Random Ruminations IV: Back Wif A Vengeance.

A fellow seminarian said that my blog posts were so random its as if someone smoked not one, but two bongs and went on a walkabout with my quill (or keyboard).  Most people would get offended, but I take that as a compliment; my mind wanders off into weird places, and I’m doing it au naturale.  I like to think of this unorthodox way of thinking as fresh, rather than strange.  I also like to take pride in obscure references, but sometimes they end up back firing.  Sometimes I pull a too obscure of a reference, and then I would have to explain said allusion.  Explaining destroys a joke.  I hope I never have to explain my jokes.  So…enough chit chat.  Let’s get down to business.

1.  I hate cliches.  Down with the trite, I say.  This is the worst when you are feeling a little down, and your friends would try to console you by giving what they think is sage advice.  For the most part, the advice that is doled out to me is pretty good.  But there are times, mainly said while a friend is playing “Draw Something” on their smartphone, when you get hit with advice such as “it is what it is”, or “just do it”, or my all-time favorite “just be yourself”.  I don’t think people understand the gravity of that statement.  I understand that you never want to deceive your potential mother of your children, but as I always like to say, a little discretion goes a long way.  I think that even 75% of me is pretty intense.  It’s all about a ratio.  This ratio is eerily similar to the ratio you would use for Tang (hopefully Tang isn’t too obscure of a reference).  You wouldn’t just eat the powder straight up.  That’s just straight diabetic.  You need a little water.  But then again, too much water just makes it too diluted to really enjoy.  You need that perfect balance.  This is a long winded way of saying that the world is not ready for an uninhibited, unadulterated and uncensored me.  I mean, to be frank, I don’t think I’m ready for it either.  But it’s lurking.  HIDE YO CHILDREN!!!

This stuff was my anti-drug.

2.  One of my biggest fears in life is finding out that there is no toilet paper in the middle or conclusion of a satisfactory and refreshing dump.  Because of this, it’s always the first thing I look for in a bathroom.  But when it comes to washing my hands, I’m not as vigilant.  I hate it when, after a good thorough washing of the hands, you experience is spoiled because there is no towel.  And it really is a let down.  Washing hands is really a joy for me, maybe even a hobby, and to not be able to finish it off is really a tragedy.  The real problem is, what do you do then?  It’s like the worst “Choose Your Adventure” book.  You wipe it on your shirt, or worse, your thighs, and walk out, and they see that parts of your clothes are darker than usual.  They’re not going to instantly think, “oh we must be out of towels”.  On the other hand (probably wet because you didn’t adequately dry them), you can just go out with wet hands, but then what if someone wants to shake hands, or worse, high five.  It’s simply rude to turn down a high five.  So you reciprocate this gesture, but you know the exchange is going to be uncomfortable because your hands will be moist, and hands are definitely things that do not belong under that category.  Cakes are supposed to be moist, not hands.

My face after I put on my pants.

3.  I am in shape.  My shape just happens to be a bit more round, but a shape nonetheless.  All kidding aside, I need to do some more cardio.  I have been going to a gym, but I’ve been doing more weight lifting than running.  The need to be in better shape became all too real this past week.  I realize that my cardio comes from bending over to tie my shoes, reaching for the can of soup on the very top shelf, and putting on my seat belt.  I need to get my act together.  I would ask someone to run with me, but then I’m afraid I might get lapped.  I would speed walk, but speed walkers just look ridiculous.  Too much hip movement is involved in speed walking.  And I don’t have Shakira hips.  She is right though–hips don’t lie.  My hips are saying that I need to run.

4.  I don’t like to label people, and I don’t really like to be labeled, but I think sometimes it happens, and I understand.  I don’t know why mushrooms exist, but I realize it’s there, so I have to accept it.  If I were to label myself, in the context of my seminary, I would think it would be “headphones guy”, or “backwards hat wearing guy”, or “basketball shorts guy”.  But after giving my Reading Rainbow-esque book report in class, I realize that I’ve been identified as the “guy who compared the Bible to baby back ribs/baby carrots”.  I’m not sure how I feel about that.

5.  One of my favorite T-Shirts is my “Take Me Out” shirt.  It’s cute, clever and comment-inducing.  It sucks that the comments that I get are just that, comments, never materializing into anything more, but whatever, I’ll take what I can get.  Actually, the worst part is that these comments are from dudes.  In this case, I AM sure how I feel about that–horrible with a hint of flattery.  I cannot emphasize “hint” enough.

