hello dear readers and non shoppers! by non shoppers, I simply mean if you are reading this, you are likely not out shopping. I am a writer, and a non-shopper, for mere minutes. I will even be traveling to the accursed Wal-Mart soon, though hopefully Target, a slightly lesser evil. Not for nothing, it is my true goal to stay away from Wal-Marts, or The Wal Marts, in 2009. And I exhort you dear reader-friend to the same!
this brings me to a nice little digression.
I have been working through a good book, The Wal Mart Effect. Actually MA commandeered it, as she will on occasion. And that's just fine. We love, we share our lives, may as well share books too. Her most recent hostile takeover of our shared reading is a very cool little piece entitled, Un-Christian. Catchy little title. Bothersome to many, though definitely accurate. I spotted it in our local B.A.M., or, Books-A-Million, and immediately saw the great need in working through it. I feel it may have already captured many of my developing theories, thoughts, and ideas on what's happening in the world, the world of the church, to the church, and, just as often, because of the church.
Though that is for a 2009 post. Along with, I promise, the completion of my little 'A Requiem for Yankee Stadium'--the best working title I have birthed to date to detail our grand journey to the Bronx.
Though for today, I give you a gift. My writing is not the gift, not yet. Hopefully, one day, it will be a gift to all who read it! Though it's a ways off from 'sublime status'. hint: another goal of 2009.
I witnessed something the other day. Last Friday, to be exact (now a couple of Friday's ago). Here comes the set-up.
Auburn University is my sworn enemy since birth. At least, as far as gridiron rivals go. Though recently, it has turned into a tolerated, even respected, arch-rival, now peacefully taken out of 'full enemy combatant' statues only because of the dear people and true friends I know who have matriculated, and other various activities, at that particular institution of higher learning. Well, Auburn has fallen on some tough times, as far as the foos-ball program goes. Football if you're anyone other than Bobby Booshea!
A firing, or two, depending on how you look at ole' Tubbs, a losing season, a sound "old-fashioned country ass-whoopin" to quote their ignoble hero/coach/statesman, one Pat Dye. Oh yes, I nearly forgot, said old-fashion event did come at the hands of my beloved University of Alabama Crimson Tide. It's been a tough fall for the ole' war-eagles. But they'll be back. I say this, again, out of the love and respect I have for my friends...and as an educated, true arch-rival in the SEC, I know this won't last for long.
During the hiring search for their next head football coach, the national sports-media eye fixed squarely upon the Plains. Not for the good, either.
Long story short, with the help of writers who live on controversy (so much so, they can manufacture it with mastery that rivals Mercedes-Benz. And they got a little help from one of their alums" one Charles Barkley. The controversy took a decidedly racial turn, as things always will, given the chance. The absolute finest of Alabamian tolerance, progressive thought, compassion and justice found it's way to the Paul Finebaum's radio show one fine Friday afternoon. Where else?
Now, if you look hard enough, you may find a trace amount of sarcasm and cynicism in that last paragraph. (check that--that should read "...you may find a trace amount of sarcasm and cynicism every thing I've every written...", but I digress)
Long-and-getting-longer-story-short, I heard a few callers that very nearly made me literally sick. At best, they made me angrier than I know is good for me and just as embarrassed to be from the south. That's sometimes a tough thing. For all our flaws and all the stigma of being a backwards, inbreeding wasteland, deserved and not deserved, there is great beauty in the south and I am proud to be born where I was born, from where I am from. Granted, many of my closest friends and family still say some things I almost literally cannot believe I'm hearing!
That day put me to the test. I have had enough of racism and prejudice. And even though I am aware of my own character flaws, even though I have been guilty and convicted of the same prejudice, racism, and throw in a dash of sexism, consumerism, capitalism, communism, alcoholism, name an ism, we are all guilty. The point is: I am trying. Hearing and heeding the call to follow Jesus requires one to travel light. You have to leave your isms behind, and never go back for them.
I had nearly hung my head in shame and given up on enlightenment, love and equality in my lifetime, racially speaking, at least.
And then I witnessed something. In the middle of Memorial Parkway in Huntsville, Alabama, one home of the strongest remaining bastions of racial disharmony, it happened.
My co-pilot--that is, my mommy--and I were turning the radio off, in disgust and utterly despairing of the human condition's seeming lack of progress in civil rights and racial equality. To top it all off, there was a car broke down right in the middle of the road! It was slowing already snail-like traffic and Christmas crowds. One more frustration. Or so I thought.
I then noticed the folks were at least doing something about it. It was their car, they should get it fixed and out of harm's way...and my way. Or so I thought.
I then noticed what seemed like a stranger jumping out of their car--in the middle of a major thoroughfare, mind you--to help their fellow man. Their fellow woman, actually. I couldn't have received a better sign of encouragement for humanity at that particular time in my life. Or so I thought.
Then another caring fellow had leaped from his car. Good will still exists. This couldn't have had a better ending. Or so I thought.
The finishing touch of this solid sign of human good had one more thing to reveal. As the car eased into Burger King parking lot and Huntsville's finest arrived on the seen, I saw the two strangers who had been simultaneously convicted to help another stranger. The looked at each other, and surely saw the differences that I noticed.
The difference in these two was striking. Not predominant, but a difference that made me think. They dressed in similar fashion. The general size was the same. They were both men, probably locals it seemed. The only real difference in the two strangers was the pigmentation of their skin: one dark, one light. A black dude, and white dude. Working, walking, serving, living together. Side by side, these two real people saw another real person in need, and they jumped in to help. Their differences weren't all that important to them at that time. And in my realization of their difference, I could see that they weren't all that different after all.
A glimmer of promise came breaking through at that instant and soothed my aching, cynical soul. Christmas time was getting good. And it was working. These two people just realized they were in fact more neighbors than strangers. And the showed the world this very good news. That day, they were Hunstville's finest. The Finebaum conversations were remembered, though mostly just as a reminder of occasional ignorance and how aged, inhumane, racist thought can one day be the only, actual minority.
I hope the wait, the build up, and the big deal I made of this little occurrence was worth it. It was a long way around though sometimes we need just that. That damp, muggy, December day, I was thankful I took the long way home. Had I not, I wouldn't have caught a glimpse of the true Way home: breaking into this world, one stalled car at a time.
Peace be with you. I pray that you Christmas was warm, happy and holy and that your new year--our new year--is one that brings us together more and more. We've so much to do together.
For an amazing journey of discovery or remembrance of the struggle we have been through and still work toward fixing, you simply must watch the HBO documentary Breaking the Huddle. And I have it tivo'ed if you want to see it. I'll watch it with you.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
You Tell Em' Steve!
If you recall, if you have read, a few blogs back, I mentioned that I was working through, rather joyously, Steve Martin's autobiography. Well, I actually finished it, a rare triumph for me these days. In it he recalled two of his best jokes, jokes that I actually remembered from my childhood even. The first one hit a nerve, or rather resonated, inspired, something...here is goes. "A fella came up to me in a club and said, "Do you mind if I smoke?". Steve replied, "Of course not, do you mind if I fart?"
I tried to go buy some cereal and some milk the other day. Yes, these days I am really pushing the culinary envelope: will it be Capn' Crunch today, and which of the three types should I pursue? (further, shouldn't he have been promoted to the rank of admiral by now?). Back to the quest! I tried to find my cereal and its accoutrements, so I traveled to every store in my little town. Both of them had two things in common. They each had a poor selection of damaged goods...literally, and each cashier/register check-out area had a happy worker surrounded by a cloud of smoke, a big ash-tray full of stale and stinking cigarette butts, and a seemingly forgotten, burning, cigarette! Now I am all for people's rights, even to kill themselves with cigarettes. I, in fact, worked toward that lofty goal for many years though , saints be praised, I have been free from the dreaded things for years now. Though I do find it completely ridiculous that someone should be subjected to second, third, fourth or even 23rd hand smoke if they don't want to be so subjected! And I find myself growing increasingly intolerant of this. I hope I'm not falling, or regressing, into curmudgeonism
When I see or even know of a parent or other adult smoking near, anywhere near, a child, this simple, country, preacher's blood starts-a-boilin'! If I see a child in a car with a smoking smoker, I go nuclear (officially back to correct pronunciation in 32 or so days). If the windows of the car are shut, detonation is imminent! And anyone with child, as in with child, who smokes is as stupid as stupid is...and does. Stupid is as stupid does. It is what it is.
A restaurant, for example, should be free from smoke, completely, as should other public places. And folks, that means the doorways too! What's the real point of a smoke-free joint (no, that's not oxymoronic) if one is breathing and saturated with smoke on the way in, and on the way out? And for the love of God and cancer-free lungs, a 'smoking' and 'non-smoking' section DOES NOT WORK!!! Smoke drifts. It is smoke! I should certainly hope, and I remain optomistic, that the post office or banks or shops of my little berg don't have the constant guard of the eternal Winston 100 flame! It's not 1956, after all. Nor is it my grandmother's kitchen any year before 1995. Well, that may just be the problem. Some places and people advance through time, and some refuse to. I would say though, to those fighting the good fight against the future, "save your strength". The future will win. We'll even be happy to have you in the present.
This is not a p.s.a. against smoking: teen, pregnant, or otherwise. And I know that I should be much more patient and forgiving, in every aspect of my life. Though I am human. I am prone to get pissed, on occasion, and I have that right. So do you. I simply felt that it is what I should write about this week. Fittingly enough, I needed to vent.
Of course, I think folks should forever be allowed to keep cigarettes burning in every good bar in God's green earth for all eternity. Not just for Humphrey Bogart-esque, tres cool, cinematic, effect either.
There is just something about smoking and drinking--together. They go together like you know, peas and carrots, The Crimson Tide and winning, even Bogart and Bacall! (Feel free to substitute Bergman for Bacall). Today is Keith Richards birthday by the way. And while I would simultaneously love and hate to be his dentist (a great amount of business, though a nasty business I would imagine it to be!), or his 'falsies' cleaner, Keith even gives Bogey himself a run for the money when it comes to being cool with a stogey. Sir Keith has nearly turned his fag (the British colloquialism for cigarettes...what did you think I meant?) into a musical instrument!
If this seems hypocritical, well, so be it. I used to smoke. I saw the absurdity of it, not to mention I smelled and breathed the absurdity of it, and I stopped. It's plain common sense.
I stopped. Cold. Turkey. I stopped cold turkey years ago. I want you to stop. And while I want you to stop, because I care about you and others, not because of the incredible irritation, I would nearly fight for your right to smoke if you want to...so long as it doesn't infect me or anyone else. Let your cries of hypocrite ring out! I'll hear them with cleaner lungs and better smelling clothes. Forgive me--everybody's got to have somebody to look down on. (I think that was Kristofferson?) But please know, I don't look down on smokers. Not at all. I just hate that nasty smoke coming of their cigarettes. (Kristofferson did recently say something I love. He quipped, "God bless America. And God bless the others outside our borders." He prefaced that by saying "God bless Obama". Even in 2008, that kind of talk is nothing short of revolutionary. Rock on K-rok!)
Smoking and drinking were the great tandem love of my life for many years. MA gave me a new love, back some 15 or so years ago. And thanks to the incredible regenerative spirit of our bodies, I have new lungs. Though yes, I enjoyed a libation or two while imbibing Carolina's finest back in 'the day'. And when I say I enjoyed it, I mean to tell you, I enjoyed it bud! I enjoyed these peccadillos bigger, better, harder, faster, louder, longer than most people ever will, and probably more than you would believe! I don' say this to boast, it's certainly nothing to boast about. In fact, it was an awful sight and downright shameful. Though it ain't the end of the world either. We live, we learn. The key is to make sure we do both as best we can. Anyway, God regularly thrives on changing people's lives and dwells in the impossible. Marlboro and Budweiser notwithstanding, God has done the impossible and changed my life. And I am the better for it.
Ahhh, the glory days. Long gone the days of rousing, carousing, smoking and drinking. Long gone are the hangovers--saints be praised...again! Though what is it I actually do these days? Oh yes. O Capn', my Capn'! Cereal and milk. Milk and cereal. Well, we all have our vices.
Ahoy mateys!
MMS~
(Back to 'Tales From New York City" next week. And to hold your interest over, here's the other funny from Steve, the long-crowned (by me) king of funny...
Early in The Jerk (Universal, 1979), our antagonist, Navin Johnson, is found hitch-hiking his way to St Louis. And though he is mere miles from his house, a 'fer piece' from St Louis, he gets a potential hitch -hiker picker-upper. The generous fella, taking notice of Navin's sign, pulls over and asks him, "St. Louis?". Dear Navin looks back with the curiosity and confusion of a little, lost puppy and replies, "no. Navin Johnson." adieu.
