Freeeeeedooooom

If you own an iphone, stop what you are doing and download iliberty. I just finished playing Super Mario Brothers on my phone. My iphone now records video. My iphone now had GPS. My iphone has a bazillion games. My iphone has an etch'n'scetch. (the image goes away when you shake it.) My iphone now has the entire KJV on it. My iphone can edit photos. I can watch tv on my iphone and listen to satellite radio. My iphone has a guitar tuner on it. (A real one that hears the pitch.) My iphone has a piano on it that records whatever tune comes to my head. My iphone has a voice recorder on it. I can record songs on it with a band simluator. It can do just about anything you want it to. My iphone has guitar hero on it and I can make my own songs.... say like a guitar hero track with just the cello line to Elenor Rigby. Pretty soon, the iphone will change the tech-world, forever. It has been liberated and it is more amazing than I ever imagined it to be. The iphone even can run pro-tools, remotely. That means, when I'm by the mic and by myself, I can use my iphone as a remote controller to the protools. Oh, and its also a phone.

It is truly amazing. Astounding.

Coming Soon To a Blog Near You... (my blog, btw)

Also... New news from the Neuropsychologist... Seth Ward is officially ADHD, slightly dyslexic, and...

Evidently, according to the doc and his preliminary initial assessment of my test results... I'm officially OCD. Been that way since I was a little tike. Furthermore, the ADD acts as a nice little compliment to the OCD. I tend to obsess over the things that I can't remember and mull over them - obsessively until I no longer sleep. Causes ALLLLL kinds of guilt and procrastination. Pretty enlightening stuff. It was one of those moments when someone tells you something and its like a GONG goes off that sort of explains the missing piece that describes your whole life's angst.

I've always playfully suspected OCD because when I was a kid I used to get up 4 times a night to check the oven and door locks, and worry constantly that I had every disease that I would hear or read about, and worry that a fire would consume us all in the night, and worry about my sisters dying, and worry about the end times, and worry that my mom and dad were getting divorced, even though they were and still are hot on each other. It it wasn't for my mom and dad's patient understanding, I'd probably be in the looney bin. It became a weekly routine to wake my dear old dad up in the middle of the night with my new fear and obsession for the week. I can still see my dad sitting across the living room, in his recliner, with his disheveled hair and wearing his robe telling me, "no son, your growth isn't stunted and you don't have a brain tumor. It's all in your mind, well not the tumor just your worryin' about it. You are perfectly fine. Now, lets pray."

I suppose that tendency to obsess never went away.

I guess I just thought I eventually grew out of those old OCD tendencies. Try again. Still there evidently. I'll hear the full report next week after the doc and his crew have had a chance to decipher the code of my noggin. And good lord, what a test. All day at looking at puzzles and answering the MOST probing questions imaginable. Sheesh. However when the real couch sessions started, it turned out to be pretty darn cool.

Anyways, until then, you will get a full update on my theories of planet X and how it will very soon change our world... forever.

H-Town fun: White and Nerdy.

Since I've been back in Houston, I have:

Played for my Church here, and sang one of my favorite hymns with some of my favorite people.

In the process of mixing several tracks of an upcoming record that I produced for my good buddy, Cary. (Gonna rock people!)

Recorded a new song of mine in the wee hours of the morning with Josh Moore.

Taken a German exam for my Doctorate, (and rocked it, I hope... dear Lord please.)

Played with my little niece and nephew until they about gave me a heart attack.

And, last but not least, I got to play on a major up and coming Rap Hip Hop record. That's right, you heard me. It was so darn cool. I don't even like rap music, or didn't... I should say. My buddy, Josh Moore, producer and writer of some of Caedmon's Call's best and most well-known songs songs, not to mention the co-producer and writer of Bethany Dillon's first record, not to mention Bitter Kiss- his greatest opus, is now... producing an incredible Rap record for a pretty darn famous Hip Hop artist. (whose name I am not allowed to tell) This particular Rapper has 3 songs right now in the top ten billboard hits or whatever. Evidently Houston is somewhat of a new phenom when it comes to rap music. Something called the Dirty South. So, old Sethro will have his name listed on this guys next record as one of the musicians.

However, my trip really hasn't felt complete because I haven't managed to fit in some sort of major dental torture. There's always next time.

My Belle's Birthday

29 years ago, to the day, my dream-of-a wife was born into this world. This is the first of her birthdays since we've been married that we've had to spend apart, and I hope it is the last. I absolutely hate it that I can't be with her on her birthday, but I'm so grateful that her mother, my unbelievably wonderful mother-in-law, is keeping her company and that they are getting to spend some quality mother daughter time while I take a German test.

Enough pouting though. Good lord, what do I have to complain about? I am blessed beyond all that I could have ever hoped for with my wonderful wife. She makes me laugh harder than anyone than anyone I've ever met. The fact is, I'm just not right when I'm not with her. I love her more each and every day.

Not only is she the most incredibly beautiful, talented, creative woman I've ever met or seen, she is the best friend I've ever had. Every year she gets more and more gorgeous. It just blows my mind.

Happy birthday to my darling off-the-charts-incredible wife. You inspire me, you challenge me, and encourage me and I Love you.

The Real State of the Union (Before the War)

The Carson Daily Mystery

Am I the only person that watches Carson Daily with a strong sense of shock and awe? Is he really that good at duping people into thinking that he is cool, or least of all, funny? I have tried, over and over to find some reason why he has a show and I have come up empty handed and in full yawn, every single time.

Maybe it's because he reminds me of one of those popular guys in High School that somehow knew all the popular hot girls. One of those guys that just seemed untouchable. One of those guys who you just knew... that if you could just get to be his buddy, THEN you'd have a chance with the cheerleaders. But then, when you got to know him, you found out that he was really a doof, and you wonder why in the world you ever left all of your poor, lower-class but super-hilarious friends to climb the social ladder to be best buddies with a complete gonad.

I hate to be mean, but I really don't think the man is one tiny bit funny. I think he did a good job on MTV, because he was sort of "that kind of chap." Next to Britney, he even seemed a little authentic. But sweet Jehosophat, he is no comedian nor is he near the coolness of Conan, by a long shot. Yet, it is painfully apparent that someone thinks he is cool. It is just kinda sickening to watch. I almost feel sorry for him. I've never watched a talk show where so many of my emotions are vying for dominance: Hatred, compassion, boredom, sleepiness, (not an emotion really), smugness, indifference...

I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who just love him to death. God bless you. But me, I don't know... maybe it just brings back to many painful high school and leaving too many good friends behind.

Whatever the case. I tried to like Carson. I failed. Therefore, nary another moment shall be waisted watching yon Carson.

Ladies, Will This Be You In 70 Years?

Sometimes I dream of seeing something so funny. This can't be real. Did she really just fall asleep right there?

HWBJAR? = How Would Bad Jesus-Actor Respond?

I'm always trying to find new and creative ways to respond to people that either annoy or offend me. From now on, I am going to respond to them as if I am a bad Jesus actor in one of those old horrible Easter movies.

I think I might be the perfect solution. For instance, every time someone approaches me and says something like, "Excuse me, I was here first," when they really weren't first before me in the Starbux line, I will turn to them with a look of peace and say, very calmly, "And that is not all that isn't first in your life, my child." (Referring to them as "my child," even if it is an old lady.)