I don't know what to make of this.

6.  Confession.  I signed up for ChristianMingle.com.  Well, let me be clear, my so called “friends” signed me up for ChristianMingle.com.  They were joking and put my name and the other essentials, but as the process became realer and realer, I didn’t stop them.  So I suppose I am culpable.  But I don’t know, I’ve never done anything like this before, and so as I was browsing, I was pretty impressed with the whole set up.  I even got a few “smiles” already.  I’m not sure what that means, but my cheeks suddenly have a tingling sensation.

Wait, WHAT?!

The crazy part is that I didn’t even upload my photo!  I guess I am still in disbelief that I am an active member on ChristianMingle.com.  I should get paid since I just promoted their site three times in this paragraph.  Or at least free membership.  I’m debating whether or not I should really update my personality info or not.  It’s like my AIM subprofile all over again.

I could have “easily” pumped out a few push ups instead of writing this post, but blogging is good for my soul.  And also, SPRING BREAK!  That just means I don’t miss class without feeling guilt.  Also, it means that I’m just catching up on class reading.  OH YEAHYUR!  Have a blessed weekend, readers.  I truly am grateful for your readership.

OMG. I SHOOK DONALD MILLER’S HAND!

I wish someone told me the importance of setting up an appointment for an oil change.  Because of my ignorance, I went in, unannounced, and dropped off my car.  I was anticipating maybe an hour at the most, but so far, it’s been almost two hours and I’m sweating profusely.  AND I’M NOT EVEN DOING ANY CARDIO!  The worst part is that for some reason this place has “complimentary WIFI” but it prevents me from going to Youtube and Hulu.  This is like being invited to a nice steakhouse (like anything other than Outback Steakhouse), but being forced to only order salads.  That’s whack like lukewarm pop.

Anyway, the reason for this post–DONALD MILLER!  Now, I’m sure for some of you, the name doesn’t really get your juices flowing (whatever that means).  But you have to understand, “Blue Like Jazz” was the most monumental book for me, even more than “BFG” and “Matilda”.  The way he wrote was so captivating, and he made Christianity sound so cool.  I don’t really get giddy over a lot of things, maybe free pudding and the McRib, but the list is pretty exclusive.  I can say that Donald Miller was my first mancrush.  On a side note, should I be concerned that the I have more than one mancrush?

I wish I had the patience to wait for the darn thing to cool.

Now, many of you might not know, but one of my dreams in life is to get published.  I’m not a advocate for “believe in anything and it’ll come true” because, well, there have been things in my life that I wished for (under shooting stars, 11:11, birthdays, wishbone, etc.), and it hasn’t come into fruition.  But after reading “Blue Like Jazz”, I have always wanted to write something like that, maybe with a bit more theology.  I don’t know.  Honestly, it would be like a 200-page blog.  I don’t think I can write anything theologically Earth shattering, but I think I can elicit a few sympathy laughs here and there.  I just don’t know.  It has been the 2nd longest running prayer request I’ve had.  The first?  Well, let’s just say that my ideal Friday night is not watching “The Terminal” accompanied by BBQ Beef Hot Pockets.  Close, but not ideal.  Seriously though, BBQ Beef Hot Pockets are the perfect remedy to turn your frowns upside down.

So our school held a screening for the film based on Blue Like Jazz.  To be honest, I couldn’t care less about the movie.  I mean, I’m sure it’ll be good and entertaining, but the real jewel was getting the opportunity to meet a celebrity that has touched you like no one’s ever touched you before (awkward phrasing, I know, sorry.).  I took a 20-minute shower, combed my hair, styled said hair, wore my outfit, took it off because it was disgusting, tried on two different outfits, and finally settle on cargo shorts, white shirt and a hoodie.  This is what infatuation does to a person.  I exhibit all the symptoms of a nervous person; clammy hands, million different scenarios playing out in your head, sweating even though you’re just sitting down, drinking water even if you’re not thirsty–nervous.  But then again, some might just say this is me on a normal day.  So I don’t know.  For amusement, sometimes I envision myself moments before I propose.  *chuckle*

You might think I'm weird, but I think this is so endearing!

