It’s the same complaint that I had when blogging first hit the world like an atom bomb of inane “look at what my cat just did” carnage. Sure, everyone has a voice now, but should everyone really have a voice? I guess so. Honestly, it’s hard not to want to restrict that freedom when your buddy expects you to look at daily updates on the state of his back hair. Or your Aunt wants you to look at 23 pictures of her in the Snuggie she got for Christmas on Facebook. Sometimes it’s best to keep our narcissism to ourselves until we eventually discover that the world simply can’t revolve around more than one person at a time. Now, years later, it seems like some of the “Cat Blogging” has abated and the blogosphere has reached a little more equilibrium (well… mostly). Maybe we just had to get it out of our system for a while.

Now Twitter enters the scene and the immediacy of communication and life-share gets us all hot and bothered again. The problem is that life-share can quickly become over-share.

With this is mind, here’s my advice on Twitter (twittervice?). After all, while you’re reading this blog post the world revolves around me. Right?

CONTRIBUTE. The power of Twitter is not in making your world more centered around you. Twitter is about connecting to a collective conversation. The occasional “I’m bored” tweet is ok. I really am interested in what my friends are doing. But, if you never contribute anything original, never post a link to something interesting and valuable, never add anything to the “conversation” then you need to rethink this thing a little. Do you ever have a thought that isn’t about yourself? Post it. If someone you follow contributes something valuable, retweet it. Stop acting like Twitter is your birthday party where everyone came to see you.

Maybe Twitter is simply reflecting something about all of us that we hesitate to face up to. Maybe we are all far more narcissistic than we think.

That is all. You may return to your own planet’s orbit.

[tags]twitter, micro-blogging, tips, help[/tags]

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1. What We Can Learn From Twitter?
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Now some of you know that I have recently come into the possession of a cat.  Her name is Molly.  We got her free from some rednecks that already had 345 kittens in their little shack and just didn’t have any more room.  I was swindled by my daughters and their mother was in cahoots with them as well.  They promised that the litter box wouldn’t stink, the carpet wouldn’t get ripped to shreds, and the cat would be nice and sweet.  I’m such a stooge.  One bat of their eyelashes and pouty bottom lips and the room started to spin.  Next thing I know another warm body is hopping around my house whining and clawing at me because I’m not giving it enough love, affection, and name-brand food.

Why don’t I like cats?  Let me count the ways…

1. Claws. They are completely unnecessary for a cat that has never had to chase, or kill anything in order to eat.  Yet for some reason, my cat is convinced that my couch and my bare legs are an antelope grazing on the African plains and the cat is a hungry lioness.   I’m told it’s inhumane to declaw a cat, so I’m thinking of removing it’s paws.
2. Teeth. Same logic as the problem with claws.  Only, these are harder to remove since most vets will not remove cat teeth without a substantial down payment.  And even then, it’s done by a guy name Leroy who also fights Pit Bulls in his back yard.
3. Molly the Ninja Cat. My kids occasionally wake up in the middle of the night wanting something like a glass of water, diaper change, etc.  Until the cat invaded my home this was a simple thing.  Now, I feel like Chuck Norris battling his way into the Octagon against all odds.  The house is dark, and I know the cat is lurking somewhere ready to pounce.  I am at a disadvantage because my human eyes cannot see far in the dark, nor do I know Karate.  Inevitably, as I’m stepping around the legos on the floor, Molly will pounce on my legs, raking her claws down my calf while she chomps down into my ankle with her demon teeth.  It’s like turning the crank on a jack-in-the-box only this clown pops up and scratches your eyes out.
4. “Kitty Litter” is just a marketing term for poo. And in case you didn’t know, poo STINKS.  Oh, don’t worry.  They’ve got it covered.  They invented this magic kitty litter crud that causes the cat pee to clump together in little piss-boulders.  This, apparently, is so that the fresh poo can cling to the hardened urine ball just long enough to fall onto the carpet as you try to throw it in the trash.  Luckily, the kitty litter is scented.  It allows the smell of the feces and urine to mingle with the smell of fake pine.  This way, you are forced to take a big wiff in order to identify the odd smell.  Ooo boy!  That’s a pleasant aroma.
5. Whining.  Whining is why God invented spanking. I’m also pretty sure it’s the real reason for the flood and therefore the invention of rain.  Whining was so annoying that God decided that smiting humanity with lightning the old fashioned way wasn’t going to make Him feel better.  It was time to invent rain.  I can relate because I now have a small creature that roams my house whining about things that only a cat could understand.  I don’t speak cat.  I have no idea why the cat is complaining.  Even if I could speak cat, I don’t think cats can be reasoned with anyway.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I love my cat.  Not like a father loves a child (or the remote), but more like how everyone in “3′s Company” loved Mr. Roper.  In every episode, Mr. Roper would come around unexpected and foul things up for yet another of Jack’s foolhardy schemes.  He was Jack’s nemisis, but loveable at the same time.

