Parenthetically Yours

Private Joys

I could start a new blog called “funny things Katie does” and it would have 10x the popularity of this one. The only problem is that if I posted every funny or outrageous thing she did or said, the internet might run out of hard drive storage.

Here are some recent examples:

We were having a morning conversation about our day’s schedule and she inexplicably starting talking in a deaf/mute voice, using sign language.

She’s been randomly attacking me around the house (I think she’s happy I’m home).

Retelling a story, she said, “I wanted to tell her ‘shut up you Nazi cow! I’m about to punch you in the face!’ ”

Now, some of these things might come across to the uninitiated as cruel or unusual. Unusual? Yes. Cruel? Yes. Especially when she digs her fingers into that space between my collarbone and my shoulder. Wow. That’s a sensitive spot.

Of course, I’m kidding about the cruel part, although she LOVES seeing me rattled or frightened. Some nights I’m as jittery as a newborn calf wandering around our expansive cottage waiting for her to jump out from under our kitchen table. I jerk and spin and giggle like a 4 year-old. Of course, since she lives life at 150 mph, she doesn’t always stop to consider the ramifications or possible consequences (and since I live life at school-zone speed, I stop to consider every possible ramification. I'm a real treat to live with). This means she regularly hits her head under the table, bangs an elbow into the wall, or dives into my knees. I can’t count how many times I’ve held my belly in a fit of unbridled laughter as she stumbles around the house holding her head mumbling, “O wow ow OHH…I think I really hurt myself.” Hahahaha. That shouldn't be that funny. But it is.

She also has the ability to have ridiculous things happen to her, like the time she heard a mother and daughter arguing one aisle over at Kroger. The next thing she knew is that someone walked up behind her, turned her around and slapped her in the face. The startled mother gasped and Katie screamed (with her voice rising two full octaves), “WHO ARE YOU?” The lady (with her hands over her mouth) nervously answered, “I thought you were my daughter.” Twenty feet away, dressed in nearly identical outfits, with nearly identical hair pulled up in the same messy ponytail, was the daughter looking on in horror. The two walked away from their full grocery basket and exited Kroger immediately while Katie was left standing in the baking aisle, face reddening with the slight impression of a hand on her cheek.

That actually happened.

The difficulty with this sort of revealing blog-storytelling, though, is that probably 90% of the time I find myself saying, "I wish I could write a blog about that." Usually I don't because doing so would just be inappropriate. Sometimes it's because it's, well, inappropriate. Other times it's because--well, private, funny moments are one of the eternal joys of marriage that no one ever told me about. I was always led to believe that the best things about marriage were things like sex, kids, building a home together, etc. But for me, it's the things I can never tell you. Plus, they would be silly and nonsensical out of context. They only make sense in the context of the growing landscape of us living out our vows. There are things she says and does, the records of which will never be stored outside my memory. They're for me. Only. I think that's called intimacy. 

It is a whirlwind of joy to be married to this girl.

Of my dreams.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday - Good Friday Edition

In honor of Good Friday, this week's edition of Favorite Things Friday will all be Easter/Resurrection themed. Well, except one, but we'll get to that in a bit.

CARNEY "Resurrection"  There's a undiscovered genius in Los Angeles named Reeve Carney. He and his brother Zane (a ridiculous guitarist) have a bandly aptly named Carney. I happened to catch one of their famed shows at L.A. Molly Malone's on Melrose Ave a few years back and was shell-shocked and speechless...and that's putting it mildly. It was kind of a big deal. What's even better is that they're all sold-out, crazy Christians. They're making unbelievably passionate and genius art that is dripping with the Gospel, but it sounds NOTHING like what you would hear on Christian radio stations. Thankfully. Fall in love with Carney. Please. In keeping with this week's theme, here's a video of them performing their song "Resurrection." Be forwarned, it's an epic 9 minute musical free-for-all. The editing is lame and the audio is even worse. But the tag of the chorus is "It don't mean a thing without the Resurrection." The band has other better-produced videos available to watch, but search out my personal favorite "Think of You."

