The photo session

Consider the church directory photo session.

My family experienced this forced march last night. The slow, painful process began by soberly gathering the children, fixing hair, teeth, and sundry items of clothing to look just so, all the while explaining again to them why exactly we were getting all dressed up on a Wednesday night. Then piling into the car and racing to meet at the appointed time, we purposefully ignored the scores of bikers, joggers, couples and puppies not on their way to a church photo session and actually enjoying the glorious spring evening.

After arriving and enduring a 30 minute delay, we were escorted into the Sunday school classroom-turned-photo studio where we met Kyle, our affable, overworked, and perspiring photographer.

Pity the church directory photographer on a 12 hour shift.

After the usual poses and recitations of “Fuzzy Pickle!” to futilely coerce a smile from our two now tired and unamused children, we were done and escorted into the Sunday school classroom-turned-sales office. It was there we met the sales guy – Kyle the photographer.

Thoughts of Glengarry Glen Ross ran through my mind as he vigorously tried to sell us packages of his work. Our constant refusals to buy brought increasingly pronounced expressions of disbelief across his sad face and, remarkably, his thin, paisley tie. All we wanted was to participate in the pictorial directory. Instead, we felt like we were at once rejecting the work of an artiste and refusing to help someone in need. Ugh.

The whole process was rather distasteful – and seems rather out of step with advanced technology that could allow a much quicker and painless process. (Not unlike the archaic way we continue to count parishioners at worship.)

For example, why couldn’t the family gather in front of a webcam to capture a quality image.

Like this one.




Bring on your photo directory solutions.

A chance meeting

My trip to Seattle last week prompts this first post of 2006.

Was staying at the Hyatt Bellevue. And during my continental breakfast in the 23rd floor club, I sat facing another fellow traveler. We exchanged polite glances, but didn't interact more than the manly nod and pleasant, yet toothless grin. (The subtleties of how many teeth to display in greeting a stranger shouldn't be lost here.)

With only a few minutes before I was to meet my colleagues downstairs, I stepped onto the outdoor deck to enjoy a brief bit of solitude and scenery with my coffee and cream cheese-d bagel. What I encountered on this cool, cloudless Seattle morning was a jaw-dropping view of downtown Seattle – framed in the foreground by a evergreen-rimmed lake; the snow-capped Cascades served as the stunning backdrop. As I was soaking in this glory, I turned 90 degrees to my left to discover an exhilarating view of Mount Rainier, looming larger than life.

When I turned back to my right, there stood that guy I saw at breakfast.

He, too, was taking in the views. As we again made visual contact, I imagine he could see the wonder in my eyes. Probably saw the look of a visitor from a flat, featureless place scorched by springtime triple-digit temperatures.

"I'm trying to figure out why I don't live here," I muttered.

Immediately, he responded by pointing to the deck we were standing on, saying, "It's because you don't live here."

Touche.

A perfect and incisive remark to suppress my growing discontentment, which was based on a construct of unreality that comes with being catered to at a Hyatt on a dry day in Seattle.

And I left that chance meeting with a new appreciation of the impact we have on those with whom we speak – no matter how brief the encounter. To that guy, it was a throwaway line. To me, it was nothing short of profound. Exactly what I needed to hear.

Which led Mary to wonder, when I shared this exchange with her, if, maybe, that wasn't an angel I encountered on the 23rd floor.

Mind blowing. Could it . . . nahhh . . . he was a software salesman from Scottsdale.

I think.


Long live funegro.

my grand vision realized

in only a few hours, u2 will take the stage downtown.

and, at last, the genius of my ticket strategy is becoming fully appreciated.

you see, i sense panic in the air from ticket brokers and scalpers.

this, combined with the public's overall disdain for the band and its do-good overexposure, is what i fully anticipated.

indeed, what has been a seller's market for the past eight months is suddenly turning into a buyer's dream. and fortunately for me, i'm one of the few still interested in buying. armed with this insight and my powerful negotiating skills, i'll swing by the atm on the way to the american airlines center tonite and use that handy $50 fast cash feature to fill my empty wallet.

that simple transaction should be all i need to enjoy the show from about the eighth row. ("no, that's all right. KEEP THE CHANGE, my good and desperate scalper friend. buy your kid a gift on the way home. in fact, here's a new potato for you.")

