Jesus, He's Everywhere!

Being a cradle Catholic, my sister and I were raised to believe that Jesus is everywhere. The three holy deity dudes that make up the Holy Trinity can be found in all kinds of places: sunset over the Pacific ocean, the birth of my kids, the #17 lunch special at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant. I'm not going to win any Catholic of The Year awards (see option #3 in previous sentence), but I'm a believer and defender of my historic, yet quirky religion.

However, there is something that tests my faith. It's the one thing (besides the whole priest/little boy/lawsuit thing) that kind of embarrasses me about my religion. See exhibit A.

Yes, according to a Florida newspaper, it seems that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is now making appearances in those new "Glamour Shots" ultrasounds. Tired of appearing in tortillas, potato chips, screen doors, oil stains in garages, and cloud formations, Jesus has gone high tech! That Jesus, he must have one heck of a marketing department!

I'll take my pope and his pointy hat. I'll take Our Lady of insert synonym for heartbreak and suffering here. I'll take the kneel-sit-stand-pray choreography that is Sunday mass. I'll even take Sunday sermons that last until mid-first quarter of the Steelers game. I just think it's time we look for Jesus in places like...oh, I don't know, each other, before we go seeking the chosen one congealing reverently in our morning oatmeal (It was either Him or the lead singer from My Morning Jacket).

I'm Hot For Teacher...

Because working 60 hours a week is not enough, I threw my hat into the ring to become an adjunct faculty professor at the local community college district. "Adjunct" is a fancy college word for "part-time," as in, I work adjunct for McDonalds. Or, I'm an adjunct erotic dancer at the Spank Shack.

For those of you who've known me for a long time, becoming a professor is something that I have always wanted to do. Plus, I really look good in tweed jackets with leather sleeves. I've also been practicing starting my sentences with, "I heard on NPR today..."

It's not official, but I'm in the running to teach journalism to community collegians interested in misquoting sources and taking interviews out of context...just like the professionals do! Wish me luck, and if I get this job....

...we're going streaking!!!

Father's Day

Another wonderful Father's Day has come and gone. This time of year always brings mixed emotions as Father's Day weekend marks the birth of my son and the death of my dad. I might be be getting older but that fateful Father's Day weekend in 2004 is entrenched in my soul deeper than ever.

Not lost on me was the passing of Tim Russert on Friday. It hit me in many different ways. As a former journalist, Russert was the standard bearer, an equal opportunity interrogator who raised the bar on the journalistic profession. Also, he was proud father and even prouder son who wrote a book honoring his own soft-spoken father. Big Russ & Me – Father and Son: Lessons of Life was published in 2004 and is a tribute to a man who guided, disciplined, and inspired him to greatness. Here's the inside cover:

"I have learned so much from Big Russ, and I feel so grateful to him, that I wanted to write a book about the two of us, and also about the other important teachers in my life, who have reinforced Dad’s lessons and taught me a few new ones…I hope this book will encourage readers to think about the things they learned from their father. Whatever we achieve and whoever we are, we stand on their shoulders.”

Likewise, as a proud dad, and even prouder son, I stand by what I said when I eulogized my own father: "...the meaning of life is simple. It's all about leaving this world a little bit better place than when you entered it." Mission accomplished.

Thanks, Dad, and thanks Mr. Russert for allowing your proud sons to stand on your shoulders.

Bureaucracy , Texas style.

Having worked in city government for a number of years, plus all those days and nights sweating out my MPA degree, I normally look forward to my brushes with government hacks. These are my people.

Maybe it's age, maybe it's being a corporate hack too long, but my brushes with government hacks are becoming more and more, well, hacky.

Episode #1 - Standing in line at the drivers license office in downtown Dallas. Number of people waiting to get their drivers licenses renewed: a gazillion. Number of people working behind the counter: 2.5. Two people actually issuing licenses, and a half a person handing out clipboards, wearing a "New Orleans, Proud to Crawl Home" t-shirt (I'm not kidding).

Side-note: Section 4, Paragraph 12 of the state of Texas dress code: Pub Gear is acceptable when working in hostile working environments.

Episode #2: Neighborhood Association Boards are the last stronghold for kids who were picked on in high school. A few months ago we received a notice that we had to paint the house we just moved into in August. So, we painted it...THE EXACT SAME COLOR. Let me repeat that: THE EXACT SAME COLOR. It looks great, thanks for asking. Last week, we received a notice that we had violated the Neighborhood Association rule book saying that we painted it a color that wasn't approved by the bedwetters good folks at the neighborhood ASSociation. Did I mention we painted it the SAME COLOR. For ten years this color, we're talking off-white, not Iroquois Blue or mermaid green, was totally acceptable. Now, we might as well have painted a unicorn making out with a leprechaun while sliding down a rainbow into a lake of melted white-chocolate fantasy scene on the side of the house.

Don't worry, as you can see I'll win over the board with my wit and good mannered jocularity.

Fake Plastic Tree Hugger...

After four years, 3,567 songs, 389 podcasts, 24 audiobooks, and 10 music videos, iTunes finally came through. A day after birthday #36, Radiohead, THE best band of the past 15 years, is now available on iTunes.

Now, there's now only one iTunes holdout. You hear that, AC/DC? Make a balding, overweight, emasculated suburbanite's day and unleash Hell's Bells on our unsuspecting iPods.

Back to my 36th birthday. The English romantic poet William Blake once wrote, "My mother groaned, my father wept, into the dangerous world I leapt; helpless, naked, piping loud, like a fiend hid in a cloud." No disrespect to Blake's Disneyland outlook on life, but this fiend welcomes his mid-thirties with a renewed sense of direction, parental pride, optimism, and desire to conquer "the dangerous world" that intimidates and destroys ambition. Whether it's conquering the ancient art of corporate public relations or just keeping my daughters off the pole, the next 36 years will be the ones in which my kids and my community will judge me. So, bring on the grey hair, black socks with white sneakers, and mall walking at 6 a.m. Halftime is over, a beer in one hand, and a purpose in the other.