We Interrupt This Blog

For A Little Christmas

I'll be back with more Nebulous thoughts next week. Until then, test your skill with the following.
And Remember: Wise Men Still Seek Him.

Name the Christmas Carol

Christmas Trivia:

1. In Frosty the Snowman, who brought Frosty back to life?
2. Who lost $8,000 in It's a Wonderful Life?
3. In How the Grinch Stole Christmas, what biological shortcoming made the Grinch so mean?
4. Who tells you she's in town by tap, tap, tappin' at your windowpane?
5. What is the biggest selling Christmas single of all time?
6. What was Scrooge's first name?
7. Where was I when I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus?
8. What was the name of Rudolph's dogsled driving friend?
9. Who said "God Bless Us, Every One!"?
10. What carol contains the line "O tidings of comfort and joy"?
11. In The Night Before Christmas I sprang from my bed to see what?
12. Name the three reindeer whose names begin with a "D"?
13. In the song "Grandma Got Run over by a Reindeer" what did Grandma go to get?
14.What was the first gift my true love sent on the sixth day of Christmas?
15. In what city did Miracle on 34th Street take place?
16. In It's a Wonderful Life, how did Clarence cleverly save George's life?
17. Who kept time with the Little Drummer Boy?
18.In The Night Before Christmas, where were the stockings hung?
19. What is the name of the little girl in most versions of The Nutcracker?
20. What is the last ghost called in A Christmas Carol?
21. What color is the Grinch?
22. How many pipers piping did my true love give to me?
23. In the movie The Santa Clause, who starred as the substitute Santa Claus??
24. What was Rudolph's punishment for his red nose? 25. A Charlie Brown Christmas, who plays the dusty innkeeper in the Christmas play?

Answers to Christmas Carols:

1. Jingle Bells 2. Walking in a Winter Wonderland 3. Santa Claus is Coming to Town 4. Joy to the World 5. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer 6. O' Come All Ye Faithful 7. I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas 8. Oh, Christmas Tree 9. What Child is This? 10. We Three Kings 11. Deck the Halls 12. I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In 13. O' Holy Night 14. Noel 15. Away In a Manger 16. The Twelve Days of Christmas 17. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus 18. All I Want For Christmas is My Two Front Teeth 19. Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire 20. It Came Upon a Midnight Clear 21. Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow! 22. Silent Night 23. O' Little Town of Bethlehem 24. Silver Bells

Answers to Christmas Trivia:

1 Santa Claus 2 Uncle Billy 3 His heart was two sizes too small 4 Suzy Snowflake 5 "White Christmas" 6 Ebenezer 7 On the Stairs 8 Yukon Cornelius 9 Tiny Tim 10 "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" 11 What was the matter 12 Dasher, Donder, Dancer 13 Her medication 14 Six geese a-laying 15 New York 16 He jumped into the river first 17 The ox and the lamb 18 By the chimney 19 Clara 20 The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come 21 Green 22 Eleven 23 Tim Allen 24 Could not play in reindeer games 25 Pigpen

A Prozac for Your Thoughts

In general, there are two types of people; even-keeled rocks of strength who can meet any challenge with a calm steely reserve, and volcanoes who explode all over everyone and everything. In my opinion, both are good. I have a deep respect for the person who is unwavering and controlled. I understand they might not join the conga line or the group hug. I know they won’t be crying at the end of Big Fish or any movie where Debra Winger dies, but that’s okay. Someone has to describe the spider to the 911 operator or make sure the wild kid doesn’t let go of the piñata bat. Working tear ducts are a small sacrifice. What about the blow hard? He don’t bug me, either. This guy may give ulcers, but he’ll never get them and if the dog pees every time he shouts, so be it. It’s not my carpet. Yes, I actually respect people who are on both of these extremes. Each has her or his place. Be it working in an office cubicle or at the DMV. I believe people are wired a certain way. I’m not going to get into the genetics/environment discussion. That would require a clear thought process and my thinking is far too nebulous for that.