Then I would slightly close my eyes and make some sort of prophesy. "In fact, you should be thinking about who your husband has first in his life... your nanny seems to be enjoying first dibs at a great many things..., my child."

It is very important, if you try this, that you end everything with "my child."


However, I would refrain from trying this out on your spouse. I have a feeling it won't have the same effect.

I'm thinking Brant should try this on his morning show to various callers.

In the News This Week...

Evidently, another level of hell was discovered when this here Sheriff was arrested for forcing some of his lady inmates to do things with him that one would rather not imagine.







Scratch that... The level of Hell that Sheriff Burges was thought be adding... It turns out that Microsoft is pulling the plug on Windows XP. In doing so, they opened a level in Hell for Sheriff Burges to rule.

Hey, I Didn't Paint this Picture.

Laminin: The protein glue that holds the human body together.
I know that many would scoff at this. I might be tempted as well. This may be a little corny, but... if you are God-believing man or woman... I don't know... seems a little bit like a put up job to me.

Random-Thursday-Night-During-Commercials Post

Weeeeeeeeeell

Lambs eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy
a kid'll eat ivy too. A kid'll eat ivy too wouldn't you.

Sometimes I like to start out my posts with happy little songs. Or about unhealthy things I like to eat or drink.

Tonight, for a little excitement, Amber and I walked down to the corner Grocery store and bought some chips and Coke Zero. I went home and poured a cup of Sugar into the bottle. That's not true. I wish I had that kind of guts... those kinds of guts? Anyways. You know you are losing your manhood when you are watching the tube with a box of reduced fat Nilla Wafers sitting on your belly and a bottle of frosty Coke Zero to wash them down. Next I'll be watching Grey's Anatomy and painting my toenails.

Well that's about it for tonight folks. Show's back on.

Mainly I posted this because I don't like clicking over to my blog and only seeing some deep, long boring post dangling out there.

At least, that's what she said. (Bu-dum-splash!)


G'nite everyone!

Okay, another quick joke. When George Bush was asked if he ever tested for dyslexia, he responded, "On!"

Take Today, For Instance

Today is the most drop-dead, jaw-dropping, lick-an-ice-cream-cone-and-sing-songs-while-skipping beautiful day I have maybe ever seen. The trees are budding pink, white, yellow, green... it was about 65 degrees in the shade, 69 degrees in the sun, just cool enough to wear a light jacket, but just warm enough to wear a t-shirt and shorts - if you really wanted to sit in the sun. Central Park was packed with happy-as-a-lark New Yorkers at 3:00 when Amber and I went for a walk. People really do get in a good mood up here when the day is pretty. I can see why.

And its days like today, that I don't really feel like theology does the trick. See, I think most times when I dive into the theological depths, I say that I am looking for God, but what I am really doing is assuring myself that there is a God and that I am going to heaven. I think at the bottom of that can be all about "me." And I think I should think about "me" a little less. I think I should maybe quit trying to "know myself and where I fit in it all" a little bit less.

I think if maybe ever' once in a while we could try to know our neighbor, then maybe we wouldn't be so worried about predestination or whatever. I think if I can spend about 3 minutes not thinking about myself and ponder the wonders of that tree covered in white flowers, just swaying in the wind like its waving at the sky, I'll probably get the best theology lesson I've had in weeks, maybe years.

After all, Jesus didn't say, "Consider the Trinity..." or "Consider free will," or "Consider dispensationalism."

Nope, He said. "Just sit still for a minute. Stop worrying. Consider those Lilies over there."

Maybe the best theology lessons are sometimes found in loving our neighbor and looking at lilies.

For About Five Minutes, Once A Month...

I get tired of theology. I don't know. I just want to be. All my life I've been drawn to theology, otherwise known as "the art of ignoring Genesis."

When I was 9 years old I added up how old the earth should be, according to Genesis, and began my path of questioning the existence of God. My dad sat on the edge of my bed, a little stunned as I showed him my faulty math (by my calculations the bible said that the earth was only 2000 year old) and declared that I wasn't sure that I believed in God anymore.

"Well, why would you wonder a thing like that?"

"I don't know... It just doesn't seem to add up."

"Lots of things in life don't add up, Son, but that doesn't mean that you can stop breathing."

I'd say that is probably the best answer the man could have given me. He didn't tell me that I should be ashamed of my doubt. He didn't give me some cockamamie pseudo-scientific explanation that would just be shattered later. He opened the door to a little thing called "Mystery."

But we had just moved from our family into a big scary city and I was really feeling mad a God for moving us, since my dad had moved us to go to seminary...

Honestly, that is what some crap a Christian therapist would tell me. But, I don't think that's really it. I don't think I really ever doubted God. I just doubted the bible and what was taught to me in Sunday School. My whole life I've been plagued with an allergy to closed-off, rigid Christian thinking. When I was twelve I got into a small fight with my Sunday school teacher because I asked him, "Well, isn't the act of asking Jesus to come into your heart kind of a work?... and doesn't the bible say 'By grace you've been saved, through faith, not by works.'" He didn't like where that was going and tried to close that line of questioning. But I wouldn't let up. "And where does it actually say, "ask Jesus into your heart?" He didn't like that question either. And it really made mad that he couldn't answer. He was supposed to know. I mean, he acted like he knew everything.

This kind of doubt poked at me throughout middle school and into high school, even though I remained a goody-two-shoes, however plagued with the normal, constant state of adolescent lust. Come to think of it... what a torturous time. No wonder I felt so guilty all the time. Anyways... enough about that. Ahem.

It wasn't until my freshman year in college that things started to make a little sense. Because when I was 19 I experienced my 30 seconds as an atheist.

I was sitting in my front lawn, looking at the trees and trying to reconcile it all. It just didn't add up. So, I said, "Okay, I don't believe in God." What followed was one of the "realest" feeling moments of my life. It was like a spirit or perspective that had been with my whole life, removed itself from me. Suddenly everything looked heart-breakingly empty, hollow... even sorta scary. I felt empty. The worst emptiness I had ever felt. "I TAKE IT BACK, I TAKE IT BACK... Okay, Lord, then send me a little help, would ya?"

He did. It all came in the well-known book called "Mere Christianity." There hasn't been a book since, besides the Good Book, that has mad a greater impact upon me. And where had that material been my whole life? Why is Mere Christianity such a powerful book to so many? I think because most people grow up being taught bad doctrine by well-meaning but not-so-well-informed Sunday School teachers and Youth Ministers. They grow up hearing things that are just flat out wrong about scripture that come from a minds that are so rigid that one could play ping pong on any side of the brain.

The fact is that many protestants think that all they need to understand the great depth that lies in the Bible is the Bible and the mind that the Good Lord gave them. Well, folks, that ain't true. Just ask David Koresh. Just ask half the preachers in the South during segregation. The fact is, that we can make the Bible say about anything we want it to say and the whole time feeeeeeel like the Holy Spirit is just a' moving right along side us. Anyways... I digress into my critical mode. God bless sundayschool teachers, ever' one. And I mean that. It is a hard and thankless job and if you are a Sunday School teacher reading this and you don't feel qualified to teach, then you are probably just the right man/woman for the job. You are the ones that will most likely do your homework and get many points of view, and lean not on your own understanding.

