So, I shut my finger in the door. “Tallman” to be precise. Thumbkin fled the scene and is not taking questions.

As is the case in too many of my injuries it happened when I was trying to do something good…in this case I was taking out a piece of recycling.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” some say. The worst instance for me was when I was bowling for charity…I re-injured my knee by dislocating the kneecap part to a place it never belonged. Getting carried out of a bowl alley also has its own special kind of humiliation. That was an expensive bowling match that ended in surgery for me.

I’m going to try to find the humor in this far less devastating event.

5 Things You Learn When You Get a Purple Finger

1. The thump thump throbbing finger thing you learned from cartoons is exceedingly real. Darn you Fred Flintstone for making it look trite!

2. The finger known formally as “Ringman” gets an instant promotion. “Go Ringman. Go Ringman!”

3. A lot of middle-aged women and girls under the age of 7 like the color purple, but prefer it in a blouse.

4. “You must be glad it’s not your dominant hand,” is not a sympathetic enough phrase to tell someone with an injury. This is especially true when it’s coming from a spouse.

5. A doorknob as a specific purpose and function. Use it wisely.

Kevin makes me laugh at his isle of man blog, so I invited him to post here. Enjoy!

BIO: Kevin Haggerty is a 32-year old husband and expecting father. He runs and writes for a humor blog called TheIsleOfMan.Net. For his full-time job, Kevin is a middle school teacher and basketball coach. He also writes for a mixed martial arts (MMA) blog called MMAMania.com. He’s the oldest of seven children, a continual skeptic and smart people think he’s funny (at least that’s what he tells himself).

The Day I Fell Down a Mountain

When I was a freshman in college, I sucked at being a student.

In high school, I graduated with honors. I worked hard, but nothing else was an option. Being the oldest of seven kids (which doesn’t give you the right to ask me if my parents like to have sex…so don’t), a lot was expected of me. I generally lived up to those expectations, but it took its toll.

By the time I got to college, I was completely burned out on studying, reading and being a student, in general. To give you some perspective, I went from a 3.9 high school GPA to a 1.8 freshman average.

My parents weren’t there to spur me on. No one got in my face when I failed a test. No one jerked the covers off of me when I slept pass my alarm clock. I was learning how to be an adult, and I was failing the course badly.

I wasn’t kidding. I sucked at being a student.

Everything culminated on one fateful day. The end of my first semester was nearing a close. We were in the middle of finals week. I had a History exam that morning. I needed to do well.

In high school, I coasted through History, like I did with most of my classes. I memorized the material and never really stretched any mental muscles. It was easy. I was barely trying.

College presented me with a whole new set of obstacles I’d never encountered before. Specifically, I had a History professor who had a very unique take on U.S. History. He taught us things I’d never heard before. In retrospect, I’m not even sure he was wrong, but it was unorthodox and outside the box. I had to really think in his class.

I hated it.

Back to the exam.

I woke up, in a panicked cold sweat, looking at my alarm clock to see that it was 7:50 a.m. Why is that a big deal? Because the exam was at 8.

I freaked.

I threw on the nearest school appropriate attire I could find in my disgusting mess of a dorm room and darted out the door.

I wasn’t walking. I wasn’t even jogging. There was no time for that. If I missed this exam, I’d fail the course. That was simply unacceptable. I had to make it. So I sprinted.

Did I mention it snowed the night before?

Well, it did. Not only did it snow, but the ground iced over. To further complicate matters, my dorm was situated on top of a steep hill. Are you starting to get the picture?

I could have gone down the stair cas

e. They’d even salted it. That would have been the smart move, but I was late. I had no time for stairs.

I stupidly maneuvered through the bushes that led down the slope of the hill. This was the shortcut we always took when we needed to get to the academic buildings faster.

I got there fast alright. Oh, did I ever.

As I ran through the bushes, I was greeted with a fresh patch of ice that caused my feet to betray me and fly in the air. I was literally head over heels. I continued my clumsy descent down the hillside, which stretched a good 100 or so feet. When I emerged from my adventure,

But I had an exam to take, so I got up, brushed myself off and continued to run like an idiot to the academic building.

As I endeavored on towards the door of the classroom, I saw the professor closing the door. If he shut it, he’d lock it. If he locked it, he would not unlock it. This was a series of events I could allow to occur.