Now, just like when I’m dancing, I’m all over the place. If you have a heart attack, I’m your man. I can notify security, assign an elevator monitor, get the poor suckers emergency card copied while I describe the lovely shade of green he’s turning to the 911 babe or have the courage to say out loud to the paramedic, “No, his skin naturally has that grayish tinge to it.” I bet during all of this my blood pressure remains a constant calm; probably wouldn’t even find a pulse. I can also throw a good rant when necessary. Ignore my phone calls? (I don’t THINK so!) Tell me, “I understand your frustration, but I can’t help you. That's not our policy” (Let's just take a moment and review that policy, okay?!) I’ve made grown men cry and rendered quick talking females speechless. (If nothing else, I am a gentleman.) People actually ask me to make calls for them and “Pull a Mark.” My daughter walked into the room after I hung up with Time Warner Cable and gave me a high-five. (In all fairness, I asked to speak to the supervisor and she said she could solve my problem.)

But the rest of the time I’m all over the place, too. I can’t hear good news without my pulse racing or bad news and not feel my heart in my throat. I can’t look at a picture of my kids for too long and not tear up with joy or worry or excitement or pride…you get my drift. And the problem comes when the good news is immediately followed by the bad, and then the exciting and then the unjust and then the kids.
Have you ever had a shock to your system? I’m not talking about an ice cube down your back or a glimpse of an overweight lady's thong or a big drink of Diet Coke when you think there’s Dr. Pepper in the glass. I’m talking about real system overload. This week I’ve been going through it big time. I’ve heard it all; good news, bad news, happy and sad news. It’s been a wild rollercoaster ride without a seatbelt. I know it’s better to feel all of this than to feel numb or to feel nothing. I don’t necessarily want to change it, but understanding it would be nice. I’d ask for comments, but you’re not ready. That’s okay. It’s enough knowing you’re there.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Years ago, I purchased two CD’s of Christmas music. One was Kenny G’s first collection of Christmas songs and the second was by Mahalia Jackson (I know, eclectic). I liked Kenny and since I played the clarinet myself (before my lip gave out and I started making spitting sounds when I tried for the upper register), I decided to give him a try. I had heard the song, “I wonder as I wander.” (Vanessa Williams sings the song on YouTube, but you didn’t hear that from me.) The words were so hauntingly beautiful; I just had to own a copy. I had heard of Miss Jackson but had never actually heard her sing. Within the first week, I regretted both choices. Shortly after I made the purchase, I read an interview given by Mr. G, where he stated that because he wasn't a Christian and didn’t believe in any of this Christmas stuff, he had to approach the CD from a strictly musical perspective. (GASP!) At that moment, I decided I would only purchase Christmas music from artists who believe in the product. (Why not? I have the same philosophy when buying cars.) The next shock came when I put on Mahalia to help me get over Mr. “I’ll-blow-any-song-through-my-kazoo-for-a-buck.” G. Well, I got over Kenny. I got way over Kenny, past Christmas half way through Lent. I understand that Mahalia Jackson is a legend but when I hear a Christmas song I’m taking a shot at being in a good mood. Her deep baritone voice sounded like a 45 single of the lovely Vanessa Williams played at the speed for a 33 LP. (If you’re old enough, you’ll get the idea. If not, it was slow.) It was depressing. Silent Night was even worst. All may have been calm, but it certainly was not bright. I would love to here her sing, “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas.” Burl Ives was a baritone and he managed to keep it peppy. I didn’t know what to do. When I listened to Kenny G, I wanted to kill him. When I listened to Mahalia Jackson, I wanted to kill myself. It was at that moment that I made another decision. I decided I would only purchase Christmas music from people who believed in the product and did not make me feel suicidal. (I think that was a good call.)