I tried to go buy some cereal and some milk the other day. Yes, these days I am really pushing the culinary envelope: will it be Capn' Crunch today, and which of the three types should I pursue? (further, shouldn't he have been promoted to the rank of admiral by now?). Back to the quest! I tried to find my cereal and its accoutrements, so I traveled to every store in my little town. Both of them had two things in common. They each had a poor selection of damaged goods...literally, and each cashier/register check-out area had a happy worker surrounded by a cloud of smoke, a big ash-tray full of stale and stinking cigarette butts, and a seemingly forgotten, burning, cigarette! Now I am all for people's rights, even to kill themselves with cigarettes. I, in fact, worked toward that lofty goal for many years though , saints be praised, I have been free from the dreaded things for years now. Though I do find it completely ridiculous that someone should be subjected to second, third, fourth or even 23rd hand smoke if they don't want to be so subjected! And I find myself growing increasingly intolerant of this. I hope I'm not falling, or regressing, into curmudgeonism
When I see or even know of a parent or other adult smoking near, anywhere near, a child, this simple, country, preacher's blood starts-a-boilin'! If I see a child in a car with a smoking smoker, I go nuclear (officially back to correct pronunciation in 32 or so days). If the windows of the car are shut, detonation is imminent! And anyone with child, as in with child, who smokes is as stupid as stupid is...and does. Stupid is as stupid does. It is what it is.
A restaurant, for example, should be free from smoke, completely, as should other public places. And folks, that means the doorways too! What's the real point of a smoke-free joint (no, that's not oxymoronic) if one is breathing and saturated with smoke on the way in, and on the way out? And for the love of God and cancer-free lungs, a 'smoking' and 'non-smoking' section DOES NOT WORK!!! Smoke drifts. It is smoke! I should certainly hope, and I remain optomistic, that the post office or banks or shops of my little berg don't have the constant guard of the eternal Winston 100 flame! It's not 1956, after all. Nor is it my grandmother's kitchen any year before 1995. Well, that may just be the problem. Some places and people advance through time, and some refuse to. I would say though, to those fighting the good fight against the future, "save your strength". The future will win. We'll even be happy to have you in the present.
This is not a p.s.a. against smoking: teen, pregnant, or otherwise. And I know that I should be much more patient and forgiving, in every aspect of my life. Though I am human. I am prone to get pissed, on occasion, and I have that right. So do you. I simply felt that it is what I should write about this week. Fittingly enough, I needed to vent.
Of course, I think folks should forever be allowed to keep cigarettes burning in every good bar in God's green earth for all eternity. Not just for Humphrey Bogart-esque, tres cool, cinematic, effect either.
There is just something about smoking and drinking--together. They go together like you know, peas and carrots, The Crimson Tide and winning, even Bogart and Bacall! (Feel free to substitute Bergman for Bacall). Today is Keith Richards birthday by the way. And while I would simultaneously love and hate to be his dentist (a great amount of business, though a nasty business I would imagine it to be!), or his 'falsies' cleaner, Keith even gives Bogey himself a run for the money when it comes to being cool with a stogey. Sir Keith has nearly turned his fag (the British colloquialism for cigarettes...what did you think I meant?) into a musical instrument!
If this seems hypocritical, well, so be it. I used to smoke. I saw the absurdity of it, not to mention I smelled and breathed the absurdity of it, and I stopped. It's plain common sense.
I stopped. Cold. Turkey. I stopped cold turkey years ago. I want you to stop. And while I want you to stop, because I care about you and others, not because of the incredible irritation, I would nearly fight for your right to smoke if you want to...so long as it doesn't infect me or anyone else. Let your cries of hypocrite ring out! I'll hear them with cleaner lungs and better smelling clothes. Forgive me--everybody's got to have somebody to look down on. (I think that was Kristofferson?) But please know, I don't look down on smokers. Not at all. I just hate that nasty smoke coming of their cigarettes. (Kristofferson did recently say something I love. He quipped, "God bless America. And God bless the others outside our borders." He prefaced that by saying "God bless Obama". Even in 2008, that kind of talk is nothing short of revolutionary. Rock on K-rok!)
Smoking and drinking were the great tandem love of my life for many years. MA gave me a new love, back some 15 or so years ago. And thanks to the incredible regenerative spirit of our bodies, I have new lungs. Though yes, I enjoyed a libation or two while imbibing Carolina's finest back in 'the day'. And when I say I enjoyed it, I mean to tell you, I enjoyed it bud! I enjoyed these peccadillos bigger, better, harder, faster, louder, longer than most people ever will, and probably more than you would believe! I don' say this to boast, it's certainly nothing to boast about. In fact, it was an awful sight and downright shameful. Though it ain't the end of the world either. We live, we learn. The key is to make sure we do both as best we can. Anyway, God regularly thrives on changing people's lives and dwells in the impossible. Marlboro and Budweiser notwithstanding, God has done the impossible and changed my life. And I am the better for it.
Ahhh, the glory days. Long gone the days of rousing, carousing, smoking and drinking. Long gone are the hangovers--saints be praised...again! Though what is it I actually do these days? Oh yes. O Capn', my Capn'! Cereal and milk. Milk and cereal. Well, we all have our vices.
Ahoy mateys!
MMS~
(Back to 'Tales From New York City" next week. And to hold your interest over, here's the other funny from Steve, the long-crowned (by me) king of funny...
Early in The Jerk (Universal, 1979), our antagonist, Navin Johnson, is found hitch-hiking his way to St Louis. And though he is mere miles from his house, a 'fer piece' from St Louis, he gets a potential hitch -hiker picker-upper. The generous fella, taking notice of Navin's sign, pulls over and asks him, "St. Louis?". Dear Navin looks back with the curiosity and confusion of a little, lost puppy and replies, "no. Navin Johnson." adieu.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Non-Greek Delta
I should clarify my closing statement from Monday's entry. (I sure seem to write a lot of clarifications...almost as common as my parenthetical addendums!) Though with the rampant popularity of the cinematic masterpiece Sydney White, I fear some may be confused with our 'Delta house' reference to be of a fraternal, or 'sororital' (to quote Amanda Bynes magnificant portrayal of the film's namesake, Sydney White) nature. Our 'Delta journey' had nothing to do with (1) revenging nerds (though MA may debate that one) (2) John Belushi, togas, coming on and shouting, or any such 'Flounder' sagas (too bad, that would have been a great, Greek, week) or (3) my cousin Keith and his historic tales of indian parties, rival frat maylees, and th never-bathing Smilin' Jim Burkoff...
all that, yes, all that, to say MA and I woke up on September 18--EARLY--and hopped in our Honda Civic to away to our dearest Atlanta, home and hub of Delta Airlines.
We were up and at em' about 3a. Now folks, that's a tough one for me. I bet its tough for anyone who regularly falls asleep on couches drifting in and out of HBO infected dreams until, say, 3a! Not to mention that sleeping on a night before such an excursion seemed comparably impossible to getting that 'good night's sleep' before Christmas. And I don't care how old you have let yourself get, that one's tough to do!
This vaca for my beautiful bride and me was like Christmas in September, to quote any number of retail giants. Plainly and simply, I was stoked. Stoked to the max, brah!
It was obviously still pitch-black-night in Baileyton, and in said Baileyton, pitch-black-night yields one of the most breathtaking of canvases for starlit nights in all ruraldom! In fact, that's one of the things I love most about our little hamlet. Cool, crisp, nights of brightly lit star-scapes and fresh, fresh air. They are a gift.
Back to our quest...
Mom (Ann) rose with us, as is her tendency. We squared away our pups, got them one last eat/poop and pee/stroll cycle--what a life, btw--and they were then set. I was confident that we could enjoy New York and arrive back with no problems of poop or pee, whatever. Oh, how naive we can be my friends! To foreshadow just a bit, think 'apocalyptic destruction'. And stinky to boot. Though I urge you to not let this prophetic vision sway the great joy that was, and is, and is to come, from this tres' chic metropolis. We were on our way! After we turned around, that is. I forgot something, I just can't remember what it was that I forgot. Maybe, probably, my wallet? And so we headed toward Guntersberg. All of this took place on a 'below e' gas tank. It is my way, though MA strongly rather it weren't. We made it. We made it to Guntersvegas, we made it to Anniston, we made it to Georgia, then Atlanta, and then, finally, to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It was a great trip over, though it did take a little while. It took a few turns, and a few turn-arounds, though we made it. And, now hold on to your hats...we were made it there early.
We parked in a discount long term lot, which was not a problem, so long as one doesnt mind walking to the terminals and concourses and such from Alabama. We, being from Alabama, didn't.
I have been to this airport--one of the biggest airports in the world--many times. I have taken Mom as she set off to Fortress Europa, or China, or Egypt. I have dropped youth groups en route to Jamaica (when I also dropped their luggage trailer off the van, as I drove 'round 285!), and I have even flown out of there on my way to San Antonio, heading to Lackland Air Force base...but that's another story, for another time.
In any event, this airport is BIG folks! Bigger than I remembered, expected, or even hoped for. I figure, if your going to fly, fly big. BIg planes, big airports, you know, big TIME! Well, again, the drive to the Atlanta airport was very pleasant. If you have never driven east into the rising sun, you must do so at your first available opportunity. There are plenty of places to shop, browse, peruse, sip, chomp, sit, talk, and yes, wait. It's so cool, the airport is bigger and more modern than most cities in Alabama! Bigger than most cities in the south, actually. I loved it.
Just what is it about airports, anyway? Is it just me? There's this wonderfully grandiose sensation I get when in, even around, an airport. They make us feel small, in the grand schema, and as I have states previously, I think that's good. Perhaps it is that in the same way that the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, many good journeys to many far away exotic locales usually begins with some airport, somewhere. There are so many great films , and I do not mean Airplane, more like James Bond, even Vince, E, Turtle, Ari, and Johnny Drama! Premadonnas though they may be. Many great pieces of literature, art, even music. Por ejemplo:
Leavin' home, out on the road
I've been down before
Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane
I've been thinkin' about my home
But my love light seems so far away
And I feel like it's all been done
Somebody's tryin' to make me stay
You know I've got to be movin' on
Goodbye to all my friends at home
Goodbye to people I've trusted
I've got to go out and make my way
I might get rich you know I might get busted
But my heart keeps calling me backwards
As I get on the 707
Ridin' high I got tears in my eyes
You know you got to go through hell
Before you get to heaven
Touchin' down in New England town
Feel the heat comin' down
I've got to keep on keepin' on
You know the big wheel keeps on spinnin' around
And I'm goin' with some hesitation
You know that I can surely see
That I don't want to get caught up in any of that
Funky shit goin' down in the city
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Cause it's here that I've got to stay
that was Sir Steve Miller, Jet Airliner. fight song for our dear Craig "Dr Burns" Burns.
anyway, airports:
Folks departing, arriving, or simply loitering around these places. International intrigue, white hot romance, news, newness, sadness, seeing the world, off to war, or I think best of all, coming home. Next time you find yourself in an airport, give it some thought. And let em know. For real.
We checked in, using the self check machines, with plenty of help from attendees. We grabbed some coffee, some newspapers, to feel important and maybe read. We grabbed some coffee, yes, again, of course. We nabbed a muffin of scone or something, blueberry I'm sure. MA and I found a nice couple of big chairs. We had earned our rest and we needed to store up as much rest as we could. I fired up the ole' trusty MacBook and figured I'd take care of my last couple of pre-procrastinated business and personal details. And poop! I couldn't get a signal!!! I can get that, or not get that, at home! No big deal, I just didnt go through all the registration hoopla, and I made my last few phone calls. Our dear church pillar, Margaret Jean was doing well and very excited for us! Mom was fine, and very excited for us too. Of course she was, she seems to get the vicarious benefits of our exciting life. The exciting parts of our life, at least. And, no poop. From the doggies, that is. Well, so far, that is...
Part next, "In the Air, In the Air, Come on One More Time Girl it Ain't Fair!", coming soon:
(don't worry, despite the Aerosmithian title, it's perfectly tame, clean, and wonderfully entertaining. see you soon!)
hasta pronto,
Mateo M Smith, Esquire
all that, yes, all that, to say MA and I woke up on September 18--EARLY--and hopped in our Honda Civic to away to our dearest Atlanta, home and hub of Delta Airlines.
We were up and at em' about 3a. Now folks, that's a tough one for me. I bet its tough for anyone who regularly falls asleep on couches drifting in and out of HBO infected dreams until, say, 3a! Not to mention that sleeping on a night before such an excursion seemed comparably impossible to getting that 'good night's sleep' before Christmas. And I don't care how old you have let yourself get, that one's tough to do!
This vaca for my beautiful bride and me was like Christmas in September, to quote any number of retail giants. Plainly and simply, I was stoked. Stoked to the max, brah!
It was obviously still pitch-black-night in Baileyton, and in said Baileyton, pitch-black-night yields one of the most breathtaking of canvases for starlit nights in all ruraldom! In fact, that's one of the things I love most about our little hamlet. Cool, crisp, nights of brightly lit star-scapes and fresh, fresh air. They are a gift.
Back to our quest...