So I ramped up my speed to “overdrive.” Luckily, I was able to grace the doorway before he had completely shut the door. More luckily, he allowed me to enter.

I don’t even remember how I did on the test. I think I did alright, and I passed the class. Regardless, that whole episode was part of my growth as a student.

I realized something very important that day. That wasn’t who I wanted to be. That wasn’t how I wanted to spend the rest of my college career. I needed to step my game up, and it took falling down a mountain to really gain the necessary perspective.

Has life ever used an icy hillside to get your attention?

Photo Credit: M Sullivan via Compfight

Several thousand people arrive at my blog each month because of Ligers.

But maybe you’ve noticed that this isn’t a blog about Ligers. Actually, I rarely feature any big cats, or animals of any kind.

But for the magic of SEO, and Google, they come, massive web traffic, visitors in search of Liger related who-knows-what. If you google “name the liger” I’ll be the first entry.

People want to know if they’re real, or if Napoleon Dynamite was on to something about their skillz in magic. Maybe they want to see one up close. The Myrtle Beach Wildlife Reserve had a baby liger they were showing off, so boom! Liger fans. It’s all been a big flippin’ mistake…

Truth be told, I like Ligers. There’re pretty much my favorite animal. Back in 2010, on a lark I decided that a Liger would be a nice mascot here. After all, I’m a mixed breed myself. I popped up a post about it. “Name the Liger” I said. And still they come.

Lots of useless traffic…Or was it?

Instead of staying frustrated by this feline epic #fail, or even….well…you know being embarrassed by all the ligerish corniness, I decided employ some “Liger Leverage”.

See? They’re magic after all.

I just repurposed the post. In a spirit of general generosity, I worked on giving people something they were looking for.

I linked to the news some readers no doubt wanted about the wildlife reserve, I added some Liger info, and linked to a helpful resource with detailed information and stats on these and other hybrid felines. And I also added an invitation for [errant] visitors to poke around the rest of the site…you know for other flipping’ sweet stuff.

Guess what? In just two weeks, my bounce rate dipped about 35%! (That’s the stat that shows that people notice they’ve gone to the wrong place and click away quickly.) I might have even gained some regular readers.

Are people visiting your blog for the wrong reasons?
It turns out you can redeem the mistake. Use Liger Leverage!

Did you ever wish it was easier to navigate your responses to news and happenings on the interwebs? How should you blog when your passions get ignited, so you don’t look like an ass later? It’s a navigation issue.

OR

Did you ever wish you could teach someone how to avoid doing and saying things they might regret? (Or things you end up regretting for them.)

Now you can!

Okay, plenty of people don’t take good advice. Me included. Alanise Morrisette and I are not alone. Maybe you try to help your readers navigate, and they just don’t give a care. In hopes that they will, I made a graphic to help.

It’s like a flowchart that hopes to be considered an Infrographic, because infographics are where the coolness is.

Everything seems simpler with a visual, right?

TAH-DAH! The flowchart for navigating how we post on our blogs that you’ve been waiting for…or didn’t know you needed.

You like? Then, Take it. Use it. Spread it. Whatevs. It’s free. Enjoy.

courtesy of lisadelay.com

To get future infographics, free ebooks,

and stellar resources for Creators and Communicators, just sign up below:

Easter Table - Nikolay Bogdanov-Belsky

Easter and Thanksgiving are the times we’ve visited my side of the family. For as much as I hope these times will be worthwhile and joyous…more often they prove to be interactions marred by family of origin baggage and tensions forged in the kiln of pain and chaos.

I yearn to create new traditions in my nuclear family, but obligations and traditions with extended family crowd out those preferences.

I wonder now, as I recover from too much driving, what do we do when all the well-suited symbolism of new life and rebirth fail. When they don’t pan out in real life. When what you wish for, like a clean start, or even some version of new found tranquility proves unavailable.

The joy of Easter is there in the background, in a larger –what-God-is-up-to–sense, but interpersonally you just wish you could be somewhere else. That has to be more common than the Easter greeting cards let on.

My husband and I watched The Passion of the Christ on Good Friday, a day before we left on our Eater trip, and I was struck by something. The pain. So. much. pain.

This holiday is marked with the pain of God coming into our experience and absorbing all the agony. We tend to jump to the end. The happy ending of the joy of his resurrection. That’s the spot we focus on. O’ the joy!

