the cargo was not properly packed for the journey. Just weird little stuff.. Death of a co-worker's son.. death of a classmate... son starting boyscouts (yes, this was mentally traumatic for me, so shut up! ..If I have time, I'll explain it in another post). End of my brief, third, college career. Start of a major push for the writing career. Crazy, stupid family stuff.. Deb and I didn't bother to grow up when we had the chance, so we're still working through it, the kids get to live through it with us, and well.. they are *good* kids.. *excellent* kids, really--though Emma is kind of like a fuzzy little pink sledgehammer--but they are, not surprisingly, a little odd, as well. Pretty melodramatic, for one. So anytime we're going through even very mild turmoil, they get pretty wacky. ..Then I got a call from Tim C. this week that his wife/our lovely friend is in the hospital with a suspected explodified appendix. That's not so good, now is it? I'm also going through some major flaky, "what on earth is wrong with me that, if being a songwriter is what I'm actually good at, I somehow can't seem to just *do* it!?" stuff-- prayer and journaling for that. Spiritual equivalent of 2 asprin and a good night's sleep. And I got some sick kids, and a sick wife. And the deadline for the writing job (remember that? it's what started this tirade)...

Just lots_of_stuff.

I hear tell there are two kinds of The Block... there's the kind where your mind just goes blank.
Nothing. Nada. Tapped out. And then there's the kind where you write and write and write and write. You get all Virginia Wolf with it and just keep blasting out words like an ink-fueled gattling gun, and (also somewhat like Virginia Wolf) it's all just a bunch of crap.

Well, I've had that first one, in songwriting. But A) I've had enough experience in that forum to know that it's going to come and go and then we'll be back up and running like old times. Possibly better. That's a nice mental ace-up-the-sleeve when it comes to breaking the tackle... and B) Usually the angst caused by "Augh! I've got nothing! I'm out of songs! Oh, Dear God in heaven what will I *DO*!!??" is plenty enough to jump-start the songwriting motor and send me tearing off in a cloud of dust.

But this is the first time I've hit the wall doing copywriting. And, unfortunately, I hit the one where everything I write is stupid. Now, considering (see name of blog) that I tend to feel that way *anyway*.. this is a pretty bad situation to be in.

The End.

HA! Hoo! That's a good one, isn't it?

Yeah, well, I really don't know where to go with it from here. ..so.. there you go. That's not only punchworthy, it also completely fails to be commentworthy. So I expect to hear nothing from any of you.

Still coming up, that toothbrushing breakthrough, the Christian and Art, Living Honestly as it relates to the peculiarities of the online journal, andwhateverelseImanagetocomeupwith.
It'll get better than this, I promise! Right now I'm just getting used to stretching my fingers online.

And now, finally, I'm going to bed. Again.

sad cracker

You know what's sad?

When you realize that you are kind of like Cracker (the band), artistically speaking.

And you think, "Man! I think I've got a lot in common, musically, with these guys."

And then you think, "I like them. And I can basically just pick up a guitar and play any song that they play. It's sort of just what comes naturally. That's kind of cool."

And then you think, "You know, I'd never even have known that I liked these guys if Dave hadn't made me listen to them--I'll have to remember to thank Dave for that! Before that, I only knew that one 'hey, hey, hey like bein' stoned' song that was on the radio constantly, and I didn't really like it. Guess that's why I was never into them. ...But that song's really not typical of their stuff. ..I guess they couldn't get played on the radio with any of their normal stuff, so this one song they managed to slip past the radio radar. Accidentally wrote one that was actually popular."

"..wait.. but if.. I've got.. and ..they.. d'oh!!"

Thank you. This has been a journey of musical self-discovery with your host, John Caparoon.

And listen to some old Cracker albums. I recommend the song, "I ride my bike"..which is really profound. And also in "E", which is one of the easiest keys for rippin' off Alman Brothers-esque guitar solos.