10^100, and a Sunday morning disaster
I make an effort to see that odfm is updated at least once a week, and often that happens by me writing a post on Sarong Sunday and post-dating it to publish on Monday or some other day of the upcoming week.
This week was no exception.
Just a few days ago, I came across something Google’s doing called “Project 10100“. It’s a project aimed entirely at gathering ideas to help the most people possible, and helping them in the deepest way. Anyone can submit ideas that fall under the following categories: Community, Opportunity, Energy, Environment, Shelter, Health, Education, and Everything Else. The given criteria to consider in submitting ideas are Reach, Depth, Attainability, Efficiency, and Longevity.
Ideas must be submitted by October 20th, and Google will post 100 selections in late January that we Internet users can narrow down to 20 by voting. At that point a board of advisers will pick up to five final ideas.
Google says that while they don’t have all the answers, they believe all the answers are out there, and they hope this project helps bring them to light. Oh, and they’re committing to funding the selected ideas, to the tune of $10 million.
So what does this great company’s great idea have to do with a disaster? Well, nothing other than timing, really.
I decided I’d brush my teeth just before I sat down to write my Project 10100 post, and that is when disaster struck.
I walked in to the bathroom, grabbed my toothpaste with one hand and the head of my vertically-balanced toothbrush in the other. I threw the toothbrush up and around so that it would be in its rightful position for use, and upon the gravity’s bringing the brush back in to contact with my hand, I lost all notions of hand/eye coordination resulting in the toothbrush’s fall to a large puddle of water… in the toilet.
So you be thinking of ideas to send to Google that will help tons of people, and I’ll be thinking of ways to remind my roommates to put the seat on the toilet down when it isn’t being used.
big week in Rains County
There are, I’m sure, several joys of living in a small town. Perhaps no rural-life pleasure is quite as tangible or rewarding, though, as the [Small County Name] Sheriff’s Report.
Sheriff’s reports are nothing more than a public documentation of calls that the local sheriff’s office received on any given day. You wouldn’t think something that seems so weighty would be so funny, but then you realize how out of control some people who have access to telephones are.
Thanks to modern wonders such as scanners and the Internet making their way into these remote locations of the South, I was able to get my hands on the gem pictured above, all the way over here in Dallas.
Hat tip to the Morgan girls for introducing me to the hilarity of Rains County Sheriff’s Report. The first one I ever read came in the mail from Hannah (the eldest girl) and was complete with her highlights and commentary, which made it even funnier than it was on its own (if that were possible). I thought about photoshopping such additives in to this picture, but I decided instead that the drop shadow was sufficient.
So, just click the newspaper and enjoy.
the Roommates
There are certain things in this world that — when they cross your path — affect and influence who you are in such a dramatic manner that you find it hard to imagine where you’d be if they hadn’t found their way into your life.
One such thing in my life happened in college in the form of 9 guys. There were no doubt more than a mere 9 guys who made major impacts in my life during college, but these particular 9 are a special breed: the oft-referred to Roommates*.
Pictured above you see the Luther Boys as they appeared the Thursday evening preceding Colby’s wedding. The only way I could have been happier at that long Buca di Beppo table would have been (a) to have T-Bomb present or (b) to have it be the Thursday before my wedding. Those things aside, this night, and the weekend that followed, were wonderful reminders of how much these men mean to me, and how unbelievably blessed I am to have them in my life. My soul is encouraged by simply being in their presence.
We reminesced on the Luther Street days when we’d sit on the porch and sing Wagon Wheel or talk about the greater questions of life until the wee hours of the morning. We laughed at boorishly high volumes as we recalled moments of egg throwings, poop throwings, gas pipe hittings, uneven (unfair?) rent payings, and scores of other carpe diem-ings. It goes without (re)saying that the evening was as enjoyable an evening as I’ve had in a while.
Since graduating I’ve taken part in several conversations where the non-me person says something along the lines of, “Man, it’s such a shame that the only time all the college people get together is at weddings.” I’m not so sure I have a problem with that. No doubt I’d love to see certain people more often than weddings allow (though these days that’s about weekly), but the times of absence make the times of togetherness that much sweeter. (Hallmark, feel free to use that sappy piece there… royalty free.)
So now you will all have some sort of mental picture of what I mean when I say “the Roommates”. Too, now I’ll have a post to link to when I type “the Roommates”. But most of all, now my Roommates (the handful who read odfm) will see in sans-serif format a glimpse of how highly I feel about them.
Love you guys.
*The capital “r” Roommates denotes the Luther boys, which could in theory also be referred to as Roommates Proper. This allows a necessary distinction between current roommates and Roommates. When used in conversation, saying “capital ‘r’ roomates” as opposed to “roommates” will also clear up any otherwise muddy waters.
why I’ll miss Blake
For those of you who either aren’t paying attention or who have memory issues, let me remind you that the people around me, nearly all of them, are finding their way into engagements and marriages.
One of the folks who is in the engagement boat is Blake Cooley, my roommate for another few weeks. He’s engaged to Colby’s sister. They got engaged the same week Colby and Mack got engaged. Precious, right? Yeah, it is.
