My Pomp and Circumstance

There are many things that I enjoy doing in my job as a Youth Pastor. I get to work with teens and spend time doing silly things that most grown adults wouldn't think of doing. Well, they might think of them but they would never act on those thoughts. I, on the other hand, have what most people would consider a natural handicap but I feel that my immaturity serves me well especially when it comes to unashamedly acting like a goofball. While I enjoy most things about my job, I don't particularly like everything. One of my requirements is attending various events for my teens. I (only half) jokingly refer to this as torture time. It can be a rather lugubrious task to be sure. Even though I would rather be water-boarded (or at least try it once), I went to a graduation ceremony. This is one of my least favorite torture times. Mostly because I am at the mercy of an entire faculty and graduating class and as such am subject to their inanity. I love my teens and am extremely proud of them and so torture or not I go.
I chose to go "Bro. formal" with a nice pair of jeans and an untucked collared shirt and found that I was still over dressed compared to most in attendance. Let me take this moment to say that I despise the recent trend of guys growing their hair out like they are all trying out for the role of the annoying loud mouthed kid in the original Bad News Bears. Especially with a cap and gown, you cannot possibly tell the boys from the girls. Not to just pick on the boys, I would like to inform the girls that there is such a thing as too high-high heels. If you look like you're walking on stilts- they're too high. If you almost fall three times during the processional and once on your long awkward walk to give the student address because you tried to walk normally-I think you get the idea.
Now comes the continual parade of cliches': Graduation isn't the end it's only the beginning; you have your whole life ahead of you; let your light shine bright; you've accomplished a tremendous thing and now you're ready for the real world (I'm pretty sure that from the looks and sounds of these graduates they meant the MTV version); this is the last time we'll all be together; blah, blah, blah. There were more but to be honest I wasn't paying attention. All I am certain of is that at some point someone quoted the Irish Blessing: Road rise up; wind at back yadda yadda! At least no one tried to attribute it to the book of Proverbs at this commencement.
They sang the Star Spangled Banner and while I love the song, I hate that people feel the need to pretend to be Whitney Houston trying out for American Idol (the Super Bowl Whitney-not the drug addicted Whitney that has become an E! News staple and is often featured on The Soup). Will someone please put an end to this?! (the singing not Whitney Houston...I think)
When did it become necessary to show a picture slide show depicting the journey from infant to pre-adolescent to "young adult". If you want to look at each others baby pictures, fine! But I'm pretty sure that's why they made Facebook. Why must I be subjected to this? I neither care how cute/ugly you were as a baby nor do I care to revisit the ugly/awkward stage every teen goes through. And can somebody please select some song other than the Friends theme song?
Next on the agenda are the speeches. An interminable lineup of students and teachers crying and telling each other how much they love and will miss each other despite the fact that they have spent the last four years as adversaries. Kids sobbing about how much they're going to miss spending time with each other. Which is a crock because you would only miss them if you sat in your room and never attempted to make a new friend. I was very close to each one of my fellow graduates (when there are only 7 of you and one of those is your brother, it's hard not to be) but I don't pine for them or miss them or really think about them very often. Life is way too busy to spend time missing your high school chums. Besides, now adays with Facebook and twitter and the such, are they really ever gone?
I now turn my attention to the awards. Every year in every high school they recognize the two smartest kids as the Valedictorian and Salutatorian. Then these two usually get up and make us all wonder- "If these are the best and brightest, how imbecilic must the rest of the class be?" I would like to express my pride and utter delight that my very own Brianna Pixomatis received the Heritage Award for Virtue for displaying a life of integrity and character and being an example of virtue to her fellow classmates. Way to go Bri, we love you. I would now like to present an award of my own to one Kirill Gamaley. You deserve something after going through childhood with a name that sounds like it was ripped from a J. R. R. Tolkien book.
Pretty soon they will hand out all of the diplomas and the kids will switch their tassels from the right to the left side of their caps and the principal will announce them officially as the 2010 graduates. At this point they will all toss their caps in the air. I am not sure who started this tradition or how many eyes have been put out by it. I wonder how many young and promising lives have been cut short because somebody decided to hurl a pointy object into the air.
Well, the ceremony is winding down and my ears are about to burst from the whooping and screaming every three seconds (if that last line made me sound old then I don't care! Just leave me be and let me eat my bran in peace). I must go home and rest up because it's more of the same tomorrow with graduation parties to attend. Yeah me!

