Whereabouts in Danville

Whereabouts in America

2009-06-10T21:53:00.005-04:00

A good friend, Nate Crimmins, began a biking trek across the US last week. Having hiked the Camino de Santiago w/him and Mark in '07, and also hiking the Appalachian Trail w/Mark and Erich in '03, I have a propensity for long-term adventures - only this time I am doing enjoyable work. So, I live vicariously through his blog, and anxiously await his arrival in Danville, KY in early July.

Death of a Car Salesman

2009-04-23T17:37:00.003-04:00

After graduating from Centre, I remember toiling over the classifieds in a last ditch effort to find a job in New Jersey. Personal connections didn’t come through, and my interests didn’t match any jobs that were available. I committed myself to life in New Jersey for one year, and became desperate to find a job.

I ended up working for a car dealership for three months. I sold 34 cars.

At the end of the three month training, the company would pay the difference between what an employee on training pay would have made if on straight commission, and the base training pay. My buddy got a check for six grand. I technically owed the company a couple hundred dollars.

I attributed the difference to my inability to be deceiving.

After the three month mark, I received a company car, health benefits, and began working for commission, at 30%. I put my two weeks notice in two days later. The general manager suggested leaving two days later - he wanted people who wanted to be there, which is understandable.

Looking back on it, the 60 hour work weeks, loud rap music playing in the showroom, and working with 14 very, very interesting salespeople was a whole lot of fun.

I’ll probably blog about some of the stories at some point, but will end this entry with some tips about buying a car…

- Wait until the absolute last day of the month. Managers could care less about commission at this point, and would rather meet their quota of ‘vehicles moved.’ I saw some crazy deals go down at the end of the month where the company lost
some money.

- Always talk with manager near the end of negotiations. Half the time, the salesmen know little behind the numbers they show you.

- Never buy a car at a lot the first time you visit. Their goal is to sell a car every time a person walks through the door. Wait until after your first visit, then you will be in the driver seat during negotiations.

- Pay with cash. A lot of dealerships hate this. They rather finance cars, and like to hide things in the numbers and make customers focus on the payment figure.

- If you have a trade-in, don't bring it up until after you have worked out the numbers. Some dealerships try to 'raise the price of the car' and end up giving you less money for your car, even though on the money line, it looks like they are giving you blue-book value.

- Obviously, do your research before hand. Research your car, prices, and info/dirt about a specific dealership.

4.1 Billion Distractions – Cell Phones Taking Over the World

2009-04-22T11:15:00.002-04:00

A UN report revealed that 4.1 billion people in the world have cell phone subscriptions. That’s 60% of the world. And since 2004, the number of subscribers has doubled.

A 2004 report from the U.S Census Bureau showed that 159 million residents were cell phone subscribers. At the growth rate of worldwide subscribers, every American should have a cell phone, even the 25% who are under the age of 13.

That’s probably not too far-fetched of an idea. Kids are owning cell phones at younger and younger ages. I know a 6^th grader who just got a cell phone for his birthday (and unrelated - an 11^th grader who sent/received over 12,000 texts, and a Sunday School attendee who texts throughout the lesson).

There have been murmurs about the negative effects of cell phones/PDA’s/Smartphones (and internet use) on the human brain among various news outlets (NY Times, Atlantic, Seed). Hearty research is usually always cited, and tends to lean toward the conclusion that when used improperly, wireless devices can lead to lack of creativity, increased distraction, and lower work efficiency.

One ‘surface’ article written by Sharon Begley, Will the Blackberry Sink the Presidency? (which really isn’t about Obama), concludes that if used correctly, a Crackberry is a fine piece of technology and the more self confident you are, the less you will have cognitive lapses.

Used correctly? The user, or the person the user is with? Maybe said person just needs to be a good multi-tasker with the ability to easily shift focus from one thing to the other. But, it bothers me when someone pulls out a cell phone to take a call or to text, especially if we are involved in an interesting discussion. I’ll loose interest, and probably leave.

Maybe this person is a great at multi-focusing, but should they consider the other person, or other people around? What if the other person isn’t good at multi-tasking?

Is this a personal pride thing for me, personally? Do I think ‘How dare they interrupt the time that they are spending with ME?’ No, that’s not it. I just think it’s disrespectful (although, at times warranted).

Now we have the potential for 4.1 billion disrespectful people.

And that’s just the tip of the ice burg when it comes to this little pet peeve of mine. I guess I'll have to learn to deal with it.

Tomfoolery

2009-04-21T20:39:00.006-04:00

I am ashamed that I missed out on April Fool's Day in the blogosphere.

Gmail's homepage tricked me a few years ago. Never Turn in a Paper in Late Again! was the title of an article. I was definitely suspicious, but my foolery guard was down and I took the bait. They claimed to allow users to manually set the date and time of email messages.

I remember wondering about the feasibility of such a ploy, and being impressed at such a feat. Gmail insisted that users were only allowed a certain number of manual time stamps per month. This was when I realized I was being duped. Good one Google!

Top 4 Favorite April Fool's Day Pranks:

4.) The classic chalk-in-the-eraser trick is worth mentioning - kids love pulling it off and think its some huge deal and teachers are never impressed. I pulled it several times in elementary school. My teachers just shook their heads and politely smirked.

3.) Secure a rubber-band around the hose that is attached to your kitchen sink. I can't count how many times I've used this one. I've given this one up and instead teach the trick to small children.