And THAT is what I'm talking about when I say I like to take a break from it all. I just like to sit back, read a few Psalms, and enjoy the pretty weather. Sometimes I just want to say, and please forgive my irreverence, "Ahhh, dispensationalism vs. Covenant... Calvinism vs. Catholicism (because Armenian doesn't make a lick of sense)... Millenialst vs. Premillinialist ... ..... ..... seriously. Who gives a flying peanut-covered turd?"

I mean, is any of that stuff matter to a woman whose just had the crap beat out of her by her husband? Does any of that matter to a family who just lost their dad and can't pay their bills? Does any of that stuff matter to the young couple who just moved to NYC and got evicted from their apartment within the first 3 months? Does any of that matter to the lillies of the friggin field? Me thinks not.

But, it is my plague to care, and I am drawn to it like Micheal Moore is drawn to Pizza. and like I said, for five minutes or so, every month, I achieve a little Christian Nirvana... I don't care one bit.

Passive Aggression. I Bet You Think This Blog is About You. Don't You Don't You?

Okay, so I'm thinking I might not have been as clear as I should have been. I'm afraid that I've upset some of my Southern Brethren. For that, I apologize.

Being passive aggressive doesn't have anything to do with being from the North or the South. (However I think the South it is more common.) Being passive aggressive doesn't have anything to do with being polite or grown-up or manners or any of that jazz. No, you shouldn't tell people that they offended you every time they look at you funny. That is not passive aggression.

Passive aggression is about aggression. A-gress-i-on. And purposefully and aggressively harming someone, is wrong. Period. Whether it is passive or not. I prefer the up-in-your-face aggression, myself. At least I know what I'm dealing with.

Passive aggression is a kind of aggression that does not confront. Instead it battles whatever it is that it is mad at or hates, by manipulation, procrastination, paying its employee late, or less, or never... or whatever.

Two examples. One is P.A. and one is not.

Non-passive-aggressive Jeff
1. Sally is mean to Jeff. Jeff blows it off because he knows Sally gets a little "funny" once a month or so, and Jeff goes about his business.

P.A. Jeff
2. Sally is mean to Jeff. Even though Jeff knows its something about a monthly cycle, Jeff decides to retaliate. But Jeff is a little too afraid of Sally to do it directly. So instead of attacking Sally to her face, Jeff gives her the silent treatment all afternoon, and then purposefully takes his time to get ready for Sally's business party and makes her late.

Example number 2.

Non P.A. Samuel

1. Samuel believes that his German language exam is stupidly difficult, considering he is a music DMA candidate. However, Samuel accepts the difficulty as one of life's pain-in-the-ass things and buckles down and studies as if he is about to be the U.N. translator for the German Chancellor.

P.A. Samuel
2. Samuel believes that his German language exam is stupidly difficult, considering he is a music DMA candidate. Samuel silently rebels by refusing to study and finally, Samuel is forced to cheat on his exam.

Example number 3.

Non-P.A. Daniel and Helen
1. Daniel hates it that his wife, Helen no longer wants to have hanky panky with him. Daniel sits Helen down and in a very nice and understanding way, expresses that his needs are not being met. Helen tells Daniel that she wishes Daniel was more romantic, like he used to be when they were dating. Daniel says he is sorry and starts bringing Helen flowers and other sweet things that he used to do. Daniel starts wearing cologne. Daniel stops wearing his favorite underoos every night, the ones that barely cover the essentials, and buys some J. Crew boxers. In no time-flat, Daniel and Helen are back doing the marital shigg-nasty and all is well.

P.A. Daniel (and probably Helen too)
2. Daniel hates it that his wife, Helen, no longer wants to have hanky panky. Instead of confronting his wife and communicating his feelings, Daniel first tries to accept things as they are and tries to bury his frustration and anger. Then, Daniel resorts to expressing his sexuality in other ways, justifying his actions by saying, "well, if she isn't going to help me out, I'm getting what I need elsewhere." Then ten years down the road, Daniel meets another woman that finds him attractive at a local work event. In two weeks, two months or a year, Daniel has left his wife and runnoft with his new happiness. Leaving the wife (and possibly kids) bewildered.

Now, that second scenario obviously is going to be much more complicated. And not all divorces happen that way. But my dad is a preacher, as many of you know, and he did his own dissertation on divorce and has counseled many-a-almost-divorced couple over their passive aggressive tendencies and some opened up the lines of communication and some didn't. Take a guess at the ones that end up staying together. I also have have many, many friends who have failed in their marriage because both couples never confronted each other, they simply let it build and retaliated passive aggressively. One couple got so bad that in the morning, the wife would make coffee, pour herself a cup and then pour out the rest before the husband could get a cup of his own. Sounds absurd, but that's what years and years of passive aggression will do to ya.

I hope I've done a better job this time around.

And I will say this a clearly as I can. If any of these events, (besides the coffee true story) resemble any of my readers, it was and is a complete coincidence. As the Lord of Hosts is my witness. I am not talking about anyone that I know. (Accept for the coffee couple and I don't really know them anymore.)

Are You Passive Aggressive?

I know I am. I have to fight it. Most people are a little passive aggressive, especially in their marriage, but some people are masters at it, like me. I have battled it and I've gotten pretty decent at overcoming it, but there are still a few kinds of people that really turn on my passive aggressive faucets. Here is one of the greatest traits of a passive aggressive personality: Instead of confronting you on what is really bothering us, we will inadvertently attempt to punish you or correct you by either, 1. Ignoring you, 2. telling you that you are wrong by pointing out to someone else what we hate about you, without ever really addressing you personally.

Say, I'm at a party. And my neighbor is there. And my neighbor has been making a bunch of noise. Instead of directly confronting my neighbor, I will talk to another friend, while my neighbor is present, and mention how much I hate loud noise at night and how neighbors that play loud music after 10 should be shot. So, the neighbor is standing there, and they say, "Oh, I hope that wasn't me. I had loud music on the other night!" And you turn to your neighbor, sugar sweet, because you have avoided confrontation, and say, "Oh, no, you guys are great! It's those other guys that get on my nerves."

The neighbor walks away, but somehow knows that they were talking about them but just didn't say so.

The saddest part about that whole confrontation is what it does to the friendship. Because dishonesty was sown into the meeting, it is, until resolved, permanently damaged. Passive aggressive people try to teach others a lesson by teaching everyone else a lesson except the person that they are really trying to teach a lesson to.

In the deep South, (Alabama, Georgia, and some parts of Texas-usually from the Deep South but immigrated to Texas,) passive aggressive is called: "Politeness." It is taught and grafted into our genes. In the north, it is called talking out your ass. In the north they go the opposite way and the natural disposition is crabby. Whereas in the South it is a smile with a dagger waiting just under the petticoat. There are pros and cons to both, in my opinion, but in the end, I prefer the honesty. It hurts, but it is a much better treatment for the problem.

When I was going through my heavy metal phase in High School, I remember a certain Deacon's wife who always taught our Sunday School class. Instead of saying, "Seth, I don't think that Heavy Metal music is good for your soul," she would say, "So class, how is Sodom and Gomorah like listening to dangerous Heavy Metal music?" I do that stuff to Amber sometimes, if she has done something that has hurt my feelings. It is a good thing for me that she sees right through it, and not only sees through it, she just right then and there blows it out in the open. Its just awesome.