For Christ’s followers it was actually more of a chaotic time rife with sorrow, dashed hopes, bewilderment, unbelief, and then surprise, okay, shock. Joy? Yes that too. But many other things.

First, he kept popping up in locked rooms, probably necessitating the “Peace to you” language, because he was freaking them out so much. He gave them hope enough to spread the Good News, but much was left undone. In fact, the hardest times were ahead. And, Jesus didn’t stay long.

Real life is complicated.

There was infighting, arrests, beatings, Steven is the first martyr, wild Saul starts imprisoning and killing Jesus’ friends–then he reverses course. Death where is your sting, says St. Paul? Well, guess what? The pain still smarts like the dickens.

* * *

I must say I have some envy for those who experience serenity and all the related majesty and renewal of Eastertide. Sometimes those symbols fail me. This was one of those times. Perhaps they do not in any long term or big picture way, but in the nitty gritty ways and means that life plays out…yes. And that makes it difficult. So much of life just doesn’t work right. So much is still broken, empty tomb or not.

You probably thought you were going to read a happy ending. Maybe I would turn my frown upside down. But, right now, I can’t find the right ending to write about. Maybe the symbolism hasn’t failed me, maybe I have failed it. I suppose like many stories, this one isn’t over yet either. But, the dot-dot-dots (…) are each so weighty and confounding.

It’s a Tuesday that feels like a Monday. So, to brighten your day, I’m sharing this tiny movie from our picnic, Sunday. (It was a Games2U party.)

Warning: Human-sized hamster balls BOUNCE.

Video is public on facebook, here.

Would you give this a try?

If you like it, Tweet it / share it.

Tomb Stone (Jerusalem)

Things have been sort of heavy around here lately, with Lent, and Jesus dying and everything. Easter-wise, I think we’re in “tomb time” at this point. It’s where Jesus is physically dead from execution. Everybody in Jesus’ world has had a super crappy day. They put him in the ground, and seal it up. He’s dead. Their hearts and dreams are broken and shattered.

Jesus is in paradise or Hades… or maybe someone should explain that to me…hang on… Okay. Checked on that. If that bit is confusing to you too, try this article. (Then get back here, before I lose my train of thought.)

Anyway, I’m writing this from home. No. I should say, I’m writing this from a place where my mother lives, and where I spent a few college breaks, and one horrid 6 week summer stint before I got married almost 16 years ago. So, actually not home at all. There’s a dislocation all over.

My mom still lives here. It was her late husband’s house. A guy who wasn’t my father.

There’s a guy here, now. I call him Jerry, she calls him fiancé. They met on the computer, in February. I thought he would go back to his place by now, but it’s almost 11pm, and he’s still hanging around. We’re slated to see him, at his place, tomorrow, and most of Sunday, here. Trust me, it’s weird to be in my head, right now.

It feels much like I’m the protagonist in a very awkward Ben Stiller movie. But I haven’t had a chance to figure out my lines. The plot is sketchy. The characters are underdeveloped. I wouldn’t be able to explain it all, even if I tried. But, this picture may reveal much of what I can’t. (I’m the one on the left.)

(me with mom)

Kind of funny picture, no? Laugh for me, if you can.

So, I ate my feelings today. Which, in this case, means about a half a cup of Rasinets, and other sugar and carb no-nos. It feels like Tomb time. Things seem ruined, or broken, and altogether not right. I will acknowledge this.

I won’t shove it aside, or pretend I can’t feel it, see it, smell it. Life can really suck. (That’s a theological term. It means…oh nevermind.)

YET! I know this thing. Nothing can keep the dawn from coming.

I really like Easter and Spring. And well, life. Rebirth is also–excellent. Brighter days are ahead. Death has no victory. The tomb cannot keep us. Even the tomb of discontent, or broken dreams.

We are poised to celebrate life and renewal. Come, Lord Jesus.

I usually encourage responses to my posts. But this time, I’m just letting it all hang out without a care of that. You can do what you’d like, I just need to sit here for a while.

Shhh... tell everybody

What’s the best way to spread news in the Christian community?

That’s easy. Before you share news, just say it’s a prayer request.

(No one likes to feel left out. And for most people knowing and sharing news feels empowering. Cloaked with the term “prayer request” spreading news verges darn near to righteous.)