So as I walk into the community center where the extravaganza was going to take place, but suddenly my high spirits drop.  My first thought?  Great, new people and small talk.  My second thought?  OOOO complimentary cupcakes and root beer from a keg.  My third thought?  Oh shoot, acquaintances.  I will tell you that between new people and acquaintances, the latter is far more worst to deal with.  You only have a sliver of history, but because of that you feel obligated to talk as if you are best of friends.  Talking with acquaintances is like the awkward mezzanine between good friend and complete stranger.  You don’t have the comfort of inside jokes and it’s still a feeling out process.  The feeling out process is always awkward.  It’s like searching for the light switch your glasses in the dark.  Your hand might run into a Snickers wrapper, or some dirty shirts, and you finally get what you’re searching for. But you only find your glasses after you’ve stepped on them.  It’s never a pleasant endeavor. Meeting your acquaintances = going to the dentist.

I would feel the same way, bro.

6:18, and the guy doesn’t show up.  Who does he think he is?  He acts like he’s published a New York Times Bestseller or something.  And just so you guys can get a better understanding of me, 18 minutes is probably as long as I can go in terms of talking about our mundane weeks.  That and swirling around and staring at the ice in your cup as if its the most captivating thing in the world, but in reality it’s just another excuse to avoid eye contact.  And then a hand grips my shoulder, quite forcefully.  I am a very timid person who gets startled way too easily  So my natural response is to shriek.  As I slowly turn around to see who this mysterious overly vigorous shoulder masseuse is, my eyes light up and my spirits lifted–’twas Donald Miller, grabbing my shoulder, with a gracious smile painted on his face.  “Hi, the name’s Don.  What’s yours?”

How does anyone find this type of greeting welcoming?

The proper protocol is to say, “Nice to meet you Don.  My name is Jason”  or some nuanced form of that.  But I go stone cold, and not the cool kind like Steve Austin.  I freeze.  My mind is functional, but the words get stuck in my esophagus.  And after a few seconds of awkward silence, he goes onto the person next to me.  I had struck out.  Missed my free throws.  Fumbled the pigskin.  Insert whatever analogy–I totally choked like a dude trying to consume an entire chimichanga in one bite.

Finally, people are lining up to take a picture with him, the director and the lead actor.  I didn’t really want to, but at the forceful ushering of my friends, I shuffled my feet towards the vicinity.  It was kind of strange too because there were two lines and because there wasn’t an established system, we weren’t sure who was going to go first.  And, everyone is so nice that everyone is just, “oh no, you go first!”.  It was just a weird situation.  It was like jumping rope–unsure of when you were to jump right in.

My good friend, who originally had the money spot of being next to Donald Miller (I have to use the full name because I am not on first name basis with him…yet), knew how highly I thought of the man, so he slid over to insert me into a pretty snug spot.  It was intimate.  And at this point, I regret not wearing my suit and tie–I looked like a complete scrub with inconsistent stubble all over my face.  I don’t know why, but I had to tell him how big of a fan I was.  But I didn’t know how to really convey this in such a short time, so I ended up getting on my tip toes and whispering “I’m your biggest fan!  Literally and figuratively!”  In hindsight, whispering was not the best route for when you whisper something that should be exclaimed it forms uncomfortable amounts of condensation on the receiver’s ear, but you don’t think through things in the heat of the moment.  He laughs and wipes off his ear, and as I ask for advice, he directs me to his blog (total Jason move, by the way).  Then he ushers me to the side and receives the next group of less enthusiastic fans for the next photo op–I had been tossed aside like some flimsy piece of, I don’t know, whatever that epitomizes the word “flimsy”.  I drift away, like an lifeless and listless jellyfish, hoping not to bother anyone.

My eyes are glimmering from glee/nerves.

I don’t know what I really expected.  I mean I do, but I knew that I wasn’t the only one that was going to show up.  He’s kind of a big deal.  And I knew he wasn’t going to just carve out a chunk of his time to just dole out advice for a struggling writer, and to be honest, struggling human being.  He made it big.  I guess I just wanted to be like the bleeding woman who just wanted to touch Jesus’ cloak, but at the same time, so much more.  I even commented on his blog, asking if he would be cool if I could email him some personal questions and whatnot.  Silence had never been so deafening.  I guess the moral of the story is that fantasy never lives up to reality.  His writing still makes me woozy and I still want to write something similar to his style, but I guess I wish first, I had more courage to be upfront, but second, that he had more time for me.  But alas, I can say that I SHOOK DONALD MILLER’S HAND (as if his writing talent somehow transferred to me…blarg!).