One of the MANY reason why I knew Amber was for me is that there isn't a passive aggressive bone in her body. If she disagrees with you, she says so. If she thinks she's offended you, she says so and tries to make it right. She is the truest person I've ever known (to quote Shadowlands.) When I try the silent treatment, she won't have it. She engages me until I spit out why I am mad. She forces me out of cowardice. Which in the end, is what passive aggressive is all about: Being a controlling chicken. You are too afraid of risking damage to the relationship so you try to control it instead of confronting.

I still work on it, to this day, but the biggest breakthrough came with one of my composition teachers at Rice. He was a substitute prof., sitting in for one of the professors on sabatical. Not only was he a great composer at 72, but he was a very skilled and sought-after therapist. I was having some issues about fear and leaving Houston, and he sniffed them out like a hound dog. This man sat me down and very kindly probed and probed until we discovered that it was my passive aggressive , fearful attitude that was keeping me from walking in obedience. It was a double whammy for me, because I'm also a people pleaser. I'll get around saying what I mean because I don't want the person to not like me. That's more cowardice.

I am also very susceptible to the passive aggressive person, because I'm a people pleaser. Passive aggressive people used to be able to do a serious number on me. Man, I mean it. But in the end, I learned that the way to disarm the passive aggressive person (even if they are doing it and don't know it) is a direct, head-on confrontation. It is the equivalent of punching the bully back, in a good way. At that point, the passive aggressive person has two options: They either adapt, and move on into a greater friendship, or they throw up smoke screens and never admit to being offended or affected. But as for you, you are free. You've done what the Lord said, and you can dust-off your feet and move on. If that means move on from the friendship, then sadly, so be it.

The worst part about BEING passive aggressive is that you can never truly forgive if you never admit that you've been harmed or hurt. Your pride hides your hurt-ness and you tuck away the hurt and build up walls, so that no one will hurt you again. It is a dangerous defense mechanism that eventually fosters a bitterness that takes years to get over. And your body is an amazing healing mechanism. It will come out someday, just like an old splinter. It will come out, or it will rot your finger off.

I think if I would have grown up in a different family, I would have been helpless to fight my P.A. tendencies. My family is tremendously confrontational. If you tick them off, they really give you the what-for. If you are hurt, they get it out of you.

It is different for different people. We've all got those traits, I suppose, but Jesus tells us what to do about it: Confront. Walk into the fire. Walk into your fear.

There wasn't a passive aggressive bone in the Lord's body, and there shouldn't be in ours, I mean, YOURS, JOHN!

Blown Away

American Idol: Shout to the Lord


This amazed me last night. I suppose there are loads and loads of Christians everywhere all huffed and puffed because they decided to change the word "Jesus" to "Shepherd." I'm not. Here's why:

(Besides the fact that the Idol contestants, not to mention Dolly Parton when she was on the show, have been singing about Jesus, unashamedly for weeks...)

I'd say the last thing that a Christian should do about all those people singing that song, is complain. God draws all men unto Himself and the road that leads to Him is longer for some than it is for others. (Thanks C-ham for that thought) The worst thing we can do to a soul reaching for Him is to slap his hand every time he reaches because he/she isn't able to keep up with us. Rather, we should work beside them, like a thankful thirsty soul, who's found water, and show them, through love, who the Truth is and how He Loves perfectly and without condition.

The world has grown weary of hyper-critical self-righteous pompous stuck-up judgemental Christians. The Samaritan story is just as poignant as it was when it was told 2000 years ago. However, the smack in the face is less felt since we are not Jews and in this day in age we don't really think of Samaritan as filthy sinners, unfit for the temple.

Substitute the "Good Samaritan" with the "the Good Morman" or the "Good Seeker" and then you've got the proper impact. If it pisses you off, then the words of Jesus have hit the mark they were meant to hit.

No one ever comes to Christ staring down the barrel of a Christian's accusatory index finger.

As my friend Brant put it: "People "get" the Kingdom of God. They can't avoid it. Spend an evening focused on the "least of these", and something like this seems unavoidable."

Mahogany Trash in the Upper West Side

I CAN NOT BELIEVE the furniture that I see sitting on the street in our neighborhood in Manhattan. In the past week I've walked past three different king-sized, hand-carved, oak, mahogany and cherry headboards, just sitting out on the curb, waiting to be thrown into the dump truck with the poopie diapers and snot rags. I'm not talking junk here. I'm talking stuff that looks like it just came off the floor of ... Dillards... or one of those stores where things look good and cost even gooder. (Me no shop)

I've been slowly trying to talk Amber into snagging some of these freebies but she ain't having it. I saw a rocking chair two days ago, again... oak, carved, amazing, but Amber was convinced that some slew of salon perm dogs had probably taken a leak on it, so some other lucky slob got it. (I checked a half and hour later.)

Anywho, yesterday, I walked past two shaped steel and glass-top furniture pieces on the curb out in front of OUR building. Sitting out there like they had dropped off and forgotten by a furniture delivery company. Now, we've got this deck, see. And I just bought four chairs on sale (TEN BUCKS A PEICE!) from Bed Bath and Beyond-overpriced to go on that deck see, but I don't have a table to sit my sweet-tea or cowboy boots upon, and it's almost three weeks into spring, and I'm way to cheapskate go buy one...

But it was the nice looking young couple that stopped at the two tables, in broad daylight, examined both as if they were on the showroom floor, and finally, ran off with the big piece that sent me upstairs with the glass top to the smaller table under one arm and the shaped steel table in the other. I'm mighty proud of my score now sitting on my deck.

It is amazing how much more desirable something becomes when someone else wants it.

I'll Take a Shot

I have decided that I want in on this blowing-the-torch-out action. Not because I hate the Chinese or anything, but because it sounds like fun and like it or not, pissing Chinese people off is a little bit funny. But alas, the torch is across the mainland, far away from my glass of water.

I don't know why we are all so mad about the Chinese though... if we were really mad, I suppose we'd stop wearing about half our clothing, stop using half our electronic devices and we'd stop paying our taxes because thanks to George W., the GREATEST presidente since Andrew Jackson, we are now in debt to China up to our yingyangs.

But, I need my T.V. because American Idol is on and I want to watch and then later, on the news, I want to see if somebody gets in a lucky shot on the torch.

I also heard that the Chinese are now vowing to protect the torch. Weeeeell, maybe in California, a.k.a., sissy-ville, (with the exception of the Govenator- who won because he scared all the sissies) but if that torch came through Texas, the Red army would have a hard time fending off the long range fire-extinguishers that every red-blooded Texan has in each and every closet of their giant homes. Plus, we got oil down there. And the oil men of Texas know how to put out a fire, regardless of how many Ninjas they've got dancing like cracker-jack-chickens around the flame.

Here's and idea: To protest the Chinese, like ever' red-blooded hippy should, I am going run through the living room tonight (all 6 feet of it) with a candle and Amber is going to chunk water on it. Then I'm going to jump around and act angry while I do a few Ninja moves and make up dirty Chinese words. Then I'll sit down with her, pop some popcorn and watch two full hours of Dancing and Singing on my Chinese-special High-def television.

Problem solved.

I should be a politician.

Too Funny Not To Share.

Sometimes, some of you write comments that are so dang funny that they should be their own post. Here is such a comment. Behold, I present to you, "The Stan and the Underwear Caper."

The Stan wrote this in response to the Underwear bra post. Enjoy.

