If you know me through this blog or other blogs I frequent, you probably already know how I feel about anonymous comments. I’m not a fan.
Actually, I should clarify my previous statement. I don’t have a problem with Anonymous if that person is sharing something very personal or if they just don’t happen to have an account from which to comment from. Really – no biggie. What I do take issue with are snarky, rude anonymous comments. Based upon some of the things I write about on this blog, I’m actually quite surprised that I have only ever had one truly snarky anonymous comment. But I did get one when I wrote a guest post on Stuff Christians Like about church planting.:
Anonymous said: Don’t constantly check your email and/or your blog: IMRELEVANTFAUXSHO.COM if you’re sitting next to me at the conference like you did last year. And no, I don’t want to see all the cool new apps on your i-touch. Go bother your lead pastor and leave me alone. I’m trying to hear Dr. Keller!
Fail. If you’re 43 and don’t understand the relevance of new media that’s your problem, but don’t hate on people who are utilizing it to reach people who are otherwise immune to your traditional means of outreach. Furthermore if someone on their “iTouch” (it is actually iPod Touch and not iTouch) bothers you then maybe you should consider taking the time to develop multi-tasking skills, so that people who already have them won’t distract you.
To which I courteously replied:
Ah, yes…the bold yet mysterious “Anonymous”.
For the record, I don’t have a problem with people “multi-tasking” at a conference. Many were taking notes and/or updating their blogs live from the conference. I get that. I will most likely do the same this year. What I do have a problem with is some punk sitting next to me who thinks he knows all he ever needs to know about planting a church and chooses to text message snarky remarks about the worship team and the speakers to his equally snarky friend sitting 2 seats over. (Yeah, I looked. I’m nosy like that.)
And I know what they’re called — I have one.
Now if you’ll excuse me, the lace collar on my full length, wool dress is beginning to chafe.
To which Anonymous replied:
That was such an incredible response that I renege my entire comment. I completely understand what you’re saying now. I apologize.
Clearly, I don’t care for Mr. or Ms. Snarky Anonymous. Had that person left a comment under their profile, I would have contacted them personally, would have most likely been quite a bit nicer, and would not have publicly b**ch slapped them on SCL. But if you don’t have the guts to leave your name when you’re being nasty, don’t expect me to bend over backward to be kind and understanding. (That goes quadruple if you do that to one of my friends.)
So why am I bringing any of this up? Because on tomorrow’s post, and every other Sunday post for the foreseeable future, I am going to ask you to comment anonymously. Wha-huh?
The following was orginally posted on July 19, 2008. Since I had a following of approximately 9 readers back then (on a good day), I figured I would republish it and get some new feedback. Helen wrote a response post about it, and I would appreciate it very much if she would post a link to it in the comments section. Anyway, happy pondering!:
The following is the closing argument from the movie “A Time to Kill”. If you’ve seen the movie or read the book, you know how it ends. If you haven’t, please take a few minutes to view this scene.
Based upon personal experience, I would answer the question, “Are we inherently prejudiced?” in the affirmative. I consider myself very open and accepting of other nationalities, races and even people of faiths outside my own. I think I can honestly say that if one of my children fell in love with, and chose to marry someone of a different race or nationality, it truly would not bother me. However, born of a caucasian father and a Japanese mother, I believe my experiences and my viseral reactions are colored by my heritage.
We’ve all seen commercials asking us to help feed, clothe, save the children of the world. Based on your own heritage, is your reaction the same regardless of whether the children are filmed in Africa? South America? Asia? North America? If I’m being honest, my emotions are triggered more by seeing the starving Asian child than the other children in the same circumstances. It’s not intentional, I’m not unaffected by the other children. But something is stirred in me on a deeper level because I sense a connection.
What about the news story about the child that was abducted, missing and/or murdered?
Does your heart ache equally for this child:
As it does for this one?:
This is not intended to be a “Guilt” post. I’m honestly curious if you have similar experiences.