with what money i've got left in my wallet, i'll pick up a t-shirt for my fellow funegrans and some popcorn for the show.

but first, i'll catch a few z's. a little nap before the show would be good. i'm just gonna take my time getting to the arena. see, along with the sense of panic in the air, i'm also catching a vibe of general indifference to the show. i mean, i guess they might start the show if i haven't arrived yet . . . ahh, forget it, i'm not gonna take any chances.

let's see. show starts at 7:30. traffic should be non-existent. 2 minutes to park, :45 to walk to the scalper just outside the main entrance, :15 for the slightly unsavory ticket transaction, a minute and a half to get to my seat. just to be safe, i'll allow another minute.

to ensure my usual punctual arrival, i'll leave the house at 7:10 and will post my reaction to the show later tonite.

p.s. what size t-shirt would you like?

civility on two wheels

fellow funegrans--

on my bike ride this morning, i was struck by something.

not like a water balloon or egg or errant tee shot or anything like that.

rather, i was observing the camaraderie -- or lack thereof -- between cyclists.

you see, this morning i made an effort to connect with every cyclist i passed. i tried to make eye contact. extend a mild wave. curl the edges of my mouth north as to indicate friendship. kindness. a certain esprit de corps on the road.

i got nothing in return.

my offers of goodwill were summarily rejected. in fact, i wasn't even acknowledged. perhaps my fellow cyclists were envious of my unique, if not wholly unorthodox "west coast" spread eagle pedaling motion. or maybe it was my tricked out $199 bike that spawned envy instead of friendship. indeed, a mix of indifference and competitive hosility permeated the toasty texas air this morning. curious.

contrast that with the sheer bonding that takes place when two motorcyclists encounter each other on the road. the universal biker's salute serves as a show of solidarity. a feeling of belonging to some death-defying fraternity. a recognition of a richer way of getting from point a to point b. a wink and a nod to sharing a secret -- that the journey is the destination.

what a shame, then, that the cyclists i encountered today would view riding their bike as a chore. a task to be crossed off the daily to-do list. a joyless exercise that ignores the fresh air and surroundings whereas motorcycling is a thrill to be savored. a sensory explosion that gives life.

at least my observations about cyclists myopically focused on fitness are consistent with the odd looks i get when i wink and wave at my fellow gym members as they complete a set of 8 squats or a few pull-ups.

if only i could train for skiing atop a harley.

chile or bust, brothers.

Run, Do Not Walk, To Get This Book

On our trip to Phoenix, I completed N.T. Wright's book "The Challenge of Jesus." I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It was immensely helpful in gaining a better understanding of Jesus' mission, particularly as it relates to the salvation of Israel. Here are some representative quotes:

"His kingdom-agenda for Israel demanded that Israel leave off her frantic and paranoid self-defense, reinforced as it was now by the ancestral codes, and embrace instead the vocation of being light of the world, the salt of the earth..." (sound familiar?)

"Jesus, at the very center of his vocation , believed himself called to do and be in relation to Israel what, in Scripture and Jewish belief, the Temple was and did."

"We must therefore get used to a mission that includes living the true Christian praxis. Christian praxis consists in the love of God in Christ being poured out in us and through us. If this is truly happening, it is not damaged by the post-modern critique, the hermeneutic of suspicion. We must get used to telling the story of God, , Israel, Jesus and the world as the true metanarrative, the story of healing and self-giving love. We must get used to living as those who have truly died and and risen with Christ so that our self, having been thoroughly deconstructed, can be put back together, not by the agendas that the world presses upon us but by God's spirit."

"Your task is to find the symoblic ways of doing things differently, planting flags in hostile soil, setting up signposts that say there is a different way to be human. And when people are puzzled at what you are doing, find ways - fresh ways of telling the story of the return of the human race from its exile, and use these stories as your explanation."

The Arizona Biltmore

biltmore sprite bw
Originally uploaded by koliver.

If you have a chance to go here, take advantage of it. Not the nicest resort I've ever been too, but the most storied and unusual. The Frank Lloyd Wright architecture (and sprites overseeing the gardens) are truly fascinating. Libby and I had a great time despite reaching 116 degrees on our first day there.

Square America Home

Cool vernacular photography...

HeaThen WoRLD's Origins of Band Names

HeaThen WoRLD's Origins of Band Names

TomCruiseIsNuts.com

TomCruiseIsNuts.com