"That reminds me of a story...

You know how you sometimes take off your pants and underwear at the same time?

And then you wear the same pants the next day, but you forget your old underwear is still in them?

And then you're at Costco,and you notice this bit of white sticking out the bottom of your pants leg?

And you don't know what to do because there are people all around, but you can't just leave it there?

And you have this horrifying realization that you've been walking around Costco for 30 minutes with your underwear hanging out the bottom of your pants leg?

So you nonchalantly meander over to the nearest garbage can...and inconspicuously check to make sure none of the 300 people standing around are looking in your direction...and you reach down, pull the pair of underwear from out of the bottom of your pants leg, and throw them in the garbage?

Well...it happens.

Mr. Anderson.

Amber and I took a stroll to the Starbucks a few blocks away from our apartment and afterwards, like clockwork, we dropped by the Barnes and Noble. After twenty or so minutes of quiet book perusing , Amber walked up to me and said, "Seth, I think there are secret service people all around us." I looked up from my biography of Clint Eastwood to see several men wearing suits and all of them had one of those little swirly ear-deals hanging off one of their earlobes.

Now, Amber and I are pretty curious people, and sometimes, when you are surrounded by secret service guys, curiosity is not the best attribute to have. After we had identified each secret service dude like we were bird watchers, we decided to wander upstairs to see if there were any signs about a visiting author or some big political stud, since the Lincoln Center Barnes and Noble is a popular spot to promote new books. But as we rose on the escalator above the bookline of the second floor... nothing going on.

As we turned around to go back downstairs, Amber turned around and said, "Oh crap, there's another one." And of course, like a doofus, I turned around and looked and then tried not to act like I had identified him. In less than 5 minutes, we were public enemy number one.

By this time most folks would cut their losses and leave the store, being trailed by dangerous men and all, but of course, we had to know who the heck all the hubbub was about. So we plunged back into the book section where there was the greatest density of the Agents. It only took a few minutes to figure out who all the security guys were protecting. It was obviously the Arabic dude casually handing books to a servant standing next to him holding a stack of books. Yaaaaawn.

So whoopidie doo. After the disappointment, we decided to stay but because hey, that was a good book I put down for nothing and I wanted to get back into it. But by that time, we had been acting so suspicious that every move we made seemed to elicit a chain reaction of finger-to-the-ear-bud movements from the Agent Smith and his cronies. At one point I almost stopped reading and said, "Listen people. I don't know who this character over here is and I don't care. But me and the wife here would like to read and browse in peace without feeling like we are going to be physically damaged every time we take a sip of our latte. So just chill out with the ear buds and the trailing. Thank you, and welcome to America."

But I didn't, and after a few more minutes we decided to leave. Because if that guy who we didn't recognize had soooooo many bodyguards, that must mean he's got a bunch of people who want him dead. And we didn't really want to be in on that party.

Into the Loiness Den

Okay, so I've just gotta put up another post besides the underwear bra picture. It was funny, now it is entering into the depressing realm.

In other news....

I'm playing for a Chorus Line audition tomorrow. Should be interesting. I was thinking about playing the fast songs really slow and the slow songs really fast, just to lighten it up a bit.

Those auditions are intense affairs. Nowhere else, besides maybe under the probing eyes of a Baptist Deacon's wife, will your attire be so incredibly scrutinized.

As you walk past the throngs of crowded girls, (usually huddling around one particular girl who seems to know everybody in the business including the director of the show for which the audition is being held, even though she is somehow in the same line as everyone else,) you (the new girl in the room) will receive the "initial" scan. Most girls are subconsciously aware of this scan anyways because they do it naturally, but in the audition the initial scan/glare is marked and barbed. These girls are masters... no, savants at instantly finding "the" flaw in you that sets them one step higher. One way to know that you are a serious threat is if the glances continue throughout the audition waiting period.

The real compliment comes if one of the brave girls breaks ranks, usually the ring-leader in the group, and approaches you for apparently no other reason but to strike up a conversation and tell you that she loves your shoes, or your dress, or your bracelet, or purse, or whatever. Notice, they will not compliment anything about your flesh-and-blood body. No, for "building your self-esteem" is not the real purpose of the advance or compliment.

The real purpose is espionage. They have come to find an insecurity or flaw in your: resume, personality, complexion-up-close, voice, ankle-size, boob size (and the effects of gravity therein), butt-size, song-selection, or anything else that will give the poor, jealous prodding girl - your seemingly new BFF - the upper-hand.

The whole thing is a little sad, but its all a part of the game.

But let's be honest, the audition room isn't the only place one can find these tactics. Right? Dudes do it too. Especially musicians. And oddly enough, especially Christian musicians.

However, there is not a sorority or social club or worship-leader conference that can rival the intense dance of tender audition-room assassin, the sticky-sweet, slightly-plump-but-the-prettiest mercenary "originally from Atlanta but came up to audition on a whim" girl who comes to you offering poison freindship-apple balanced on her french-manicured claws.

It is sordid business indeed.

A Redneck Tank Top

This post is dedicated to Joey.

This Is Amazing

LunarCorp
NPR received this confidential diagram of LunarCorp's proposed advertising system
April 1, 2008 -- According to documents obtained by NPR, a California-based company has developed a powerful laser that can project images on to the surface of the moon.


The company, LunarCorp, was founded three years ago by Jack Libnitz who is best known for convincing the United States government to allow private companies to launch their own satellites. It was in 1986 that Libnitz came up with the idea to project images on to the moon's surface for the purpose of selling advertising. And, now, it looks as though his plan may become a reality.

LunarCorp's laser was developed by a team of engineers and optical physicists lead by Ludo Fisher of the European Space Agency. Fisher says the science to project images on to the moon's surface has been available for more than a decade, but the cost has been prohibitive until now.

Legal experts say LunarCorp's plan is illegal, a violation of the 1969 International Lunar Treaty that banned commercial activity on the moon. Libnitz insists he's not worried about being sued. "I'm only sending an image into space," he says. "The moon just happens to be in the way."

On April 1st, LunarCorp will attempt to project the logo of an undisclosed company on to the moon's surface, which will be in half-moon phase on that day as seen from Earth. If it fails, says Libnitz, the company will try again on April 7th when the moon is full.

The Best Film Review EVER.

Move. Over. Ebert. Seriously.

New Favorite Word

Hi kids! Anytime you hear this word today, scream really loud. My new favorite word for the day is: Niggled.

Niggle: "To annoy."

Had anyone else heard of this word? I saw it recently in a news article about Stonehenge, of all things. I have some theories as to why it might have gone out of style. However, I like it. "Shut your yapper. You're niggling the crap out of me."

Okay, I just tried it in a couple more sentences. Nevermind. I discovered that it was ever-so easy to add a lisp. Just doesn't cut it in the ole' American dialect, unless of course, you are a man who drinks tea with a raised pinkie. However, it works just fine if you use a British or Irish accent. Dang those Brits. They get all the good words. Like "Brilliant," and "Tally Ho!" and "Throw some shrimp on the Barbie!" and "Mermaid off the port bow!" and most importantly, "Not this time, Potter!"

Now, be honest, how many of you just tried "Niggle" out with one of the three: lisp, British accent or Irish accent? And which works best?

A Waaaaaay Better Alternative than the Combover

When I'm sixty-four, this shall be grafted upon my scalp. And so it shall be done. Thank you to our friend Verlie Payne for this picture.