Thanks to my boss and KOST 103.5, I’ve been listening to Christmas carols since the second week in November and I’ve realized something. I don’t like Christmas music. Don’t get me wrong. I’m the first one to join in a chorus of “Away in a Manger” and nothing brings me to tears faster than “O Holy Night” (Well, maybe Kenny tooting out “What a Friend I have in Jesus” or Mahalia singing “Santa Baby”) But listening to hour after hour of Wham singing “Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart” or No Doubt belting out “Oi to the World” does not bring to mind Mary giving birth in a stable. Two-thirds of Wilson Phillips (the Wilson part) singing “Hey, Santa!” and Rod Stewart trying to convince Dolly Parton into snuggling because “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” doesn’t help me reflect on how Jesus, my Savior did come for to die. (Actually, the visual image of Roddy succeeding makes my stomach queezy.) It makes me wonder, what is the intent of the holiday for those who do not consider it a holy day? The packages, the crowds, the baking, the lights and the tinsel; what does it all mean? Maybe Mahalia expressed it best? Are we wondering and wandering about clueless to all that God has done for us; not with a sense of hope and awe or even amazed puzzlement but with a baritone sense of emptiness. And that’s why I don’t like listening to this type of Christmas music. Because it would be like me giving seminars in how to fix plumbing, or swing a bat, or do a math problem (I can seriously go on.) Things about which I don’t know much (and I’m honestly not interested in learning).but if you give me a wrench or a bat or a pencil and paper I could give you a good impersonation. Eventually, I may even convince myself that I’m committed to something or doing something of meaning. At that point, God help your water pressure or your batting average or your math grade. I honestly hope I do not offend. I'm not judging sincerity. I'm just curious about motivation. To each his own. Let me know what you think. I'll be here. Kicking back, jamming to my latest CD, Kenny G’s "A Very Special Kwanzaa.”

Hello, My Name is Mark. I'm a Tube-aholic

So I’ve got this new monkey on my back. While researching my nebulous musings and teachings I have stumbled on and become addicted to this little gem of a place called YouTube. At this place, you can watch absolutely ANYTHING you want conveniently delivered at the click of your mouse without commercials in cute little 4 minute packages. It’s like cable TV without the infomercials.
Honestly, don’t you just hate that “Set it and Forget it”guy and that lady who talks about making mini-fruit pies with white bread and apple pie filling. (I don't care if you DO sprinkle powdered sugar on it. That’s not pie; just a weird toasted sandwich.) But YouTube, this place is Nirvana. By the way you can watch their music video, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” anytime you want. (I honestly believe if it weren’t for the poor hygiene-thing, Grunge would still be big.) And YouTube is contagious, too. At my last men’s group, one brother’s eyes lit up when I mentioned watching a documentary about Raul Ries and another said, “Really, H.R. Pufnstuf? I remember that song.”
(But Puf‘nStuf was watching, too and knew exactly what to do. He saw the witch's boat attack and as the boy was fighting back…Don’t judge me, I said this was a problem.) And you shouldn't judge. There is valuable information here. YouTube is not just fluff. You can watch stirring discussions on Einstein's Theory of Relativity or the impact of Global Warming on polar bears. (No one ever does, but it's there.) In the course of one YouTube session I watched a behind the scenes look at I Love Lucy (Fred was an alcoholic. Ethel hated him. Ricky was a womanizer); I listened to the lovely and tragic Miss Patsy Cline sing, “Sweet Dreams” (the hair on the back of my neck stood on end) and I shook my tushie to Nancy Sinatra singing, “These Boots Are Made For Walking” on the Ed Sullivan Show (my… never mind) And it didn’t cost me a thing; just my monthly internet bill and two hours of my time. Well, and if you want to get picky about it, 8 hours of my time because I did this every night this week. Oh and while I was doing this I didn’t spend any quality time with kids or work on the short story idea I had in mind (The idea passed) and my wife went to bed… ALONE.
We recently got rid of the television because my family was segmented. Everyone was spending every free minute in a different room of the house and my wife wanted us to reconnect. It worked wonders. Just last week my family was interacting and communicating, or at least that’s what it sounded like they were doing. I was busy watching Suzanne Sugarbaker deal with her weight (They Shoot Fat Chicks, Don’t They?) Ross and Rachel end their relationship (They were on a break.) and Will Truman confuse Anastasia Beaverhausen for his friend Karen Walker. (Makes me laugh just typing it.) What did I miss anyway? Reading my kids a story? Cuddling with my wife? Being an active participant in this God-given life of mine instead of mindless video-viewing blob? (At least I’m not hating so much that I’m spitting up bile anymore, right?)
So there you have it. I admit I’ve got issues but I still don’t think it’s a problem. I can quit whenever I want to. I can do this socially and it won’t take over my life. I’ll just have to take it One Day at a Time. (I wonder what would happen if I typed Valerie Bertinelli?)