Blake is the source of much hilarity in this house. You may recall the “secret admirer note” he received on his car at Wal-Mart one day. Though he didn’t do anything directly to make that particular funny event happen, there have been several things he has done to make me laugh, and I’ll just share two with you briefly.
1. Blake loves baseball. He goes to Rangers games by himself on a regular basis. He watches the gamecast (not sure if they actually call it that, but it seems fitting) on texasrangers.com. He can tell you all kinds of stuff about baseball that, if you’re me, you don’t really want to hear.
The other day Blake came home from the grocery store with this gem:
Major League Baseball Homerun Apple Body Wash. Amazing.
2. Blake has a computer. His computer’s wireless abilities recently pooped out on him (for the second time). He resorted to filling out the necessary paperwork and sending it off to be fixed. One of the required fields on said paperwork is “Operating System Login Password”. Blake, in order to ensure that there was absolutely no confusion on HP’s end as to what his login password was, wrote this in (and out of) the blank:
Do yourself a favor and click that. You deserve the laugh that will doubtless follow.
So Blake, thanks for being so hilarious. You’ve now twice given me something to write about when I thought I was out of ideas. I’ll miss you, sport. Go Rangers! Hurray for baseball!
a close-up on my insecurity
Though I didn’t fully realize it until college, I believe that I’ve always been somewhat of a thinker. I spend lots of (read: too much) time in my head: analyzing, criticizing, contemplating, and breaking down everything from the remotest corner of my own being to society at large.
As such, every once in a while I’ll come across a new realization, usually about myself, and regardless of the new realization’s significance, it always seems big simply because it is, in fact, new. Days when this takes place are truly blue-ribbon for the self-titled Thinker. No doubt these days would go unreached without the help of the Counselor, whose guidance I need in the same way I need water.
My most recent realization was one that, though less than fun to learn, was still good. It goes like this: I’m almost constantly looking to be validated. I’m hesitant to say “always”, though I’m not sure doing so would be such a stretch in reality.
My “need” for validation manifests itself in several different ways, but the one I keep coming back to is this: I want people to love the things I love, to place value on the things I value, etc. More specifically, I want the people I love to love the things I love. I don’t think this is a bad thing in and of itself, but it doesn’t require too much for me to take it too far.
Prime example (and here’s where this post’s title becomes wildly appropriate): AP’s Behold the Lamb album. It is no secret that this particular work of art is extremely significant to me. Accordingly, I want to share it with people (this is rooted in a past realization that beauty is almost always more enjoyable when shared). Now that I’ve been sharing this, what I deem to be an important piece of myself, with others for several years, I want them to love it and feel as deeply about it as I do. If they don’t, I fight the temptation to take it personally, which though completely absurd, is also honest.
Something that the aforementioned Counselor showed me pertaining to this matter is that I’m essentially portraying a characteristic of the Father, but in a sorely fallen state. No doubt the Father LOVES it when His children begin to love the things He loves. The comparison immediately falls apart there though, as the Father is in no need of any form of validation from us, for who among us could venture to do that? Not me, not you.
So there you have it. One of the most serious posts odfm’s seen since you guys spend 60 hrs in my head. Let’s see if this one sparks the onslaught of comments and discussion that one did. Come on folks. Validate me!
real job people, get your headphones*
My friend, my friends! I have pretty great news for you. Andrew Peterson’s got a new album, Resurrection Letters Volume II, coming out next month, and you can pre-order it now (2 copies for $15… pretty good). As neat as that is, it’s not even the “pretty great news”.
Here it is: You can stream the whole album here!
For those of you who know me personally (which I know to be everybody who reads this, but I say that just to make myself feel cooler about what’s going on here), you’ve no doubt heard me make mention of this songwriter, and how much I love him… and how I hugged him once, compelled by said love.
For those of you who’ve been reading for a while, you might recall one or all of the 13 posts in which I’ve referenced him to date.
For you AP-savvy folks who have all his albums and are wondering why Resurrection Letters Volume II is coming out without his ever releasing a Volume I, I’ll let you read what he had to say about that.
I realize many of you won’t take me up on this unprecedented suggestion, but may I recommend that you at least listen to the first song, All Things New. I’ll be darned if it doesn’t encourage you. I know you people who work full-time jobs but manage to gchat throughout the entirety of the work day should be able to pull some headphones out of your briefcases and sneak a little listen, right?
*People who hold fake jobs or no jobs at all are also welcome to give this album a listen.
Thank you Gustav
I’ve greatly enjoyed driving with my windows down the past 24 hours. Sincerest thanks.
Skylar sips slowly
I did my fair share of driving this weekend. Skylar started out with a full tank and a tripometer of zero, seen above. Three days and 13.721 gallons later, her indicators looked like this. She broke her previous record and is now in good spirits when it comes to visions of a 500 mile tank.
So here’s to you Skylar. You’ve been very good to me since day one, and this weekend was no exception. Thanks for taking me to see, smell, hear, and touch some of my favorite people this side of the Mississippi. I owe you one.