I had a great uncle who said, "Never trust a lawyer in a pink shirt." This was the 80s. I thought of it today because I wore a pink shirt to church. The beard makes me look manly, so I think I can pull it off. I also wore a red striped tie, so I kind of looked like a big candy cane. Festive, I suppose. My roommate (who is a lawyer, and who, I might add -- I have never seen wear pink shirt) said that in court this week, the judge came in wearing a pink shirt. The bailiff started to give him a hard time about it. The judge's reply? "It's not pink, it's manberry."
Manberry or not, I think I'd still be concerned if my legal counsel wore a pink shirt.
2007-12-09
2007-12-02
Sunday School PowerPoint?
So, I was in Sunday School today when the instructor gave his lesson through a PowerPoint presentation. There he was: laptop, projector, and fancy remote to flip through the slides crookedly spilled past the pull down screen onto the wall. Before he started, I wondered to myself: "Am I about to hear a timeshare sales pitch?"
At one point in the lesson, our row (the back row as it turns out) was asked to take turns reading out loud what was on the screen. When it came to his turn, the guy next to me squinted at the white text on blue background and said, "I feel like I'm at the eye doctor!" We all laughed.
Tonight the roommate and I were discussing how odd it was to have this technological intrusion into Sunday School. We thought of several more flippant comments we wish we had made:
At one point in the lesson, our row (the back row as it turns out) was asked to take turns reading out loud what was on the screen. When it came to his turn, the guy next to me squinted at the white text on blue background and said, "I feel like I'm at the eye doctor!" We all laughed.
Tonight the roommate and I were discussing how odd it was to have this technological intrusion into Sunday School. We thought of several more flippant comments we wish we had made:
- PowerPoint? Wait, I don't even have the syllabus yet!
- Is the text required?
- How much does the text cost? Can you get it used?
- Do we need ALL FOUR books?
- Do I need to get a Scantron form?
2007-11-26
The Problem with Bluegrass
I friend got me into bluegrass a few months ago. So far, I'm digging it, but there is one distinct problem. This evening, I got into my car, and my iPod shuffled to a song that started out with some really awesome licks. Suddenly, I felt the nearly irrepressible urge to go rescue my cousin Luke from Boss Hog somewhere in the back woods of Hazzard county.
Yee-HAW
Yee-HAWYou think my Accord could jump a ditch?
2007-11-25
We meet again Trebek!
I've been thinking today about my brain -- about all the stuff that's crammed in there. For example, I know where the word stiletto comes from, the meaning of quixotic, and what a Stradivarius is. I also know all kinds of gee whiz science things like why the sky is blue, why water expands when it freezes, and why you can't ice skate when it's very cold. I know weird medical things, like how MRIs, CTs, and SSRIs work. I also have the typical manly knowledge, like the difference between carburetors and fuel injection, 2 stroke versus 4 stroke, and why you want a limited slip differential. I also do okay when it comes to literature: I can quote a little bit of Dante, Dickens, and Demosthenes. I've read Austen, as well as Aeschylus and Asimov. I can also quote, at length, parts of the Princess Bride, Top Gun, Sneakers, So I Married an Axe Murderer, and several SNL skits. Give me an actor, and the odds are good that I'll be able to name at least one movie that they've been in before.
Now, before you shake your head in disgust, please know that I'm not trying to paint myself as a Renaissance man. Just knowing this random stuff doesn't mean that I'm actually intelligent (or would be successful at Jeopardy, as my mom thinks), but it may certainly give that illusion.
There is a very real irony in what we call intelligence, for in the last three months, I have not once, but twice, left my check card in the ATM and driven away without it. So much for being smart.
Now, before you shake your head in disgust, please know that I'm not trying to paint myself as a Renaissance man. Just knowing this random stuff doesn't mean that I'm actually intelligent (or would be successful at Jeopardy, as my mom thinks), but it may certainly give that illusion.
There is a very real irony in what we call intelligence, for in the last three months, I have not once, but twice, left my check card in the ATM and driven away without it. So much for being smart.
2007-11-18
Grandpa's Computer
I know all my readers (the two of you) were anxiously waiting to hear what happened with Grandpa's computer. In an earlier post I explained that his computer was on the fritz and needed to serious scolding. The computer parts arrived this week, so I went out there this fine Sunday afternoon to spend the afternoon with them.
Grandpa and I watched football with the TV muted, because neither of us can stand the inane commentary. We talked about the fact that Coke is on sale at Albertson's -- five 12-packs for ten dollars (Grandpa drinks at least two diet cokes a day). We also teased grandma for filling every nook and cranny of the apartment with something (like piling the unused bathtub high with bulk paper products). I also went slightly insane because the battery in their smoke detector is dying and emitting that pitiful chirp every 2 minutes, but neither of them can hear it (Yes, I changed it before I left.)
When it was all said and done, it was a day well spent. Grandpa's computer is running like a champ, we ate some of my homemade lasagna, and I listened to them reminiscings. And while all their stories are interesting, one in particular is worth relating:
When I was about two years old, we lived in a little apartment in southeast Idaho. Grandpa and Grandma stopped by to visit on their way to Salt Lake from their home in Oregon. When they pulled up, I ran out to greet Grandpa, who hoisted my into the air and gave me a big hug. Grandpa says I was "cute as a button." When he put me down, I noticed Grandma opening the car door to get out. I immediately ran over and heaved my tiny body against the door to close it on her! I'm sure my mother was mortified. Grandpa thinks it was hilarious. All I can say is that I guess even at that young age, I was afraid of girls. Some things never change.
Grandpa and I watched football with the TV muted, because neither of us can stand the inane commentary. We talked about the fact that Coke is on sale at Albertson's -- five 12-packs for ten dollars (Grandpa drinks at least two diet cokes a day). We also teased grandma for filling every nook and cranny of the apartment with something (like piling the unused bathtub high with bulk paper products). I also went slightly insane because the battery in their smoke detector is dying and emitting that pitiful chirp every 2 minutes, but neither of them can hear it (Yes, I changed it before I left.)
When it was all said and done, it was a day well spent. Grandpa's computer is running like a champ, we ate some of my homemade lasagna, and I listened to them reminiscings. And while all their stories are interesting, one in particular is worth relating:
When I was about two years old, we lived in a little apartment in southeast Idaho. Grandpa and Grandma stopped by to visit on their way to Salt Lake from their home in Oregon. When they pulled up, I ran out to greet Grandpa, who hoisted my into the air and gave me a big hug. Grandpa says I was "cute as a button." When he put me down, I noticed Grandma opening the car door to get out. I immediately ran over and heaved my tiny body against the door to close it on her! I'm sure my mother was mortified. Grandpa thinks it was hilarious. All I can say is that I guess even at that young age, I was afraid of girls. Some things never change.
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