THIS COMMERCIAL FROM THE 80s:

 

TO BE ANNOUNCED  Ok, so this is not Resurrection themed, but it's a favorite thing this week. I'm out on a tour right now and the opening band, Addison Road, had to bail on the tour because the singer had a baby last week. We've had a few bands substitute and fill in the opening slot but tomorrow we don't have anyone to fill in. To cure this, several guys in the crew formed their own band called To Be Announced and they're opening the show. It may not sound very interesting to you guys, but it is AWESOME! These are the guys who work the hardest (first up, last to bed) and get none of the attention. A couple of guys have even made a fake documentary about this. None of what you see and hear in the documentary is true, except that they really are playing tomorrow to open the show. I give you, TO BE ANNOUNCED!!

It don't mean a thing without the Resurrection

(rw)

Where Do You People Find the Time?

I meet with a group of guys every Tuesday morning for breakfast, coffee, and a little spiritual/creative/career inspiration. It’s never too heavy and is one of my favorite appointments on my calendar. Good guys. Funny guys. There’s only one issue: I can’t keep up with them.

Every last one of these guys blog, they Twitter, they’re on Facebook and/or Myspace, and they run marathons and triathalons, or race motorcycles (or all three). On top of all that, they have jobs that require travel, meetings—and occasionally—work.

[Editor’s note: if you’re over 35 and aren’t familiar with Twitter, think of it as mini-blogs (140 characters or less) that are sent and received in a variety of ways, but primarily via one’s Twitter home page and/or text messages.]

I just can’t figure out where they find the time. I blog and I Twitter, but trying to come up with something witty and wonderful to say every day is like getting blood from a turnip. Twitter is a little easier, given the smaller word count, but trying to keep up with everyone else’s messages (twits) is too exhausting and having Twits directed to my phone is totally annoying. Who wants their phone blowing up all day with inane comments like "going to the gym to run a million miles. Still sore from all those push-ups yesterday." 

I’m sure Twitter (like every other social networking flavor-of-the-month) is supposed to make me feel like I’m part of a bigger, more inclusive, global society—but honestly, it just makes me feel like I’m either not working out enough, not living as glamorous as others, or that I'm missing out on everything.

But I’m NOT missing out on anything…that’s why I don’t like being told that what someone else did last night was the one event NOT TO BE MISSED. For example, last night I assisted chef Katie in the kitchen (we grilled fish and veggies and baked about four dozen homemade cookies), watched American Idol, helped her with some sorting for work, and scanned through some things on the DVR. By most anyone’s estimation, that was a good night. A great night, even. By a simple review of last night’s messages, though, it turns out I missed Ben Folds’ hometown show, the jam-packed, epic debut of The Civil Wars (another friend’s band), some sort of game night I wasn’t invited to, a friend’s appearance on FOX news, and a general invite to dinner with a big group of friends.

So now I’m oscillating between Eyeore (sigh…I wish I was cool) and smug (you all just wish you were married to such a cool girl). Neither place is a happy place.

And while I’m ranting, let’s be honest for a sec. Twitter is supposed to make us all feel connected, right? But really, so many of those I’m “following” just use it as a forum for inside jokes and @namedropping. Yeah, yeah…I know you’re friends with Tina Fey. I’m sure you’re really close.

UNPLUG America! Read a book. Watch a movie.

I know I’m going to. First, though, I’m going to send @StephenColbert this hilarious photo I took of me and @TinaFey imitating a donkey and an elephant. It wouldn’t make sense to you, but he’ll totally crack up. I need to call him back as soon as I get back from my mid-morning workout. 

(rw)

Big Picture from the window seat

It’s easy to get caught up in my own superficial issues and personal drama. I mean, it’s happening to me, right? So how am I not supposed to get caught up in it? I can be like a fish in a net, fighting a losing battle. But the drama isn’t the net. The net is me. I get caught up in me. All it is is self-centeredness. If you put you at the center of everything, then everything becomes about you. Even other’s issues or struggles become about how they’re affecting you. It’s a common problem that we have because we’re human beings.