Mom (Ann) rose with us, as is her tendency. We squared away our pups, got them one last eat/poop and pee/stroll cycle--what a life, btw--and they were then set. I was confident that we could enjoy New York and arrive back with no problems of poop or pee, whatever. Oh, how naive we can be my friends! To foreshadow just a bit, think 'apocalyptic destruction'. And stinky to boot. Though I urge you to not let this prophetic vision sway the great joy that was, and is, and is to come, from this tres' chic metropolis. We were on our way! After we turned around, that is. I forgot something, I just can't remember what it was that I forgot. Maybe, probably, my wallet? And so we headed toward Guntersberg. All of this took place on a 'below e' gas tank. It is my way, though MA strongly rather it weren't. We made it. We made it to Guntersvegas, we made it to Anniston, we made it to Georgia, then Atlanta, and then, finally, to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It was a great trip over, though it did take a little while. It took a few turns, and a few turn-arounds, though we made it. And, now hold on to your hats...we were made it there early.
We parked in a discount long term lot, which was not a problem, so long as one doesnt mind walking to the terminals and concourses and such from Alabama. We, being from Alabama, didn't.
I have been to this airport--one of the biggest airports in the world--many times. I have taken Mom as she set off to Fortress Europa, or China, or Egypt. I have dropped youth groups en route to Jamaica (when I also dropped their luggage trailer off the van, as I drove 'round 285!), and I have even flown out of there on my way to San Antonio, heading to Lackland Air Force base...but that's another story, for another time.
In any event, this airport is BIG folks! Bigger than I remembered, expected, or even hoped for. I figure, if your going to fly, fly big. BIg planes, big airports, you know, big TIME! Well, again, the drive to the Atlanta airport was very pleasant. If you have never driven east into the rising sun, you must do so at your first available opportunity. There are plenty of places to shop, browse, peruse, sip, chomp, sit, talk, and yes, wait. It's so cool, the airport is bigger and more modern than most cities in Alabama! Bigger than most cities in the south, actually. I loved it.
Just what is it about airports, anyway? Is it just me? There's this wonderfully grandiose sensation I get when in, even around, an airport. They make us feel small, in the grand schema, and as I have states previously, I think that's good. Perhaps it is that in the same way that the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, many good journeys to many far away exotic locales usually begins with some airport, somewhere. There are so many great films , and I do not mean Airplane, more like James Bond, even Vince, E, Turtle, Ari, and Johnny Drama! Premadonnas though they may be. Many great pieces of literature, art, even music. Por ejemplo:
Leavin' home, out on the road
I've been down before
Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane
I've been thinkin' about my home
But my love light seems so far away
And I feel like it's all been done
Somebody's tryin' to make me stay
You know I've got to be movin' on
Goodbye to all my friends at home
Goodbye to people I've trusted
I've got to go out and make my way
I might get rich you know I might get busted
But my heart keeps calling me backwards
As I get on the 707
Ridin' high I got tears in my eyes
You know you got to go through hell
Before you get to heaven
Touchin' down in New England town
Feel the heat comin' down
I've got to keep on keepin' on
You know the big wheel keeps on spinnin' around
And I'm goin' with some hesitation
You know that I can surely see
That I don't want to get caught up in any of that
Funky shit goin' down in the city
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Cause it's here that I've got to stay
that was Sir Steve Miller, Jet Airliner. fight song for our dear Craig "Dr Burns" Burns.
anyway, airports:
Folks departing, arriving, or simply loitering around these places. International intrigue, white hot romance, news, newness, sadness, seeing the world, off to war, or I think best of all, coming home. Next time you find yourself in an airport, give it some thought. And let em know. For real.
We checked in, using the self check machines, with plenty of help from attendees. We grabbed some coffee, some newspapers, to feel important and maybe read. We grabbed some coffee, yes, again, of course. We nabbed a muffin of scone or something, blueberry I'm sure. MA and I found a nice couple of big chairs. We had earned our rest and we needed to store up as much rest as we could. I fired up the ole' trusty MacBook and figured I'd take care of my last couple of pre-procrastinated business and personal details. And poop! I couldn't get a signal!!! I can get that, or not get that, at home! No big deal, I just didnt go through all the registration hoopla, and I made my last few phone calls. Our dear church pillar, Margaret Jean was doing well and very excited for us! Mom was fine, and very excited for us too. Of course she was, she seems to get the vicarious benefits of our exciting life. The exciting parts of our life, at least. And, no poop. From the doggies, that is. Well, so far, that is...
Part next, "In the Air, In the Air, Come on One More Time Girl it Ain't Fair!", coming soon:
(don't worry, despite the Aerosmithian title, it's perfectly tame, clean, and wonderfully entertaining. see you soon!)
hasta pronto,
Mateo M Smith, Esquire
Monday, December 1, 2008
I Left My Heart in San Fransisco, No Wait, I Mean New York
While many may have dreams of sugar plums dancing in their heads this time of year, I have something far less fruity...though every bit as sweet! Those purple passions coated with Domino jackets and dancing their Macarana's ain't got nothing on the city that never sleeps. Though New York is straight up working the pole in my R.E.M.-cycled world, nearly three months after the trip of a lifetime. Well, the trip of a lifetime so far. New York, New York, the city so cool you have to say it twice. You may know it as the Big Apple. Gotham. The capital city of the Empire State. New York is far and away the coolest place I have ever been...and I've been to Brookside, Alabama!
The strangest thing of all is that the genesis of this journey was born out of the desire to see the New York Yankees. Yes, the Yankees, a team I typically despise. Though a great pilgrimage to the baseball Mecca had to be made. I grew up glued to t.v.'s that seemed glued to Yankee Stadium. I remember the pennant series against the Royals in 1977 (or was it 76? That year is the cut-off. I can't remember a thing, other than replays, of baseball pre 1977). I do remember the Bucky Dent home-run, 1978, which still kills me! I remember, yes the Yankees putting the knife in my heart during the 1996 world series against my beloved Braves, though not before Andruw Jones JACKED his first two world series at bats! And all the Jeter inspired magic, that spread over to Brett Boone in what, 2002? 2003? And all those Yankess v Red Sox classics, not the least of which is the 2004 pennant series! Go Sox!
2008 would be the last year for 'The House That Costanza, I Mean Ruth, Built'!
You see, I had to go.
The strange thing is that MA didn't have to go. She knows what a baseball looks like, and what I sound like when Bobby Cox cranks up his left finger for mining as his right hand directs the collapse of game after game for my Atlanta Braves. She doesnt, or never has, lived, breathed, bled baseball. Though she knows I did...and do. She is something else. Something else.
My mom came down to house and dog sit, or actually, provide a warm body around those two things. Our neighbor Mia would come and tend to the dogs, and check up on the mother. Admittedly, Farnsworth would turn out to be a bit of a challenge. Who would have thought that! The church knew we would be away. They seemed unsure of why we wanted to go to New York, of all places, though they did try to embrace it. Everything was cool. Off we went.
Next time: Late to bed, early to rise, to Delta's house we go!
The strangest thing of all is that the genesis of this journey was born out of the desire to see the New York Yankees. Yes, the Yankees, a team I typically despise. Though a great pilgrimage to the baseball Mecca had to be made. I grew up glued to t.v.'s that seemed glued to Yankee Stadium. I remember the pennant series against the Royals in 1977 (or was it 76? That year is the cut-off. I can't remember a thing, other than replays, of baseball pre 1977). I do remember the Bucky Dent home-run, 1978, which still kills me! I remember, yes the Yankees putting the knife in my heart during the 1996 world series against my beloved Braves, though not before Andruw Jones JACKED his first two world series at bats! And all the Jeter inspired magic, that spread over to Brett Boone in what, 2002? 2003? And all those Yankess v Red Sox classics, not the least of which is the 2004 pennant series! Go Sox!
2008 would be the last year for 'The House That Costanza, I Mean Ruth, Built'!
You see, I had to go.
The strange thing is that MA didn't have to go. She knows what a baseball looks like, and what I sound like when Bobby Cox cranks up his left finger for mining as his right hand directs the collapse of game after game for my Atlanta Braves. She doesnt, or never has, lived, breathed, bled baseball. Though she knows I did...and do. She is something else. Something else.
My mom came down to house and dog sit, or actually, provide a warm body around those two things. Our neighbor Mia would come and tend to the dogs, and check up on the mother. Admittedly, Farnsworth would turn out to be a bit of a challenge. Who would have thought that! The church knew we would be away. They seemed unsure of why we wanted to go to New York, of all places, though they did try to embrace it. Everything was cool. Off we went.
Next time: Late to bed, early to rise, to Delta's house we go!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Greetings to All
I wish to extend a holiday greeting to the vast and various readership out there! I did not have that perfect opportunity to get to my wooded sanctuary and write away! though I will, and after today and next week and as we move closer and closer to Christmas--the most wonderful time of the year, indeed--I will be giving more and more time to our shared, blogged, bond.
In that mean time, get out, be safe, see your family--tell your loved ones that you love them, and then show them--party with friends, laugh, shop (responsibly), and celebrate that its true...it's a wonderful life.
I will be happy to chronicle my Thanksgiving adventure with MA and Farnsworth and the fam, and soon get back to my promise: the journey to Yankee Stadium, and back!
peace to you all! real, warm, peace...
Mateo
In that mean time, get out, be safe, see your family--tell your loved ones that you love them, and then show them--party with friends, laugh, shop (responsibly), and celebrate that its true...it's a wonderful life.
I will be happy to chronicle my Thanksgiving adventure with MA and Farnsworth and the fam, and soon get back to my promise: the journey to Yankee Stadium, and back!
peace to you all! real, warm, peace...
Mateo
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
They Say It Happens To Every Guy At Some Point
I suppose it happens to women to, right? yes, of course, I am talking about writer's block. to what did you think I was referring?
I can't say with certainty that I have writer's block though I am at a bit of a standstill...
Though I still (though this time, sitting) contend that for a blog to be good, relevant, prolific, important, or even hint at any one of those descriptors, a blog has to be nothing if not consistent.
And that had been my greatest challenge thus far in this blogging endeavor. Perhaps it isn't even all that challenging, I have just failed ot update with the regularity everyone seeks. (which must also be the reason that even in a strained economy, the prune industry thrives. okay, now I am being parenthetically silly).
What is a challenge is to be consistent while being interesting. Maybe even interesting isn't the be-all-end-all. The death sentence for a blog or any written piece, or perhaps anything period, is to avoid the void of non-interest. I'd say a writer cannot be boring, though if boring is the only thing from which to escape, anyone could write--unless you are a middle schooler where your world is boring. At least, your vocabulary would be greatly limited to the word boring until you reach around the middle of your 9th grade year.
Note I haven't declared that this blog, or any blog, has t be or even can be consistently good, it just needs to be consistent. Consitently updated, fed, cared for, loved, talked to...you know, like a plant! Or even better, like a friendship.
And so, the forecast is pleasant for future blog pieces. I have an idea! Actually, I have several ideas--more than several. It's discipline I lack! Discipline, time, and a high speed internet connection are what's really missing in my bloggist life. I am not missing inspiration, it is all around. There is beautiful music everywhere! I am listening to Radio Paradise as I write today, and I guarantee that 'beautiful' is the word to describe the feelings and emotions that well up and gush forth from the most intelligent repitiore of eclectic sounds this morning--even with a hint of The Rolling Stones (Waiting On a Friend) all the way to Simon and Garfunkel (Bridge Over Troubled Water)! RP is typically much more ecletci than those two, but they'e just nice!
I am currently in the middle of, or at the beginning of, rather, 10 books. I have to do better at this, and I am narrowing on down. I have a spiritual classic, Reaching Out by Henri Nouwen, that I am determined to finish by Thanksgiving Day. The book is thick, and I do not mean in the sense of length. Though there is a great peace about it.
And I am engrossed in Born Standing Up, the autobiography--or biography of someone he once knew to hear the author tell it--of Steve Martin. I would have never suspected that 'The Jerk" could write with such emotion and eloquence. I should have, but I didn't. I have been inspired by Steve for, well, most of my life. I saw the aforementioned The Jerk at a very young age, and not a few times, with my parents and my aunt and cousins (the dearest people in my life then, and now. Now, the list is just a little bigger). Martin is a genius, not just of comedy, of art. Yes, Steve Martin is an artistic genius! I said it! I find him to be a bit of a kindred spirit. I hope to be, at least. Not only have I always appreciated his understated sense of comic time...ing, and really, everything about his canon of work, I am starting to embrace my inner--and outer--artist. Life is being better balanced as I do this. I am a guitarist, a lover, a student, a teacher of the instrument. And so, I embrace it. If I want to listen to Coltrane, I listen. If I want to work on my sight-reading for piano, I work. If I feel like playing guitar, I play. I little Gumpian in this sense, perhaps.
Though embracing the inner and outer artist is about letting yourself be inspired, and then letting your self inspire others through your art. Being an artist is about seeking beauty and sharing it. These are but two qualities that I feel an artist cultivates. There are so many more. I look forward to the journey, and I believe the search will uncover some creative gold-mines: both mine and the gold in others.
There is great beauty in the trees and on the ground through yesterday's leaves--tomorrow's mulch. The air bites with crisp, though loving, teeth. A love bite! People are starting to act like they know what time of year it is. And just what time of year is it? You tell me. Really. Tell me.
While this latest blog piece has contained its fair share of stream-of-consiousness style wander-rambling, it was born out of a newly rediscovered condition of wonderment, the practice of the blissful. Inspired by beauty. Blog by Matt.