2.) This year, my foolery guard was at its all time low. Church folk don't seem to get thick into that kind of stuff. At the Wednesday night children's program, a 4-year-old boy came running over to me with a big smile. Then he stopped, and got quiet. "Wob, yoyr shows untied..." At the exact millisecond I started to glance down, my ear felt this excruciating pain of a shouting voice, "APEWIL FOOOLS!"

I smiled, raised both hands in the air, and shrugged, "You got me. You really got me." The rest of the afternoon with the children was a chaotic mix of made-ya-look and there's-something-on-your-shirt moments.

1.) I called my aunt several years ago in distress, explaining to her that I was going to be a father. She didn't freak out as I had hoped she would. She started making plans and organizing things and asking questions.

Undercooked Hot Dogs and St. Baldrick's Day

2009-04-20T19:20:00.007-04:00

One of my favorite things to do as a youth director is to support the youth of the church by attending their extra-curricular events/activities. Chomping through sunflower seeds and washing down the salt with a cold soda, all the while cheering at a baseball game, is heaps of fun. Soccer games, dance competitions, wrestling matches, and basketball games are other events I have attended.

There is no personal risk in attending any of these events, other than the whistling foul balls or undercooked hot dogs.

I should have known better than to support Rob, a member of the youth group, at St. Baldrick’s Day the other week. The inherent risk of a shaggy youth director attending an event where 50 people gathered to shave their heads is completely different than the innocent baseball game.

St. Baldrick’s is a fundraising event where people shave their heads to both honor children with cancer and to raise money for research. ‘Shavees’ seek donors, and donors obviously have an interest in raising money for a good cause, but they also pledge so that they can see a friend loose his hair. St. Baldrick’s has raised over $50 million in nine years for the cause.

Rob and his friends were chiding me for not participating, but I responded with, “But I haven’t raised any money!” Then Lydia, a youth leader for the youth group, appeared out of nowhere.

“You’re not doing it?” She was shocked. I gave her my reason, to which she gave a sneaky grin and offered, “I’ll write a check right now if you shave everything…but leave your mustache!”

Oh man. It only took ten minutes for me to cave, but not without amending Lydia’s proposition. I could walk around town without any hair, but I don't think Danville is ready for a bald, mustached Rob Kinzel.

And besides, I needed a haircut anyway.

Females and males alike participated, with a family joining the cause – mom, dad, and boys, ages 4 and 7 lost their hair.

$14,000 and 50 bald heads later, a step forward was made in the name of childhood cancer.

I might have to think twice about supporting the youth at next year’s event...although, it wasn't as bad as an undercooked hot dog.

Meeting Her Prom Date

2009-02-16T18:39:00.007-05:00

"I took your mommy to the prom," a gentlemen told me with a wry grin and a thin country accent. Not what you expect to hear at your mother's visitation.

"Boy, do I have some questions for you!" I joked back.

The services for my mom were extremely well done. Meeting my mom's middle school and high school classmates and sitting with her best friend, Brenda, helped me capture a truer image of who she really was - a pretty and shy kind of gal. Pastor Johnny, Brenda's husband, married my parents 36 years earlier. It was fitting that he presided over her funeral.

The first thing he did at the service was order everyone to shout "Yea!" because my mom was now with the Lord.

Where did they get this guy? I was contemptuously wondering who decided to let Johnny have the privilege over the ceremony.

Then he asked everyone to shout out "Booo!" because my mom was taken from us so early.

OK. Not bad. Hilarious, in fact. We all shouted, and felt our emotions validated.

Johnny candidly asserted that we all had be cheated. That was the one word that kept coming to him when he thought about the situation. He told us that it is normal to feel angry and cry out to God - many Psalmists did just that, but in the end they rejoiced.

Most funerals I have attended had pastors who seemed to try and get everyone into a better mood. Johnny allowed us to feel the weight of the day and joined us in our grief. Thank you, Johnny.

The cruise was a cruise. Not exactly my type of vacation, but fitting for a dad and his two kids - we didn't have to think about a thing. The sun warmed our souls, and subtle distractions on the boat helped us to move forward. We shared stories and read old letters. We laughed. We threw pillows at Dad to keep him from snoring. It was a good week.

And it is good to be back in Danville, having one foot already in front of the other.

Sunny Places

2009-02-05T23:48:00.004-05:00

Visitation is tomorrow. Funeral on Saturday. Fly to Miami on Sunday. Leave with cruise to Mexico on Monday. A very odd mix.

"Dad, what do you think others will think?" I wondered about our family decision to get away.

"I thought about it, and I don't care," he told me. And neither do I.

My sister wanted to go to a sunny place after the ceremonies, and that's where we're going, to a sunny place, like mom.

"What about when you have to go back to the cloudy place?" I asked my sister about her proposal.

"That's when we'll have to take it one step at a time."

It will be good family time to connect, get annoyed, tell stories of our mom, and relax.

But most importantly, it will be a moment to redefine a changed family - by remembering our mom and taking a step forward, together.

In the Dark

2009-02-04T20:45:00.002-05:00

It is unfortunate that Congress had to take additional action on this issue, but the prospect of leaving millions of consumers in the dark was simply unacceptable. - Rep. Edward Markey.

The House voted today to delay the digital TV transition to June.

Get a radio. Read a newspaper.

