Sunday Musings: Movies with Language

1. It is always helpful to have a pack of blank notecards in your purse when attending a bachelorette party.

2. It is always dangerous when, as a new pastor in a small town, you sneak out to the big city to see a movie with the word "Bast***s" in the title, because chances are the Senior Pastor has snuck out to the big city as well--except in his case, it's for some serious shopping and stir fry. In this particular dangerous situation, he'll be seated on a bench outside of the theater, people-watching for some good Sunday morning sermon stories, while his wife and her close friend (who is wearing a Bob the Tomato t-shirt) finish some shopping for Children's Ministries. He'll see you, and happily strike up conversation, asking what movie you intend to see, and you'll have to tell him, stating the name of the movie not once, but twice because he thought he didn't hear you correctly. He'll hide his devastation, because he wants to appear relevant, but there's no getting around the fact that God's #1 Guy caught you paying $8.50 to see a movie that has the word "bast***s" in the title. And then Tad will repeat "Be sure your sins will find you out" the rest of the evening.

3. It is always optimistic to think that you can learn a language listening to cd's from the library at work and during work outs. But if the people on TV and in the movies can do it, why not give it a try? (wish me luck!)

Sunday Musings: The Great American Novel

Tad surprised me with these books, the other day. He purchased them for 25 cents each from the Allen County Public Library. I almost had a heart attack.

Middlesex I read in 2006, during my senior year of college. Thousand I read sometime last year after being blown away by The Kite Runner.

Here, I am reenacting the span of emotions felt when reading one of Khaled Hosseini's books:




You can guarantee I will become a frequent patron of this used book section, my pockets bulging with quarters. Quarters!

This almost reminds me of the time Erin, Stephanie and I snagged some books from a library in Littleton, Colorado (I think it was Littleton . . . maybe Estes Park). We were under the impression that it was a "grab what you can" type thing, but after examining the stickers on the book covers, found out that it was a "take one, leave one" sort of thing. Oops. It's okay though. They can't possibly miss the 104 volumes we confiscated.

Besides, I thorougly enjoyed Susanna Clarke's masterpiece.

Sunday Musings: A Hard Knock Life

I am at work . . . on a Sunday. I am not alone. And people wonder why I believe my best years are behind me?

Sunday Musings: MahJong, Mah-long Lost Love

In high school I had a problem with an addiction to Minesweeper. I'd fall asleep thinking up different and difficult scenarios and how I'd click my way out. I'd go over and over what it mean if a number 3 was surrounded by 5 blocks and adjacent to a number 2. Over and over until my top scores looked something like:

10 seconds Beginner
40 seconds Intermediate
170 seconds Expert

I knew the game and the math behind it like the back of my hand. And now, when I sleep, I see this:

Fortunately, there's not as much math behind this and the sheer number of differing tiles makes it hard to imagine game scenarios. Yet, the obsession is just as bad. I simply HAVE to get a game or 2 in before bed . . . after a run . . . while making dinner . . . during blogging . . .

And I find myself racing home from work to try out the Dragon or Turtle (pictured above).

Believe it or not, though, I didn't check to see whether MahJong Solitaire was on my work laptop until Tad asked earlier this week.

It's not. Looks as though I'll be keeping my job.

Sunday Musings: The Ice Cream Man

Generally, when a middle-aged, shirtless, shaggy haired, white (or occasionally Hispanic) male drives by an okay-looking girl between the ages of 17 and 30, jogging steadily down the sidewalk, his natural inclination is to slow down.... just.enough....so.that.he.can.take.it.all.in...without....being....creepy.......slower....slower...

Sometimes, these creepers brake just slightly, as to not appear perverted. Other times, they crawl by at a pace so sluggish that the running girl must also slow down just to get them to pass by. And still other times, after they've passed the poor girl, their slowing will bring them to a complete stop at an intersection . . . even though the light is green and even though the runner is a hundred feet behind them . . . it's like you can see them thinking . . .

"If I wait here long enough, she'll eventually catch up. Then, I can harass her with my devilish charm. Or just follow her until she gives me her phone number and begs me to call. OR! I could take a right here, go around the block, and come up behind her AGAIN!" And so, the right turn is made. Yes, I have actually experienced someone drive around the block only to pass me even more slowly than they did the first time.

Today, as I ran in the sun-scorched neighborhood of Southwood Park, I kind-of sort-of had one of these experiences, only it involved an Ice Cream Man. Let's just say I finally realized why some men are willing to give their summers to driving crappy vans and selling overpriced ice cream to middle and lower class citizens:

It gives them an excuse to drive slowly.

As I ran and as the Ice Cream Man passed me at a rate that would make a grandma in a Buick look good, there was nothing I could do. He was, after all, just doing his job. It's not like he knew our paths would cross. And it's not like he suddenly put the brakes on when I appeared up the road. No, he was doing what he was paid to do....drive as slowly as a snail scoots. It just so happened that for that brief minute on Beaver Avenue, the scenery changed and he had a little more to think about than whether the children would be enticed by his totally awesome and loud song. It was probably no different than watching old couples taking a stroll, squirrels dashing up trees, dads cleaning out garages...

Then, once he passed me, I heard him speed up.

What a sick, creep.