Random Ruminations Part Trois

Just accept it.  RR is here to stay.  Let it wash over you like a lukewarm gravy.  Yes.  This is going to be like the “Land Before Time” series, but the Ice Age ain’t going to stop this dynasty.  My hope is for RR to become something that is highly anticipated, like the weekend or the McRib.  But I hope the novelty remains, and that it doesn’t go by the wayside like Doritos 3D or Skittles Gum.  Finally, I hope it doesn’t get glossed over like Arbor Day or the Home and End keys on your computers.  Just to clear any confusion, RR stands for Random Ruminations, not Red Robin.

1.  Speaking of Red Robin, I am absolutely obsessed about their addictive honey mustard dipping sauce.  It is the perfect balance of sweet and awesome.  Whoever warned against an abundance of good things obviously have not tried dipping their fries or any food for that matter into Red Robin’s honey mustard.  They would most certainly retract that statement.  It looks kind of weird, like the melted innards of a Kiwi (the fruit, not a New Zealander), but I tell you, don’t judge a book by its cover, or as I like to say, don’t judge a dude by the spilt honey mustard on his shirt.  I would say something outrageous like “I wish I could bathe in it”, but the prospect is frightening because I’m afraid I would want to eat myself.  But the sauce is that good.

2.  At this risk of sounding slightly pedophile-ish, I must to say this:  “WHERE ARE ALL THE LITTLE GIRL SCOUTS?!”  Back home in Seattle, Girl Scouts would guilt trip you at every corner, almost bordering the annoying level of Jehovah Witnesses and Telemarketers.  Seattle Girl Scouts ALMOST, I emphasize, ALMOST, made me hate girl scout cookies.  But now living in St. Louis, I can’t seem to find them anywhere.  I literally ventured to four different grocery stores in hopes to finding girl scout cookies.  Sad to say, my happiness is hinged upon Samoas and Tagalongs.  Seriously though, their marketing strategy is genius; exclusivity adds a little somethin’ somethin’ to the cookies.  Oh man.  I feel like I should stop talking about the whereabouts of girl scouts before I say something ambiguous that could be misconstrued for something weird.   Oh yeah, thin mints are like Axe, the Double Quarter Pounder, boxer briefs and elliptical machines–overrated.  Yeah I said it.

ADDED TO THE BUCKET LIST! (sans Beanie Babies)

3.  In the age of fancy cell phones that can do just about everything, I have a pretty modest phone.  I take great pride in it.  Yeah, go ahead, call me a prude, but while you are nose-deep in refreshing your facebook every 5 seconds to see if your bland status received any new comments, I’m having a heartfelt conversation with people (perhaps with intermittent eye contact if you’re lucky!).    But there are two things that I hate about my phone.  First, the selection for wallpaper images are like that of a $5 Chinese buffet, slim.  My choices, no joke, are  between a giraffe, a panda, or any image I have taken with said phone.  Honestly, as narcissistic as I am, I wouldn’t want to see me every time I flip open my phone.

Whenever people tell me to "work it", I ask back, "with what?"

Second, whenever I receive a text message (treating it like a Hot Pocket, waiting 5 minutes to let it cool off before eating/texting back), the first option, whenever I open said text message, is “call back”.  It’s in moments like these I long for a phone that was more intuitive.  WHY WOULD MY FIRST OPTION BE TO CALL BACK?!  I would have “delete” be higher on the priority list than “call back”.  At least once a week, I would accidently call back on a text that would be something light hearted like “hey you, what’s up?”.  And once they pick up (on the first ring, mind you), you are locked into a conversation that you never wanted to have in the first place.  It’s like when you order a snack wrap at McD’s, only to regret it once you start driving.  I’ve never had a great experience eating a snack wrap.  Forced conversation/laugher/care for the win!

The King of the Forced Smile

4.  I think one of the most difficult crossroads I face everyday is the moment you lie in bed, having just brushed your teeth, and suddenly you are hit with an insatiable craving for something.  For instance, last night, as I hop into bed, ready to finish off a 3-part dream that I’ve been having this week, I suddenly get hit with a craving for Filet-o-Fish (sorry for the heavy use of McD’s reference).  Do I go out of the way and order one or do I just suck it up and just go to sleep.  Whenever I am faced with such circumstances, I have a weird way of settling things.  Sometimes, I play rock paper scissors with myself.  Sometimes, I look at my clock, and if the minute hand is on an odd number, then it means I go.  Sometimes, I text my friend, and do the opposite of what they advise me to do.  I’m weird, but the system works.  Yesterday, I played RPS with myself.  My left hand had been on a 6-game winning streak, but the right hand stepped up and won.  That meant Filet-o-Fish and Hi-C for a midnight meal.