The Day Before (Part 1)

2009-02-03T16:02:00.009-05:00

I am choosing to continue writing about my mom's passing because it has been very therapeutic. I am not wallowing in pain, stuck, or bitter - at least I don't think. I am facing the moment and allowing it to be what is. This is new territory, and, to be true to the blog, these are the happenings of whereabouts, Danville.

--------------

I was at Mary Freear Williams memorial service at the Presbyterian Church of Danville when I received the phone call. It was Aunt Lisa, my mom's sister. "She's probably worried about how I'm making out with no electricity," I thought, and then attempted to refocus on the service.

Freear was a wonderful, delightful woman - her love of others goes unmatched. The service was quite unique and celebrated her life creatively. Don Good, Freear's husband of 18 years, had organized a band to play several selections throughout the service, but the shoddy weather prevented their presence (Don was the fellow I visited on the day of).

So, when it was time for loved ones to bring symbols of Freear's life to the front, the band was supposed to be playing Amazing Grace.

Don, slowly walked to the front of the sanctuary and peeled the harmonica out of his pocket. There was a moment before his lips bore down on the piece of metal where heads were shifting from side to side wondering what was about to transpire.

Don wailed away a jazzy, soulful rendition of Amazing Grace that filled the sanctuary with a mournful piece of resolve. It was perfect. No words, just heart - a broken, but resolved heart.

--------------

After the service, I checked my messages, called my aunt back, heard sniffling, jumped into the car, and started for the hospital. It was almost time, mom's breath was getting shallower. In transit from Danville to Lexington, which takes about 45 minutes, I called my dad. The conversation consisted of 10 words. "Hey, you hear?"..."Yeah."..."OK."..."Call me."..."Over and out."

I didn't speed too much, ran a couple of yellowish-red stop lights, and called 911. Maybe the cops could take me there faster, I mean, they have done that for me before (late for an ACT test).

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Ummm(sniffle), my mom is kind about to die at a hospital in Lexington and I'm in Nicholasville and there is a lot of traffic and I was wondering if I could get some help getting there quicker, maybe send someone."

"Ok, calm down, where are you headed? Ok, good, do you see [name] street?"

"Yes." Perfect, they have an officer real close. I'll hop in and he'll speed me up there, I thought.

"Well, take a left there, then at the end you'll wanna make a right onto Harrodsburg Road. That will take you straight to St. Joseph's Hospital."

Let's just say, I didn't get lost, and I made it to the hospital in under the typical 45 minutes. Thanks 911.

The Day Of

2009-02-02T18:49:00.007-05:00

It is hard to go to sleep one night, and know, without a doubt, that by the time you wake up in the morning the person who brought you into this world will have passed on. You try to stave off sleep, flipping through TV channels, rustling in the down comforter of a hotel room - the red numbers on the clock changes from 3:51 to 3:52. To accept death is to accept life. And to accept this is to let go and move on, while remembering, and going to sleep - a wonderful, peaceful sleep.

I woke up groggy and disoriented. I met my cousin and aunt and we sat in the parking lot for ten minutes before deciphering a plan. I was out of it. We left Lexington for Danville, and after eating a hearty lunch, I crept into the church, hoping I wouldn't run into anyone. I slowly made my way down the hall and stopped within hearing distance of the gym. Several kids and adult leaders were laughing and joking around with one another. I smiled. I checked email, made a few phone calls, and then suddenly stopped.

It was one of those moments were time didn't seem to exist. My mind recounted the past 24 hour's events - think John Madden play-by-play recap of a football game. The events sunk in, I blinked, then rustled to the car.

I went to the sanctuary of the Central Kentucky Wildlife Refuge, 20 minutes outside of town. The ice hadn't melted from the trees, so I was anxious to beat the final flickers of the sun's last rays.

The dripping of the forest and the almost silent chirping of the chickadees mixed together, singing rebirth. Spring is coming, and with it new things.

I decided to drop by a friend's house, his partner having passed on just a while back, thinking it would be good time with an old hippie who spent his glory days in Colorado.

After driving another 10 minutes away from Danville, I noticed that power was still out at his farm. We greeted one another with big smiles and some chicken feed.

We fed the 70 chickens, horses, cats, and dogs - farm chores. I am allergic to horses and cats, but no matter, we paced to his work shed where we were graced with warm wood stove.

We chatted for what seemed a while, and I couldn't really tell you too much of what we talked about. I just know that there was heartfelt laughter, stories told, teary eyes, and loved ones remembered.

A good end to a good day.

Painless

2009-02-01T20:59:00.006-05:00

Many have tried to muster images of what heaven would be like. Clouds, angels, and unending light. An ever-lasting dance. Complete union with God, questions answered, dreams fulfilled. The song, Amazing Grace seemingly attempts to define heaven.

When we've been there ten thousand years...
bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise...
then when we've first begun.

An evangelical writer, John Eldridge disagrees and once said that heaven can't be about singing hymns for eternity. It is a complete reunion. I agree. Well, at least I hope heaven isn't about singing endless hymns.

I think heaven is pain free, painless, the end of pain.

My mother passed on yesterday morning, and the last thing I said to her was, "No more pain, mom, no more pain." I don't know what heaven is like, but, on no justifiable grounds, I'm sure there is no pain.

Diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia/Alzheimer's in 1997, her long journey with the incurable disease began. She lived with my grandparents in Kentucky in the beginning stages, then digressed into a nursing home. They say the disease degenerates the mind to the extent that the person gets younger. By that I mean, they will begin to loose manual dexterity first - the last thing a young child learns - and move backward. Speech skills falter, then use of other extremities wanes. She was bed-ridden by 2004, and used a feeding tube soon thereafter.

This past summer, doctors termed her illness as terminal rather than chronic. This meant that the feeding tube could be removed. I know there are huge ethical questions surrounding the topic, but our family agreed it was the right thing to do.

She was transferred to a Hospice unit in Lexington about two weeks ago, where she received excellent care. Her struggles finally ended, and now she is free to dance painlessly.

There are probably some who would disagree with me posting such personal information on the net, but I strongly disagree. I think it is just to relay to people, by whichever means, that yes, everything will work out just fine (addage from Beau Weston), but that doesn't mean it won't hurt. Life is filled with struggle and pain, and rightly so. Without it, love would not be able to triumph. Somehow we have been shielded from this fact by the pacifiers of culture.

It is good that my mom passed on, but it hurts. I'll be sore for a spell, but it just takes one foot in front of the other. And as I told my sister, "She'll be right, mate, she'll be right."

Adult Lock-in

2009-01-29T22:33:00.006-05:00

At noon today, over ten thoused people in Boyle county were said to be without power, the National Guard set up a water station and traded guns for chainsaws, and the community continued to eek out of their cold and dark homes to provide helping hands. The Mayor has asked everyone to check on their next door neighbors to help alleviate the Danville Police Department.

In the wake of this State of Emergency, there has been an outpouring of charity and goodwill. Two shelters have been opened around town, volunteer clean-up crews are being assembled, and phone lines are busy with concerned citizens looking out for their friends.

There are several aged couples and myself staying at the Presbyterian Church tonight. Murmurings of this event being an adult lock-in have resonated in the church halls. The middle school youth group has a lock-in each November.

"Now remember, boys need to stay in this room and girls need to stay in that room. Blue and Pink. No Purple. I will be staying up all night on watch," I joked with a couple.

"Didn't you hear? This is a honeymoon sweet! And if you hear any snoring, it isn't me!" a male church member retorted.

We should have more adult church lock-ins. It has been fun seeing everyone filter in and out of the church without any scheduled 'programming.'

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The ice downed branches and utility poles alike.

This is Main St. and 3rd, from a similar view as the banner at the top of this website. Darkness consumed the area, minus the atypical wafarer.

A neighbor's car was trounced by half of a tree. It will probably be totaled, with damage to her roof and rear window. The engine must still run just fine - maybe I'll make an offer.

This lonely lamp was the last source of light heading East on Main Street. Having walked back and forth from my apartment to church at night, the environment felt awkwardly similar to the movie, I am Legend.

Ice

2009-01-28T19:00:00.005-05:00

Ice, an inch and a half think, covered branches the size of a pencil. Rain was steady for most of the last day, and upon impact froze to its victims. Trees are bowing to Mother Nature, some falling to the ground completely in adoration. Water was turned off, cell phone towers are still out, and no electricity equaled no heat. A lit candle will increase the temperature inside a tent by a degree or two. I played Risk with some neighbors in a small room with about 50 candles. We were very warm.

I woke up this morning to the sounds of limbs crackling off trees. As they hit the ground, the ice shuddered off with a sound of glass breaking. Silence.

I took a walk down Broadway and awed at the sight of downed electrical lines and demolished trees. I passed a house and saw an 8th graders finish his perfectly formed snowball.

"You having a snowball fight?" I asked.

"Eh, not really," he shrugged. I knew his disappointment.

"Here. You get one shot at me - no, not that close. Ok, have at it," I proposed as I spread my arms out like a winged target. He wound his arm, and heaved it as hard as he could.

Wwwoovvvsshhhh. Good aim. I did a rendition of the matrix and dodged my head out of the snowball's trajectory. It would have walloped me square in the nose. The kid smiled. We walked down the street, exchanging news about the weather and excitement about being out of school.

"Good to meet you," I said, "Maybe if you are here when I get back you can throw another snowball at me."

"No ducking this time, though," he shot back.

Miss Marilyn

2009-01-27T16:47:00.004-05:00

This is a short story I wrote last year.

The halls were cold and barren, giving life to nothing, not even pictures or art. Corners felt lonely without the company of plants or fake trees. The lobby produced vintage couches and tables, but a modern area carpet - quite the contradiction. Vintage couches for vintage-aged folks finding themselves in the mess of modern times. The last place they ever imagined spending the last days of their lives was a nursing home.

I walked down those halls that day, noticing the lack of fragrances or colognes filling the air. I guess old people don’t wear them. My grandfather once wore Old Spice, but he wasn’t in a nursing home. I’ve heard that the one thing people who live to be 100 years old have in common is that they all never wore watches. I took of my watch and went in search of Miss Marilyn.

She was never in the same room. I guess the nurses had to keep busy somehow, or at least distract themselves from their urine infested breathing. They liked to play games, I thought to myself as I completed the circle, right back to where I started. It pained me to visit Miss Marilyn, and walking in those circles, clueless, didn’t help.

I took a deep breath, and paced counterclockwise back into the maze. Down the hall, I could hear a man shouting loudly. Upon discovering the culprit, for nursing homes are normally full of whispers and mumblings, tears started to well up in my eyes.