Song Trivia

What song begins with the lyric:

"Your butt is mine."

Now You See Me...

Sorry folks for the scant bloggin'. I've been hard at work on my buddy Carey's CD project. I'm trying to have it finished by tomorrow but it looks like it will be next monday or tuesday until it is ready for the final mix in Houston. New pro software has better drum sounds so I've been going through each song and replacing the old with the new. (Sorry Carey!)

In other news, it is been pretty chilly up here in the City but beautiful all the same. I am incredibly sleepy and it is time for bed.

I've pretty much been in the apartment for 6 days straight so tomorrow I think I might try to grab the wife and head to the Metropolitan Museum or something.

Oh, I read an article yesterday about how some people are thinking about begging Al Gore to run for president and then Gore could take Obama as his running mate. I don't know about you guys, but I just might be up for that! Al's been growing on me lately. But then again, me no political guru. Me watch T.V. and believe what I am told, like a good American.

What would you say to a Gore/Obama ticket?

While you ponder, I hope you enjoy the random comb-over photo.

Oh my Yummy.

I have discovered Apple Juice as it was meant to be. Most times, I drink apple Juice on rare occasions. Don't get me wrong, I like it. But to buy it, I definitely have to be in the mood or feeling guilty about some big food debauchery I'm getting at a convenient store consisting of a large hot dog slathered with chili and cheese. (I've come to believe that getting food at the Git-n-Go gas station is the equivalent of getting a porno at the xxx outside of town.)

But no longer will I think of apple juice as a drink to ease my conscience. I could drink this stuff for breakfast, lunch and dinner and a midnight snack! (along with a couple of Zantac.) YUM. It is sweet as nectar and ... I don't know. Just, YUM! I feel like a little kid selling lemonade!

Only catch is, it's hard to find. I think you may have to order it. But you can!

Anywho, if you see this stuff, give it a try. It could quite possibly be the apple juice Adam and Eve sipped on that got them evicted from the Garden.


Do you guys have a favorite drink?

Dumb and Fun

We saw Caveheart... I mean, 10,000 B.C. last weekend. It was dumb and fun. Most of the time I rolled my eyes and wanted to say the word "ignert" every other spoken line, but there were moments where I thought... weeeell, whataya gonna do? How can you take a movie seriously that defies all science and gives ancient people refined english with a Transylvania accents. Also, I guess to be primitive, you've got to have dread-locks, dirty faces and ultra clean teeth. Because, you know, back then, tartar control wasn't a problem. Just ask the English. Oh, and they must have names like "Tick Tick." Did anyone stop to think that that just might resemble a little known cartoon cave baby? Give you a hint... BAM BAM. WILLLLLLMAAAAAA!

Okay, I can't resist. I've gotta list the dumb stuff, in no special order.

The fake blue eyes on the main chick... the goofy prophesies throughout... the goofy "old wise woman" prophet/narrator... the bizarre, ever-shifting accents in the same tribe (as if the director just said, "make it sound cave-ish. ACTION!")... the part where the hero lets the big hungry Saber-toothed tiger go and makes friends with him -Ala the Black Stallion... the whole first 45 minutes looked like it was filmed in my back yard in Springfield with a crappy green-screen ... the whole tribe-leader "white spear" thing... that bone-spear just didn't look very effective... they COMPlETELY ripped off The Edge (Anthony Hopkins, Aleck Baldwin and the Bear) with the spear-killing-Wooly Mammoth scene... the predictable prophesies from the old tribal prophet- let me guess, "one will come and lead the poor Flinstone tribe to freedom"... the Goofy prophet-woman spirit swap at the end with the chick with the blue eyes...

Okay, I'll stop there.

Verdict: So dumb. It was so dumb I forgot to bring my Madonna-genius doll and give it an I.Q. test. BUT, alas, it's so dumb that it's likable. It had Woolly Mammoths charging down a pyramid for crying out loud. Who can't like that? btw, did you just see the words "a pyramid?" Yes, yes, you did. The movie historian wunderkinds behind the scenes most surely flunked anthropology, geology, and um ... math. Try 3000 B.C. fellas. Let me introduce you to a little thing called "Wikipedia." And even at 3000 wasn't anything special as far as pyramids went. It was pretty ghetto and hardly big enough to stampede a bunch of Mammoths down it.

I saw so many elements from epic movies it was ridic. You had: Braveheart (the quintessential caveman "You are free cavemen!" speech) Dances with Wolves (the whole waiting to hunt the sparse Mammoths thing) Apocalypto (captured wife, being chased in the Jungle)... Jurassic Park 2 with the Raptors snacking on dudes in the long grass. Except in Caveheart they were big ugly ostrich things. But hey, it was cool anyway. The list could go on, even into Cinematic classics such as Legends of the Falls- itself a cinematic masterpiece rivaled only by this.

So, I say, see it. But see it for the saber-tooth and the Mammoths... however, the Mammoths in LOTR were off the hook a bazillion times cooler. Still, it was fun enough to buy a bucket of popcorn and slurp up a gallon of coke next to Fancypants. Maybe I could compare it to the old creature-features. They were dumb, campy and fun, as was 10,000 B.C.

To borrow Popcorn's rating scale I'd give it a 2 1/2 out of 5 popcorn kernels on the fun summer movie scale, even though it ain't summer yet.

Otherwise, I'd give it a B--- on a creature-feature curve, up from D+.

Just Chillin and Watchin' the Wheel: Yes, we moved to NYC to be old.

It's a rainy evening here in the city. Amber cooked up a pot of instant organic butternut squash soup. It was nasty. We both agreed. Not her fault though. The Campbells box version is actually quite tasty. Something happened in the box-organic version. How the heck were we supposed to know that? Huh? Verdict: Campbells=tasty, organic version=gagalicious. (Sorry subscribers. I finally broke down and looked up the actual spelling of Campbells.)

We watched a bunch of American Idol contestants butcher some of my favorite Beatles songs last night. All I could say the whole time was, "thank you Micheal Jackson." If it wasn't for Peter-Pan-grilled-cheese-nose-captain-molesto Jackson, the Beatles library would still be preserved and the only version of Here Comes the Sun that anyone would know would be the one that George Harrison immortalized, not while a bunch of animated bees fly around or while several skinny people jump around or while Crystal Light is being poured, however artfully, on a Target commercial.

To me, hearing someone sing a Beatles cover poorly is akin to the poor soul who has to endure listening to their Dad's new blonde bimbo wife trying to talk motherly to them even though Dad's new bimbo wife is one year their junior.

It just gets under my skin like nobody's business. However I did hear a few of the young hopefuls do a good job on a Beatles cover. Well, actually it was a cover of a Whitesnake cover of a Beatles tune.

Aussie Grape Jelly Spray

I've grown really tired of buying unbelievably expensive hair products. So what did I do? I bought myself some Aussie spritzer or whatever. The result: For the past two days my head has smelled liked one big grape-jelly-slathered piece of toast. When I get into an elevator, it fills the room with that sharp Smuckers aroma worse than the most potent coconut suntan lotion. I can even smell it at the Strarbucks. Amber could smell my jelly head from across the table, which means that the stench could even cut through the powerhouse aroma of her double-tall skim, carmel machiato. The power of jelly head is truly incredible.