5.  I am an avid and passionate University of Washington fan.  I proudly wear their paraphernalia wherever I go and I throw up the “W” sign with my hand to show people that I’m still cool and relevant.  But due to the slight problem that I live in St. Louis, my beloved Huskies are not televised on national TV.  So I have to resort to watching these games through suspect streaming sites.  This is ok, but one thing you must know is that I am a very passionate and emotional person.  It’s not as bad as it used to be, but literally, my weeks would be dictated on how my local sports team would fare.  Oh, it was bad.  My emotions have simmered quite a bit, but I still get worked up into a nice lather every once in awhile.  Again, I have no internet access at home, so I end up watching the games at our school’s community center.  Trying to subdue the volcanic eruption every time my team scores is the most difficult thing.  When my team misses an easy layup, I just want to flip over tables.  But when there are people around, you know that you’re going to be judged hardcore.   And when you try to suppress your emotions, the sounds one makes is weird.

Where can I purchase this sticker?

Take for example yesterday, as I wanted to shout in ecstasy, but knowing that people were around, I suppressed it, and the outcome was an unattractive squeal.  Mind you, this is going on as I am furiously and ferociously fist pumping the air.  I was essentially Wilbur with hands (please, someone get that reference).  Whatever stock that I had left probably plummeted after that lovely, knee-weakening image.

I literally had my entire weekend planned around anticipating watching my team on the tube, but they’ve been eliminated.  So I guess it’ll be a good time to catch up on stuff from class.  Yeah, that’s what’ll do.

6.  Kids are too real.  As much as I like people keepin’ it real, it’s not like Red Robin honey mustard, as in I can’t have too much of it.  Sure, tell me if I’m being obnoxious.  Ok, I have some BBQ residue on my lips, good lookin’ out!  But man, sometimes kids know where it hurts.  Take, for example, my pastor’s two daughters.  I think they are absolutely adorable and they are so fun to hang around, but sometimes, I’m just, I don’t know, in a shattered state after.  One time, Hannah, the younger one of the two, asked me if I like pizza.  Without hesitation, I replied, “Of course I do!  What kind of question is that?”.  Then Hannah brings the fire!

In referring to the pimples on my face, “is that why you have so many pepperoni’s on your face?”.  The last time I felt super self conscious about my acne/pimples/facial imperfections was probably the 7th grade.  On the way home from church, I purchased some anti-pimple cream and some Oxy Pads.  KIDS KEEP IT TOO REAL!  And it’s the worst because their motives are so pure.  I’m sure Hannah’s question was strictly because of curiosity, but man, she knows where it hurts!

This is the epitome of our relationship. Oh Hannah...

Thanks for reading, as always.  I realize that I spend more time on this blog than I do on my abs, and I am suffering, dearly, the ramifications.  But in the words of Missy Elliot, “is it worth it?”.  Unequivocally and emphatically I squeal  “YES!”  Have a blessed weekend party people.

Sermon Prepping = Mongolian Grill

So I’m in the process of writing my sermon for my preaching class.  Due to the fact that I’m extremely slow at raising my hand, I ended up being one of the last people to preach.  I would make a horrible Family Feud teammate.  But out of all my classes, preaching class is by far my favorite.  It’s like the PE of seminary.  Reading theology books and learning how to parse and identify the Vocative case is, well, necessary and important, but at times it feels like eating eggplant.  I don’t mean to knock it, but sometimes it gets dry.  But I really get into my element when I start studying and preparing for a sermon.  We’ll see though.  I feel like Midwestern/Southern humor is different than Northwestern humor.  And the worst feeling is a joke that doesn’t go over well.

I don't understand the hype

But earlier this week, as I was surveying the vast array of different options at the local Mongolian Grill establishment, I couldn’t help that the similarities were uncanny.