I’ve always heard that the best way to get over yourself is to serve someone else. Whether it’s a spouse, a friend, a relative, a homeless guy…whatever. Just go do something for someone other than yourself. It really does work, at least for a little while. Definitely worth the time.

Me? I take a flight.

My dad worked for Texas International Airlines (which became Continental Airlines) when I was growing up so I was flying at an early age. I loved the window seat then, and I love the window seat now. Sure, it makes it difficult getting up if I need a restroom break, but the pros outweigh the cons. See, I’m kind of a Big Picture person. Ask Katie about this, who is a details person. I may not remember word for word the conversation, but I have a general idea about what we were talking about. It can be annoying, to say the least. Again, ask Katie about this.  Here’s an example:

Did you hear so-and-so is having a baby?

No way! When did they find out?

Uhm…

Well, do they know what they’re having?

I, uh…

When are they due?

I think they, uh…(I’m still thinking about the first question)

Randy! Did you ask them anything?

They, uh…she’s, um, having a baby…? I think?

So, being a Big Picture person, it always serves me well to take a flight. I remember taking a flight at some point in high school (who knows when or why I was flying? Remember, Big Picture.) and having an epiphany-type moment. As the cars and houses became smaller and smaller immediately after takeoff, I remember having a sudden realization that inside every single car, and inside every single house were actual people dealing with life that day. There was hurt, joy, apathy, success, distress, boredom, genius, secrets, and on and on. This overwhelmed me and it’s all I could think about for hours.

Since then, I can’t get in a plane without thinking about it and it spills over into everyday life when I’m in traffic or standing on a stage looking at hundreds of faces staring back at me. I’m constantly reminded of that Big Picture epiphany I had in that window seat all those years ago. We’re ALL going through it. Fill in the blank. Everybody hurts. Or laughs. It’s overwhelming, but hopefully it makes me a little more understanding. A pinch more compassionate.

Now, don’t get me wrong. More than I’d like to admit, I’m a thoughtless, self-consumed cliché of a jerk. But every so often, the revelation will unfold and remind me that I’m not actually the center of the universe.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday - Northwest Edition

Today's Favorites come from the most beautiful part of these United States, the Pacific Northwest. I'm in all of my favorite cities this week (Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco), so it's only fitting to trump up these towns. If you're into the best culture and coffee the US has to offer, you have to come up this way at least once in your life. 

WEIRD PEOPLE - The strangest and oddest people live up here. I think it's because they didn't really fit in anywhere else, so they made their way west and when they went as far as they could without falling into the ocean, they called it a day. There also seems to be an abundance of homeless people in these cities. I don't know about you, but if I were a homeless person, I'd figure out some way to get to the NW and settle down. It's gorgeous, really liberal (lots of handouts), great bookstores (see below), with lots of free things available to the public. Make your way over to the grungy artist/musician parts of town and you'll feel that you stepped back in time, as if you just walked into a metal/goth/grunge documentary circa 1991 (completely void of hairspray). Do you like to people watch? Your eyes will be full all day in any of these cities. 

 

POWELL'S BOOKS - I have a fascination with bookstores. I'm not sure why, but somewhere in college I developed a slight obsession with them. When I'm away from home, my favorite way to pass the time is to sit in a bookstore (preferably an independent one, but I'm not picky) for a few hours reading the most random assortment of books and magazines. My favorite bookstore in all of America (and I've been to more than a few) is the crown jewel of Portland. Spanning an entire city block, Powell's is the largest independent bookstore in the world. Plus, let's say you'd like to own Jack Kerouac's personal copy of The Collected Poems of John Keats (and you have an extra $11,000), they have it in their rare books room. I've spent literal hours in this place and feel like I've only scratched the surface. 