Well, back to the expensive crap it is. I tried.

Me and My iphone.

I've got a new fun blog. I've been taking pictures like a madman since I and my beloved were united at Christmas and I thought I'd share at "theworldthroughmyiphone.blogspot.com" A tad boring for a title but I was more interested in getting down to the uploading of the pics. New York City is probably the most photographed city in the world but it ain't been seen through my iphone yet, so there!


Hope you enjoy!

All day long I'd biddy biddy YUM!

Well, the feast has ceased. My wonderful inlaws have left... which means, tonight, I begin gathering berries and mushrooms and poaching wild squirrels in central park again. It's some tricky business firing a weapon in such a populated park. But I've found that singing Broadway songs and reenacting the battle of the bulge whilst I shoot gives me enough credibility to not get arrested. It is a little annoying when the homeless guys try to get in on the action. Some don't know when to stop. (Btw, why hasn't there ever been a Ballet written about the Battle of the Bulge? Get it? Buuuuulge? HA! I crack me-self right up. Somewhere in a house in Springfield Missouri my mother is rolling her eyes, shaking here head, and saying, "Son, was that joke necessary?")

I gots to tell you though, that Broadway civil war reenacting really brings "singing for your dinner" to a whole different level. Ahhh how I miss the days of living in the Ozark Mountains when I would simply grab my musket, dress in suede leather and a raccoon cap and bring home the fatted buck, duck or occasional ferret to my hungry and thankful family. Those were the days, let me tell ya.

In other news... I've been pretty in to American Idol this year... I was really bummed to see Kady Alexis Mall...oy... get... oust...ed...

I'm sorry, I really wish I could leave the subject of food but I just can't. I've just never had food that incredible. I mean, Houston has its share of fine eateries. There is a real reason it is always duking-it-out with Phillie for the The Fattest City Award. And interestingly, in Houston, the food in the expensive places isn't much better than the food in the medium expensive places and after you finished your extra expensive meal you always find yourself saying "hey, that wasn't any better than Carabas."

Not so in NYC. Unfortunately, for the Troubawards, the price of the food up here is directly proportionally to the level of taste explosion. And God bless the brick oven. Why in the heck does anyone cook anything outside of a brick oven. I took one bite of the hummus and bread toasted in the brick oven and I almost started speaking in tongues. If I wasn't so worried about it burning my lips, I would have french kissed the brick oven goodbye on the way out.

Okay, let it go. Seth. Let it go. Squirrel isn't so bad. And some of those mushrooms... well, the trial and error there can get pretty AWESOME. And strange as it may seem, they really make that civil war reenactment seem more real. A little too real at times, honestly.

(To be sung at the end of your reading.)

"Lord who made the lion and the lamb,
You decreed I should be what I am.
Would it spoil some vast eternal plan?
If I were a wealthy maaaaaaaaaan."

Pleas Sir, Can I Have Some More?

Man have I been eating good lately. Like a king... with bad grammar. When ma and pa Evans return to Tulsa, I'm going to have a hard time adjusting to the Mcdonalds dollar menu. For instance, I ate the quiche of my life today. Last night I had the best steak imaginable. The cow that provided my dinner must have been just downright sexy. Weird.

The point is, I no longer need a belt. But who cares? Belts are overrated.

However, starting Friday, I will be going on a diet of Metamucil and bran. Not even raisin bran. Just bran. Maybe even some Amber tea. Basically things that will turn my intestines into the trombone section of Mahler's seventh symphony.

Hey, maybe I could slap a couple of scriptures on each daily dose and sell it to Christians. I could call the... Hallepoojah diet.


Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all night.

Phrase and Fable

I am fascinated by words. When I was a kid, I used to grab an encyclopedia or a dictionary on my way to the bathroom and read until my legs were numb. A few weeks ago, I bought this book called Phrase and Fable and it is one good little read. It is a little encyclopedia of phrases and their origins. Just this morning I discovered the origin of "Spitting image." I had always wondered what the heck that term meant. I tried to imagine someone spitting on a mirror and cleaning it, or some kind of reference to Jesus spitting in the dirt, (back in my more pious days) or one of those old arabic phrases that make no sense, even to the arab... like the ones about camels and coconuts and Muhammad... but now, mystery solved.

According to Phrase and Fable, "Spitting image: the term is recorded from the early 20th century, and is an alteration of spitten image, which itself is an alteration of split and image.

Free the mind. That's my job. Until next time. Eat your veggies. Say your prayers and change your huggies in the morning, children of the Lord.

(Got any others that don't make a lick of sense?)

Suitcases Filled with Elves

Does anyone else but me ever notice how the first hundred or so suitcases that come meandering out of the black flappers are never taken? No one ever touches the first slew of suitcases. So, either the first suitcases are simply props used to tick off anxiously awaiting, tired and late passengers, or they are filled with elves. Why not elves? It is just a plausible as any other solution.

I don't know. Just seems fishy. If not elves then it is just downright unfair that the people who get to the baggage claim first and are anxious to get their bags and catch a bus to everliving train station are NEVER the people who get their luggage first. Nooo Sir. When the first fifty bags snaked their way around the 20 or so passengers, who was the first soul to pull a bag off the trolly-thing? An old grumpy buzzard in a wheel chair, fifteen minutes AFTER the buzzer buzzed and the baggage thingermerbob started to move.

Houston Fun, and Finally a Word About a Good Friend.

It looks like today will by my last day in H-town. It has been a fantastic trip. I'm pretty sure that I passed my German test; today I will finish recording vocals on my good friend Carrie's project; I saw my wife sing a heartbreakingly beautiful performance as Belle in a 1st class production of Beauty and the Beast (a BIG blog coming about that experience...); we sang at our home church, AND we got to spend a bunch of quality time with people that we love. To top it off, I missed the big-arse snow storm that blew threw New York only to catch the most beautiful weather in the history of Houston Texas. If it weren't for the traffic, I wouldn't have thought it was Houston at all. There is nothing quite like the Houston Traffic. I think that it is the only thing in the world that can make a good Christian burst into ecstatic sentences comprised entirely of the most forbidden cuss word. (You know the one.) Adjectives, Nouns, Verbs, Prepositional Phrases and Gerunds... amazing. It is darn near Shakespearian how that word can be unsheathed in Houston traffic. Also the middle finger is in a constant state of flux while traversing the steel Gauntlet, otherwise known as 610. Okay, PG-13 part is over, but ye without sin cast the first hubcap. Yeah, you know.

But even that is good for me. It clears out the hidden anger. Nothing like an unfamiliar stress to shine a light on things that you didn't know were there.

Now, on to the spirchal, touch-feely talk.

I need to take a moment to express how truly grateful I am for the friends we have here in Houston. I've said it before but I'll say it again, our Church in Sugarland is just amazing. We wouldn't be anywhere close to where we are today (in a place where we feel confident to persue our dreams,) if it were not for the people, our friends and family at Williams Trace Baptist Church. It is an interesting Church on many, many levels. On the surface it looks like a normal, upper-middle class to wealthy, giant, perfect-family church. But the more you get to know the people the more you realize that the majority of them know what it means to be wounded, and humbled, and broken. It is a church filled to the brim with Grace. Half the church is divorced and remarried. Not that that is encouraged, but the people there certainly know what it means to be wounded and the cost of forgivness. It is a church of new beginnings and hope. That has a lot to do with Phil, our Pastor but it also has just as much and more do with the people.