If man is made in God’s image, then what exactly does that mean? If Jesus were to return to earth tomorrow, would it matter what He looked like? I’m certainly not a biblical scholar, but I’d be willing to bet a dollar that the historical Jesus didn’t have blue eyes and sandy blond hair. I imagine he looked very much like someone you would think twice about sitting next to on an airplane.
I guess my point is, if we’re to love one another as we are commanded to do, perhaps we need to take the time to learn from each other’s cultural experiences. I will never truly know what it’s like to be discriminated against because I am black or latino, but I do understand what it feels like to be treated differently because of the color of my skin and the subtle differences in my facial features. Does this make me more sensitive and empathetic to the injustices inflicted on others around the world? I certainly hope so….
Have you ever noticed how many songs there are about home?:
Homeward Bound (Simon & Garfunkel) I wish I was, Homeward bound, Home where my thought’s escaping, Home where my music’s playing, Home where my love lies waiting Silently for me.
Take Me Home, Country Roads I hear her voice in the morning hour she calls me The radio reminds me of my home far away And driving down the road I get a feeling That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday
Can’t Find my Way Home (Steve Windwood) You are the reason I’ve been waiting so long Somebody holds the key Well, I’m near the end and I just aint got the time And I’m wasted and I cant find my way home Green, Green Grass of Home (Tom Jones) It’s good to touch the green, green grass of home. Yes, they’ll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly. It’s good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Home (Chris Daughtry) I’m going home, Back to the place where I belong, And where your love has always been enough for me. I’m not running from. No, I think you got me all wrong. I don’t regret this life I chose for me. But these places and these faces are getting old. So I’m going home.I’m going home
I know there’s many, many more songs about home. But, really — what is this mysteriously place we call home? I don’t really buy that old expression “Home is where the heart is” unless the Holy Spirit has taken up residence within that heart. And even then, there is a longing for this seemingly unattainable peace, this distant memory just beyond my reach where I am safe from harm.
I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I am originally from Virginia. My family also lived in Charlotte, NC. Of the three places I have called my home, I spent the least amount of time there. So, why do I long for that home? What is it about that place? I think I’ve finally figured it out. It has nothing to do with the place. It has to do with the circumstances. This is where I lived with my intact, traditional family shortly before everything went to sh*t. A house where I felt safe and protected — and even that was an illusion that would soon come crashing down. I used to sneak into my big sister’s room and listen to this song on her record player, which is my very favorite “Home” song:
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m ever gonna make it home again. It’s so far and out of sight. I won’t be happy until I see you alone again. Till I’m home again and feeling right. I want to be home again and feeling right.”
I want my children to grow up in a place where they feel protected, cherished and loved –knowing full well that a home here on earth is an illusion. God created us with a longing for our eternal home. Whether or not a person buys into that explanation doesn’t change the reality that within each of us that longing resides. In “The Weight of Glory”, C. S. Lewis writes:
In speaking of this desire for our own far off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you—the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves; the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name.
Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter. Wordsworth’s expedient was to identify it with certain moments in his own past. But all this is a cheat. If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would not have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it; what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing.
These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.
Do you think I am trying to weave a spell? Perhaps I am; but remember your fairy tales. Spells are used for breaking enchantments as well as for inducing them. And you and I have need of the strongest spell that can be found to wake us from the evil enchantment of worldliness which has been laid upon us for nearly a hundred years. Almost our whole education has been directed to silencing this shy, persistent, inner voice; almost all our modem philosophies have been devised to convince us that the good of man is to be found on this earth. And yet it is a remarkable thing that such philosophies of Progress or Creative Evolution themselves bear reluctant witness to the truth that our real goal is elsewhere. When they want to convince you that earth is your home, notice how they set about it. They begin by trying to persuade you that earth can be made into heaven, thus giving a sop to your sense of exile in earth as it is. Next, they tell you that this fortunate event is still a good way off in the future, thus giving a sop to your knowledge that the fatherland is not here and now.