If only I were Chuck Norris…

[tags]cats, claws, funny, youtube, chuck norris, cat lover, cat hater[/tags]

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I liked George because he got into trouble about as much as I did. I also loved the illustrations in the books. But, I always understood that the hero of the book was the Man in the Yellow Hat. He was the ultimate father figure. He was a safari adventurer. He was confident. He always corrected George when he did wrong, but he was also incredibly patient and understanding. He knew George was only a silly monkey and didn’t expect him to act like an adult human. He also loved George, but he loved him as a father not as a friend. He also had great fashion sense. He wore that yellow outfit before anyone else knew how cool it really was.

Recently I watched the Curious George movie. I was more excited than my kids were because I still really dig Curious George and the Man in the Yellow Hat.  Boy was I disappointed.

The production value of the movie was high.  It was very well done and the animation was amazing.  But, what they did to the Man in the Yellow Hat was wrong.  In the movie, he is a complete bumbling idiot.  he was totally insecure and inept.  He could hardly put a sentence together without saying something self-conscious or ridiculous.  They had stripped him of everything that kids love about the character.

You know how he came to wear the yellow hat?  He bought it because two salesmen sold it to him right after one of them said to the other, “You ordered the wrong color!  What kind of idiot is going to buy a bunch of yellow safari outfits?”

For the entire movie, George is the smarter one.  The Man in the Yellow Hat stumbles through the entire movie trying to make everyone happy and making a general mess of all his relationships.

I know that I should expect this from Hollywood.  I’m not naive.  It’s just that sometimes the way fathers are portrayed as idiots in our culture really steams me up good.  What kid wants to be like this guy?  I’d rather be the monkey with a brain the size of pea and a cute face than the whimpering idiot that got suckered into buying a yellow hat.  At least George has a good time.  As far as I can tell, being a father involves lots of wining, falling down, selfishness, and general stupidity.

Now, yes, the Man in the Yellow Hat wins in the end.  But he does so because George is smarter than he is.  I’m not kidding.  The monkey figures the whole thing out first.  Now, even monkeys are smarter than Dads.  They also make better friends.  Sad.  So very sad.

[tags]curious george, the man in the yellow hat[/tags]

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So all the way through long division, fractions (and multiplying fractions), pre-algebra, algebra, word problems, physics, chemistry, and quantum physics I longed for the day when I would take my last math class.  Then the day came as a sophomore in college.  I believe the last word problem I did involved calculating the angle of a truck bed in relation to a pile of cow manure.  I had to calculate how much force it would take to move x pounds of dung up the inclined truck bed.  My math professor was a redneck who wore overalls to class.  I passed the class (I understand dung).  I thought that, after many battles, I had finally won the war.  Math was dead, and I stood victorious.  I could now spend the rest of my life wallowing in the glorious subjective goo of all that it is to be an English major.  I recently found some of my old papers from my senior lit classes.  One of the comments on the paper was something like, “Ben, your writing style is excellent.  You communicate your thoughts well and the paper is engaging to read.  However, you don’t seem to have a good grasp of the novel and do not cover any of the themes of the book with any detail.  Did you even read the book?”  You know what grade I got on that paper?  I got an A.  That’s what I mean by “subjective goo”.

To my dismay, however, marriage revived the math war.  Kind of like an action movie where the insane villain dies in the final scene.  Then when the hero lets his guard down and is busy kissing the girl and tending to her superficial wounds, the villain suddenly comes back to life and must be killed again.  Despite the fact that the villain was crushed by a double-decker school bus full of kids on their way to fat camp, he is revived by rage and unrequited love for said girl with superficial injuries.