QUEEN ANNE DISTRICT - In Seattle, most visitors head straight to Pike Place Market to see the guys throw fish, or buy fresh produce and flowers, or get a glimpse of the very first Starbucks. Or they head to Capital Hill for some funky food and people watching. Nothing wrong with any of that, but for my money (or lack thereof), I like the Queen Anne district. It's more of a neighborhood and not really a tourist destination, although it's dangerously close to the Key Arena and Space Needle, so I'm sure there are plenty of vacationers who happen to make a wrong turn, as I did when I first found this spot. Many of the condos and apartments here were originally hotels built for the 1962 World's Fair (which unveiled the Space Needle). Most have been updated, but they still have some of that retro-modern feel. My favorite places here are Caffe Ladro (best coffee in Seattle, period) and Easy Street Records, a great indie music store that has an unbelievable selection of foreign music magazines and pretentious alt-literature (which I secretly love). Hours of geeky fun on these streets.

Enjoy the weekend.

(rw)

Crazy Plane

Far be it from me to complain about someone’s kids, because I know that children are fundamentally flawed. Or, to use a clinical term, friggin’ crazy. Equally so, it’s rare that you would ever hear me complaining about someone’s parenting skills because I know that parents are fundamentally exhausted and confused. They’re just trying to find a little logic and reason behind why little Calvin thought that hammering nails into the coffee table was not only a good idea, but that his mommy and daddy would be rejoicing in the hallways at both his artistic achievement and his superior command of his still-developing motor skills.

All that to say, it takes a lot for me to really question a person’s parenting skills.

Monday night I was on a plane with a lady whose skills I questioned. Even as I write these words, I don’t think I can adequately describe what I saw and heard.  

It all started out with a little guy (maybe 2) freaking out because he wanted to sit on his big brother’s lap next to me. That’s normal—little bro wanting to hang with big bro. Well, big bro (maybe 7) kept staring out the window, obviously wishing little bro would just be quiet. This, of course, made it worse for little brother and he started doing something beyond crying. He was out of control wailing. Mom could do nothing to settle him, so instead she took the victim route and started to explain to him why he wasn’t allowed to sit with her brother—the TSA regulations, the airline rules, etc. This was done at such a volume it was obvious she was letting everyone on the airplane know it’s not my fault! I would love to let him sit with his brother, but the airline won’t let him! Sure, these behaviors are manifestations of a total lack of boundaries and discipline in our home, but it’s someone else’s fault! I kind of doubt the little brother understood anything she was saying because the wailing became puking. Yep. He cried so hard that he threw up. Three times. Then the mom started explaining how he does this any time he doesn’t get his way and how he threw up 5 times on their previous flight. She loudly explained that this is just an attention behavior that he does daily. I couldn’t tell if she was a hippie or a child psychologist. Or an alien from the planet MyKidNeedsToBeSpanked. Of course, she was telling this to no one in particular. In a darkly comic turn, the seven year old next to me then began explaining to me all the various things that could happen to make our plane crash and how if part of the propeller came off (we were on a small commuter plane) it could fly inside the plane and kill people. All of this was happening at the same time as the aroma of fresh vomit began filling the tiny fuselage.

This was all before we took off, mind you. 

(rw)

Night of Joy

One of life’s great joys happened to me last night. Not just once, but twice.

Last night, Katie and I filled our respective bellies with chips, salsa, and enchiladas from our favorite local Mexican spot. Then we moved on to Curious Gourmet (only because Ivey Cake was closed) for a Lemon Basil cupcake (with the frosting piled so high we threw half of it away…heresy!) and then home for some French press coffee. Well, to say the least, all was right in the world. Katie settled in the back room for an overdue phone call with a friend, and I settled on the couch for an overdue date with a Wal-Mart documentary I’ve been wanting to watch (nerd alert!).

About 45 minutes in, I start nodding off. Bad. Like someone had roofied my coffee. You know, the whole head-violently-falling-into-your-chest thing. After a couple of those moments when I thought I was falling off the couch (or out of an airplane), my heartrate had skyrocketed and I was alert for another hour or so, just enough time for us to fast-forward through the American Idol results show we’d recorded. 