Even if it’s something horrible, you can say something like, “I probably shouldn’t say this, but, you know Peggy? She’s going through a lot right now. Her teen flipped out and hit her in the face yesterday. It gave her a bloody nose. It’s so sad. Really pray for her. They’re really struggling. Oh, and don’t tell anyone I told you, okay?”

What will happen is that everyone will know, but no one will admit to anything. It will like like the Spirit told them, and suddenly everyone will know everything, but, miraculously, nobody has betrayed any trust.

Peggy? She’ll get weird and awkward glances, and a few close friends will ninja hug her because they’re not sure what else to do, but want to do something overt to show they support her. Peggy will wonder who knows, and how it got out and about.  Smilers and huggers will relieve their guilt from spreading around her business behind her back.

(Yes. This was not a “how-to”…just a bit sarcastic.)

Does this ring true?

Share your input: If someone says, “I probably shouldn’t say this…” what are some good ways to respond?

Potty mouth?

Cuss / noun
1 an annoying or stubborn person or animal : he was certainly an unsociable cuss. 2 another term for curse (sense 2).

Disclaimer: I’m not using a moral arguement against cussing, though you might expect I would, at a site with spiritual flavor like this one. While, many may say it’s a sin to cuss, I think what may be the truest thing is that the intention of using the vulgarity that is the real issue at stake. Nevertheless, I won’t go in that direction. My contentions are not nearly so deep or heartfelt. This is simple practicality and common sense at work:

Simply put: I don’t think foul language is powerful enough. I finding it lacking. Any great use of the stuff tips me off that I’m in the company of communication amateurs.

In truth, I’m not very offended by expletives. The shock wore off in high school. And high school–childhood–is about the only time a certain amount of cussing is, sort of, understandable. By nature, kids don’t know how to express themselves very well. Salty language makes rookie humans feel older and more formidable. It gives them a sense of power, as they flex their ” ‘I’m growing up’ muscles”. Yet, it’s the running myth that if something is bleeped on tv, it resides in the realm of “grown-up language”, and signifies something more heady and legit. In fact, expletives are quite banal.

I cuss quite rarely, and when I do it’s actually because I’m having trouble expressing myself. In some foolish desperation I concede to inferior “describing words”. So, really, cussing takes away from our points, rather than aids them.

Just for the sake of developing better communication, we needn’t use them. Maybe you enjoy tossing around a swear here or there. I don’t really care. But here are 7 points to remember on this topic:

7 Cussing Tip Offs

misnamed swear tin (for keeping fines)

1. Cussing quickly reveals one has a diminished vocabulary or the inability to use their vocabulary very well. (This can become a worsening habit also. Hence, it is sometimes combated with a Swear (fine) Bank.)

2. It displays a rather uncreative mind. (What could help? Simple: A thesaurus.)

3. If a cuss word can be used as an adjective, noun, and verb, it’s hackneyed, and by consequence, impotent. Let’s just say it’s, “lame” in a hobbling sense.

4. While cussing may somehow help one reveal emotions, or relieve stress, it doesn’t help one’s case. Quite the opposite. Logic is a better choice. Give it a try.

5. Foul language tells a bigger story about the person and his/her hang ups than it does about whatever the person is trying to convey. (It’s sort of sad, really.)

6. Cussing offends people for a myriad of reasons, but strangely enough, much use of it boils down to spotlighting simple bad manners and poor taste. Throughout history, “vulgar” language has some sort of reflection on social or economic status. [Ex: A mother says to her child who has been running around with the kids from "the other side of the tracks", "No, honey, we don't talk like that (or them)."] Most often people mentally associate foul language with an uncouth boorish social class, or uneducated and unrefined upbringing.

7. “Dirty words” are given meaning by a culture, not the other way around. What is the massively cussing person trying to prove, then? And why? [That's the bigger question.] Here, subtext trumps communication. so probably a #fail

What are your thoughts?

My favorite cuss quote:
“Are you cussing with me?” -Fantastic Mr. Fox

Um. Yep.

I got this fortune cookie fortune today. This variety of weirdness feels like it was written in Hoboken, not Peking…but I think I like it.

As it relates to my future? Hum…now that’s a good question. It could be in keeping with the Raisinets I found on my porch on the Chinese New Year’s Day (It’s the Year of the Rabbit)

What’s the funniest or strangest fortune cookie you’ve ever gotten?

