flipped my lid...

Do you want the good news or the bad news?

Okay, good news: Just bought a new lid, and it's sweet (see pic).

Now for the bad news: Just after I ordered it over the 'net I got a call saying that I'd missed the deadline for delivery by about ten minutes. Now I can't have it until after the New Year.

Ten minutes. Poo! Do you know how long I sat at the computer trying to make up my mind whether I could justify spending so much on protecting my head? Ages! So long that if I halved the time, I'd have made the deadline and still spent ages contemplating my decision.

So now I'm stuck in this now-and-not-yet place of torture: I've paid for it but can't have it. Thinking about it further, my helmet is a bit like Jesus too (see last post), except for the fact that He's free and not a motorcycle helmet...

lord of the flies...

I had a very humbling, yet enlightening experience today. While strolling through town, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a very attractive young lady sitting with a laptop in a café window. As I passed she looked up and smiled, briefly catching my eye in a moment somewhere between flirtation and embarrassment (on her part, I hasten to add – I was nothing more than an impartial observer). Nonetheless, the very fact that I had, in my own manly way, brought a smile to a stranger’s lips sent a wave of well-being flooding through my body, and the phrase ‘Ding, dong’ through my mind.

The moment passed; I walked on.

Half an hour of shopping later I was walking back along the same street, passing the same window with the same woman sat at her computer when I thought to myself, ‘Is there a chill in the air? Ah no, it’s just that my flies are undone.’ They were not only undone, they were gaping, like a rift in the fabric of space-time itself.

Then it all fell into place. And I had a great realisation.

That smile was not a smile of flirtation or appreciation of my Herculean physique. No, that darned woman was laughing at my mauve pants. The moment of realisation caused my shoulders to sag, my head to drop, and my flies to be rather quickly done up.

What a fool. What a damn fool.

But then, out of the heavens, I was given a revelation of stupefying enormity. That woman was just like Jesus, except for her gender and divinity, oh, and the lack of facial hair and disciples. Jesus too smiles upon us when we are open and vulnerable. He delights in us despite our mauve pantedness. Yet how often do we, misunderstanding the motivation behind his joy and delight, find in that blessing cause for pride. Brothers and sisters, be not proud, for you too may find a draft in your spiritual private places. Yes, our Lord rejoices over us, but not because of our achievements or stature in this life, but because his grace is sufficient.

What a fool I am, yes. But what a Lord is he!

are you a heretic?

Think yourself a good Christian? Then take the test to discover which heresies lie beneath that "sound" facade. I was a little relieved to discover that I'm not a heretic, but am a little too Pelagian for comfort. Never mind, at least I don't have a single streak of Albigensianism in me. No I don't know what it means either.

You scored as Chalcedon compliant. You are Chalcedon compliant. Congratulations, you're not a heretic. You believe that Jesus is truly God and truly man and like us in every respect, apart from sin. Officially approved in 451. Chalcedon compliant 100% Pelagianism 67% Nestorianism 33% Monophysitism 33% Docetism 0% Arianism 0% Apollanarian 0% Adoptionist 0% Donatism 0% Gnosticism 0% Monarchianism 0% Albigensianism 0% Modalism 0% Socinianism 0%

let's kill Santa...

Have you ever been in a situation where you realised, far too late, that what you were in the process of doing was likely to get you into trouble with either a) the wife, b) the church or c) the authorities? I had an experience like that last Sunday (on this occasion involving option 'b').

I'd been given the job of doing the 'talk' at our church's all age worship service (i.e. that service which miraculously induces boredom in both the adult and youth portion of the congregation at the same time). Having sat through far too many patronising and pointless examples of such talks I thought I'd try to produce something that was directed at the adults, but in a way still accessible to kids.