Finally, lest your longing for the transtemporal should awake and spoil the whole affair, they use any rhetoric that comes to hand to keep out of your mind the recollection that even if all the happiness they promised could come to man on earth, yet still each generation would lose it by death, including the last generation of all, and the whole story would be nothing, not even a story, for ever and ever.
This is not our home. As my Aunt Phyliss might say, “Sugar, our home is Way Over Yonder
For the record, I’m the younger sister, not the one holding the cat. That cat hated me. This might have something to do with the fact that I dressed him in Baby Tender Love dresses and forced him into my toy baby stroller. I suppose I’ll never know for sure…
Happy April Fool’s Day! Today is sort of a mixed bag of nuts, but I suppose that’s not anything particularly new here.
I will begin some pictures I took a few years ago of license plates on vehicles owned by two of my uncles in Virginia. Quirky runs in the family:
I think this started quite by accident MANY years ago when my Uncle Franklin randomly received a plate that was all numbers. Now, both he and my Uncle Stewart get these license plates for themselves and other family members. I’m pretty sure they don’t pay extra; it’s all about “Who ya know.” Texas is my home, but being surrounded by laughing, fun loving Virginia kin folk in my very formative years helped shape who I am. I’ve got a big, goofy smile on my face just thinking about them.
My Uncle Stewart lives in Mechanicsville. I spent many fun days and nights with my dad, mom, sisters, brother, aunts, uncles and cousins at that house. Most notably, I remember catching fireflies in a jar at night. I’ll will likely write about how places you remember from childhood seem somehow smaller and less significant when we return as adults, but Uncle Stewart’s house is exactly as I remember it. This is due in part to the fact that it is EXACTLY THE SAME AS I REMEMBER IT. It has been in a time warp for the past 35 years, which just brought joy to my heart when I went back there after all this time. I wish I had taken a picture of the wall shelf that had the same astrological sign coffee mugs on them as when I visited as a child (circa 1970-1975). He gave me a whole new appreciation for the term “waste not, want not”. I did manage to snap a picture of what was on the opposite wall, unchanged after 35 years:
I ask you, who needs a new fangeled cordless phone when you have a cord that can reach around the house?
And speaking of Canada…
In honor of my friend Tamara, who was born in the Great White North and because she emailed me the link in the first place (or maybe it was Jeff) — I forget. I was distracted because I was talking to Jeff on the phone about googling pornographic cheese butlers when Tam interrupted to ask, “has Kathy seen the beaver video?” Anyhoo, the following video was shot at the U.S./Canadian border. Enjoy!
What does the above picture have to do with grocery shopping? I have no idea. But when I did a google search for “I hate grocery shopping”, this picture came up. So I figured I’d give this guy some mad peanut props. But I digress…
Here’s something else kind of space/time continuum-ey. When I went shopping Friday afternoon, I had no idea Beth was going to do a post about grocery shopping, nor did I know I would be doing a post about grocery shopping. That is, until I happened to come across a cheese display at the local grocery store. People, it’s not like I’m out looking for blog fodder everywhere I go (Okay, maybe I am just a little.), but tell me, is it’s just me?:
Seemingly gracious wine and cheese steward from this angle, right? Not so fast!
Am I the only person who thinks this guy isn’t wearing any pants? I have passed by this particular display countless times! Since I don’t drink wine and I think those particular type of crackers are fairly nasty, I never really paid much attention. But please, Kroger! There are CHILDREN at this grocery store!