For next time, I will practice a device that successful writers practice: ergonomic use of material. For example, I have noticed that many of the better preachers and writers out there will present a particular sermon or article or paper in a number of mediums and forums over a period of time. This is not 're-using', 're-cycling', and by no means is it being lazy--not coming up with something 'new' or 'fresh'. It is the wise, methodical, responsible practice of thematic development. So, for next time, I will do just that. You dear readers will get, at least the beginning of--the chronicling of our journey to New York City--the pilgrimage to baseball's high cathedral: Yankee Stadium. It's fresh a relevant, and modern, chic, important--all that good stuff--for the blog. And at the same time, it is something I have needed to do for some while! I can then be a good little travel writer! And if that isn't responsible reuse, I don't knwo what is!
And so, until we meet again, may your palette by filled with inspired beauty in a way you have never known!
standstill averted!
au revoir~
I can't say with certainty that I have writer's block though I am at a bit of a standstill...
Though I still (though this time, sitting) contend that for a blog to be good, relevant, prolific, important, or even hint at any one of those descriptors, a blog has to be nothing if not consistent.
And that had been my greatest challenge thus far in this blogging endeavor. Perhaps it isn't even all that challenging, I have just failed ot update with the regularity everyone seeks. (which must also be the reason that even in a strained economy, the prune industry thrives. okay, now I am being parenthetically silly).
What is a challenge is to be consistent while being interesting. Maybe even interesting isn't the be-all-end-all. The death sentence for a blog or any written piece, or perhaps anything period, is to avoid the void of non-interest. I'd say a writer cannot be boring, though if boring is the only thing from which to escape, anyone could write--unless you are a middle schooler where your world is boring. At least, your vocabulary would be greatly limited to the word boring until you reach around the middle of your 9th grade year.
Note I haven't declared that this blog, or any blog, has t be or even can be consistently good, it just needs to be consistent. Consitently updated, fed, cared for, loved, talked to...you know, like a plant! Or even better, like a friendship.
And so, the forecast is pleasant for future blog pieces. I have an idea! Actually, I have several ideas--more than several. It's discipline I lack! Discipline, time, and a high speed internet connection are what's really missing in my bloggist life. I am not missing inspiration, it is all around. There is beautiful music everywhere! I am listening to Radio Paradise as I write today, and I guarantee that 'beautiful' is the word to describe the feelings and emotions that well up and gush forth from the most intelligent repitiore of eclectic sounds this morning--even with a hint of The Rolling Stones (Waiting On a Friend) all the way to Simon and Garfunkel (Bridge Over Troubled Water)! RP is typically much more ecletci than those two, but they'e just nice!
I am currently in the middle of, or at the beginning of, rather, 10 books. I have to do better at this, and I am narrowing on down. I have a spiritual classic, Reaching Out by Henri Nouwen, that I am determined to finish by Thanksgiving Day. The book is thick, and I do not mean in the sense of length. Though there is a great peace about it.
And I am engrossed in Born Standing Up, the autobiography--or biography of someone he once knew to hear the author tell it--of Steve Martin. I would have never suspected that 'The Jerk" could write with such emotion and eloquence. I should have, but I didn't. I have been inspired by Steve for, well, most of my life. I saw the aforementioned The Jerk at a very young age, and not a few times, with my parents and my aunt and cousins (the dearest people in my life then, and now. Now, the list is just a little bigger). Martin is a genius, not just of comedy, of art. Yes, Steve Martin is an artistic genius! I said it! I find him to be a bit of a kindred spirit. I hope to be, at least. Not only have I always appreciated his understated sense of comic time...ing, and really, everything about his canon of work, I am starting to embrace my inner--and outer--artist. Life is being better balanced as I do this. I am a guitarist, a lover, a student, a teacher of the instrument. And so, I embrace it. If I want to listen to Coltrane, I listen. If I want to work on my sight-reading for piano, I work. If I feel like playing guitar, I play. I little Gumpian in this sense, perhaps.
Though embracing the inner and outer artist is about letting yourself be inspired, and then letting your self inspire others through your art. Being an artist is about seeking beauty and sharing it. These are but two qualities that I feel an artist cultivates. There are so many more. I look forward to the journey, and I believe the search will uncover some creative gold-mines: both mine and the gold in others.
There is great beauty in the trees and on the ground through yesterday's leaves--tomorrow's mulch. The air bites with crisp, though loving, teeth. A love bite! People are starting to act like they know what time of year it is. And just what time of year is it? You tell me. Really. Tell me.
While this latest blog piece has contained its fair share of stream-of-consiousness style wander-rambling, it was born out of a newly rediscovered condition of wonderment, the practice of the blissful. Inspired by beauty. Blog by Matt.
For next time, I will practice a device that successful writers practice: ergonomic use of material. For example, I have noticed that many of the better preachers and writers out there will present a particular sermon or article or paper in a number of mediums and forums over a period of time. This is not 're-using', 're-cycling', and by no means is it being lazy--not coming up with something 'new' or 'fresh'. It is the wise, methodical, responsible practice of thematic development. So, for next time, I will do just that. You dear readers will get, at least the beginning of--the chronicling of our journey to New York City--the pilgrimage to baseball's high cathedral: Yankee Stadium. It's fresh a relevant, and modern, chic, important--all that good stuff--for the blog. And at the same time, it is something I have needed to do for some while! I can then be a good little travel writer! And if that isn't responsible reuse, I don't knwo what is!
And so, until we meet again, may your palette by filled with inspired beauty in a way you have never known!
standstill averted!
au revoir~
Thursday, November 6, 2008
It Doesn't Cost Anything For an Ogre to Be Nice
It's true! It doesn't cost anyone anything to be nice. I learned that this morning. I should say, I started learning that again this morning and I plan to keep working on it.
As I drove toward Remote office #2, Moxie Java, this morning I tuned into NPR (National Public Radio). I needed a break from Kind of Blue, I wasn't in the mood for sports-just yet, and have vowed to NEVER again listen to Rick and Bubba. Ask me why sometime. I'd love to tell you. And so, thank God for NPR. It is very refreshing. It is the best news source around. It has some incredible shows on Saturdays--Click and Clack, Wait, Wait, to name two--real-deal jazz when you can catch it and all the classical music you can shake a timpani at! And they have ogres. That's right. NPR: Now with ogres!
In the middle of some fine piece from the classical period, if memory serves, Farnsworth and I heard the blasts of emergency test frequencies. Strange, sure. Though not nearly so strange as what followed.
I then heard several small, or young, children argueing...with an ogre. He is just about to aquiesse to agreement. The children wanted this big, mean, ogre to stop roaring all the time. Apparently, the ogre's roaring had become problematic. The big fella realized though, that he had a bargaining chip. He would indeed stop roaring if the children would simply stop their incessant argueing. He would promise to be nice to them if they would promise to be nice to each other. It was win-win. And it wouldn't cost one, red, cent!
I have no idea how this show blasted through NPR airwaves for the 2 minutes the tale took to tell. Though I figure that it, as does everything, happened for some good reason.
And so, when providence befalls you, or a ogres persuades you, take time to realize it might just be the day's gift.
The next time you feel tempted to argue, fuss, be critical, condescending, rude or hateful--or anything mean--remember what you might end up doing to my new big, nasty, stinky, new friend. The world has enough roaring ogres. Be an ogre that looks less like something from The Lord of the Rings, but looks more like something from The Last Supper.
Or, think of it this way: be nice to strangers...you never know when you may be entertaining an ogre.
Peace to you this day. And I mean it!
As I drove toward Remote office #2, Moxie Java, this morning I tuned into NPR (National Public Radio). I needed a break from Kind of Blue, I wasn't in the mood for sports-just yet, and have vowed to NEVER again listen to Rick and Bubba. Ask me why sometime. I'd love to tell you. And so, thank God for NPR. It is very refreshing. It is the best news source around. It has some incredible shows on Saturdays--Click and Clack, Wait, Wait, to name two--real-deal jazz when you can catch it and all the classical music you can shake a timpani at! And they have ogres. That's right. NPR: Now with ogres!
In the middle of some fine piece from the classical period, if memory serves, Farnsworth and I heard the blasts of emergency test frequencies. Strange, sure. Though not nearly so strange as what followed.
I then heard several small, or young, children argueing...with an ogre. He is just about to aquiesse to agreement. The children wanted this big, mean, ogre to stop roaring all the time. Apparently, the ogre's roaring had become problematic. The big fella realized though, that he had a bargaining chip. He would indeed stop roaring if the children would simply stop their incessant argueing. He would promise to be nice to them if they would promise to be nice to each other. It was win-win. And it wouldn't cost one, red, cent!
I have no idea how this show blasted through NPR airwaves for the 2 minutes the tale took to tell. Though I figure that it, as does everything, happened for some good reason.
And so, when providence befalls you, or a ogres persuades you, take time to realize it might just be the day's gift.
The next time you feel tempted to argue, fuss, be critical, condescending, rude or hateful--or anything mean--remember what you might end up doing to my new big, nasty, stinky, new friend. The world has enough roaring ogres. Be an ogre that looks less like something from The Lord of the Rings, but looks more like something from The Last Supper.
Or, think of it this way: be nice to strangers...you never know when you may be entertaining an ogre.
Peace to you this day. And I mean it!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Yes We Did!
It may seem that I am borrowing a wee bit directly from our new President-Elect. Well, I am, though I chose those three words as the title of this entry because it is what one of my best-good-friends just said. He texted the words, rather. My soul-brother is in, or on his way home from, Cincinnati. He was a poll observer, called into action by the Obama camp. Bob Bentely (jimbobbentley.blogspot.com) is an attorney. He is a compassionate attorney. He is a good attorney.
I first sent him the text saying, "Thanks Bob, we did it!". What we did, I still contend, was change the world. And you--yes YOU--did exactly that too, if you voted. The outcome doesnt pertain to what I am saying here. If you voted, you exercised your right to be a citizen in a democratic republic. That's power my friend! I am pleased with the outcome. I will not reveal for whom and for what I voted, by nature of my ordained...nature. 'Ordained professional status' my be a better way to say that. Though I do feel good about the democratic process, the whole dog-gone democratic experiment, actually.
Though we will just have to wait and see what the national/global/cultural/political/governmental implications will be. This will require a lot of trust. We will have to build a lot of faith. This will require us to lose a lot of anger, lose a lot of distrust and a lot fear. My fellow Americans and loyal varia-lecto readers world over, we will have to lose the hate in order for our nation and the world to come together. Come together, right now! And that can't be a bad thing. Whether or not your candidate won, the nation and the world--for the most part--is rejoicing. Perhaps the world is not rejoicing because of every decision or every elected candidate, though there is a good vibe world wide. And even if I don't agree with every decision made, and I don't, that's got to be a good thing.
Most of all, I sit back and remember the excitement of my mother yesterday when we set off for the polls, when she hopped out of the car--that's a joke, Mom doesnt 'hop' anywhere--and waddled on into the poll. When she had a stranger call me at Olde Towne Coffee to let me know she was ready to be picked up, I grinned. When she, at 69 years of age, was happy-crying and jumping up and down like a 3rd grader waiting for Santa Claus--that too is a joke, Mom doesnt exactly 'jump', ever--I wanted to jump and happy-cry with her. When I turned to see her reaction to 'O-Bomb's' speech, a speech that will [should] go down in history only to see her pull her eyelids open as if to say, "did I miss something?", I grinned from ear to shining ear. When she saw the headline today that reads "Yes he did", it brought back yesterday's joy and she said, "oh, I have to get that paper!" I looked at her and said, "yes, you do. Because yes he did. Yes we did. We all did. Yes, you did Mom!" I was proud of her. I am still proud of her, and I always will be. Mary Ann, and I, and Bob, and you...and Ann Smith, my mom, changed the world yesterday. And that's got to be a good thing.
I first sent him the text saying, "Thanks Bob, we did it!". What we did, I still contend, was change the world. And you--yes YOU--did exactly that too, if you voted. The outcome doesnt pertain to what I am saying here. If you voted, you exercised your right to be a citizen in a democratic republic. That's power my friend! I am pleased with the outcome. I will not reveal for whom and for what I voted, by nature of my ordained...nature. 'Ordained professional status' my be a better way to say that. Though I do feel good about the democratic process, the whole dog-gone democratic experiment, actually.
Though we will just have to wait and see what the national/global/cultural/political/governmental implications will be. This will require a lot of trust. We will have to build a lot of faith. This will require us to lose a lot of anger, lose a lot of distrust and a lot fear. My fellow Americans and loyal varia-lecto readers world over, we will have to lose the hate in order for our nation and the world to come together. Come together, right now! And that can't be a bad thing. Whether or not your candidate won, the nation and the world--for the most part--is rejoicing. Perhaps the world is not rejoicing because of every decision or every elected candidate, though there is a good vibe world wide. And even if I don't agree with every decision made, and I don't, that's got to be a good thing.