My Conversation with a Musical, Christmas Pirate

Have you ever been watching a TV show when the local news interrupts with a breaking story? Just as Vanna is about to reveal that all- important letter that you need to be able to solve the phrase, a bulletin comes across the news desk and they feel compelled to stop you mid-entertainment and tell you that there is yet another high speed chase in Glendale. You would think eventually these things would stop becoming breaking news since they happen as frequently as Hollywood stars enter rehab (hmm...I wonder if there is a connection, nevermind). Anyway, they eventually go live to the scene of whatever crime is being committed and inevitably they find some kind of eyewitness to interview. However, they never find Joe Normal to give an accurate account. No, they interview some crazy person who prattles on for five minutes without ever accurately describing what they were believed to have seen. It is at these moments that I begin to wonder: a.) Why all TV news reporters, even if they're not Hispanic feel the need to say their name with a Hispanic accent; and b.) If these type of crazy people really do exist, then why have I never met one in person?
Well, I will wonder that no more (I here refer to part b of my previous query-I may never understand a TV journalist's need to be Latino). I have met one such person who would fully satisfy all of the requirements of a TV news interviewee. He dressed weird, drove a weird car, and talked all sorts of nonsensical gibberish. He was perfect.

I was at a Jack in the Box in Fallbrook yesterday and while I was in the dining room I happened upon a creature so unbelievable I am certain many of you will accuse me of concocting this entire story just to have something about which to write. He was unimaginable in all aspects of his appearance. He was wearing a pair of capri pants or at least that is what I thought at first. He was actually wearing a pair of black docker style pants that had been cutoff midway between his knee and his ankle. It was a rather poor job leaving the ends of the pants somewhat frayed. He was wearing a white linen blousey shirt that looked as though it hadn't been washed or mended since the last time he was in port. This shirt had long billowy sleeves and a lace up front. That's right, he was wearing a pirate shirt. Not a fancy one like on Seinfeld when Kramer's date the "quiet talker" tricked Jerry into wearing one in a TV appearance, but one that looked as though it had seen many days swabbing the deck. He had long, stringy hair that hadn't been washed for a while either. His face was twisted in a perpetual squint with the right eye just slightly more squinted than the left. He was unshaven (in true pirate fashion) and had a hoop earring in his left ear. He had a fanny pack on but his shirt was so blousey that you couldn't actually see the pack. It just made it look like he was wearing a belt on the outside of his shirt (again, in true pirate fashion). I looked to his feet and was slightly disappointed not to find a pair of black loafers with great big silver buckles. Instead he was wearing a pair of sensible shoes. If he had striped socks and a cutlass at his side, he could have been mistaken for the animatronic pirates at Disneyland. When he spoke he had a gravelly rasp in his voice reminiscent of all good pirate captains. He truly was a buccaneer.

I needed to retrieve something from my vehicle and while in the parking lot I spied the vehicle in the pictures you see on this page. I am sorry if you can't clearly seem them, and even if you can I am afraid that they still don't do justice to this sight. I assure you it is something altogether different to behold in person. It is an '88 or '89 Dodge Caravan that has been completely decked out with various Christmas ornaments. There is only one Santa on the van (you can see him seated in a vehicle that is situated just above the driver) because he is really "Satan Clause" and is really too much of a "wicked sinner to deserve any attention during the holidays." You can't really tell in the pictures but the inside is just as crammed with Christmas decorations as the outside. Once I returned to the dining room to complete my work, the Christmas Pirate struck up a conversation with me by asking me if I was the one who gave the piano lessons that are advertised on the back of my van. Fearful that he would be interested in piano lessons and concerned with exposing my family to this man, I simply told him that I was not the teacher but that there were no openings that I was aware of. The reason that he wanted to know was that he was hoping he had found someone to answer a question that had been bothering him for a while.
The question: Can someone who plays a piano play a harpsichord?
Harpsichords, which I assume are more prevalent on pirate ships than pianos, had held his interest for many years. But his true passion was to learn how to play the organ. He asked me if I ever went to church to hear an organist play. I told him that I was actually the music director at my church but that we no longer used an organ in our services. That was all he needed to hear. He immediately began (and I am not exaggerating for comical effect) a 15 minute monologue on music and religion. Not music's role in religion or vice versa, but a short amount of time on why he was no longer a christian (I figured it was because it's hard to find a good preacher out on the briny deep), and the rest about Christmas music, even singing me a few bars of several songs he wrote.