What I came up with revolved around a mildly amusing poem I found on the 'net a few years ago (apparently by Paul Gilmartin):

Eggnog, tinsel, falling snow
Buttered rum and mistletoe
Christmas trees and hanging lights
The sound of carollers fills the night

Shopping hours long and hard
Visa phones and cancels card
Unpaid bills and mounting debts
Family gathers; depression sets

Drinking starts, harsh words are said
Dysfunction rears its Yuletide head
Argument turns to shovin’
Drunken brother punches cousin

Tree tips over, popping lights
Curtains catch, house ignites
No one hears the reindeer cries
Wedged in chimney, Santa dies

Though he kicked and did perspire
His chestnuts roasted on an open fire

What I hadn't realised while I was preparing was that I was effectively killing off Santa in a church full of children (i.e. there were more than two). Oops. I could hear the parents all gasp as I got to the crunch line. 'Bugger,' they thought. 'Now we've got to try and convince little Sally that the silly man up the front didn't mean it.'

Yes I felt bad. Really bad.

But a couple of days later I heard about a local school's nativity play, which included angels, shepherds, wise men, elves and, of course, Santa. SANTA (which I'm sure you're all too well aware is an anagram of Girls Aloud Satan) in a nativity play? That would be like casting Capt. Mainwaring in Band of Brothers, or a raving heterosexual in Rainbow. Suddenly I didn't feel so bad about killing off Santa. If he's going to try and muscle in on the celebration of the birth of the Son of God™ then, frankly, the gloves are off.

Santa, be afraid, be very afraid. I'm comin' to getcha...

it's all about me...

Not everyone appreciates a good blog. As my wife just commented on her first read of my fledgling steps into the world of the big B, "It's very self-indulgent, isn't it." She was only on line three of my first entry...

Needless to say she was not allowed to continue reading. I was going to make a "pearls before swine" comment, but then I'd be calling my wife a pig, which generally isn't considered the done thing. That would also make me a man married to a pig, which reminds me a little too much of a line from the South Park movie (well, at least I'm not Canadian).

But, to be honest, what she had inadvertently done was put into words a tension I had long been feeling in my own soul (well, at least since Thursday). Blogging has at its heart this requirement that you be a bit self-centred. You have to

a) think that something you have to say is of interest to other people when all too often it's just cathartic drivel which should be kept private, and

b) be a self-publicist, telling other people where to find your blog so that they can read your self-pseudo-psycho-analysis of the time you washed up without your significant other saying thank you.

Being a bit of an introvert (yes, I know I make a lot of noise, but inside I'm crying) I don't consider myself to have either of these qualities. I am, therefore, either self-deluded or internally conflicted. In either case my blogs are, therefore, clearly not worth reading.

Please desist immediately.

a blog too far...

The second hardest thing about starting a blog is being provocative enough to be worth reading but without going over to the DARK SIDE. The DARK SIDE, in case you're not aware, is characterised by a general similarity to the DEVIL, including horns, redness of face, sulpherous emissions, complaining, expressing views not considered appropriate by the powers that be, or generally making any reference to the fact that life isn't PEACHY at all.

If you recognise any of the obove symptoms, then beware, the second death awaits. But all is not lost. The secret elixir of sumbission will heal all...

But then again, at the risk of ruining the rhetorical force of the above, because blogs are in the public domain they really can have a dark side. There's a fine line between healthy debate and disparagement or obloquy (word of the day), but the world needs people ready to find out where that line is, as long as their intention isn't deliberate mischief-making. In the words of a No Fear slogan:

if you're not living on the edge you're taking up too much room.

the worst thing...

The worst thing about starting a blog is trying to find a name for it. What word can I think of that identifies me to those who know me, and yet is unique? What word sets me apart as special, as someone whose random thoughts might be worth reading? The truth is that the words that really do set me apart (over-educated-grumpy-old-git) aren't ones that I particularly want associated with my 'net identity. I want to be thought of as cool, handsome, special (in the good sense of the word; the other sense I already have covered), masculine yet sensitive, godly yet normal, and whatever other binary oppositions you can think of.

The truth is, I'm not special or unique, which is why it took me so long find a title for my blog. I ended up with disarrange ("put into a state of disorder"), because that's how I feel most of the time. I think this is the point where I'm supposed to say something profound, but I am dying for a wee, so for now this will have to do:

Arse.