Most of all, I sit back and remember the excitement of my mother yesterday when we set off for the polls, when she hopped out of the car--that's a joke, Mom doesnt 'hop' anywhere--and waddled on into the poll. When she had a stranger call me at Olde Towne Coffee to let me know she was ready to be picked up, I grinned. When she, at 69 years of age, was happy-crying and jumping up and down like a 3rd grader waiting for Santa Claus--that too is a joke, Mom doesnt exactly 'jump', ever--I wanted to jump and happy-cry with her. When I turned to see her reaction to 'O-Bomb's' speech, a speech that will [should] go down in history only to see her pull her eyelids open as if to say, "did I miss something?", I grinned from ear to shining ear. When she saw the headline today that reads "Yes he did", it brought back yesterday's joy and she said, "oh, I have to get that paper!" I looked at her and said, "yes, you do. Because yes he did. Yes we did. We all did. Yes, you did Mom!" I was proud of her. I am still proud of her, and I always will be. Mary Ann, and I, and Bob, and you...and Ann Smith, my mom, changed the world yesterday. And that's got to be a good thing.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
This Will Be a Day Long Remembered By the Empire
The day has arrived. I truly believe this is a banner day. There is [still] an almost tangible electricity around us. It is election day! I am enjoying some of the best coffee in the state, in the southeast (remote office #1, Olde Towne Coffee Shoppe in Huntsville, AL), and listening to some fascinating, intelligent, people discuss what the real concerns and issues are. It is refreshing. Last night, I felt less than refreshed when I saw a sign, a church sign, mind you, that read: "It's one nation under God, not Buddha. Vote". I agree with one part of that statement. The vote part. I believe in the God part too, so maybe I believe in two of the parts. Though its exactly that kind of stupidity that I am witnessing in my home state and hear about nation-wide has been frustrating at best, depressing at worst. I am feeling frustrated a good deal these days about the state of the world, the state of the union, and the state of the church. Though I believe in nothing if not hope. Hope is a part of my theology. Hope is my mantra, it is who I believe God to be and thusly hope is who I am. Today represents hope. We grabbed some of the hope and the excitement this morning.
This morning I drove my mother to Huntsville so she could vote. I will vote later when we return home. As we pulled out of the driveway I said, "Mom, here we go to change the world!". She agreed, and joined me in celebrating that excitement. It was a great moment, one that pulled us together. I am proud of Mom, and I love her so very much. She is a brave women, and she always has been. Not to mention, she is the most patient creature God ever created (until Mary Ann maybe). I dropped Anna BoNanna at her polling precinct. I took her picture, and she waddled off to exercise her civic duty. She is claiming her patriotic power. She is changing the world. She may just be saving the world. I know she sure saved me--more than once.
This morning I drove my mother to Huntsville so she could vote. I will vote later when we return home. As we pulled out of the driveway I said, "Mom, here we go to change the world!". She agreed, and joined me in celebrating that excitement. It was a great moment, one that pulled us together. I am proud of Mom, and I love her so very much. She is a brave women, and she always has been. Not to mention, she is the most patient creature God ever created (until Mary Ann maybe). I dropped Anna BoNanna at her polling precinct. I took her picture, and she waddled off to exercise her civic duty. She is claiming her patriotic power. She is changing the world. She may just be saving the world. I know she sure saved me--more than once.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Here We Are
I believe 'precipice' is the word. We are standing at the door, ready to wonder in. We stand at the cliff, debating whether or not to jump. We stand on the platform, ready to dive. We go to the edge. We stand and look down. You know we'll lose a lot of friends there baby! And yes, that last one's Van Halen! We've got no time to mess around!
The presidential election is in the morning. And I think we can feel it. I feel it, at least it feels like I feel it! There is certainly tension in the air. I had dinner with some friends tonight, and the mood was serious. That's not all that bad or unusual a thing, though for us, we three BBQ enthusiasts, we band of brothers, serious usually stays home.
I fellowshipped with my two young friends, one in law school and one a college sophomore. MA and I shared some of Tuscaloosa, Alabamas finest smoked meat with them. It is the Bar B Q Guild, after all. This group has a fair amount in common, not the least of which is laughter. Don't get me wrong, laughter shared the meal with us. But I truly sense that young people have a lot on their minds. We all do. We all should. Though for anyone under the age of 25, this election really means something. It mwans something potentially new. Potentially strong. Potentially good and life and world and reality changing.
Will it mean all these things? How will those two young men, and many more from their generation end up leading and serving me and my beautiful wife...and all the world? Will we fail them tomorrow? Will we fail each other?
Vote. I believe Obama and McCain are both good men. We would be honored to have them as special guests to our guild. Though only one can win tomorrow (please dont think back to the 'election results' of 2004).
Only one can lead, and serve, and change this world from this magnificent country's position.
Vote. Vote with your heart and your mind. Vote for who you truly believe will give the most and the best to this nation and the world.
I had more to say about some astonishingly ridiculous things people are still saying about the candidates; one in particular. Though I wont. Suffice it to say, as The Refreshments so eloquently waxed, "everybody knows the world is full of stupid people". Sad, but true. Don't be one of those stupid people.
And the only really, lasting, stupid choice, is to stay home and not vote at all.
MA asked me if we were going to pray for 'all of them'. "All of who?" I asked. "Everyone" she replied with her loving, lovely, soft voice.
I can't remember what I said. Though I now know. Yes. I will be praying for John, and Barrack, and I will be praying for Bob, and James, and Mitchell. I will be praying for Ann, and Granny, and all these folks in the bookstore. And I will be praying for someoen to give Farnsworth a safe, loving home.
We shall continue this tomorrow.
Vote.
Peace.
The presidential election is in the morning. And I think we can feel it. I feel it, at least it feels like I feel it! There is certainly tension in the air. I had dinner with some friends tonight, and the mood was serious. That's not all that bad or unusual a thing, though for us, we three BBQ enthusiasts, we band of brothers, serious usually stays home.
I fellowshipped with my two young friends, one in law school and one a college sophomore. MA and I shared some of Tuscaloosa, Alabamas finest smoked meat with them. It is the Bar B Q Guild, after all. This group has a fair amount in common, not the least of which is laughter. Don't get me wrong, laughter shared the meal with us. But I truly sense that young people have a lot on their minds. We all do. We all should. Though for anyone under the age of 25, this election really means something. It mwans something potentially new. Potentially strong. Potentially good and life and world and reality changing.
Will it mean all these things? How will those two young men, and many more from their generation end up leading and serving me and my beautiful wife...and all the world? Will we fail them tomorrow? Will we fail each other?
Vote. I believe Obama and McCain are both good men. We would be honored to have them as special guests to our guild. Though only one can win tomorrow (please dont think back to the 'election results' of 2004).
Only one can lead, and serve, and change this world from this magnificent country's position.
Vote. Vote with your heart and your mind. Vote for who you truly believe will give the most and the best to this nation and the world.
I had more to say about some astonishingly ridiculous things people are still saying about the candidates; one in particular. Though I wont. Suffice it to say, as The Refreshments so eloquently waxed, "everybody knows the world is full of stupid people". Sad, but true. Don't be one of those stupid people.
And the only really, lasting, stupid choice, is to stay home and not vote at all.
MA asked me if we were going to pray for 'all of them'. "All of who?" I asked. "Everyone" she replied with her loving, lovely, soft voice.
I can't remember what I said. Though I now know. Yes. I will be praying for John, and Barrack, and I will be praying for Bob, and James, and Mitchell. I will be praying for Ann, and Granny, and all these folks in the bookstore. And I will be praying for someoen to give Farnsworth a safe, loving home.
We shall continue this tomorrow.
Vote.
Peace.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
A Blue Day (Jazz, Part II)
The other day, I had a blue day. I cannot fully explain it, nor hardly remember all the details. It was not blue, as in melancholy like I had 'the blues', not at all. It was a beautiful morning with an almost blue tint. What tinted it in such a color, you may ask? An album. A beautiful, blue, jazz album. The album many people hold as the best jazz album ever, and some people call the best album ever, period. The album is Kind of Blue, by Miles Davis and his sextet. It's from the Columbia period. And I agree with many and most. I feel it is the best jazz album, and possibly best album period, ever. It is without doubt the best jazz album I have ever heard. I am listening to it now, and feeling wonderfully blue! I am a newly hooked, totally taken jazz addict. I am fine with this condition.
As influential and seminal as Miles and Trane and company are, this most recent push--pull rather--toward jazz for me comes from two guitar virtuosos. I'd read about their import and their influence, and then my curiosity would pull me on in. There are two such guitarists that have brought me to this place: Allan Holdsworth and Joe Pass. The former is the modern master of jazz and rock fusion with a style, sound, harmony--a language--all his own. Holdsworth is pure brilliant.
The latter, is the definitive jazz virtuoso. And his definitive jazz album, Virtuoso, explains why.
These three entities--Davis and all his cronies (Coltrane, Abernathy, Evans, et al), Pass and Holdsworth--speak and live in a different universe, musically speaking. There music takes me there and I believe it will you too.
Though what about this beautiful phenomena that is jazz creates such a well spring of, well, something nearly inexplicable, to boil and and try to gush forth? Over this weekend, I will try to explore these ideas and mysteries. Granted, I have a sermon to construct and prepare. That is my priority. Though God will bless that process, I believe, and give me time to see beauty and experience bliss (the best word I can currently find) in many other ways.
It is the first day of November. Last night was Halloween, and All Hallows Eve. Yes, all at the same time. It was Reformation Day. Today is All Saints Day, and tomorrow is All Saints Sunday. What a time a year! It is brisk, though not quite cool enough for my taste. It is homecoming in Tuscaloosa for THE University of Alabama. MA is off, home and resting peacefully. The dogs are active, wagging their tales, ready for fun. I have plenty of great things to read, hot coffee coming from remote office #2 (Moxie Java in Cullman). I just spent two well=spent hours talking wit one of my dearest friends about life--life in its fullest. I am feeling wonderfully blue!
Be cool you cats,
MMS
As influential and seminal as Miles and Trane and company are, this most recent push--pull rather--toward jazz for me comes from two guitar virtuosos. I'd read about their import and their influence, and then my curiosity would pull me on in. There are two such guitarists that have brought me to this place: Allan Holdsworth and Joe Pass. The former is the modern master of jazz and rock fusion with a style, sound, harmony--a language--all his own. Holdsworth is pure brilliant.
The latter, is the definitive jazz virtuoso. And his definitive jazz album, Virtuoso, explains why.
These three entities--Davis and all his cronies (Coltrane, Abernathy, Evans, et al), Pass and Holdsworth--speak and live in a different universe, musically speaking. There music takes me there and I believe it will you too.
Though what about this beautiful phenomena that is jazz creates such a well spring of, well, something nearly inexplicable, to boil and and try to gush forth? Over this weekend, I will try to explore these ideas and mysteries. Granted, I have a sermon to construct and prepare. That is my priority. Though God will bless that process, I believe, and give me time to see beauty and experience bliss (the best word I can currently find) in many other ways.
It is the first day of November. Last night was Halloween, and All Hallows Eve. Yes, all at the same time. It was Reformation Day. Today is All Saints Day, and tomorrow is All Saints Sunday. What a time a year! It is brisk, though not quite cool enough for my taste. It is homecoming in Tuscaloosa for THE University of Alabama. MA is off, home and resting peacefully. The dogs are active, wagging their tales, ready for fun. I have plenty of great things to read, hot coffee coming from remote office #2 (Moxie Java in Cullman). I just spent two well=spent hours talking wit one of my dearest friends about life--life in its fullest. I am feeling wonderfully blue!
Be cool you cats,
MMS
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
And All That Jazz
well, there it is. as cliche'd and overused a title as you could ask for.
though it is, as my ancestors from the United Kingdom might say, 'spot on'.
this piece is about jazz.
in my last piece on the terrible stereotypes of evangelicalism, I signed off with a confession. I am Matthew Smith, and I listen to AC/DC. well, that much is true. I love AC/DC for how they took some Gibsons and some Gretchs, 3 chords and many, many decibels and made simplicity into high art. and though there are many other rock-n-roll bands that I have listened to more of (Van Halen, Led Zeppelin, Ozzy and all his legendary axemen, Metallica--maybe they're metal more than r-n-r--and many, many others), I have long loved the power that their AC/DC's bi-curious or schizophrenic current yields. Its loud, its proud (arrogant, rather), its rough and tumble, its scented with Fosters, its simple. you know, rock-n-roll.
Jazz, on the other hand...
and now for my latest confession: I am a jazz addict.
there are most certainly better and worse things to be addicted to. and btw, everyone's addicted to something. (that's for another piece). though jazz is certainly my favorite addiction in a long while.