I wish I could share everything he told me with you but I will be forced to just hit the highlights. First, I learned that the best Christmas music in the world is South American Christmas music. They have many songs dedicated to the season (all I was aware of was Feliz Navidad) but the government won't allow the radio stations to play them because of the political differences between our democratic republic and their dictatorial/drug cartel leadership. Second, I learned that the Oakridge Boys are the only country music group with a decent Christmas album. Third, I learned that he likes to write his own Christmas music. Nothing original mind you just taking some old standards and retooling the lyrics to suit him better. He sang "Santa Clause is coming to Town" but changed the lyrics to Jesus Christ is coming to earth (and is going to destroy everyone except Christmas Pirates with hell fire); "Jingle Bells" was swapped out for Hell's Bells; and my personal favorite "Sinners roasting over Hell's Fire, Satan cutting off their toes".
It was a remarkable experience and the whole time I was pinching myself because I couldn't believe that this was actually happening to me. It was amazing and awesome at the same time. I kept waiting for him to call me a "bilge rat" or threaten to cut out my gizzard and have it for his supper. There is so much more I could share with you like the fact that he was a famous city bus driver in Phoenix but that will have to wait for another time.

I hope that all of you will someday meet your own musical, Christmas pirate. But until you do, feel free to live vicariously through my experience.