Critically thinking is something we don’t do enough. Thinking better, and making better decisions has everything to do with thinking more clearly and critically. A bad argument (aka poor logic) shouldn’t fool us, or convince us. Chances are you’re getting kicked around more than you think.

(This is supplemental material for my worldviews class.)

Listen to any radio, talk show, or news program after you understand the following logic issues, and you spot one logical fallacy after another. Now you’ll have the knowledge base to disarm flawed rationalizations and weak assertions.

So, use the next 97 seconds and pick some fallacies that appeal to you. Then, share something new you learned. Or, visit soon, and tell us the first fallacy your spotted.

There will be prizes!

OKAY! I’m going to try to point everyone in the right direction…which incidentally is something a certain forefather of mine did NOT do.

Click to read more about my great (x20+) grandpa, Chris.

So, I’m reading my blog analytics, and I’m confronted with an old foe…of sorts. It seemed a google search for some gastric-related product sent someone to my blog. Welcome to my whole life. My maiden name (and pen name) Colón is pronounced (basically) like this: CO – lone. (The other joke was, “What’s that smell? Is it Lisa Colón? Like eau de cologne…SO ingenious, right?)

Surprisingly…ahem…the word colon is well, confusing for a lot of people, and search engines, too.
Let’s be clear, the name Colón is not the same as the word used for a punctuation mark, or a semi-punctuation mark, or a main part of the large intestine. Oh, but WHAT a funny joke…especially at the doctor’s office. HA. HA. HA. Yeh, whatever. Nurses think they are endlessly funny, believe me.

You may have never heard of the Colón surname, at all, unless you are familiar with a certain Right Tackle football player and once Pittsburgh Steeler: Willie Colón (click for wiki).

We have an uncanny resemblance to each other, I KNOW.

Or you are particularly into Salsa music, and know Willie Colón, the Puerto Rican salsa music icon; a Nuyorican salsa musician, and trombonist.

Salsa musician Willie Colón

If  you are not familiar with Spain, Spanish, Spanish countries, or Central and South American countries, you are in new territory for this nomenclature.

Or!

You haven’t made the connection with all sorts of Columbian words (yes, the word Columbian relates to the “discoverer”..of a place where people already were…of the Americas…. Amerigo Vespucci…er…wait… I mean… “Christopher Columbus”.)

Those related words are Colonize, Colony, Colonel, Colonial, et cetera. Yes. They all originate with Cristóbal Colón, the Spanish name of Christopher Columbus.

Okay, now to clear it up, using the dictionary.

The word “colon” (pronounced COLE-on) which is NOT my name is 1 of 2 things:

colon 1 |ˈkōlən|
noun
a punctuation mark ( : ) indicating
• that a writer is introducing a quotation or a list of items.
• that a writer is separating two clauses of which the second expands or illustrates the first.
• a statement of proportion between two numbers : a ratio of 10:1.
• the separation of hours from minutes (and minutes from seconds) in a statement of time given in numbers : 4:30 p.m.
• the number of the chapter and verse respectively in biblical references : Exodus 3:2.
ORIGIN mid 16th cent. (as a term in rhetoric denoting a section of a complex sentence, or a pause before it): via Latin from Greek kōlon ‘limb, clause.’
colon 2
noun Anatomy
the main part of the large intestine, which passes from the cecum to the rectum and absorbs water and electrolytes from food that has remained undigested. Its parts are called the ascending, transverse, descending, and sigmoid colon.
ORIGIN late Middle English : via Latin from Greek kolon.

My name is Colón, which is different.

Colón |kəˈlōn|
the chief port of Panama, at the Caribbean Sea end of the Panama Canal; pop. 140,900.
colón |kəˈlōn|
noun ( pl. -lones |-ˈlōˌnās|)
the basic monetary unit of Costa Rica and El Salvador, equal to 100 centimos in Costa Rica and 100 centavos in El Salvador.

ORIGIN from Cristóbal Colón, the Spanish name of Christopher Columbus (see Columbus 2 ).

Why do I continue to use a name that is confusing?
Part of it is that I’m just silly. And, well, my married name is DeLay. It’s French, and poses its own set of problems. Delay. Yes,  perhaps I’m the repeated victim of circumstance. This is especially true if colon and delay are put together. Ya know?

And fittingly, this post has constipation…
But, it’s all so you can sit down, relax, and Wait…Wait…wait…

It’s all coming out better now in the end.