“Iffff…..I haddd……a million…..DAWLERS,” he sung. “I’d buy me…a…new….wife.” The African-American looked to be in his nineties, fragile, but full of spirit. Besides, he’d buy a new wife. He attempted another round of singing, slowly raising himself from the wheelchair, but his strength escaped him as he suddenly hit the seat. No one was in the lobby to hear him. He didn’t care. I couldn’t bare the thought of all the lonely, and seemingly ignored, people.

“Hey Marilyn,” I whispered softly in her ear. She was resting, like always. There was nothing - no response. Her eyes did open, though, but they did nothing after I waved my hands directly in front of them.

Miss Marilyn had a million pictures surrounding her. They were everywhere. On the window sill, tacked to the walls, and laying in piles on the nightstand, where they remained untouched for several years. Reality set in once the feeding tube monitor buzzed.

She was Miss Lewis County back in her youth. A smart, loving woman, she moved to New Jersey after getting married and then gave birth two children. She was a school teacher and horrific photographer, but the multitude of pictures she captured made up for it. The pictures were always of her children.

I’ve heard many stories about Marilyn. She is a corny and stubborn woman with charm to win over the most skeptical. Its probably this charm that draws me to visit her every once in a while. I usually show up unannounced, for Miss Marilyn doesn’t talk anymore. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s at age 51. Her son was in high school, and daughter in the 6th grade. Meredith took on many of her mother’s attributes, and that was another reason I went to the nursing home, for Meredith. What a tragedy, I thought.

I told Miss Marilyn what her son had been up to, graduating from college and all, recounting ridiculous stories that would have embarrassed her. No response.

I soon grew tired. Visits usually lasted about fifteen minutes anyway. I took a few steps back, turned to look at her, unaware of the movement wetting my cheeks.

I prayed a quick prayer, retraced my steps, and kissed her on the forehead.

“Goodbye Mom,” I said. “I love you.”

New Hobby

2009-01-25T18:33:00.005-05:00

I'm not sure if I conjured this mantra, or morphed it from someone else:

"You're not really living if you don't s!*# yourself at least two times a year."

And, hey, I already have some of the necessary gear.

For better graphics, watch it here.

Emotional Bank Account

2009-01-24T20:39:00.002-05:00

I learned, while working with Eagle Rock School, that everyone has an emotional bank account. I'm hazy on what meaning they were trying to convey to students, but it has formed its own definition in my mind (I'll report on the actual definition later).

There are two new friends - equal bank accounts. When one suffers and leans on the friend for support, his bank account decreases while his friend's account increases. When one friend does something good for the other, his bank account increases. Normally this doesn't apply for acquaintances because they usually don't share intimate details about their life with one another.

People seem to be hiding much of their life-afflicted hurt. With traumatic life circumstances, they feel as if they can't talk to anyone - their bank account becomes severly overdrawn.

People avoid those who are hurting. Avoid them in the hallways, in class, at work. Like Lepers. Often times, this avoiding is subconscious, and the avoided begin to feel isolated.

People feel awkward around hurting people. What do I say? How do I act?

I have, at times, felt both sides of this coin. I have avoided people, and have been avoided. It’s all silly, really. A true, virtuous person closes the bank account and offers a hand whenever possible.

Has anyone encountered this term, emotional bank account?

Possible

2009-01-23T21:03:00.003-05:00

Death, impossible without life.

Movement fills life's fragrance with joy and laughter,
running child-like through streams and over mountains,
meeting the thrill of the wind
with exuberance and delight.
Birth.

There are triumphs, there are defeats.
There is love, and there is love lost. Pain.
Small steps. Big ones. Leaps. Running. Falling. Starting over.
Becoming.

Movement slows as the lake becomes still and overwhelmed.
Green film, preventing sunlight and
the company of fishermen.
Ignored.

Stop. Wait. Replay. Again. Silence.
Find. Let go. Remember.
Love.

Life, impossible without death.

The Hardest Question

2009-01-22T17:11:00.003-05:00

I have often wondered which was the hardest question I have ever had to answer.

Ethan, my Little Brother (w/BBBS), and I played basketball and went to see a movie last week. Midway through shooting hoops at the church I asked Ethan if he wanted to go see Bedtime Stories with Adam Sandler. His eyes were widened and jaw dropped. Next thing we realize, we were juggling two large popcorns, two large drinks, and a pack of Goobers into the theater. Luckily, Ethan left a popcorn trail from the lobby so we wouldn't get lost after the movie.

Bedtime Stories was a blast, especially watching it with a youngster. They laugh more than adults do, and it’s contagious. I found myself watching the movie as a 5th grader, marveling at what it would be like to have gumballs fall from the sky. I wish it were easier to get back to that child-like wonder.

We left reciting our favorite lines. On the long car ride back to his house it was silent. Ethan was thinking. After about 5 minutes, I was confronted with the hardest question I have ever faced.

"Rob...Do you believe in Aliens?"

Now, I could have gone two ways with this one. Completely deny it, and make sure Ethan didn’t get caught up in any myths, or... tell him what I really thought.

"Um...Yeaaah, kind of, I mean..."

"YOU DO!!! I KNEW IT!!"