At this point, it’s only 10:30 but I’m barely keeping my eyes open. We’d gone to bed around 1 a.m. the night before, so this was a bit on the early side. Teeth brushed, lights out, kiss goodnight…ZZZZzzzz.

I casually woke up (as I often do around 4 or 5 a.m.) feeling hungover and/or dead. With a heavy sense of impending doom, I slowly turned my head toward the alarm clock glowing in the darkened room to my right. I feared the worse: that it was only 30 minutes or so before the alarm, which means my mind wouldn’t allow me to get back to sleep. If I know I have to get up soon, I can’t for the life of me go back to sleep. In fact, I never actually need an alarm because my body automatically wakes up beforehand. This is only one of the joys of being me. Welcome to my world.

Knowing this, I was certain that my day was beginning. I didn’t want to look at the clock at all because it was going to be bad news. But the only thing worse than knowing something is NOT knowing something, so I made myself look.

But something didn’t look right. Now, if you know me, you know that without glasses or contacts, I have the vision of an 85 year-old bat. As you can imagine, at night it’s worse. So here I am, pressing my face closer and closer to the green glowing numerals until they come in clear. 11:58. 11:58?? Really? It’s not even midnight yet? Oh Hallelujah! I’m not even usually in bed at this point! I have an ENTIRE NIGHT of sleep remaining. Oh Heavenly Day! 

With a cozy sense of relief and joy, I snuggled back under the covers and pulled the comforter up close.

Then it happened again! I woke up, this time in a heated fear that the house might be on fire because I’M BURNING ALIVE! I violently throw the comforter off and begin wiping the sweat from my face, neck, and torso. Katie’s awake too doing the same thing. I jumped up to turn the heat down (when I say “jumped up,” think “stumbled like a wino across the bedroom”) and came back to bed. Another glance at the clock: 12:48. What? We went to bed later than this the night before! AHHH…Glory to the Lord of Hosts on high.

Twice in one night, I thought my sleep was over. Twice I was given the gift of many more hours of sweet slumber.

Needless to say, I woke up refreshed and ready to take on the day. Lots of writing to do today, quite a few items on my to do list…but I’m prepared.

Maybe after just the tiniest of naps.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday

It’s good to be back on the blog and to be sharing all my opinions with anyone who will listen (er…read?). Turns out, that’s about 100 people. Not enough to swing an election…but more than enough to, say, help me move. A good number. (note: no. I’m not moving. Just a figure of speech.)

It’s Friday. It’s time to let you in on my little secrets this week.

KONA COFFEE  So yeah, I went to Hawaii last week and got back this past Monday. Before I even boarded the plane in Nashville, I knew what I would be bringing back home: a tan and some Kona coffee. Only coffee grown in the Kona region of the Big Island can be labeled “kona,” therefore it’s a very limited (and expensive) coffee. On the mainland, it’s generally only available once a year (late spring) and usually fetches $30-$50/lb. I thought it would be much cheaper in Hawaii. Ha. Nothing is cheaper in Hawaii. Even sunburns have a consumption tax. I bought two 8 oz. bags (one for me, one for a friend) at $19 a pop and am a third of the way through mine. You really can tell a difference. It’s mild and mellow, like Hawaii. Even this dark roast I’m sipping this very moment has zero bitterness, but strong flavor. I’m more than a little tempted to drink this other bag and not tell my buddy I got any for him. Is that wrong?

AMERICAN IDOL  Yeah. It’s that time of the year (we’re about five or six weeks deep at this point) and I have to admit, I’m completely hooked…again. For the most part, there’s a ridiculous amount of talent on that show, year after year and my picks have won the past three years running. The top 12 was just rounded out last night (I picked 10 out of the 12 so far, thank you) and now we get into the popularity contest of it all. My picks for the final two? Lil Rounds and Danny Gokey. They both have great stories, humility, charm, and talent for days. I used to be totally ANTI-IDOL…but with my growning appreciation for David Cook, Carrie Underwood, Eliott Yamin, Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, etc…well, you can’t argue with genuine talent. I’ll admit a few big disappointments so far this year (which I won’t mention for risk of sounding too much like a super-geeky-fanboy), but all in all, once again, Katie and I are glued to the TV every Tuesday and Wednesday nights.