1.  Relative Autonomy.  When I’m looking at a passage, I have some leeway as in how I organize it and how the sermon is delivered, but as far as the actual content and context of the passage, I can’t just go off on some original idea that is not apparent in the text.  As much as I want to be a pioneer and unique, I can’t be spewing off heresy.  Similarly, as I walk up to the buffet line, I can only work with what I’ve got.  Personally, I love having squid and scallops as options for my Mongolian grill, and some places have it, but when it’s not there, I can’t just conjure it up out of nowhere.  I guess I could bring my own, but that’s just weird and that would kill my analogy.  So for coherency, let’s just take that out of the picture.  But honestly, bringing your own options is something my mom would do.  She brings her own kimchee in tupperware whenever we go eat Pho.  She be crazy, ese.  On a side note, the Mongolian Grill place I went to this week didn’t have the typical noodle options, but instead had pastas.  It was so weird.  This is like preaching on, I don’t know, 1 Chronicles.

Why you be wastin' stomach vacancy for broccoli?

2.  Uncertain outcome.  As much as prepping for a sermon is a labor of love, and as much practice I can put into my sermon, there really isn’t a guarantee that the sermon will be a heart-wrenching, life-changing, tear-inducing masterpiece.  I might be in the distinct minority here, but I feel that for the most part, I know what I am doing preparation wise.  I know which commentaries that I will look into.  I know how to study the Greek of a text.  I know how to learn the context and author’s intent.  In the same way, whenever I am putting in ingredients into my bowl (which is always too small to begin with), I find myself pretty confident at the ratios of noodles to protein to vegetables.  I know how much sauce to put into the bowl.  And believe me when I tell you, I’ve been to more than a fair share of Mongolian Grills. In fact, it’s a borderline hobby for me, Mongolian Grill that is, not eating.  There is far too much evidence to support that eating is more than a hobby for me; it be a passion.  There’s not a lot of things that I am confident in, but constructing the perfect Mongolian Grill bowl is something that I think I got down.  But there is always that sliver of uncertainty as I hand the bowl off the cook.  And they usually judge me hardcore because my bowl is like literally a foot tall.  (Note to all Mongolian Grill owners, make yo bowls bigger!)

3.  All up to the Holy Spirit/Cook.  So I’m learning the process and delivery of how to make a sermon palatable and effective.  It’s rather exciting.  It reminds me of the first time I learned how to break dance.  Unfortunately, I lacked the physique, determination and stamina to learn how to do flares, but it was still pretty exciting.  But with all this knowledge of preaching, it really all comes down to the Holy Spirit, and I’m forever grateful that it isn’t about my wit or ability to be an effective orator, because let me tell you, I will truly let people down.  I’m like Apple Jacks in that sense; initially I’m pretty good, but eventually I get pretty bleh.  Seriously, though, the Holy Spirit is like getting a star in Super Mario Bros.  I pray that all throughout my preparation that the Holy Spirit is an integral part in every part of the process.

My bad, Liu Kang.

In the same sense, I can do my best, but if I hand it over to the cook, and he’s just not there (mentally), and he’s just not really working, then the carefully thought out symphony of amazing flavors is all for naught.  If the cook takes the food off too early, there’s a good chance that I’ll get food poisoning.  If that same cook is lackadaisical and leaves my food on for too long, then the meat will turn into chunks of rope, and last time I checked, that was not on the food pyramid.

As Monday creeps up closer and closer like any good creeper would do, I can feel the butterflies slowly emerge from their cocoons in my stomach.  Pray for me that, even though it technically is an assignment, that somehow my “Mongolian Grill” of a sermon is faithful to God’s Word.  Now the real tough part is finding a good  PCA approved outfit for Monday.  A trip to Nordstrom Rack is always a good thing!

Jesus Loves Me

[Editor’s note:  I think that TLT is no more.  Jason and Crystal are sitting quite some distance apart.  I think the friend zone tactic was not the best idea.  Also, Crystal just asked me if she could sit at my table so she could use the outlet that’s close by.  What is going on?!  Should I start a conversation with her?  Naw, I couldn’t do that to my boy, Jason…]

Honestly, I was going to blog about the profound truth in the children’s praise song “Jesus Loves Me”.  I was feeling a bit down because of an eclectic concoction of circumstances (try ordering that at a bar).  So I was browsing through some youtube videos to put up as an example and I couldn’t settle on one.  I was going to put up the Whitney Houston version of it because of her recent passing, but honestly, hers and everyone else’s had just went overboard with the embellishments.  Like, sometimes I just want a good ol’ fashioned rainbow cake.  I don’t need the extra stuff.

I'd hit that.

I finally settle on one, and although I initially didn’t want to post it, the ridiculousness of the video was too thick for me to not put it on.  So I give you, uh, “Jesus Loves Me”.