Oh boy, I thought. "Well, I think that there is a possibility that in a universe as huuuge as ours, there is a chance that living things are out there. They’re probably not those weird looking things with big ey-" Ethan cut me off and went into a 20 minute monologue providing definite proof asserting the existence of aliens.

Ethan has actually seen aliens. They had a big ship with exactly 400 windows and invisible doors. He actually got in a fight with one of them. He and his dad fended them off, though. If you need any more proof, check out the TV show Alien Tracker (I think).

I am thankful for imagination and wonder.

The Winning Team

2009-01-21T18:29:00.002-05:00

When my teams wins, I say, "We won."

When my teams lose, I say, "They lost." Example: When the Eagles lost last weekend, I told many, "They lost, maybe next year."

This may be true for many people.

With the inauguration of Barak Obama, Democrats have once regained the top position in Washington. I am a registered Independent, and like discussing both sides of political arguments. Barak Obama is definitely the change I need. No more hearing Democrats whine and complain, and no more hearing Republicans defend. It's time for the Dems to defend and the Reps to whine and complain. I look forward to hearing each sides reactions to political events in the upcoming years.

We had Presbytery small group session at our church discussing changes to the Book of Order by the General Assembly, specifically regarding homosexuality. Several called the session a Holy Moment because we were able to discuss this hot topic civilly. People had a range of opinions. We'll see how the Transylvania Presbyter votes in March.

Regarding those hot topics. Republicans think they are right. Democrats think they are right. Finding the middle has been messy at best. The problem I see is, over the past 8 years, Democrats and Republicans both think the other is wrong for thinking they are right. Liberal and conservative Presbyterians do the same, but with a little more emotion.

What happened to the old adages of, "Agree to Disagree." and "Respect other's perspectives."
How could I learn if I didn't have an opposing side to challenge my thinking? I am thankful for perspectives on the entire spectrum.

Concerning McCain - I wonder if Republicans said, "They lost."

Baggage Claim

2008-12-21T01:34:00.003-05:00

As the plane approached the terminal in Philly, I thought the same thing I always think as I check and recheck the magazine pouch for any forgotten items, "Hmmm, 70% chance for undelayed luggage." Too many times I have waited for hours or days to finally claim my luggage. One time in Denver, people were wondering how in the world the luggage guy could get lost. He probably got stuck in traffic.

Our plane wasn't listed on the baggage monitor. Luckily, there were only two possibilities: Carousel 1 or Carousel 2. It didn't seem like a big deal, but people were stirring, asking questions, and probably lowered their percentages to 40.

Wreeeeeeent. I admit, I was startled. It’s that feeling you get when you walk inches away from the hood of your crazy aunt's car and she lays onto the horn - only this time, I only jumped one step back. Everyone bolted up with the ambulance light, and within seconds, Carousel 1 was completely surrounded.

People could just wait until they see their luggage before they clog up access to the carousel. Polite utterances urging for passage aren’t heard by those keenly focused on securing their luggage. The wall is impenetrable.

As I sat, mocking those who stood, I watched the crowd start to sway with impatience. I eyed the smallest of the luggage collectors - they would be the easiest to shove aside. Five minutes passed, no luggage.

Wreeeeeeent. Eyes widened with betrayal as Carousel 2 sounded off. A shake-of-the-head and chuckle later, I too finally arose. But, I was too late. The mob only took seconds to shift its position. Another shake of the head.

As I sat back down, I happened to glance up into the windows of a hidden room on the far right, and was horrified. There, with a devilish grin, sat the Carousel operator. As his hands closed for prayer and his fingertips tapped together with percise repetition, the sweat began dripping over his forehead with the anticipation of finally pushing Carousel 1's button again.

Obvious Observation

2008-11-22T08:27:00.003-05:00

This was originally written on the Saturday before Thanksgiving:

Rain and a bit of hail changed our plans for the day. Mark had a couple of surprises that were postponed, so we spent hours at the Melbourne Museum, another few hours at a local bookstore, and caught a movie at a suburban mall. Unfortunately Australia doesn't come out until Wednesday, so we decided to stick with a Jason Bourne-type-movie and watched Body of Lies.

At the Melbourne Museum focused on the forest, Melbourne Story, and Aboriginal exibits. While watching a silent movie from 1910 at Melbourne Story, Mark and I burst out in sounds of shock met with laughter. We were met with awkward side-looks and turned heads. The movie showed someone getting run over by a horse. We were astonished, and coped by laughing hysterically. Why would they show a person getting run over by a horse? Every museum should include a blooper.

After exiting the Aboriginal exibit, I was overwhelmed with feelings of guilt. Their story is somewhat like the Native American story in that their land was colonized. My history is a bit average on this topic, but my imagination got the best of me. I pictured an unkown tribal civilization that had weapons 100 times the strength of any other country. They come to and colonize, say, Europe, or the US, or China. We are bombarded w/new disease, enslaved, and/or forced to live in territories. I know the world is more in the postcolonization era, and having tribal civilizations raise their banners on Myrtle Beach is impossible, but putting myself into a different pair of shoes provoked a sense of sympothy of those who quite possibly found a more peacful way of life.

Daniel Quinn, author of Ishmael and After Dachau, offers a different perspective on the way things have progressed in the history of humankind. After Dachau tells a story about a world where WWII ended with the Axis prevailing, and paints an important picture of the aftermath. I recommend his works. I'll let him know to write a story about my obvious observation from Australia.