THE JESUS I NEVER KNEW. My friend Tony Lucido gave this groundbreaking book by Philip Yancey to me a little over a year ago. I’m just now picking it up to read. Why did I wait? I recommend this book to anyone who grew up going to church.

Thank you, and good night!

(rw)

Creative Hibernation

It’s amazing how much I can care about something yet do literally nothing to actually care for it.

I love this blog. It’s a source of pride for me (the good kind) and I truly enjoy it. Then why have I not been able to get my fingers a-movin’ across the keyboard lately? Many theories abound, much like a conspiracy nut internet forum, but I’ve yet to nail down why I haven’t been able to come up with (what I believe to be) an original thought since mid-December. Maybe it’s the recession. Maybe it’s the temperature. Maybe it’s decaf.

Whatever it is, it shut me down. And shut me up. 

It seems to be letting up, though, and I’m feeling the juices beginning to trickle again—like the first unfrozen drops of water from an icicle hanging on the corner of a house that doesn’t get sunlight. Here comes the sun. It’s alright.

I think I’ve been sleeping a little better too. I’ve definitely been sleeping harder (more on that next week) and I’ve been waking up with that unmistakable crush of a heroin hangover. You know what I’m talking about, right? You don’t? Well…I don’t either. But honestly, how can I sleep ten hours, wake up, and not want to do anything else but sleep ten more hours? It had to be the jetlag.

Jetlag? Oh. Did I tell you I went to Hawaii last week? I didn’t? Here’s proof:

It was good, it was fun, it was tornadic. I think the wind blew a constant 40 mph the entire time we were there. Don’t get me wrong: it was amazing, refreshing, all that (and more). But don’t get the whole Randy-in-a-grass-skirt-on-a-surfboard image in your head. The waves were out of control and I usually only wore the grass skirt in my hotel room.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday

Good morning America! It's time again for my Friday favorites, my parade of particulars, and my cavalcade of cravings. Yeah, I know it's Friday the 13th, but I really have no idea what this day is supposed to be all about. I've always associated it with bad horror films, and bad movies are always something to be afraid of. Here are some things you'll never have to fear.

As I was sitting here trying to come up with a list of things to write about, I spotted this little book on our coffee table (which is actually a vintage steamer trunk, but I digress) that I love. I read it again and decided it's definitely one of my favorite things. In 2006, U2 lead singer Bono was asked by President Bush to speak at the National Prayer Breakfast. His words that day were both poignant and eloquent. So much so that Thomas Nelson Publishers decided to turn it into a book. On The Move (as in, God is on the move...) is a quick, yet thoroughly convicting read. The world is both smaller and bigger than our Western minds can imagine. In order to have a true, global mindset, we need to be confronted with this reality daily. Life is more than birth, school, work, death. Go buy a box of them and hand them out to your friends, young and old. They need to read it. You need to read it. And I need to read it again tomorrow.

I had no intention of this becoming the Global Perspective episode of FTF, but I guess that's what has happened...because as I was writing the above paragraph, another similar item kept running through the caffeinated synapses in my brain. Have you seen this video? It's called The Miniature Earth and it has been making its way through various blogs and emails over the past few months. It's based on an old civics class analogy where you take the earth and shrink it down to 100 people. If the earth is too big to imagine, then let's imagine it with 100 people...that way percentages don't represent millions, they represent individuals. It's pretty heavy, but it gives me perspective. The hope is that with this perspective comes humility, gratitude, and a new sense of responsibility to both friends near and strangers far away. To whom much is given, much is required. Much is required of me.

Do something intentionally for someone. Perhaps someone who has no ability to ever return the favor. Have a great weekend.

(rw)