I am a musician. And soon after becoming a musician, I became a guitarist, hence my great love for King Edward and company.
though technically, before I played guitar, at least as far as formal training goes, I played the ole' sax-a-mo-phone! I was entranced by its timbre, its breathy nuance, its, well, sex appeal. maybe the word sexiness says it better. maybe I should stop with the sex/sax idea completely, and move on. here we go...
jazz got me then, but barely, and what I thought was jazz was is actual fact, not. Clarence Clemmons could flat out throw down on the tenor. (listen to I'm Goin' Down, off of Born in the USA). but CC is not jazz. at least when he is with da boss--The Boss--its not jazz. maybe jazzy, and mos def good, not jazz in the jazz sense.
we take exceptional journeys through life, and one dot connects to another. I moved to Homewood with my father, Smithy, in 1987. the zennith of 80's rock had come and gone. and though we still have the hangover from the 80's, and always will, I was about two years too late. I was enrolled in Homewood hig School for approximatley 1 day! I transferred to Gardendale high School, alma mater and home of my dear Gardendale Rockets! though why the shift? Homewood was, by all accounts, my accounts, at the time, 'cooler'. It had everything to do and see in, around, and near Birmingham. again, why?
Gardendale High School had jazz band!!! yes, I am sure Homewood did, and definitely does now. The Patriot band has been cross country playing their marching music.
but I found out that I could play my guitar in the jazz band at Garndendale. at least in the 'B' jazz band. that deal was done.
though in a choice (dot) that's explination (connection) will be explained next time, I ended up in the 'A' jazz band. And I played sax.
peace out ya'll,
MMS
though it is, as my ancestors from the United Kingdom might say, 'spot on'.
this piece is about jazz.
in my last piece on the terrible stereotypes of evangelicalism, I signed off with a confession. I am Matthew Smith, and I listen to AC/DC. well, that much is true. I love AC/DC for how they took some Gibsons and some Gretchs, 3 chords and many, many decibels and made simplicity into high art. and though there are many other rock-n-roll bands that I have listened to more of (Van Halen, Led Zeppelin, Ozzy and all his legendary axemen, Metallica--maybe they're metal more than r-n-r--and many, many others), I have long loved the power that their AC/DC's bi-curious or schizophrenic current yields. Its loud, its proud (arrogant, rather), its rough and tumble, its scented with Fosters, its simple. you know, rock-n-roll.
Jazz, on the other hand...
and now for my latest confession: I am a jazz addict.
there are most certainly better and worse things to be addicted to. and btw, everyone's addicted to something. (that's for another piece). though jazz is certainly my favorite addiction in a long while.
I am a musician. And soon after becoming a musician, I became a guitarist, hence my great love for King Edward and company.
though technically, before I played guitar, at least as far as formal training goes, I played the ole' sax-a-mo-phone! I was entranced by its timbre, its breathy nuance, its, well, sex appeal. maybe the word sexiness says it better. maybe I should stop with the sex/sax idea completely, and move on. here we go...
jazz got me then, but barely, and what I thought was jazz was is actual fact, not. Clarence Clemmons could flat out throw down on the tenor. (listen to I'm Goin' Down, off of Born in the USA). but CC is not jazz. at least when he is with da boss--The Boss--its not jazz. maybe jazzy, and mos def good, not jazz in the jazz sense.
we take exceptional journeys through life, and one dot connects to another. I moved to Homewood with my father, Smithy, in 1987. the zennith of 80's rock had come and gone. and though we still have the hangover from the 80's, and always will, I was about two years too late. I was enrolled in Homewood hig School for approximatley 1 day! I transferred to Gardendale high School, alma mater and home of my dear Gardendale Rockets! though why the shift? Homewood was, by all accounts, my accounts, at the time, 'cooler'. It had everything to do and see in, around, and near Birmingham. again, why?
Gardendale High School had jazz band!!! yes, I am sure Homewood did, and definitely does now. The Patriot band has been cross country playing their marching music.
but I found out that I could play my guitar in the jazz band at Garndendale. at least in the 'B' jazz band. that deal was done.
though in a choice (dot) that's explination (connection) will be explained next time, I ended up in the 'A' jazz band. And I played sax.
peace out ya'll,
MMS
Friday, October 24, 2008
A Bloggin' For Da Noggin'
I believe some of the more critical elements to a successful blog are consistency, interest, and consistency. For one to develop a readership, one must be faithful to said readership. Keep updates coming. The updates should, ideally, be fresh and pertinent. Though there must be updates.
In the search to supply my blog with a more blog-oriented topic, I am introducing one, specific topic for the day. One that has been on my mind. The topic that fuels my need to vent and express the most...today.
So here it is...
I hope to lead a charge, or take part in a rally to the cause, to help people understand what 'evangelical' means, or more to the point, what 'evangelical Christianity is'. This could take a while, though it is centrally important to what the faithful, believing, Christian community is called to do...in my opinion.
I may need to start with what I am fairly sure Evangelical Christianity is not. Yes, let's do that.
Evangelical Christianity is not a political group. So often I hear what the 'evangelicals' think, like what the Republicans think (a dangerous synonym for many) or what the Libertarians think, or what Red Sox fans think, or what 'fill in the blank' thinks.
Evangelical Christianity is not the religious right. Not exclusively, no way. It is not a group or organization or family where every member is a James Dobson supporter! NO WAY!
Evangelical Christianity is not a watch group to flag and boycott movies that may be based on a book that presents a fictional story based on the life of Jesus.
And evangelical Christianity is not an organization that threatens to take away one's faith if one does not forward the proper email the correct amount of times while uttering the prescribed prayer that goes with it.
Many people--those who believe they are 'evangelicals' and those who feel outside that group--erroneously believe that if someone claims they are Christian ('professes' they re Christian we might say), that person is pro-war, pro-life (how 'pro-life' can 'pro-war' be?), anti-gay, tee-totaling, NRA member and yes, a Republican.
Well, I am not all those things. I may believe in many of those things to varying degrees, though not wholly or without qualification. I believe in life, fully! Though is believing that abortion is wrong and believing that all abortions--no matter what--should be illegal the same thing? Adultery is wrong. I believe it is wrong. Is it illegal? Should there be a law against it? Drinking is not wrong, nor is it unbiblical. Drinking too much is wrong, and dangerous. I believe it is wrong. Is it illegal? Should it be? Hating another human is wrong. Is it illegal? Using words to convey that hate is wrong? Are those words illegal? Should we vote and lobby for Supreme Court justices that will make and then keep it illegal? You get my drift?
I am not a Republican. I am not a Democrat either. I believe in many things, and I think many things are bad, wrong, and yes, possibly evil. Though I am here to tell you that evil is a difficult concept, and many things I hear those publicly professed evangelicals call evil are not evil.
For example, I am sure somewhere at sometime Jerry Falwell has said that rock-n-roll is evil. No, sir, rock-n-roll is benign, like capitalism or guns. If bad people get a hold of it, well, it can certainly be an evil combination.
Conservative thought or a dislike of all things progressive does not have a monopoly on faith. Despite what you may hear in some church, yes, probably in the south, we are not all the same.
The danger in this for believers is that such misunderstanding--no matter who is repsonsible for it--is nothing if not counter-productive. More than counter-productive, it is damagin. It's more than shooting yourself in the foot, its like someone else shooting you in the foot! And whether you are NRA or not, that sux.
To be evangelical, to me, means to believe in the power of the gospel that is Jesus Christ. And, to be evangelical is to share that. It is not a license to judge. It is power to love.
My name is Matthew Smith, and I listen to AC/DC. Amen.
In the search to supply my blog with a more blog-oriented topic, I am introducing one, specific topic for the day. One that has been on my mind. The topic that fuels my need to vent and express the most...today.
So here it is...
I hope to lead a charge, or take part in a rally to the cause, to help people understand what 'evangelical' means, or more to the point, what 'evangelical Christianity is'. This could take a while, though it is centrally important to what the faithful, believing, Christian community is called to do...in my opinion.
I may need to start with what I am fairly sure Evangelical Christianity is not. Yes, let's do that.
Evangelical Christianity is not a political group. So often I hear what the 'evangelicals' think, like what the Republicans think (a dangerous synonym for many) or what the Libertarians think, or what Red Sox fans think, or what 'fill in the blank' thinks.
Evangelical Christianity is not the religious right. Not exclusively, no way. It is not a group or organization or family where every member is a James Dobson supporter! NO WAY!
Evangelical Christianity is not a watch group to flag and boycott movies that may be based on a book that presents a fictional story based on the life of Jesus.
And evangelical Christianity is not an organization that threatens to take away one's faith if one does not forward the proper email the correct amount of times while uttering the prescribed prayer that goes with it.
Many people--those who believe they are 'evangelicals' and those who feel outside that group--erroneously believe that if someone claims they are Christian ('professes' they re Christian we might say), that person is pro-war, pro-life (how 'pro-life' can 'pro-war' be?), anti-gay, tee-totaling, NRA member and yes, a Republican.
Well, I am not all those things. I may believe in many of those things to varying degrees, though not wholly or without qualification. I believe in life, fully! Though is believing that abortion is wrong and believing that all abortions--no matter what--should be illegal the same thing? Adultery is wrong. I believe it is wrong. Is it illegal? Should there be a law against it? Drinking is not wrong, nor is it unbiblical. Drinking too much is wrong, and dangerous. I believe it is wrong. Is it illegal? Should it be? Hating another human is wrong. Is it illegal? Using words to convey that hate is wrong? Are those words illegal? Should we vote and lobby for Supreme Court justices that will make and then keep it illegal? You get my drift?
I am not a Republican. I am not a Democrat either. I believe in many things, and I think many things are bad, wrong, and yes, possibly evil. Though I am here to tell you that evil is a difficult concept, and many things I hear those publicly professed evangelicals call evil are not evil.
For example, I am sure somewhere at sometime Jerry Falwell has said that rock-n-roll is evil. No, sir, rock-n-roll is benign, like capitalism or guns. If bad people get a hold of it, well, it can certainly be an evil combination.
Conservative thought or a dislike of all things progressive does not have a monopoly on faith. Despite what you may hear in some church, yes, probably in the south, we are not all the same.
The danger in this for believers is that such misunderstanding--no matter who is repsonsible for it--is nothing if not counter-productive. More than counter-productive, it is damagin. It's more than shooting yourself in the foot, its like someone else shooting you in the foot! And whether you are NRA or not, that sux.
To be evangelical, to me, means to believe in the power of the gospel that is Jesus Christ. And, to be evangelical is to share that. It is not a license to judge. It is power to love.
My name is Matthew Smith, and I listen to AC/DC. Amen.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Latest, Greatest, Tabula Rasa
so here we go dear readership! yes, I have made a change or two. hmmmm, maybe just the one. well, one so far. hence, the tabula rasa in the title--the Latin phrase which I love and loosely means clean slate, fresh start, new beginning. this kind of thing is quite important from time to time for everyone. it is a very, very biblical notion. particularly, re-newness and re-inventing is an idea that Jesus champions throughout the gospel. And so I now join Jesus in the championing!
I have always held a strange love for both new and old, contemporary and traditional, modern and classic.
studies, statistics, analysis, and all that jazz show and say that most people, if not nearly everyone, are drawn to new things. the search for newness has been the prompting for so many inventions, revolutions, revelations, and beauty. including the aforementioned jazz.
and all the while, human experience and history dictates that most people, if not nearly everyone, are terrified of change. fear of change has been the driving force for much hatred, despicable acts, and barriers to progress. and while not all progress is good progress, progress is generally needed.
I had a feeling today. si, si, we all have many feelings every day. though I had a particularly frustrating feeling today. I failed AGAIN on my dietary goals yesterday, fell asleep on the couch without getting the animales their dinners ('suppers' if your in or from Alabama). now I did fall asleep watching a good, scary movie (The Ninth Gate with Johnny Depp, a Roman Polanski joint) surrounded by some beautiful creatures: Scarlett on my right side, nestled/snuggled by my arms on the reclined couch, Trixter on the other couch in her spot, and MA sacked out to my left--the side nearest my heart, though at a safe distance...it is not a good idea to crowd or cramp her during sleepy time.
Though I woke up again at aroudn 3, shuffled off to the bedroom, with one of the pups, pried my contacts out of my eyes, brushed the TERRIBLE taste I get from 'mouth breathing' while I slept and rested for the next few hours. hoping to rise at 6, or 6-ish, make my morning routine journey, and then attend a very cool sounding summit from our North Alabama Conference. It was FRom Wall Street to Main Street to Church Street. this was a gathering from our top economics and finance gurus within the conference to deal with the worsening, seemingly, economic and financial shape of things. I was almost stoked- it has to be something good or real to get me stoked.
I woke up, early! Then I woke up again, on time. And then, as I am prone to do often, I woke up...late.
I pondered going late, half way through, other options. I fed the dogs--they were quite hungry after all! I cleaned up the previous night's "Farnsworth Surprise", several of them, actually and gathered some clothes together.
I was unsure up the road and back. Decided again' it! I would just make my stops, check the electronic world (a near impossibility where I currently reside), get my coffee on--actually, today, I got my coffee and Halloween cookie on!
While surfing/studying/writing/reading--yes, I typically do all of those while in the electronic environment--I discovered that my conference started at 10am! I wasnt too late...at first. I read this at 9:45am!!! My scatter-brained scattered brain foiled me again!
And so I spent the next hour or so, driving, thinking, being frustrated--by myself!
I did end up purchasing a new Moleskin [clue]. With a new Moleskin, and a new determination to write and journal myself into an organized, productive, creative, prosperous state of being, I had to have a new pen. Nothing short of a nice, new, Dr Grip would do.
and so I now am giving these thoughts and frustrations to this digital community. I may be journaling more than I am blogging. Though I am writing. Whatever the cause, the style, the medium or the genre, I am writing.