So, yeh, if you need a colon cleanser…as you can see, I’m here for you (in a sense).

Incidentally…Thomas Crapper took out nine plumbing patents 1881-1896. Click here for the truth about Crapper (With a name like that, Tom is my reason for some optimism and not taking myself too seriously.)

What do you think…a rose by any other name…blah blah blah???
If you have any “monicker stories”…share away!

Pry it out of 'em...

(photo courtesy of the Ellen DeGeneres facebook page)

To me this photo says…

If you find it’s hard to talk about something, a good friend will help you in any way she can.

Your turn–
CAPTION PLEASE

package design varies in 14 years

1997 crust

What happens when you eat 14 year old pizza crust from Betty Crocker? We found out.

On January 1, 2011, in a short series of unfortunate events, my husband prepared a Betty Crocker pizza crust from a mix. It turned out terribly. We couldn’t figure out why. It was paper thin, and stuck so badly to the pan that it seemed to only come off in stamp-sized pieces, not to mention being brittle and tasteless.

I forced it down, and after the kids bemoaned their meal, I, being a proper mom, I had them finish most of it–by decree. It was only after I saw the varying package design of some just-bought Betty Crocker pizza crust, did suspect something was amiss. That little wave of electric panic fear went around on my back. This could be a long night in the bathroom, I thought.

Soon, it seemed clear that we ingested 14 year old crust mix from 1997. There was no expiration date visable on any package, but there were copyright dates. The new ones said ©2009. [Obviously the old one read ©1997.] Gulp. This was bad news. Really bad news. This is nearly double the age of my daughter. Who eats food twice their age, and gets away with it? Okay, babies. But who else?

The thought was sickening, but oddly the meal wasn’t, in a true sense. We were all fine. No harm done.

4 Proposals:
1. Betty Crocker Pizza crust is not food.
2. God spared us (because sometimes he’s wacky like that.)
3. Pizza crust couldn’t hurt us, even if it was 50 years old…’cause that’s how p.c. rolls.
4. We’ve just realized we are the real life version of  “No Ordinary Family”
Do you have any ideas?

It was a mysterious way to start the new year, and things have only gotten stranger since.

What the oldest thing you’ve eaten recently?
Or…What’s the strangest thing that’s happened to you so far this year?

How about some feedback?! :)

Yet, she's still smiling. Maybe this is an irony I can embrace.

Would you ever wear this shirt?

Welcome to weird Santa week.

Each day, I’ll give you a picture for your amusement.

Do you know any kids who get freaked out by the fat and jolly stranger in the fake beard?

Do you have a weird Santa picture? Add a link to share it with us.

First Entry:

I’m not sure who looks more upset, the kid or the Santa. (If you think of a good caption, leave one here.)

What did they say to each other? Santa looks about to cry too.

Caption: “I feel something wet on my leg.”

Wacky Wednesday is the alternative to Jon Acuff’s Serious Wednesday. It’s meant to be the opposite of Jon’s SCL posts, because some of us need that humor boost, midweek.

I don’t know the story here. There is a distinct possibility that this man, in a deparate attempt to get his monring brew, threw on his sister’s clothes and made a mad dash to Starbucks. Maybe the long line did him in. I don’t see anybody helping him, but I think he needs a caffeine IV drip. Stat!

What’s your take? What happened just before this photo was taken?
Give us a good caption for this scene.

HAVE A GREAT WEDNESDAY.

What happened? Give this a CAPTION!

Need one more humor boost? Warning for parents. This one is PG 13, but imagine getting your teen this for Christmas, and forcing them to wear it to school? (What were they thinking?) ahhhhh!

X-<

Hi. Welcome.
If you’re here to get your Wednesday funny fix, because Jon Acuff is serious on Wednesdays, thank you for stopping by. Everybody else, I think you’re pretty great too.

hint. I’m now plugging shame-free for this entire paragraph. If you click the Alluring Button (on the top left) you won’t miss anything funny on Wednesday–when you need it most. No funny from Jon on Wednesdays threw me into early onset seasonal depression this year. You too? I feel your pain. So, these Wednesday posts are really just my way to survive. Enjoy.

EXHIBIT A: The Faith Tones.
Bad girls of 1960s Christian Music. Y or N? You decide.

Singing hairdressers for Jesus?