Up until I got married, my trips to the grocery store consisted of buying one item at a time.  One trip = one item.  Life was simple and relatively math-free.  Then my wife dispatched me to the Food Lion and handed me this sheet of paper with various food items written on it.  She called it “the list”.  I asked her which brand she wanted for each item.  Her response was terrifying.  She said, “Whatever’s cheapest”.

So I’m looking at two boxes of cereal.  One box is bigger, one is smaller.  The bigger one is 23.34872910098 cents more expensive than the smaller box.  But it’s Buy One Get one for 3.67% off if I buy it with a gallon milk which is also on sale. The smaller box is not on sale, but it comes with a coupon that I can use on the next visit to get 13.86000000002% off on my choice of scented candles or lawn mower tires.  I may need lawn mower tires some day so I’m considering this option when some squeaky voice kid announces over the loudspeaker,

Today we have a special on lawn mower tires.  Buy 4 and Get 1.5 for free!  That’s right, folks.  If you buy 4 tires for your lawn mower, you will have 1.5 spare tires left over in case you are off-roading and need a spare!  And, for a limited time only, we are including a free gallon of milk!

At this point my ears start to bleed from the pressure in my head.  I start having flashbacks to the 4th grade where my crazy hair-bunned teacher is asking me to do long division while shooting poisoned darts at me.

I decide to go to the phones.  I’m pretty sure a math-challenged man invented cell phones.  I call Heather and tell her the deal.  I start ranting about why there can’t just be a price on this junk.  “Do they expect me to bring a calculator to the store?”, I ask.  (Right then, a bedraggled soccer mom walks by pushing a two-ton cart carrying a scientific calculator.)

Heather says, “Oh, the kids don’t like that kind of cereal.  Get the Cinnamon Toast Crunch (best cereal EVER, BTW).

SWEET.  It’s not on sale.  Just one price tag.

Now on to the produce section.  I’m told you have to weigh things over there.  That should be fun…

[tags]math, grocery store, funny[/tags]

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Como se name? Me llamo is Ben. I gusto tacos. Donde esta el bathroom?

I’m also fluent in Christianese. Being a pastor’s kid, this was the first language that I learned. To this day, when I encounter a Christian native, I’m able to communicate with ease regardless of the dialect (Assembly of God, Baptist, Methodist, Pentacostal, charismatic, simple church, house church, etc). It’s the only way to survive on the mean streets of Christendom.

Hello, Brother! This is the day that the Lord has made! There was a disturbance in the heavenlies this morning, but hallelujah I had a check in my spirit and did warfare with my prayer language and tore down that principality. Can I get an Amen on that? I can’t wait to lift up praise as incense in His nostrils this morning at church. We’re really gonna get a download aren’t we! God is good! (echo – “all the time”). All the time (echo – “God is good”)

It’s a good thing we have such a rich Christianese language. Otherwise, the uninitiated heathen population would be able to infiltrate our ranks and undermine our way of life. Imagine the chaos that would fall upon us if an unregenerate soul were to sneak into our secret gatherings and actually understand our covert messages. They would try to steal our ancient truths and propagate them outside of our control. And knowing how such zealots can be, they probably would not even give us credit.

If you are not yet fluent in Christianese, there is hope for you. I’ve put together a few tips to help you:

1. Start by destroying all translations of the Bible other than the Authorized 1611 KJV. We call it “authorized” because this is the version that Jesus used.
2. You will not only be reading the KJV, but you must learn to pray in the King James English as well. All your prayers must sound like scripture being read by James Earl Jones.
3. Christianese is “caught” not “taught”. Watch the masters in action. TBN and The 500 Club are excellent places to start.
4. Never ever ever ask anyone what they mean by a certain phrase. No Christianese speaker is allowed to ever translate the language into heathen English. You are expected to learn by experience and intuition. If you don’t know what to say, compliment the person by saying, “You have such a sweet spirit.” It’s a magic phrase that will get you out of every awkward situation.
5. Learn your call-response phrases to avoid public embarrassment. If you get this wrong, you could be targeted in an altar call. PREACHER: “And all God’s people said?” YOU: “Amen” (not “yowza“). PREACHER: “How many here know that… (while gesturing with his hand for a show of hands)” YOU: Be careful. This could be the classic “rhetorical show of hands” move intended to expose false believers. Resist the reflex impulse to raise your hand. Watch the natives and follow their lead. It’s the only way to remain concealed.
6. Join a prayer team. It is a treasure trove of Christianese vocabulary. Intercessors are the literati of Christianese. They wield a command of the nuances of the language that most Christians never understand. They can combine ordinary words like “walls, standing, tearing, gathering, anointing, clouds, heavenlies, earth, wind, fire, rain, and eagles” in ways that will give you goosebumps even though you have no idea what just happened.

