Last night as I was grading exams, I came across this wonderful illustration:

Look at it. It’s me. I’m all there. The carefully unkempt hair, the sour pucker of disdain, the trapezoidal eyeglasses, and the eyes closed in contemplation of my life’s squandered possibilities. It was less like an essay explaining the effects of the Neolithic revolution and more like a mirror into the recesses of my own soul.

What does the dark, shadowy figure to the left of me represent? Some sort of dark doppelgänger? Is his scribbly presence an omen of impending death? His vague, half-formed lurking distresses me. I wish he would depart and leave me in peace.

This blog entry has darkened my spirits. I will end it now, before the gloom fully enshrouds me. I love you all very, very much.

Goodbye.

Look, what an adorable puppy!

His eyes sparkle with mischief and his fur is as white as a divorcee’s wedding dress! He has made my dreams come true!

Come here, puppy. I will name you Marigold, and you will live with me forever in my dragonfly palace (i.e. single-bedroom apartment).

Oh Marigold, your whimpers and squeaks lift my spirits and tickle my emotions! You are the yin to Bill Maher’s yang!

Never leave me, Marigold! If a Ford F-150 were to ever crush your skull into the pavement, I would blow up said Ford with a car bomb faster than you can say, “the surge is working”. The lethal swiftness of my shift from meekly ineffectual puppy-lover to vigilante woodsman would make your head spin. I am literally capable of anything!

I love you, Marigold!

My friends, in this life, some days are better than others.

In the case of Bridgette and I, Thursday through Monday more or less reeked of fetid goat drippings. Life has a funny way of rebounding, though. Little, unexpected blessings pop out of the woodwork, like delicious taffy from heaven.

Last night, I was chatting with a friend of mine, and they relayed a story to me. Apparently when this person was a child, they really wanted a goldfish. Their parents, however, were not sympathetic toward this child’s simple, beautiful wish. Undaunted, the child would clip their overgrown, dirty toenails and deposit them in a baggie filled with water. Then, with a pure, childlike exuberance, they would shake the baggie about and pretend that the inanimate toenail clippings were the goldfish they yearned for so desperately.

That, my friends, is the kind of messed-up tale of childhood emotional scarring this blog is built around. It’s the kind of story that heals your heart and strengthens your sternum. In the end, its power lies in its nature as an odd, disquieting microcosm of life’s unfulfilled wishes.

Enjoy your Tuesday, everybody!

My friends, let me share something of the utmost importance with you:

He Pingping from Inner Mongolia, the world’s smallest man, sits on the lap of Svetlana Pankratova from Russia, the Queen of Longest Legs, as they pose at Trafalgar Square in London, Sept. 16, 2008. Pingping, born with primordial dwarfism, holds the Guinness World Record for the smallest man at 2 feet, 5 inches; Pankratova holds the Guinness World Record for the longest leg of any woman at 4 feet, 4 inches in length.
(AP Photo/Sang Tan)

I’m sure we can agree that this is wonderful news for those of us who are members of the human race, but a second glance through those brief, Lincoln-esque lines of poetry reveal some questions. This woman is known as “the Queen of Longest Legs”? Is that really the proper title? It seems a bit awkwardly worded, like if this blog were “the Archduke of Most Alienating Similes.”

Compounding the problem, they write that the Queen of Longest Legs holds the world record for the “longest leg” in the world at 4′4″ - wouldn’t that then infer that her title should be “the Queen of Longest Leg”, singular? If it’s possible, her title just became even more unwieldy.

At any rate, there you have it - Rumpelstiltskin sitting atop the Queen of Longest Leg.

Thanks for visiting my blog today, everyone.

Over the weekend, Bridgette and I attended the birthday party of our friend Dylan. For those of you who don’t know him, Dylan is a friendly, talkative guy with an odd habit of throwing his body to the ground when he gets excited. He also likes trains and pooping into the toilet.

So Dylan is four now. Having dealt with the obligatory business at hand, let us proceed to discuss more sophisticated, adult fares.

Todd and I were intruigued by the project undertaken at the party - painting wooden racecars. Once the children were done painting, we took a moment to gaze longingly at their handiwork and reminisce about our fleeting childhood that has forever vanished. Then Dylan’s dad Ryan burst in on us right in the middle of our sadness.

Overwhelmed by the grim reality of time’s passage, a haze of melancholy set over me. Unable to shake it, I set myself down amidst the festivities in hopes that some of the frolicking gaiety might penetrate my gloom and allow me to experience even the most momentary reprieve. However, the efforts of the screaming, grubby-cheeked partygoers was for naught, as I sat alone - a sullen, wistful, bearded man in a sea of bright-eyed, youthful life.

At that point, all the colorful balloons in the world would not have been enough to lift my spirits.

Discarding my frivolous balloon hat in favor of a more appropriate balloon sword, I began wandering about the party in search of companionship. With my wife deep in earnest lady-discussion and the other men deep in responsibility-avoidance mode, I towered alone amongst the children. A pathetic, solitary figure armed with a balloon weapon and a Master’s degree.

The cake was good though.

Come, my sheep, and dip your craven bodies in the warm smoothness of a new Rock TV!

This video was a not-too-subtle take on a television program you might have seen called Jack Van Impe Presents, where one can learn each week how various news headlines are definitive proof of the coming apocalypse.

In crafting this video, however, we didn’t limit ourselves to potshots at Jack Van Impe (that’s just too easy). We also spent some time tweaking other elements of Christianity’s bizarre broadcast TV culture while trying to fashion a message that says something positive about the community and discipleship one can find in their local church.

I’m really happy with this video - in the end, I think it will probably become one of a handful of my favorite Rock TVs. Much of that credit should go to Kevin and Todd for their performances as Jack & Cinemax Von Trousner, as well as Jordan’s amazing job as the “hip” youth pastor.

As a bonus to those of you who enjoy the video, we had enough material left over after editing that we also put out a clip of deleted scenes. There’s some good, funny stuff there that we hated to lose, but the video just got too long.

Enjoy!