I have mentioned the Holztmans on several occasions, a family that feels like our own, and someday I am going to spend a bunch of blog time talking about all the people at our church that have blessed us with their friendship, but today I want to say a little about someone that deserves a great big thank you and has always wanted to stay out of the Blog world.

Greg Stahl is the music minister at Williams Trace Baptist Church. He is a gifted musician and minster on many, many levels and can sing a high B-flat like Pavoratti, but what I feel the need to express most, is gratitude for him being a boss that was tremendously encouraging to Amber and I, and especially to me. (Me because I worked there the longest.) The whole time I worked there, Greg always emphasized my strengths and was amazingly encouraging and understanding of the other passions that I had and also very understanding of my commitment to finish my degree. When I bombed by first final exams he was there with a hug (a manly hug, ahem.) and an encouraging word. And a few years later, when Amber and I told him of our plans to leave and pursue our dreams he was not angry or hurt, instead he gave us the best encouragement at the right time and shared personal testimony that gave us just a truckload of hope.

For a long time I had a real guilt complex about being a "minister" in a church. I grew up feeling that I needed to somehow "give up" my passions, talents and dreams for God in exchange for something that I wasn't fully passionate about. (You are a "minister" in anything you do if you are a Christian.) I realized the fallacy in that thinking during conversation with Greg in his office. Amber and I were busy finishing our second CD and honestly, during the recording bliss I got a little caught up in the project and began to neglect the practicing on the Anthems for Sunday. Greg, after listening to me relive a fantastic day in the studio, in a very kind and understanding tone said this:

Greg: "Seth, that sounds terrific. I can see that writing music and being a creative writer is your passion. That is your true life's passion, am I right?"

Me: I thought for a moment. "Yes, yes it is." He didn't realize it but that was breakthrough statement for me.

Greg: "Well, I think that is just wonderful, and I look forward to seeing all that God has planned for you and Amber in the years to come, and I have no doubt that you will go far and make a big statement in whatever you do and be a big blessing to others with all those dreams. But right now, this Choir and this program at WTBC is what I'm passionate about. "This," he said pointing to the anthem on his desk, "is my passion, and while you are still working here I need you to be careful and focus a little harder on practicing the Anthem for next week." That may have sounded tense in the writing but it was very kind and in understanding tone. However, the point and needed correction was taken. We laughed and I agreed that my performance the previous night at choir practice had left much to be desired. It was less than my best and we both knew it.

In that conversation he reminded me of two things: First, that whatever I do, it should be excellent, even if it isn't my "lay-awake-at-night" dream. I knew that, but had lost sight of it for a moment, being caught up in the moment. Second, he gave me a new insight in that there are actually people that don't do the full-time-church-minister ministry out of guilt, (that sounds funny, but it was a real misconception on my part and a long story for another blog series.) They do it because they are passionate about it, like I am passionate about creating. It was incredibly liberating and I began a new journey into experiencing Grace on a new level. For that among other things, I am eternally grateful.

I've never met a person who loves what he does more that Greg Stahl and when he is standing in front of his Choir, he is right at home. Just like it is for me when I am making something up out of the clear blue, whether music, stories, or film.

So here it is, finally, a big fat thank you to Greg Stahl. Thank you, Greg for encouraging Amber and I to pursue our dreams and at the same time plugging us in to a local Body, at the best darn Church EVER I might add, and for using us in the ways that emphasized and developed the gifts that God has given us. I am blessed to be your friend and to have worked for you.

(This is a long overdue thanks, but a long time ago, when I worked for him, Greg had requested that he remain out of the Blog world. Well, TO BAD!)

Wimp

I don't think there will be dental visit in my future that doesn't include some sort of real and immediate pain, or promise of pain. Amber, my sweet, my darling, my love... can walk in the Dentist smiling and walk out yawing and stretching. (I wonder now if that was some sort of sneaky ploy to get me to go in.) I, me, myself and moi... not the case. Not even close. I walk in, sit down happy as a goofy pup, and it is like the Hygienists and Dentist throw some sort of black magic steel party in my teeth. For instance, my routine cleaning has now been scheduled for a full-on deep cleaning on Tuesday. SUCK. I had that already, not two years ago. What the crap?

I suppose God decided that I should be created with teeth that are prone to gengevitibactorialsomethinsomething in exchange for being outlandishly handsome. Ho hum.

It doesn't help that I have the nervous system of a monkey on crack. When it comes to certain things I have about a ZERO on the pain tolerance/wuss scale. I swear to Buddha that a few weeks ago, when my wife pulled a hair out of my cheek- WITHOUT WARNING OR ASKING- I thought I was going to instantaneously cry.

We were just lounging on the couch after a hard days work, watching the Late Show...

Amber: "Heeeey, you've got a stray hair on your right cheek."

Me: (Tired and barely paying attention.) "Oh, that's niIIIIIIOOOOOOWWWWWE GOD!!!! AMMMBERRRR???"

Amber: (Studying the liberated hair between her thumb and forefinger and unmoved by my pain.) "Oh, you big wimp. Its just a hair."

Me: "Being a wimp is entirely not the point!" I say, rubbing my cheek and trying to conceal the tear that is bulging in my right eye above the empty and bloody follicle.

Amber: Looks at the camera filming us and chuckles.

Me: "And that really hurt Amber, and its still HURTING."

So off to the dadgum friggin everloving God-bless-him dentist I go this Monday.

Truth be told, I am extremely grateful for my Dentist Rodney Rayburn. When my wisdom teeth started to abscess a few months ago, I called from NYC and Rodney IMMEDIATELY called in a prescription, from Houston to NYC, and even found the Pharmacy less than a block away. The man rocks. Having genetically cavemen teeth on the otherwho... sucks.

Hey Kids: The Truth About Jell-0

Gelatin is a processed version of the protein collagen, a simple protein that makes up one-third of all proteins in the human body. The main source of the collagen that is used in Jell-O comes from hooves, bones, connective tissue found on cows, horses and pigs.

That's right little children, every time you eat that little, wobbly, fat-free, sugar-free, cherry-flavored glob... you are eating ole' Bessy's cow toenails and boiled bones. Darn that Bill Cosby, darn him to heck.

The Kroger Zone

I walked into the Krogers today to buy Claritin, and instead of heading straight for the Pharmacy, I was struck by the glorious bounty of elbow-room abounding in the place. It felt weird to not rub butts with half the people on my block as I tried to find the dadgum raisin bread. It felt even stranger to not be cussed for accidentally rubbing butts, even though it is usually THEIR butt that rubs into my butt area.

The Kroger in Sugarland was so strange today that it felt a bit like a twilight zone episode. I expected to hear Rod Serling pipe through the Grocery speaker: "A young man... sorry, a young and devilishly handsome man... steps into a familiar place. A place where he used to by his coconut cream pies and cranberry scones..." Okay, not the best impersonation.

I also had a dream last night that I was singing with the Soggy Bottom Boys on Oh Brother Where Art Thou, when we all noticed that the full moon kept getting closer and closer to the earth. Withing minutes, (a very older looking) George Clooney and I were swimming for our lives as the closing moon was causing unbelievable tides to swallow all land on the planet. The moon looked a little like the Palantir in Lord of the Rings.

That, was a cool dream.