Let us all make an effort to become more fluent in this great and glorious language before it becomes lost and forgotten by “christians” that wear jeans, read ESV Bibles, and use the word “dude” while sipping a latte from a “save Darfur” mug.

Let us take care to never allow clear communication to become more important than preserving a religious air of mystery. After all, that’s just the way it’s done.

[tags]christianese, christian, language, preaching, culture[/tags]

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This could almost be my next “Pet Peeve” post. I don’t understand why someone would go through all the trouble to make such a terrible website. With all the tools and information out there these days, it’s actually HARDER to make a website this bad than it is to make a decent one.

My favorite one to win this year is this one. It defies words.

And, yes, churches and religious sites have made it on the list. They have a special list for non-profits which for some reason is always the worst I’ve ever seen.

You can also look at the winners from previous years.

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Eliana just climbs in and out of the cart showing off her monkey skills. That is, until she sees something sugary and/or pink on a shelf. Then all of a sudden she becomes a 2 year old Julia Child with deeply felt opinions about her dietary intake. If it has Dora on it, and she doesn’t injest it NOW then as far as I can tell she will surely die. The coroner will say, “Cause of death: malnutrition and emotional distress due to lack of Dora snack intake.”.

Kaitlyn just instructs us on the wealth of nutrition knowledge that she has acquired so far in her public school education. Things like, “Hey, Daddy. White bread is bad for you because it doesn’t have any color in it.”

But, the worst part of shopping as a couple is what ALWAYS happens in the checkout line. We wander back and forth looking at each line applying years of shopping experience and complex algorithms to determine which line will move the fastest. We always forget the natural law that says that no matter what line you pick, it will always be the slowest. And don’t think you can fool the checkout gods. You can’t pick a line and then derail and go to a different line at the last second. Whatever line you end up in, in the end will always be the slowest one. Don’t play games with the checkout gods, or they shall repay your mockery on Christmas Eve at WalMart while you fight a fat redneck sporting a mullet and a halter top for the last Tickle Me Elmo doll.

Once you get in line, your wife will choose to look at the shopping list for the first time. I don’t know why this is. It seems like there would be a better way to utilize a shopping list, but what do I know? She will look at the list and realize that she forgot the two things that you came to the store to get in the first place. Even though you have 2 sets of tires and a queen sized mattress in your cart, you really came to get milk and a loaf of bread. Then your wife will say, “Honey, stay in line. I forgot the milk and bread. I’ll be right back.”

At this moment, the checkout gods will start to laugh at you. Suddenly the checkout clerk will become competent, alert, efficient and speedy all at the same time. An extra bagger will appear to bag groceries twice as fast and a manager will come and give the clerk his master key and override password so that there is no waiting when the register decides to take a break. Even the old ladies will stop complaining and asking for price checks.

Suddenly, the thing you have been dreaming of, a fast moving checkout line, becomes your worst fear. Your heart rate jumps and you start to sweat. You start thinking crazy thoughts like “Maybe I should just get out of line.” In your head you start screaming psychic messages to your wife that if you said them out loud you would be nuts. Imagine screaming out loud, “Get the milk, woman! We’re not going to make it!” and saying it with the same urgency that you would if you were being chased by a giant squid. Not a good plan.

Then she appears ambling along like she’s taking a stroll on a spring day when she should be running like Forest Gump in Vietnam. And what happens when she gets back in line? The clerk goes on break to be replaced by a non-Englsih speaking trainee with no fingers. The guy in front of you decides to fight “the man” over 2 cents because “that just ain’t right”.

“Maybe we should jump over to that line over there, honey?”

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3. Pet Peeve #24 – Cats