10 Things I LOVE about this album cover:

1. Big 60s hair. The higher the groovier, baby!

2. Healthy (I guess) round faces, like the Campbell’s Soup Kids.

3. Prophetic sense of bowling shirt fashion (as seen below with Lavern and Shirley). (Also could be hairdressing attire. Your guess?).

Lavern and Shirley, behind the times in fashion, compared with the Faith Tones

4. Subtle use of colorful, patterned or floral fashion, 60s hip blouses (under the matching uniform shirt) that says to the cool kids, “We know how to have fun…the way Jesus wants us to.”

5. Good vintage example of how you could be a Christian singer and still have crooked or subpar teeth. (Seriously. I defy you to spot a Christian album cover with an unattractive or crooked-toothed girl on it now, or for the last 20 years.)

6. Almost daring use of the album title, “Jesus Use Me,” and maybe just a hint of double entendré to spice it up for the Christian male audience. The 1960s were a time of sexual experimentation. Not so much in the Christian sphere, but a “clever” or edgy title couldn’t hurt sales. (Remember Stryper, “To Hell with the Devil”?) What do you think, was it purposeful, or just piety shinning through?

7. Girls use high tech (for the time) Stereo enhancement for our listening pleasure. Rock it, out, ladies.

8. The middle girl looks like she knows how to party. Whoot.

9. A vintage reminder that Aqua Net (not flower children) is what held the 1960s together.

BEEHIVE IT, BABY!

10. This shows us that 50 years ago, much like today, music ministry tries too hard, but–sometimes–in a lovable sort of way.

Do you dig this photo?
ANYBODY have audio sample of the faith tones? Please, please, hook me up!
I’d like to hear them.
Golly, I sense some boss three-part harmony a-comin’!

Guest post from fake blog writer (and also the story of being nearly Punk’d)

I was asked by “Elizabeth” to post a guest blog and link to what turned out to a fake blog they claim is for people “excited by the prospect of veiled links to the education industry in the form of blog posts”. Now I don’t know about you, but to me, this marketing trickery is so fantastic, and doesn’t sound the least bit manipulative, especially if you’ve gone to 8 years of fake evil medical school. ~coughing while slurring “Fail” under my breath~

But, I’m a girl of my word. I told them I would post it, AND link to them, which was incredibly nice of me, since they were seriously wasting my time. Yep. You bet ‘cha. I will do just what I said.

One smallish adjustment though…. Since they bill themselves as almost educational, their submission could only be almost worthy of being posted on this fine specimen of a blog you have before you, and I will almost post it here.

After I read the submitted piece by “Andrew Hall”, (a blind, autistic, amputee from Tuzla, with only two working thumbs),  I was SO UNDERWHELMED that I thought it was a good fit for my humor site, that is equally underwhelming.

I made up the thing about Andrew. I’m not sure about his situation, at all.

On a personal note: So, sorry “Andrew”, this is a bit of a downgrade for your humor piece, but thank you for trying. Keep your chin up, because I’ve heard (from an Indian-themed movie) that blind singers get the most money; I think you will do fine. You can sing, right? Bless your heart.

Anyway, you may click FAIL to go to their fake site, and read the submission here.
I’m only sorry I can’t give you what you can never get back: the 6 minutes of your life you wasted here today.

Triple Dog Dare is the humor portion of my writing.

This page may give opportunity to divert there, if the post is recent and fairly funny, witty, ironic, or silly. There will be games, riddles, dares, polls, and prizes.

I hope you enjoy it. Tell me what you think about the first post/game. Thanks.

I just went to the website called “The Oatmeal,” and now I realize what I want to do with my life.

I want to author a Christian “The Oatmeal”. Actually I don’t, because that’s lame. Although the Oatmeal humor may be vulgar (at times), and often mildly to very offensive, the Oatmeal guy is brilliantly comedic, sort of. Well, he has his moments.

So, in homage to that level of funny, he sometimes achieves, I give you, my own “The Oatmeal style post.” It is my response to something I highly dislike, Chain facebook status causes. (And yes, this is a real example I plunked over here. These chain “post this to your fb status” are ploys to manipulate us, and I’m turning lemons into lemonade.)

I finally had to write what I was thinking

Your responses are encouraged.

OKAY-It’s possible something was lost in translation on this cosmetic.

Perhaps white or pure was translated as “virginity”. Maybe the English word “virginal” threw off the dictionary. You might have a better guess than me.