That is just wrong on so many levels. After be ocularly accosted in the rear of the store (pun intended), I figured I had everything I wanted and some things I didn’t. I composed myself and went to the check out line, paid for my groceries and headed out to the parking lot. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, my phone rings. It is my husband calling. “Are you still at the grocery store?” This means one of two things: 1) “How much longer are you going to be?” or 2) “I forgot to ask you to get me some jelly beans.” On this day, it was the latter. I really didn’t feel like going back to the store, as I was still visibly shaken by the pornographic cheese buttler. But since Katdish = obedient wife, I turned the car around and went back to get 3 bags of Jolly Rancher jelly beans. (They are the best.) Obviously, I didn’t get a cart or a basket. I can manage 3 bags of jelly beans all by myself, thank you very much.
So guess what? They’re on sale. They are ordinarily $2.99 per bag, but the sale price was 3 for $5.00. I call dh to ask him how many bags I was supposed to buy. Yep — six. “Oh, and by the way, we also need Cheetos, saltine crackers and tortilla chips.” Great! As if I don’t already look like a big enough tool walking around with 6 large bags of jelly beans. Might as well go for broke.
No, I do not heart grocery shopping — not even a little bit. But the candy aisle was somewhat educational. Have you heard about the new m&m special dark chocolate candies?
I always thought that because they were shiny looking, they were INDIVIDUALLY WRAPPED in foil. And seriously…who has that kind of time? But no! You EAT the shiny part:
Yeah. Still not so sure about that. But to end on a positive note, guess what they were selling in the bakery? (Cue the angelic, cherub choir.) Chocolate chip pumpkin muffin tops! Yum-O!
Now, that there is a muffin top I can give truly get behind.
I know I’ve talked about this before, but what is your blog about? Would it fit into a defined category? The kind they want you to use for those search engine thingies? If you are new to this blog, what would you say it’s about? If you figure it out, please share. I’d love to know.
Here’s what I’ve figure out: There are some incredibly gifted writers out there; able to convey concepts, ideas, visions, insight, humor and wisdom within some beautifully painted word pictures. Once in a great while, I can get within the ballpark of that realm, but mostly not. The words just travel out of my mind, down my arms, through my fingertips and into the blogosphere. I always have an idea what I’m going to write about, but the end result is sometimes completely different than what I had conceptualized. This is why I usually have 5 or 6 google docs in various stages on completion. Admittedly, I write a pretty high ratio of ridiculous crap, but there’s something very liberating about writing this blog. My reader profile is undefined. I’m not writing to entertain or persuade any particular group of people. I just write. I try to be responsible and mostly unoffensive, but, like my friend Stacy from Louisville likes to say, “I have standards, I just forgot where I put them.”
While lately it seems that some of my fellow bloggers have reduced the number of posts they write in a week, I seem to have increased the number I write. It’s not like I’m racking my brain to figure out what to write about. Stuff just seems to be presenting itself to write. While some might be said to be suffering from blogstipation, I have the opposite affliction: bloggerrhea. Will it last? I don’t know. But I’m not going to fight it. I’m just going to write. Sorry/You’re welcome.
Hey, peeps! My kiddo is performing at Sea World today. Actually, his choir is performing – he doesn’t have mad water skiing skillz or anything like that. Anyway, one of the judges will be accompanying me on the trip, cuz her daughter is also performing. Therefore, I am extending the deadline until whenever I get back. This should be sometime tonight. In the meantime, let me remind you that still in the running are: Jake, Tony C., Rrramone, Nick the Geek, Helen, and of course, the odds on favorite: Beth!
I don’t need to tell you how skanktacular this particular prize package is. Clearly, you recognize quality, as witnessed by your loyalty to this blog! AHEM…
And now….(drum roll) here is the next group for your consideration:
Yes, Virginia there is a Skank Fairy: Greetings from the Magical Land of Miscellaneous!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen! Not only do you get two beautiful stars from the blockbuster hit “Bratz Fashion Pixies!”, you also get two silver butterfly hair clips, a creepy little blue fairy, an extra skirt, wand AND a stereo radio worth literally hundreds of pennies!
I know you’re saying to yourselves, “How could she possibly offer such a fine prize package in such desperate economic times as these?!” But wait…there’s more!