Here is my running commentary:

0:01 – Why are they humming?  This ain’t Lion King!  And the classic side to side move.

0:23 – Suddenly 3 dudes wearing oversized hockey jerseys singing something similar to what Hansen would sing.  If you don’t get the reference, you are better for it.

0:36 – The boy on the right does this “what am I doing here?” gesture.  It’s quick, but you can tell, he doesn’t want to be there.

0:38 – Speaking of not wanting to be there, how about that Asian baby?  She is not having the time of her life.

0:47 – I am utterly disappointed that the move for the line “tells me so” is a simple shoulder shrugging.  I’m not a choreographer, but that’s just lazy.  And that doesn’t even qualify as “hip”, whatever that means.

1:13 – “For the Bible tells me so, HOAH!”  + knee thrust and first pump = remix that never should’ve happened.

1:25 – WHAT?!  SECOND VERSE?!

1:26 – I love passion.  And look closely at the face of the kid on the right during “he who died”.  He is so passionate about Jesus’ death.  His eyes are closed, he has a grimace on his face, and even the demonstrative action of the crucifixation is so real to him that he is on the verge of toppling over.  Props kid, mad props.

1:33 – Dear Mr. Thisismyshow, this is not your show.  Keepin’ it real, Jason.

1:56 – This is like a poor man’s version of the poor man’s version of Backstreet Boys.

3:15 – After repeating the same uncatchy tune, they finally go to the old classic rendition.  This makes me happy.

3:30 – Again, I’m no choreographer, but Choreography 101: you must stagger your dancers or else they will just be hidden behind the “superstars” of the group.  Trust me, this production has no superstars.

3:48 – This is just weird.  The lights fade with the middle guy holding up his right hand.  The singing stopps, so you’re just there, watching it, bombarded by droning “HUM’s”.  Not a great ending, but to be honest, any ending to that debacle is a great ending.

Anyway, I’m glad that Jesus loves me.  I used to hate on the song because melodically it’s like tapioca, just whatever, but the words as simple as it might be, it’s just so profound.  Sometimes we just gotta keep it simple, like good ol’ fashion rainbow cake.  It’s something that I try to tell myself everyday, just not in the weird rendition that we just witnessed.

[Note:  I did not know, DMX, I did not know…]

Love Triangle Update!

I know that Friday is usually when my insolence is at an all-week high, but I must postpone this week’s rendition of “Random Ruminations” aside.  Commence the collective groaning!  I know, I know, children, ’twill be back before you know it.

I hate to link my own blog again, but if you don’t know the back story, then you will truly be in the dark of what I’m talking about, and also, you might be thinking that I am talking in the third person.  So, please, contextualize yo self.

https://eemjehwahn.wordpress.com/2012/02/11/100/

Swagger only by name. I speak from experience.

Last time I wrote about these lovebirds, Jason was the guy with all the answers to the math questions, but no solutions to his own questions about his love for Crystal.  Brock, on the other hand, was a brash, yet bombastic clown.  He had energy, and had the all allusive “confidence” and “swagger” that all awkward people crave. What is this swagger you speak of?  Whatever it was, he had “it”.  So me, living vicariously though Jason, was deeply saddened that he was losing this race.  Just like my dreams of having a “Brad Pitt in Fight Club or Troy”-esque physique, I had given up on Jason.  He was going to lose to the jock, only perpetuating the notion that buff dudes and jerks get the girls.  But alas!  Something had changed.  Something was different.  Last night at Schnucks was definitely an interesting turn of events.

I had come to my studying spot at around 9:30, a little later than usual, but TLT (The Love Triangle, proper noun) usually shows up around 10ish.  And this time I had some people with me who, like me, were highly anticipating to see how things would enfold.  With a glass of wine and some donuts (classy and not classy all in one), it was pretty much a live movie in front of us.  I don’t know why, but even though we were using fake names, we still whispered as if we thought they knew what was going on.  Good times.

Brock and Jason walk in first, sans Crystal.  And they do their whole routine by making a

Whoa Paula! Take 'er easy!

long table from three smaller tables.  Brock, being the epitome of what it means to be a jock, busted out this gargantuan sub sandwich, and proceeds to take huge chunks and devour it.  It was a very unsavory image.  He wouldn’t even chew.  Similar to how a Great White Shark would just tear into a Sea Lion, he would have no compassion for the limp and lifeless sandwich.  In fact, I cringed every time he would bite into his sandwich because I was afraid he was going to dislocate his jaw or something.  It was seriously straight Boa Constrictor status.  Not only that, whenever he went to prey on his meal, mad veins would appear on his head, and it was just like, “C’mon man!  No one is going to steal your food!”.  Sadly, the night was not as young, and all of my peers had to depart and retire for the night (I love that phrase).  It was me, and TLT.  Weird, but I needed more material for my blog!