This so-called “skin-whitening” soap is supposed to make the skin inviting to touch, so it actually, um. maybe it could end virginity.

But I wonder if the idea of purity, cleansing, and ridding us of our shame is so wrapped up together, that longing for a kind of “virginity soap” isn’t all that big of a stretch.

On some level, doesn’t everyone want a second chance?

Doesn’t everyone want their sin to be “washed away”?

Do you have a memory you wish you didn’t have, or a past sin that plagues you?

Christianity has promised this same thing with “Jesus Soap” for quite a while now. But is it that simple? And, do we co-opt with the renewing power of the Holy Spirit enough to live in a “washed clean” kind of way?

The spiritual discipline of confession works a bit like “virginity soap”. It is an imperative to confess and turn away from sins. And we are told to confess to each other. It gives us a real life engagement with grace, via the willing and trusting ear of another.

Do you have a confessor to whom you can confess your shame? If not, why? Do you think it would help you?

Thanks for you thoughts on this.

Rachel Evans is calling for a response to Marck Driscoll’s recent bullying of effeminate men, here: But I have to mention….doesn’t this sound a lot like an episode of GLEE?

Does this gay bully look like Mark Driscoll?

"macho man: Mark Driscoll" Wait! Is that a flattering blouse?

Mark Driscoll is gay? Don’t kill the messenger…I didn’t come up with this.

You can find a pretty solid case HERE, compiled from his friend Don Miller, who–years ago–coined him, “the cussing pastor” in his best-selling book Blue Like Jazz. (When I say “case”…I mean Donald seems to refer to Driscoll, in with some detail, right along with [other] male leaders associated with…well, gay scandals. Maybe it’s a connect-the-dots thing.)

Another person to recently point out Mark’s hyper (and perhaps suspicious) masculinity, is Brett McCracken, within the pages of his new book Hipster Christianity, (pages 103-105.)

• “There is a strong drift toward the hard theological left. Some emergent types [want] to recast Jesus as a limp-wrist hippie in a dress with a lot of product in His hair, who drank decaf and made pithy Zen statements about life while shopping for the perfect pair of shoes. In Revelation, Jesus is a prize fighter with a tattoo down His leg, a sword in His hand and the commitment to make someone bleed. That is a guy I can worship. I cannot worship the hippie, diaper, halo Christ because I cannot worship a guy I can beat up.” -Mark Driscoll ^[4]
  (There’s a common theme of guy-on-guy fights/violence with Driscoll. You may remember he showed, the hot and sweaty brawl movie “Fight Club” as an official church event. Hum.)

Is Mark Driscoll's Jesus Tough and Buff?

Mark, if you’re reading this, you can stop over-doing it to throw us off track. Don and I both realize you’ve painted yourself into a corner, Mark. The gig is up, dude.

(A bit like gay twins?) Driscoll and Gay WWF wrestler "Giant Gonzales" (Both picts are just so creepy. Sorry about that.)

Nevertheless. IF Driscoll was gay, we would love him anyway. Right, everyone? Right?

There’s a punchline in here somewhere. Can you spot it?

Is Mark Driscoll too overtly macho, and (like recent pastors caught in self-created sexual hypocrisy -Eddie Long and Ted Haggard), too anti-gay to be straight? (This is where you start to realize how silly the whole topic is.)

Disclaimer:
Am I joking about Driscoll? Sure. Of course. I’m a humorist. (I’m upfront about that here at the blog.) And despite loads of circumstantial evidence, and the writing stylings of Don Miller, Mark’s certain proclivity could remain a mystery, much like Theodicy, or atonement theories. This is all probably just a loooong series of coincidences. No biggie. If Mark is gay, or tempted with homosexual thoughts or feelings, I’m sure we could trust that he’d just open up and tell us–straight out. Or, maybe, like his marriage book, he’ll hold out on telling us that he’s had some trouble until he writes a book on the topic. 

Cue the “It’s Raining Men” ditty.

:)

My first job (besides babysitting) was as a hostess at Eat’n Park Family Restaurant. A woman about 10  years older transferred there. She had been a waitress for a long time (even a decorated one. Yes, Eat’n Park is special like that.) She also had the name “Lisa,” just like me. That’s about all the ingredients needed for good communication and lasting friendship, right? um. No.

Have you ever had “inner death by shame”? (you can just answer yes or no, unless you want to be brave and tell your story)