My Disneyland-Banned

Ever since I was a kid I have loved to "people watch". If it were a sport you could be sure that I would have turned pro out of Jr. High and by now would be one of those egomaniacal jerks who refer to themselves only in the third person. It has always entertained me. The weird things people do, say and wear have brought me endless hours of amusement.
Just like any sport there are proper places to play it. Sure you can play football in your living room but it's so much better out in an open field. The two best places to people watch are stores and amusement parks. In the category of stores there are two elements: you have the trendy spots like malls where everyone is simply there to be buy something to impress others or to show off the things they already purchased in order to impress others; you also have the other places where people have to go and don't necessarily care what they look like. I call this place Wal-mart. Since, however, there is already a whole site dedicated to the denizens who troll this wonderland of rejects, my blog must focus on the other option-amusement parks-Disneyland in particular.
I returned to the so called Happiest Place on Earth with my lovely bride in hand to enjoy an afternoon of frivolity without our children (thanks again, Grandma). While we rode rides and experienced all sorts of enjoyable memories, we were subjected to an abnormally large quantity of odd people. As I began to notice the increasing number of troglodytes, dolts and ne'er-do-wells I felt compelled to keep track and develop some sort of system for culling the undesirables. So I came upon an idea to: a) let people stay and enjoy themselves; b) kick them out of the park for the day (and any subsequent day I would be in attendance); or c) ban them for life. The last was my favorite option.
As we arrived at the park I quickly noticed that a lot of people, young and old alike were wearing Ed Hardy T-shirts. BANNED! If you disagree with my decision allow me to inform you of two things: 1) I don't pay for this site, it's free and you can start your own pro-Ed Hardy blog anytime you want to do so; 2) you are now dangerously close to being banned as well.
While standing in line for Tower of Terror I came upon a scene I had not been witness to since leaving the relative "ghetto" of Vallejo, Ca for the valley. I'll try to be appropriate here and not be too descriptive but she literally (and I use that word literally, not as a hyperbole), I repeat literally had a shelf extending from her lower back to the furthest point of her booty. She made J-Lo look like an old man who can't keep his pants up. I don't wish to ban her however; I don't wish to see that ever again. So she will be asked to vacate the premises for the day. Please feel free to come back any of the other 195 days of the year that my season pass is blocked out.
Allow me to preface these next comments by stating that I am not a hugger. I much prefer handshakes. I certainly don't like hugs from other guys. That being said, I will give a lifetime pass to the guy who wore a t-shirt with a picture of two hands shaking and underneath it was written say no to hugs. I am definitely in favor of that sentiment. I don't do this sort of thing but if "say no to hugs" had a Facebook page, I would become a fan.
There was only one long line-Toy Story Mania, well worth it to be sure and it afforded me an extra amount of time to people watch. If I had my way, the line would have been much shorter as many of those standing in queue would have been banned.
Not too far from us in this line was a veritable treasure trove of degenerates. My favorite was the next generation of the jersey shore cast. With their over pomaded hair and apparent lengthy sessions in the tanning bed, they were just the sort of falderal to be banned. Nearby them was a guy wearing a t-shirt that had different types of martial arts written on it. It was a championship shirt. It listed all of the different tournaments he had won. BANNED! A real ninja doesn't advertise. Directly across from us was a guy wearing a shirt that had "streetwise" written across it. If you wear a shirt that says streetwise, I think that is a pretty good indicator that you are not "street" and far from wise.
There was also a guy who was wearing a Dodger hat, now normally that alone is not enough to get you banned for life, just the days I am there (I have no desire to hobnob with Dodger fans-and yes I realize my wife is a Dodger fan, but to every rule there is an exception). The reason I wish to ban him is that he was trying to look all thug or gangster...errr...gangsta or ghetto or whatever adjective best describes someone trying to intimidate and stare down the other people in line with him waiting to shoot a cartoon canon at virtual midway games.
Also in line to shoot imaginary eggs at imaginary farm animals was a real desperate orange county housewife. With her white, linen pants, air of entitlement and over-applicated spray on tan, she gets to stay-mostly because I think it's hilarious to imagine her sitting in the Toy Story buggy with legs crossed and arms folded obviously too good for such childishness.
I would like to inform the girl with the Flashdance, off the shoulder sweater and headband that she is not Jennifer Beals and this is not 1985. BANNED! Speaking of the 80's, we took in the Captain EO tribute that is playing in tomorrow land. It would be better if it were playing in yesterday land. What was once groundbreaking, state of the art film technology is now worse than a movie you would see on theSyfy channel (and subsequently The Soup). The costumes were horrible and, despite the raucous cheers of the people behind me, Michael Jackson was laughable as the far out space captain. Every time he spoke I just wanted to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of this soprano voice in the white, bedazzled space suit. I have to say that I think Dule Hill (better known as Gus from Psych) does a way better and infinitely more entertaining Michael Jackson than Michael Jackson.
I saw an extremely corpulent woman with a RUN DMC t-shirt on. I would just like to add a comma to that shirt and say RUN, DMC for your life! Then there were the two guys scooting around on electrical convenience vehicles. They both looked like they were just fine and they both were with their respective spouses who were left to wrangle the millions of kids and they had with them. You lazy punks need to get off your butts and help your wives. I am not sure what great evil these women committed to be saddled with these two but it must have been pretty bad.
To the pot-bellied man in the shape-ups: Do you always believe everything you see? Oh, and no pair of shoes will be able to fix what you got going on there. BANNED! Also banned for life are the people who wear ponchos on a water ride. Either don’t go on the ride or take your chances and pray you don't get wet. If you want to enjoy the ride, then enjoy it as it was intended. If you want to stay dry then go play in the desert.
So that you don't think I am only a hater, I would like to offer a lifetime pass to the family in front of us. When their little boy wouldn't behave, they followed up on their threat to leave the line that they had been waiting in for 20 minutes. I applaud you and if I ever see you again, I will be happy to let you take cuts in front of me.
But I would be remiss if I didn't include the best spectacle of the day before I closed these observations. I am referring to the Mexican Elvis cruising Main Street. Complete with Elvis shades and huge pompadour, he was wearing a black trench coat and trying to look incognito, just like the real Elvis (who is currently in witness protection). He was hilarious, trying to pass himself off as the real Elvis despite the fact that the real Elvis is neither Mexican nor in Los Angeles (my sources tell me he is managing a Piggly-Wiggly just outside Mobile, Al).
We had a good day and enjoyed ourselves immensely. On our way out we were treated to the overzealous hand gestures of the crowd traffic controllers (distant cousins of the parking lot attendants) but that's a different rant for a different day.