With A Grateful Heart

"Thanksgiving Day is coming!”
Oh, Mr. Turkey said.
“How very careful I must be,
Or I will lose my head!”
The Pumpkin heard the turkey.
“How frightening too, Oh My!
They’ll mix me up with sugar and spice.
And I’ll be a pumpkin pie!”

While tragic to large fowls and squash, this song has always been one of the highlights of my Thanksgiving. As far back as I can remember, my mother sang this song every year. Funny thing, a child’s reality; the things you remember so vividly now seem to have taken place in a dream or an old television show. It’s as if my memories are stored in black and white. Only the present takes place in living color. I remember running around the yard with all of my cousins; too many to fit in the house let alone sit around one table. At dinner time, the adults sat in the kitchen. We were served on paper plates and ate outside resting our food and drinks on the hood of the car. As it got late, we plotted how one of us could go home with the other family and spend the night; keep the party going as long as possible. We weren’t concerned about cooking or dirty dishes or gluten or divorce. I remember my dad getting mad when we picked at the skin of the bird, and when I teased him for not being able to reach the pot in the back of the high cupboard. One year, my mom forgot to get punch, so she made a packet of Jell-O and told us to drink it quick. Mijo always made something new; poached pears one year that no one ate; rice pudding another I heard it tasted good (from him, of course) no one else remembers tasting it. Every year he complains we’re eating too early or too late or too fast or too slow. (Do you get my point, here?) One year, my dad put brandy in the yams and ruined them. (I’m still holding that grudge.) The year after he died it wasn’t the same but we went on, some of us cooking, mijo complaining, all of us singing the song.

Things are different now and the idea of picking one day to remember and give thanks seems absurd. Now, I’m in charge of the turkey. I’m avoiding the dishes. I’m concerned about the gluten and coping with the other things. In terms of stopping and being thankful, Thanksgiving is a useless holiday to me; rather redundant actually. I don’t need it. You see, I truly thank my God every day. I look at how He has blessed me with my family, my church, my friends, my home, my job (I can seriously keep going). I know how blessed I am. I don’t need to stop and think. I know who I am, where I’m from, where I deserve to be and where He has placed me and I am very thankful. I’ll take the day anyway because it gives me some time with the people I love dearly. This year we have a new baby and her daddy joining us for the first time. We’ll sing them the song. Maybe, we’ll go outside and eat on the hood of the car. Yes, things are different now.

"OH FECK!"

I’ve always thought the 1st Amendment was terribly overrated. Before you start squawking about how I wouldn’t be able to bless all of you with my Nebulous@best teachings, hear me out. (This is my right, is it not?) It seems to me that current communication standards are not what our forefathers had in mind. Although unconscionable and appalling, I’m not talking about the artist who submerged a crucifix in a bottle of urine or Sarah Silverman’s latest blasphemy. In an almost un-Christian way, I must admit, I am looking forward to peeking out from behind Jesus’ robes when these people stand before Him in judgment, aware of what they’ve said and who they’ve said it about. That’s ATAB (another topic for another blog). I’m talking about the perversion of language and how it festers at the everyday level. I once went to school with a girl who loved the “F-word” (And I’m talking THE BIG F-WORD). So much so, that she would squeeze it into any sentence she could. For example, if asked, “Do you like your bank?” She would reply, “You mean, Wells Fecked-Go!” She didn’t live in the lovely city of Fontana; she had to sell her house and get out of “Fecked-tana.” (I’m assuming you are all making the necessary substitutions.) This is only the beginning. In the short time that I knew her, she told me of being a den mother for the Fecked Scouts. That’s right. She had two little feckers (Her description, not mine). She really didn’t care for the pasta at the “Fecked-ghetti Factory.” And when she was exasperated she even gave Jesus Christ a new middle name. (This chick will be standing in between Sarah and the pee-pee artist.) The breakdown in how people express themselves is happening all around us and no one seems to be bothered.
Someone tell me, what exactly is profane?
On the first night I met my future brother-in-law, he paid me a compliment and then told me, “Mark, I’m not just not packing sand up your @$$.” (I replied, “Thank you.”) When my daughter was 2 years old, my wife told me she dropped something and said the F-word (see the title of this post). Shauna tried to assure me that she didn’t say it to anyone, but used it in its proper context. I asked, “You mean she’s watching porno, too?!!” When we questioned my little poet, she said she heard Nana say the word. Now, although my mother-in-law lived in Beaumont, a town that at the time that had one traffic signal, several trailer parks and cattle at the end of the main road, she was a very intelligent woman.