And then the lady of the hour comes right in, flip flops and eclectic scarf and all.  The people at our table start murmuring in much ecstasy, and I whisper-yell “It is on!”.  We all giggle like we’re talking about our crushes, but we were excited to see how things would escalate.  She sits down, and Jason does something he hasn’t done before; he goes off to the other end of the lounge and reads his own thing, leaving Brock and Crystal alone.  Bold move!  Now this interesting for two reasons; one, he has the confidence of his bond with Crystal that he knows that Brock’s mayo/mustard stained face will not win her over, and two, he was switching up his strategy, seeing if Crystal would do something, left alone with Brock.  He was playing hard to get.  I guess it’s good to have some sort of leverage when you play hard to get.  I’ve tried playing it, but I realize when you have zero leverage, the girls response is a nonchalant, “OK”.  Leverage is key.

One of these days...

And then the big turnaround.

I could see that Brock had tried to work a few moves in, obviously highly premeditated, but ineffective.  He did his go to, “look over your shoulder to see your answers”, but that had become stale like the crumbs on his face.  He tried offering her a bevy of snacks, but she was more sophisticated than that.  He was becoming played out, right in front of my very (pause) lazy eyes!  Although Crystal wears a lot of pink, it was quite misleading for me; she had become impervious to the tired moves.  Tired and humiliated, he put on his ear phones and continued to confirm every stereotype of jocks by air drumming.  Air drumming!  He was so demonstrative, and it was as if it was his last, grand finale to woo Crystal.  I felt kind of bad because he had his eyes closed for most of the time, but every once in awhile he would squint to see if she was looking, and she wasn’t.  But I was.  He is not the sharpest tool in the shed, but a tool nonetheless.

I don't know how I stumble across these gems.

After his 10-song set of hardcore air drumming, he packed his bags and left.  It was abrupt.  And I would occasionally glance over at Jason, just to see if he was legitimately studying, or observing like me, and he was watching this disaster unfold.  I could tell because he would chuckle with intermittent snorting.  I think a little bit of snot came out because I think I saw him use the couch as his personal napkin.  Kinda nasty, but hey, we all have our shortcomings.

So with Brock out of the picture, Jason comes back, but right next to Crystal.  On previous nights I sat close enough where my eavesdropping skills could pick up on what they were saying, but tonight, they sat outside my range.  But do you think that would discourage me from appeasing my fanbase?  NO ABSOLUTELY NOT!

I do my best private investigator imitation.  And I had a pretty nifty plan.  Even though I wasn’t hungry, and my wallet was everything I’m not, skinny, I decided to purchase some mini burritos to use the microwave that was right adjacent to the future couple.  And this microwave is perfect because it’s very quiet and it actually takes longer to heat up the food.  So I stand around the microwave, fiddling around with my food, trying to search for the Tobasco Chipotle flavor (the best kind for sure), but in all honesty my mind was not focused on these pedestrian burritos; I wanted to hear what they had to say each other.

Jason, who seemed to have position himself closer than usual, started talking about how Crystal was the closest girl (pause) friend that he’s ever had, and that she made him feel so comfortable.  He said that he valued her friendship so much and that she was his best friend.  To make a long story a little less long, he had just put her in the Friend Zone (proper noun).  Honestly, I was astounded.  I’ve never seen such a thing happen before.  And I don’t know if he’s just playing The Game, or he really just put her in the Friend Zone, but I peeked over, and she seemed pretty sad about the whole ordeal.  Wow.  He totally just flipped the script on her.  And after 20 minutes of “searching” for Tobasco, I walk back to my table, only to realize that my burritos had gone cold.  Do I walk back to the microwave again or just eat the burritos that were cold as Jason’s heart?  I AIN’T EATIN’ NO COLD BURRITOS!  But when I went back, no more flirtatious interactions.  It was awkward, and I am somewhat of an expert in the field.  The two minutes to heat up my microwave was the longest two minutes of my life.

Please tell me you've watched "Hey Arnold!"

I wonder how the saga will continue.  Did Jason take it too far?