And that has to be a good thing.
...au revoir...
I have always held a strange love for both new and old, contemporary and traditional, modern and classic.
studies, statistics, analysis, and all that jazz show and say that most people, if not nearly everyone, are drawn to new things. the search for newness has been the prompting for so many inventions, revolutions, revelations, and beauty. including the aforementioned jazz.
and all the while, human experience and history dictates that most people, if not nearly everyone, are terrified of change. fear of change has been the driving force for much hatred, despicable acts, and barriers to progress. and while not all progress is good progress, progress is generally needed.
I had a feeling today. si, si, we all have many feelings every day. though I had a particularly frustrating feeling today. I failed AGAIN on my dietary goals yesterday, fell asleep on the couch without getting the animales their dinners ('suppers' if your in or from Alabama). now I did fall asleep watching a good, scary movie (The Ninth Gate with Johnny Depp, a Roman Polanski joint) surrounded by some beautiful creatures: Scarlett on my right side, nestled/snuggled by my arms on the reclined couch, Trixter on the other couch in her spot, and MA sacked out to my left--the side nearest my heart, though at a safe distance...it is not a good idea to crowd or cramp her during sleepy time.
Though I woke up again at aroudn 3, shuffled off to the bedroom, with one of the pups, pried my contacts out of my eyes, brushed the TERRIBLE taste I get from 'mouth breathing' while I slept and rested for the next few hours. hoping to rise at 6, or 6-ish, make my morning routine journey, and then attend a very cool sounding summit from our North Alabama Conference. It was FRom Wall Street to Main Street to Church Street. this was a gathering from our top economics and finance gurus within the conference to deal with the worsening, seemingly, economic and financial shape of things. I was almost stoked- it has to be something good or real to get me stoked.
I woke up, early! Then I woke up again, on time. And then, as I am prone to do often, I woke up...late.
I pondered going late, half way through, other options. I fed the dogs--they were quite hungry after all! I cleaned up the previous night's "Farnsworth Surprise", several of them, actually and gathered some clothes together.
I was unsure up the road and back. Decided again' it! I would just make my stops, check the electronic world (a near impossibility where I currently reside), get my coffee on--actually, today, I got my coffee and Halloween cookie on!
While surfing/studying/writing/reading--yes, I typically do all of those while in the electronic environment--I discovered that my conference started at 10am! I wasnt too late...at first. I read this at 9:45am!!! My scatter-brained scattered brain foiled me again!
And so I spent the next hour or so, driving, thinking, being frustrated--by myself!
I did end up purchasing a new Moleskin [clue]. With a new Moleskin, and a new determination to write and journal myself into an organized, productive, creative, prosperous state of being, I had to have a new pen. Nothing short of a nice, new, Dr Grip would do.
and so I now am giving these thoughts and frustrations to this digital community. I may be journaling more than I am blogging. Though I am writing. Whatever the cause, the style, the medium or the genre, I am writing.
And that has to be a good thing.
...au revoir...
Friday, October 17, 2008
A New Day, A New Post
greetings, inquiring minds, rockers, hip-hoppers, and people of the Red Sox Nation...and everyone else!
well, it happened again. what a nigth. the miraculous comeback, in large part due to the monster bat of one Senor "Big Papi" David Ortiz, those Red Sox come from seven runs down, and won a must-win game--in regulation, 9 innings! it was so very thrilling.
I was sorely tempted to turn the tube off. generally, I want to do this more and more, and I honeslty believe that turning one's t.v. off is one of the best things one can do for one's life...and the world...and the universe as far as that goes. though, as long as there is baseball in October I will have a t.v., and a healthy dose of superstition and good luck practices. in 2004, during the unbelievable triumph over the Yankees, I watched each game, from the same place and enjoyed the same meal--my den on Oneonta (though technically Lester Memorial's den) and a delicious feta, maybe goat, cheese and onion zah. that would be 'pete's zah'. what can I say, it worked!
this year, it was Farnsworth. the little-big-man, doggy dog. black as midnight, sweet as sugar. he rarely comes upstairs. that is Trixie and Scarlett's turf. F-bomb is typically not behaved well enough to hang in the main audience chamber. though last night, MA went to bed a little early (having to work Friday night). I sat finishing my lovely journey through Eric Clapton's life, through his autobiography, Clapton and waiting to begin my newliterary journey into God's Politics, by Jim Wallis all the while trying to get caught up with CS Lewis' Mere Christianity. these great works are what I should really be writing about, though I still feel the rush from seeing Papi, JD Drew, et al CRUSH some fast balls or'e the short porch in Fenway. btw, Fenway may well be the next pilgremedge for me and MA. its there or Wrigley, we'll see. I am now offically addicted to travel and seeing the world through amazing cities and skies, and country-sides and yes, stadiums.
so while my pen is ready to flow, I seem to be unable to narrow down a particularly prolific topic. I could compose a letter to Joe the Plumber. I could tell of my narrow scrape with Cullman County court system. I have to clear my name, quick and request another court date after having missed mine! just be sure you all have your current proof of insurance if you are driving around in Alabama.
there are some thoughts forming, some good hot written tea a brewin'. this election is nearing. quite a lot to think about--and write about--there. maybe soon. I need to be sure that I know what I am backing up, thinking, voting for. 2 weeks of serious study coming up!
speaking of votes, I am intrigued by the decision to 'go wet or stay dry' in Blount and other counties. that woudk be some good writing, me thinks.
this year, 2008 marks twenty year anniversary of Night Train's, and my, first real public performance on a stage with fans and an actual band. I wont try to collect my memories from that one. just keep a close eye on youtube.com in he coming weeks. you may start with a "Matt Smith guitar hero" search. you wont regret it.
I have been (re)discovering the art of Jeff Beck. this man was and remains a visionary. he the dude doesnt use a pick!!! I would never have guessed by istenign to him, and I call myself listenign to him a lot. my homeboy Lee el Brocko told me so as we gathered the other day and did our fellowship thang. btw, if you know el Brocko, please let him know he needs Farnsworth--and Farnsworth needs him!
I return to Master Cheng in the morning, to complete this season of tai chi and kung fu. I will feel good after this. I will use it, I hope, to springboard my new fitness routine getting ready for a good, healthy fall, new leaf, and perhaps...a new uniform?
well yes, ths is some serious stream of conciousness writing, right here, I say! if you have stuck wiht me thus far, then you get a treat. a new promise that I will not write again (here) unless I have a direct, pithy, vitally prolific topic. I would welcome suggestions.
and, I may just have yet another title for this or some other blog. stay tuned for the grand revelation. a lot going through this mind. pennant baseball will often do that to you. Red Sox baseball will always do it to me!
the Lord bless you and keep you. the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you. the Lord lift up his continence upon you, and give you peace.
MMS
well, it happened again. what a nigth. the miraculous comeback, in large part due to the monster bat of one Senor "Big Papi" David Ortiz, those Red Sox come from seven runs down, and won a must-win game--in regulation, 9 innings! it was so very thrilling.
I was sorely tempted to turn the tube off. generally, I want to do this more and more, and I honeslty believe that turning one's t.v. off is one of the best things one can do for one's life...and the world...and the universe as far as that goes. though, as long as there is baseball in October I will have a t.v., and a healthy dose of superstition and good luck practices. in 2004, during the unbelievable triumph over the Yankees, I watched each game, from the same place and enjoyed the same meal--my den on Oneonta (though technically Lester Memorial's den) and a delicious feta, maybe goat, cheese and onion zah. that would be 'pete's zah'. what can I say, it worked!
this year, it was Farnsworth. the little-big-man, doggy dog. black as midnight, sweet as sugar. he rarely comes upstairs. that is Trixie and Scarlett's turf. F-bomb is typically not behaved well enough to hang in the main audience chamber. though last night, MA went to bed a little early (having to work Friday night). I sat finishing my lovely journey through Eric Clapton's life, through his autobiography, Clapton and waiting to begin my newliterary journey into God's Politics, by Jim Wallis all the while trying to get caught up with CS Lewis' Mere Christianity. these great works are what I should really be writing about, though I still feel the rush from seeing Papi, JD Drew, et al CRUSH some fast balls or'e the short porch in Fenway. btw, Fenway may well be the next pilgremedge for me and MA. its there or Wrigley, we'll see. I am now offically addicted to travel and seeing the world through amazing cities and skies, and country-sides and yes, stadiums.
so while my pen is ready to flow, I seem to be unable to narrow down a particularly prolific topic. I could compose a letter to Joe the Plumber. I could tell of my narrow scrape with Cullman County court system. I have to clear my name, quick and request another court date after having missed mine! just be sure you all have your current proof of insurance if you are driving around in Alabama.
there are some thoughts forming, some good hot written tea a brewin'. this election is nearing. quite a lot to think about--and write about--there. maybe soon. I need to be sure that I know what I am backing up, thinking, voting for. 2 weeks of serious study coming up!
speaking of votes, I am intrigued by the decision to 'go wet or stay dry' in Blount and other counties. that woudk be some good writing, me thinks.
this year, 2008 marks twenty year anniversary of Night Train's, and my, first real public performance on a stage with fans and an actual band. I wont try to collect my memories from that one. just keep a close eye on youtube.com in he coming weeks. you may start with a "Matt Smith guitar hero" search. you wont regret it.
I have been (re)discovering the art of Jeff Beck. this man was and remains a visionary. he the dude doesnt use a pick!!! I would never have guessed by istenign to him, and I call myself listenign to him a lot. my homeboy Lee el Brocko told me so as we gathered the other day and did our fellowship thang. btw, if you know el Brocko, please let him know he needs Farnsworth--and Farnsworth needs him!
I return to Master Cheng in the morning, to complete this season of tai chi and kung fu. I will feel good after this. I will use it, I hope, to springboard my new fitness routine getting ready for a good, healthy fall, new leaf, and perhaps...a new uniform?
well yes, ths is some serious stream of conciousness writing, right here, I say! if you have stuck wiht me thus far, then you get a treat. a new promise that I will not write again (here) unless I have a direct, pithy, vitally prolific topic. I would welcome suggestions.
and, I may just have yet another title for this or some other blog. stay tuned for the grand revelation. a lot going through this mind. pennant baseball will often do that to you. Red Sox baseball will always do it to me!
the Lord bless you and keep you. the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you. the Lord lift up his continence upon you, and give you peace.
MMS
Monday, October 6, 2008
Coming Soon...Scattered Thoughts
hello faithful readers, writers, visionaries, and revolutionaries
as per my recent covenant, I wanted to give an entry--a quick one--today and say hi to my vast scores of readers. hi! (so old and cliched a joke, I know. my father would be proud!)
today, I am just going to state my goals for blog topics. those coming soon...
evangelical: biblical, or political? who knows the difference? answer: most people claiming to be 'evangelical' do not. Bill Marhe has no idea. I will do my best to enlighten. once I find out.
and
when did it become completely unacceptable to think differently, offer a voice of decent, and when did people nation-wide automatically know that if one professes to be a Christian that they no longer use profanity, cannot believe in ghosts, are war-mongers, want to burn textbooks that teach the theory of evolution (personally, I am fine with a wide variety of theories), will not listen to AC/DC, are militant homophobes, and all the other idiotic prejudged false truths?
and
Rick and Bubba, James Dobson, Sarah Palin, and hundreds of thousands and it seems most Alabamians do not represent the beliefs of every Christian, and in my opinion, they do not represent most, outside of the fundamentalist south and scattered other areas of the world. a Christian cn actually be something other than a NASCAR fan or a Republican. not that both NASCAR fans or Republicans cant be wonderful folks. I know many that are just that--wonderful folks.
and
just as Barack Obama is not the anti-Christ, Nick Saban is not the second coming of Christ. he just represents an opportunity for success, excellence, and a tradition of honor that just may be sent from the Divine. (true I have no idea how to spell Obama's name, correctly)
and
I am working on finishing the album of our old band, Shere Khan aka The Shere Khan Band, aka Sh*t Can, aka SK...and I have decided to create a new, fully armed and operational solo album!!!
and
some general frustrations with people that throw their cigarettes anywhere they please,
and those that will not move from the fast lane when giving the time-honored request to pass. often these people are one in the same. and often, they receive the time-honored symbol of disapproval!
and
jazz, particularly Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Bill Evans and many, many of the cats from that era (the Golden Age?) can be, at the right time, nothing short of sublime bliss.
and
Farnsworth
...there's a lot on my mind.
as per my recent covenant, I wanted to give an entry--a quick one--today and say hi to my vast scores of readers. hi! (so old and cliched a joke, I know. my father would be proud!)
today, I am just going to state my goals for blog topics. those coming soon...
evangelical: biblical, or political? who knows the difference? answer: most people claiming to be 'evangelical' do not. Bill Marhe has no idea. I will do my best to enlighten. once I find out.