She did not, however, feel the need to censure her speech. This was a woman whose favorite phrase was, “Wish in one hand, sh!* in the other and see which hand fills up first. (I’ve asked my wife to cross stitch that on a sampler for above the fireplace.) I always judge how intelligent and/or how lazy people are by the adjectives and adverbs they use while speaking. As always, I’m not throwing stones. Anyone who’s seen me hammer a nail or step on a Lego or Happy Meal toy (I hate those things) in my bare feet knows that. I tell my kids that talking is a privilege. People who go for the cheap shock or expression are lazy. There must be a better way to get your point across. When my daughter agreed, I got so excited. I thought, “fan-FECKIN’-tastic”… but I didn’t say it.

The Hating Game

"I hate the way my hair looks,” “I love pizza but I hate anchovies.” The question of the day is “What’s wrong with a little well-placed hate?” Okay, pizza and hair gel are trivial but what about big things? Evil? Shouldn’t we hate evil? Saying I hate the devil can’t be bad. What about an unscrupulous boss or the neighbor who lets his poodle do a doodie in your yard? How about Barney or the Wiggles? Give me a break! If anything should be hated, it’s those guys.

God hates. It says so in the Bible. In Malachi 2:16, God states very clearly, “I hate divorce.” Deuteronomy 12:31 talks about all the detestable things God hates. That verse alone justifies a little bit of Wiggles-hate, don’tcha think? So there! It should be settled. There is a place for hating; be it little fishies on pizza or big purple dinosaurs. Hating is the bomb. “

Right now, you should be sitting at your computer, shouting out a great big, “AMEN!” Except for one major detail, it’s a ticking bomb and it’s strapped to our very souls.

Whatever you do, do not begin to think I’m getting preachy. Believe me; I’m not sitting on my high horse, passing judgment on anyone. At this very moment, I can give you a list of things that create a knot deep in my gut. Things that would easily be classified as "righteous indignation” and stamped, “JUSTIFIED!” I can create a separate, distinct list of things that bug me. The war in Iraq; bone heads that blindly criticize or support the war in Iraq, the way hurting people are falling through the cracks at a mega-church I attended twenty years ago (okay, that’s an old one). I’ve been able to keep so many chips balanced on my shoulder simultaneously that someone should call the newspapers. I’m just getting started. I’ve got a third list (I like to call this my “Barney” list) of things that just drive me crazy; shallow things, like the guy with the dog or the kewpie-doll way a co-worker smiles at me every time I pass his cubicle. How about people who use the word, “irregardless?” If I ever go postal, it will be after I've heard that word twice in the same meeting, I’m sure.

But this doesn’t make sense. If God is Lord of my life, why do I have knots in my stomach? If He is holding me in His arms, why aren’t the chips falling off my shoulders? (Side note: These are not issues of God’s power, but of my submission.) One thing God has revealed to me this week is that the key word in the term “righteous indignation” is the first word not the second and that’s my problem right there.

So I’ve got a big steaming pile of this on my plate and it’s not very tasty. Drop me a comment. I’d love to hear what you have to say. Don’t make me beg. I hate it when people do that.