My Soccer Story

I would like to start off by saying that I hate soccer. You may think that hate is a strong word, but I assure you it is an accurate word. I hate soccer-I really do. I don't have a personal reason to hate soccer. It never "wronged" me. It didn't push me down in kindergarten or make fun of me in middle school. I just think it is a stupid sport.
I don't get the attraction. Running all out for 90 minutes with a very real chance of not scoring any points at all just seems to me like an effort in futility. If I wanted to run that much, which I don't, (a revelation that probably surprises no one!) I would run a half marathon. I probably wouldn't finish it in 90 minutes or without some type of mechanized conveyance but at least I would have something to show for it at the end. I'm pretty sure every participant gets a ribbon of some kind. At the very least you get to keep the fancy number sign they give you to pin to the front of your clothes. Plus they have all of those water stops. Soccer-you just run around a small area, get kicked in the shins a hundred times and look stupid whenever the ball does come to you and you misjudge the distance and whiff so hard you fall over.

I have heard the legends of how all the great sports were started, but I have never heard how (or why for that matter) soccer began. I imagine that it all began when a couple of phys. ed. drop outs got too tired or bored to watch their P.E. class so they devised a way to keep their charges in a confined area whilst simultaneously bringing them to the point of sheer exhaustion. As their slacker minds began to whirl they drew a large square in a field, threw in a ball and voila, you have the bane of society. I say all of that in order to set the record straight from the beginning. I hate soccer and so my commentary on the sport is going to be seriously biased. I don't wish to conceal that fact or mislead anyone in any way. So you may wonder how I found myself at a soccer game the other day. Well, you see besides being a soccer-hater, I am also a Youth Pastor and one of my responsibilities is attending various sporting events, a task which I rather enjoy.
This day I found myself at a small park following a couple of my teenage girls around the pitch (why they can't just call it a field like football and baseball I'll never know). Now these girls did an excellent job and I am proud of the way they handled themselves on the field. I am not here to rip them for playing a dumb sport. I wouldn't do that to my teenagers. No, the problem I have with the game I was watching had everything to do with the stupidity of the opposing coach and his team.

Apparently, there was one really good player on the other team. As a matter of fact, he was very accomplished. I learned that he plays on his high school varsity soccer team, and also plays club ball. I am familiar with what varsity represents, and I have to guess that playing club ball means something similar. At any rate, he was an excellent soccer player (which to me is the same as being an excellent paper airplane-folder. A talent to be sure but not one which will serve you well beyond the third grade). Anyway, here was this very good player in the same game as a bunch of girls and boys who were not horrible but definitely inexperienced. It was quite ridiculous. When I arrived late in the first half, he was playing the position of goalie. What I mean to say is that he had on the goalie gloves and special yellow shirt. He was not, however, anywhere near the goalie box. He was all the way forward. He was a one man team and he was in there pushing around the kids and scoring goals left and right.
When the second half rolled around he gave up the yellow jersey and all pretense that he was holding back any part of his game. He would dribble the ball around the lesser players and score a goal. All the while his team's parents were cheering him on wildly. They were whistling and hooting and hollering like he was accomplishing some great task. He not only (with the apparent approval of his coach) ran the score up on the other team but he demoralized them as well. This is a practice that is acceptable in the pros. They get paid to play and I feel if you can defeat them utterly then go right ahead. But in a kids' league game with a sign posted that admonishes people to remember that this league is all about fun, he should have not been allowed to be on the field with them. If you want a good idea of how ridiculous this spectacle was then just try envisioning Kobe Bryant showing up to a high school game and just going to town dunking over kids and swatting their shots out of the gym, all while Phil Jackson whoops and cheers him on. It was that stupid. One of the parents on our side called out to the kid and told him to let the rest of the kids play. His reply was that he "played to win". This is one of the things I find wrong with the entire sport. You don't see high school baseball players tearing it up in little league, and you won't find varsity football players destroying fools in pop warner.
The parents and the coach should be ashamed of themselves for not only allowing this to happen but encouraging this behavior. If it really is about the kids, why would you let someone ruin the game for them?

I will never be a fan of soccer. I don't say that you have to agree. I won't think less of you if you like it (I'll try not to anyway). If you are a fan and ever desire for it to be anything other than the brunt of jokes and a bad excuse to have orange slices and capri suns, then I suggest you govern it better and not let these things happen.