You also will receive four cake topper bratz dolls, suitable for even the youngest wanna-be prostitot! (I realize that it is difficult to see in this picture, but trust me – the one on the far left has a precious expression that seems to say, “Oh no you di-ent!”, and the one on the far right bears a striking resemblance to BonQuiQui). Plus, a tiny pillow that says “Pamper Me”, a fuzzy bratz chiuaua with bobble head and all the accessories, and of course the removable pixie wings.
I know the competition will be extra tough this week. Please…no wagering! In the meantime, be thinking about possible graduation gifts for a certain young college blogger whose likeness will be up for grabs next week!
No. I didn’t just pull these off my bookshelf and stack them up for a picture. These are the books that waiting patiently to be read. (This doesn’t include the books that friends are borrowing that I haven’t read yet.) I have started reading “Twilight” and “Look Me in the Eye”. “The Joyful Christian” is more of a devotional book made up of short, mostly unrelated chapters, so that one doesn’t really count towards books waiting to be finished.
I bought Twilight because I was very curious about all the hub-bub. I’ll read anything by Stephen King. I have The Shack for the same reason I have Twilight – hub-bub. When I say I don’t really watch television anymore, I don’t do so to sound all enlightened. I honestly would rather read a book than watch TV. I spend enough time staring at a screen. AHEM!
So…What do you think I should read next? Have you read any of these? What say you?
So, apparently I’m in a bit of a non-conformity/skanktinicity groove lately. I’ll shake the skanky thing as soon as I get the rest of those Bratz dolls out of my house. BTW – If you don’t want me to send the leftover dolls and feet to our good friend Beth, you should probably take a bullet for her and enter the contest. I think I’ve gotten her pretty worked up about that — mostly because she knows I’ll do it without blinking an eye.
Stacy from Louisville is still disqualified, but may claim her giant ball of dryer lint at any time. You many enter as often as you want. These make lovely gifts for friends and loved ones and will be beautifully gift wrapped in an empty Fancy Feast cat food box and shipped directly at no extra charge. Deadline for Slutty Girlz Rock Band featuring Miss Amy Winehouse is this Saturday at 9:00 AM Central time. Here’s a sneak peek at this week’s group and the next two prize extravaganzas to follow:
And the grand finale:
As with last week’s contest, I will not be judging. I really don’t want to have to make such an important, potentially life altering decision for one of you lucky contestants. Ron, Tamara and Jeff will continue to judge the contest. Good luck to you all. Especially you, Beth! AHEM!
Now, back to my groove thing:
What I will never (hopefully) shake is the non-conformity groove. I’m a half-breed freak. As a kid, I thought that if only I had blond hair and blue eyes happiness would be mine. I used to put tape on my eyelids and look in the mirror to see how I would look if I was “normal”. I’m way past that now (mostly). Normal is boring. Normal doesn’t build character. Normal isn’t funny. And seriously…these days, what is considered normal anyway? (Sorry — little tangent there.)
As I may have mentioned before, I am not very techno-savvy. Fortunately, freaks tend to befriend geeks, so if I can’t figure something out, there is always someone who can save me from my ignorance. I don’t have texting on my phone. When I first saw “LOL” on a website comment, I thought it meant “lots of love”. I was thinking, “Wow, that person REALLY liked that article!” I am also a dork.
And, of course, since everyone else uses this term, that automatically negates my use of it and any other text abbreviation. I just can’t go there — Talk to the hand! (again – dork)
Lately, it seems everyone’s been using the sideways happy face or some version of it in their comments. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating on the smiley face, I’m just not going to use any emoticons in my comments…Oh, well — except maybe this one:
( I ) – yes sherri. that is a butt.
Editor’s Note: I just proofread this post and laughed out loud when I re-read “I’ll shake the skanky thing”. I crack myself up. Sometimes not even on purpose. Whoa…this post was like blowing up a balloon really full and then letting go — all over place! Sorry/you’re welcome.