Australian Identity

2008-11-21T00:42:00.004-05:00

I arrived in Melbourne on the 13th. Having stayed up most of the night before my flight, I was able to sleep through most of the 13 hour flight across the Pacific. Miraculously, I managed to jet awake when the food cart rolled by, scarf down the pitiful food, and wander again into sleep. I was a little wobbly catching my baggage, and managed to somehow find the exit and greet Mark.

We hired a car for the trip, and received a free upgrade after raising a tiff about the absence of an antenna on a micro car. Our Ipod radio transmitter was essential for a successful road trip, and the 4-door, automatic roadster did just the trick. We have raced through Melbourne, trekked through the Australian Alps, and met Sydney rush hour - Jason Bourne style.

It has been wonderful being able to travel about Australia with Mark - he is my personal tour guide. I think of random questions, and he answers them to the best of his ability. I have learned far more on this trip with Mark than I would have if I traveled solo.

One conversation arose about Australian identity. I had been wondering what stories I would tell friends upon my arrival back to the States. I didn't want to just talk about 'roos' and Kuala bears. There is far much more to Australia than animals and a big red rock. Mark said that most people who travel to AU for a couple of weeks leave only with a feeling of having visited the US. It takes far more time to absorb Australian culture. I asked Mark if it were possible to do this - to go deeper than the KFC's and McDonald's and wonderful accents. He advised that we spend more of our time hanging out in coffee shops, pubs, and other public places, meeting and talking with Australians.

So far, I have learned that Australian identity is extremely diverse. Mark was heading a tutorial with undergraduates and the topic was Australian identity. The class wrote their grandparent's country of birth and how many international foods they had eaten in the previous week. Over 30 countries were represented by student's grandparents, and far more international foods were consumed.

We camped one night in the Mt. Buffalo National Park and shared a campfire with six Australians. Much laughter and story-telling was had, and I was able to acquire a better sense of the country's culture. More on that story to come. In the meantime, Mark and I are headed for Melbourne today, with a backpacking trip in Wilson's Promontory and surf lessons on the red-blazen horizon.

The Third Place

2008-11-03T17:34:00.003-05:00

Ray Oldenburg, in his book The Great Good Place, notes that our subdivision nation has suppressed one of the most necessary public goods: The Third Place. Instead of being cooped up in a house and watching TV, people could walk down to the local pub or coffee house for a daily taste of informal public life. This public sphere has been the grassroots shaper of our nation, hosting productive conversations between people from extremely different backgrounds.

I stumbled upon this book in attempt to find more information about my yearning for another place beside work and home. I often called the church my third place, but finding employment in a church kept my place count at two.

Since moving to Danville, I was subconsciously looking for another place, and interestingly enough, began working at The Hub Coffee Shop and Cafe (which is located directly across from the big yellow building in the picture above). I found my third place.

I left the Hub in August, and after a busy couple of months at work, found the urge to revisit the Hub, this time as a patron rather than employee. I hope to be a regular someday.

After visiting for a few consecutive days, I was delighted by the many interactions I had with different people. Having some conversations that were more in depth than others, I found the Hub to be a place all about connections. Not those connections you maintain through your alma mater to help find a job, nor the ones that could be some sort of use to you in the future; these connections of the informal public life serve to enrich our daily lives and awaken a solidarity among a small town.

(On my walk from the Hub to work one morning, I bumped into an acquaintance whose phone number I had shamefully lost, and who I hadn't spoken to for weeks. Good thing I found my third place.)

In establishing my third place, I think it important to understand the background and importance of coffee shops in America. Over the next several days I will be reading through Oldenburg and making observations at the Hub.

America's Favorite Past-time

2008-10-24T19:13:00.006-04:00

Only a few transplants in Danville enjoy baseball, at least professional baseball. Kentucky doesn’t have even have a team (but, we do have amazing college sports teams). Growing up 25 minutes outside of Philadelphia, I am an avid Phillies fan, and am sad that I am not surrounded by those who could celebrate the Phillies finally making it to the World Series. I resort to text messages and phone calls.

The Fall Classic is one of the most anticipated sporting events of the year. Well, at least for baseball fans. Fox is hosting the series, and introduces each game with a historical video that includes Michael Douglas, Kiefer Sutherland, Barak Obama, and John McCain reading quotes from former presidents, all the while theme music from the movie Glory chimes in the background (a sample from the video can be seen here).

The video displayed baseball as one of the unifying forces of this country through the more challenging times. Quite interesting for the voices of Obama and McCain to join amid all of the seeming insolent jabs between the two. Good move.

The voices of Obama and McCain joined together to read the final quote, by John F. Kennedy:

“I think that both baseball and the country will endure.”

Among the quotes was an interesting one from Herbert Hoover:

"Next to religion, baseball has furnished a greater impact on American life than any other institution."

I chuckled at this one. And beside myself and a few others, I know a certain someone who might disagree.

What about the institution of the family??? Come on President Hoover. Yeah, baseball has had a role to impact American life, but without the family where would we be? I am shady on the literary context from this one, but it made me think of the here and now.

Beyond thoroughly enjoying each of the first 2 games of the World Series, I was peripherally reminded of the importance of family and its significant contribution as one of the unifying forces of this country through the more challenging times.

Go Phillies!

Almost Famous

2008-10-21T14:40:00.003-04:00

One of the reasons I started this blog was to get famous.