and
when did it become completely unacceptable to think differently, offer a voice of decent, and when did people nation-wide automatically know that if one professes to be a Christian that they no longer use profanity, cannot believe in ghosts, are war-mongers, want to burn textbooks that teach the theory of evolution (personally, I am fine with a wide variety of theories), will not listen to AC/DC, are militant homophobes, and all the other idiotic prejudged false truths?
and
Rick and Bubba, James Dobson, Sarah Palin, and hundreds of thousands and it seems most Alabamians do not represent the beliefs of every Christian, and in my opinion, they do not represent most, outside of the fundamentalist south and scattered other areas of the world. a Christian cn actually be something other than a NASCAR fan or a Republican. not that both NASCAR fans or Republicans cant be wonderful folks. I know many that are just that--wonderful folks.
and
just as Barack Obama is not the anti-Christ, Nick Saban is not the second coming of Christ. he just represents an opportunity for success, excellence, and a tradition of honor that just may be sent from the Divine. (true I have no idea how to spell Obama's name, correctly)
and
I am working on finishing the album of our old band, Shere Khan aka The Shere Khan Band, aka Sh*t Can, aka SK...and I have decided to create a new, fully armed and operational solo album!!!
and
some general frustrations with people that throw their cigarettes anywhere they please,
and those that will not move from the fast lane when giving the time-honored request to pass. often these people are one in the same. and often, they receive the time-honored symbol of disapproval!
and
jazz, particularly Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Bill Evans and many, many of the cats from that era (the Golden Age?) can be, at the right time, nothing short of sublime bliss.
and
Farnsworth
...there's a lot on my mind.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
A, Rather My, New Covenant
Bonjour dear reader,
to the millions, possibly trillions, maybe even googol of readers out there, I, upon the urging of a true friend and fellow artist (pickin', grinnin', bloggin', thinkin'), have decided to challenge myself. Hereby be it known to all mens and w0men-folk that: whereas, the truth is out there and whereas, people need the truth and whereas, I have something to say:
I will be doing my level darndest to keep an entry coming to this blog, and/or The Gospel in Baileyton every week. Keeping in mind, I live in a beautiful, little, rural, farm-land town in Cullman County--yes, home to the Baileyton Good Time Drag Strip! MA and I love living there, though the only drawback I can find (other than one noisy neighbor family and a few snakeskins here and there) is the painful lack of broadband internet. The is hope; there is always hope.
We can get the internets. We have the technology.
A blog topic in its own right is the injustice that there are places that have access to all the online and downlaodable information in all the world--to include places like Kenya, Thailand, and even areas of Siberia, I'd guestimate--and yet, some places that are denied the ability to connect to this world wide web. The selection of who gets hi-speed, broadband internets and who doesnt is based solely on profit. As is most everything. Right and wrong, justice or no, has little bearing. And I am willing to pay my [ridiculous] price for this service! We are denied dsl, cable, and other commonly available internet platforms because there arent enough others to make it financially sound for "Big Internets"--yes, AT&T, Charter and all the rest. This makes me mad. Yes, mad like a goat!
Though with the spirit sound of We Shall Overcome and other shouts of righteousness, justice and hope ringing in my crown, I still commit to posting with prunish regularity! You may get a silly, short, disjointed piece such as this. Or, you may just stumble across some variant reading, or 'Varia Lecto' as we...I like to call it. It may give you that moment of clarity. It may point you in the direction of the Divine. It may spark your determination to help call upon the power of the people to abolish--once and for all--interleague play. It may do all these things and more. It may make you mad as a goat!
And so, more and more, I'll get back to you!
MMS, Esquire
to the millions, possibly trillions, maybe even googol of readers out there, I, upon the urging of a true friend and fellow artist (pickin', grinnin', bloggin', thinkin'), have decided to challenge myself. Hereby be it known to all mens and w0men-folk that: whereas, the truth is out there and whereas, people need the truth and whereas, I have something to say:
I will be doing my level darndest to keep an entry coming to this blog, and/or The Gospel in Baileyton every week. Keeping in mind, I live in a beautiful, little, rural, farm-land town in Cullman County--yes, home to the Baileyton Good Time Drag Strip! MA and I love living there, though the only drawback I can find (other than one noisy neighbor family and a few snakeskins here and there) is the painful lack of broadband internet. The is hope; there is always hope.
We can get the internets. We have the technology.
A blog topic in its own right is the injustice that there are places that have access to all the online and downlaodable information in all the world--to include places like Kenya, Thailand, and even areas of Siberia, I'd guestimate--and yet, some places that are denied the ability to connect to this world wide web. The selection of who gets hi-speed, broadband internets and who doesnt is based solely on profit. As is most everything. Right and wrong, justice or no, has little bearing. And I am willing to pay my [ridiculous] price for this service! We are denied dsl, cable, and other commonly available internet platforms because there arent enough others to make it financially sound for "Big Internets"--yes, AT&T, Charter and all the rest. This makes me mad. Yes, mad like a goat!
Though with the spirit sound of We Shall Overcome and other shouts of righteousness, justice and hope ringing in my crown, I still commit to posting with prunish regularity! You may get a silly, short, disjointed piece such as this. Or, you may just stumble across some variant reading, or 'Varia Lecto' as we...I like to call it. It may give you that moment of clarity. It may point you in the direction of the Divine. It may spark your determination to help call upon the power of the people to abolish--once and for all--interleague play. It may do all these things and more. It may make you mad as a goat!
And so, more and more, I'll get back to you!
MMS, Esquire
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Confessions of a Braves Fan
It was a case of mistaken identity. Couldn't have been anythign else. IT was humiliating and a little exciting all at once. An Orioles fan--one of the handful of faithful that sat and screamed...and drank in Yankee Stadium--looked back at me, after I looked and grinned at him dressed in full-on orange Orioles regalia, and said, kindly, "yeah, go ahead, smerk it up, buddy".
This gentlemen had mistaken me, of all people, for a Yankees fan. It could have been that I was in Yankee Stadium. And yes, I was dressed in a Yankees shirt. That one night, if I'd've had the navy pinstripes, I'd've worn them. For one night only, I was a Yankees fan.
This gentlemen had mistaken me, of all people, for a Yankees fan. It could have been that I was in Yankee Stadium. And yes, I was dressed in a Yankees shirt. That one night, if I'd've had the navy pinstripes, I'd've worn them. For one night only, I was a Yankees fan.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Where Have All the Three Rivers Gone?
It is time to start venting a little bit, and get things off my chest, out of my mind and cast them upon the blogosphere.
There are a few things that must end--immediately!
I'm just going to list them, and maybe one day, as a means of bringing peace, touch on them a little bit more.
First up:
Beautiful, new, state-of-the-art baseball stadiums, football stadiums, basketball and hockey arenas, concert venues, and convention centers MUST NO LONGER BE NAMED AFTER CORPORATE OWNERS!
Sure, those who own something have a right to name that thing whatever they want, though shouldn't artistic flair, common sense, or a fight against the ridiculous have something to say?
Minute Maid Park. Please. (I know the Astrodome is gone, though it was soooo much cooler. How about the Astroplaine)
The Los Angeles Forum. Grand. Majestic. Legendary, Roman-esque, historic. Now it is the...The Staples Center. Business. Boring. Blah.
The Cincinatti Reds got lucky. The moved from Riverfront (a classically named, classic astro turf 70's icon) into the brand-spanking new The Great American Ballpark. I know what you're thinking, "that name sounds cool MMS, what's your problem with that one?". Admittedly, it does sound cool. Though it comes from you guessed it, The Great American Insurance Company!!! Yeah, they just got lucky.
Two beautiful, historic outdoor concert venues. Oak Mountain Amphitheater (in my dear Biirmingham) and Lakewood. It would take a blog of its own to begin to capture the magic and beauty that has been given to the world through the years at these havens...at roughly 140 db!
Now they are...The Verizon Wireless Music Amphitheater and Hi Fi Buys Amphitheater, respectively. Disrespectively, rather.
PetCo park. Pac Bell. What happened to Jack Murphy and Candlestick? Is there a cooler name for a San Fransisco ballpark than Candlestick???!!!
The new New York Mets stadium, which should be prolific being that it's New York and all, is going to be called Citi stadium. Not City, which would be cool for New York. Not Citi, as in a cool (not reallt that cool) way of spelling city, but Citi as in the bank!
And whatever the Blue Jays used to call their park destroys the ridiculous name they now call it...I just can't remember what either name is.
And there is now a Movie Gallery Stadium. I'd just as soon tail gate at Feces Field!
The latest dagger stabbed me last night. The time-transcendent monument, oft snow drenched, classic, pursit, football battleground has been lost. For those who enjoy their NFL with their mile-high club, we always had the aesthetic and nostalgia of Milehigh Stadium in Denver. Mork and Mindy even pranched around this hallowed ground as Mile High. It is now called--get the Pepto--Invesco Field. Never mind Pepto...too late.
The dilemma? I have no clue what to do about it. I just hope and wait for people to come to their senses and stop worshipping our ads, our p.r. and the capitalistic slave machine, the 'almighty' dollar. Please join me--cry out!
You can take my ticket money at the Fleet Center, but you'll never take my Boston Garden!!!
Goodbye Comisky, The Spectrum, Polo Grounds, Ebbitts Field, The Omni, the original Yankee Stadium, and yes, even Shea!
Death to SafeCo, BankOne Ballpark, Citizens Bank, This Bank/That Bank, US Cellular, Heinz Field...and Ronald McDonaldland #1 Super Size Combo Park, when it gets here.
Though long live Fenway, Wrigley, Dodger Stadium, Giants Stadium, Rickwood and yes, even Tuner Field!
*(Spelling highly subject to incorrectness.)
Next time, for the love of all that is decent and tolerable, please, EVERYONE stop saying, "it is what it is". I will not even ask you to explain what the phrase means. I doubt you know anyway.
pax,
MMS
There are a few things that must end--immediately!
I'm just going to list them, and maybe one day, as a means of bringing peace, touch on them a little bit more.
First up:
Beautiful, new, state-of-the-art baseball stadiums, football stadiums, basketball and hockey arenas, concert venues, and convention centers MUST NO LONGER BE NAMED AFTER CORPORATE OWNERS!
Sure, those who own something have a right to name that thing whatever they want, though shouldn't artistic flair, common sense, or a fight against the ridiculous have something to say?
Minute Maid Park. Please. (I know the Astrodome is gone, though it was soooo much cooler. How about the Astroplaine)
The Los Angeles Forum. Grand. Majestic. Legendary, Roman-esque, historic. Now it is the...The Staples Center. Business. Boring. Blah.
The Cincinatti Reds got lucky. The moved from Riverfront (a classically named, classic astro turf 70's icon) into the brand-spanking new The Great American Ballpark. I know what you're thinking, "that name sounds cool MMS, what's your problem with that one?". Admittedly, it does sound cool. Though it comes from you guessed it, The Great American Insurance Company!!! Yeah, they just got lucky.
Two beautiful, historic outdoor concert venues. Oak Mountain Amphitheater (in my dear Biirmingham) and Lakewood. It would take a blog of its own to begin to capture the magic and beauty that has been given to the world through the years at these havens...at roughly 140 db!
Now they are...The Verizon Wireless Music Amphitheater and Hi Fi Buys Amphitheater, respectively. Disrespectively, rather.
PetCo park. Pac Bell. What happened to Jack Murphy and Candlestick? Is there a cooler name for a San Fransisco ballpark than Candlestick???!!!
The new New York Mets stadium, which should be prolific being that it's New York and all, is going to be called Citi stadium. Not City, which would be cool for New York. Not Citi, as in a cool (not reallt that cool) way of spelling city, but Citi as in the bank!
And whatever the Blue Jays used to call their park destroys the ridiculous name they now call it...I just can't remember what either name is.
And there is now a Movie Gallery Stadium. I'd just as soon tail gate at Feces Field!
The latest dagger stabbed me last night. The time-transcendent monument, oft snow drenched, classic, pursit, football battleground has been lost. For those who enjoy their NFL with their mile-high club, we always had the aesthetic and nostalgia of Milehigh Stadium in Denver. Mork and Mindy even pranched around this hallowed ground as Mile High. It is now called--get the Pepto--Invesco Field. Never mind Pepto...too late.
The dilemma? I have no clue what to do about it. I just hope and wait for people to come to their senses and stop worshipping our ads, our p.r. and the capitalistic slave machine, the 'almighty' dollar. Please join me--cry out!
You can take my ticket money at the Fleet Center, but you'll never take my Boston Garden!!!
Goodbye Comisky, The Spectrum, Polo Grounds, Ebbitts Field, The Omni, the original Yankee Stadium, and yes, even Shea!
Death to SafeCo, BankOne Ballpark, Citizens Bank, This Bank/That Bank, US Cellular, Heinz Field...and Ronald McDonaldland #1 Super Size Combo Park, when it gets here.
Though long live Fenway, Wrigley, Dodger Stadium, Giants Stadium, Rickwood and yes, even Tuner Field!
*(Spelling highly subject to incorrectness.)
Next time, for the love of all that is decent and tolerable, please, EVERYONE stop saying, "it is what it is". I will not even ask you to explain what the phrase means. I doubt you know anyway.
pax,
MMS
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