Really, it was about holding me accountable to formulating and researching ideas and opinions, but the human that I am, I think about it at times, and as a child, I can remember wanting to be famous.

I would become a professional baseball player, discover the cure for Alzheimer’s, or write a best-selling book. Fame meant fortune, and I wanted to make lots of money so I could feel safe, then I would use it for a good cause.

America’s propensity toward fame is uncanny and, at times, extremely ridiculous. Globs of people gather in attempts to feel a movie star or political figure’s hand, as if their touch would somehow rescue them from a life of vain pursuits. People glom onto tabloid magazines and reality TV shows, attempting to feel a part of something much greater than themselves. Where does this yearning for fame or the famous come from?

I often wonder if was born in the wrong time period. Frustration swells over me as the internet, text-messages, and Ipods begin to reveal their unrelenting grip. Depression rates have sky-rocketed over the past few decades, and the unrealized assailants are our inadvertent attractiveness to the quick and the easy. Delayed gratification simply doesn't exist anymore.

Think about it – 200 years ago, people weren’t bombarded with constant advertisements, distracted by cell phones ringing, or interrupting dinner with a text message under the table. To be famous was to be the mayor or president, and those are good aspirations. I think I will teleport to back then and try it for a spell.

I remember how charged up I was when Antoine Walker, a former Boston Celtic, personally autographed my jersey. His hand grazed my chest as he made me feel like a million bucks. I was beaming for weeks. When friends talk about famous people they are distantly connected to, I eagerly bring up the fact that my aunt went to the prom with George Clooney.

Who cares? What is the big deal, really? In an age where experiences with the divine have been substituted with experiences with the famous, God and religion have taken a back seat to people like Antoine Walker. Sports stadiums and movie theatres have become America’s sanctuary.

After reading Donald Miller’s(author of Blue Like Jazz) blog yesterday, I became jealous of his founding of The Mentoring Project, which is attempting to recruit ten-thousand mentors through one-thousand church-based programs to answer to the American crisis of fatherlessness. That’s something I want to be a part of, that’s something I want to start.

Everybody wants to be famous, whether they admit it or not. I have to catch myself at times, because the quest for fame in and of itself is a dark path.

As I grew older, I finally realized that I would never be a pro baseball player – I couldn’t hit the curveball. More importantly, I began to realize that I was actually almost famous at the time, I just couldn't see it.

And here is the corn-ball paragraph: Once I began to let go of the fame and fortune culture, I was able to understand that I was, and am, famous. I graduated from high-school and college and I am afforded the opportunity to have jobs that I am passionate about. And my greatest fans are my family and close friends – they are the ones that bridge the gap between almost famous and famous.

To become famous is to volunteer at a soup kitchen, mentor a young child (or if you're really old, a younger adult), go to your cousin's high school graduation, send your sister a birthday card, talk to a complete stranger, adopt a child, or do trail-work - to name a few. They are different for everybody, but they are all similar in that they are serving others.

The Great Kentucky Outdoors?

2008-10-20T17:58:00.007-04:00

My favorite part of living in Colorado was feeling a sense of proportion to the world. The rugged, majestic, and inviting mountains provided a refuge for the adventurous spirit. Waking up each day, I faced a 14,000 foot mountain, Pike’s Peak. Talk about putting someone into their place, I was made keenly aware that I was connected to something much larger than myself. In Colorado Springs, everyone could tell you east from west. They have the Rocky Mountain front-range as their cue, and a daily reminder that the world doesn't revolve around them.

At first glance, Danville provides no sense of proportion to the world (from a terrain point of view), let alone any sense of outdoor recreation. There aren’t any local outfitters. REI, EMS, and other national outfitters have left Kentucky out of the equation.

Luckily, I stumbled upon J&H Lanmark Outdoors in Lexington. The 45 minute drive was worth the three hours I spent roaming around the store. I tried on the newest trail-runners, tinkered with backpacking stoves, poured over countless maps, zipped and unzipped tents, trail-talked with the staff, and swiped my plastic card for a healthy investment. I ended up purchasing the pair of trail-runners, mainly in attempt to encourage my discovery of the great Kentucky Outdoors.

I had known about the Central Kentucky Wildlife Refuge (CKWR), but didn’t realize its depth until I drove the 13 miles for a solo-hike one evening. I wiped the dust off my trekking poles, filled a day pack with the essentials, and headed out on the trail.

Since 1965, the CKWR has offered a diverse, 500-acre introduction to the Appalachian Mountains. Feilds, ponds, knobs, and rustic trails, traversing roughly 15 miles and offering various levels of difficulty, speckle the refuge. While hiking the well-traveled, 2.5-mile Circle Trail, I noticed the sign for the ominous Ridge Trail. At the junction, its path was consumed by various fauna, and I could understand why. Several years ago, I vividly remember hiking the Ridge Tail with a friend who was in great shape. As he raced up the mountain, I could feel my heart pulsating, sweet dripping down my face, and my calves demanding a long break. Not an easy hike. So, I finished the day on the Circle trail.

The CKWR offered seclusion, and an invitation to explore. As the sun’s last light broke through the canopy of oak and white pine, squirrels raced for the last acorn, deer disappeared in the foliage, and the chickadees sang the last song of the day. Not rugged, 14,000 foot mountains, but enough to ignite my sense of wonder.

Beside the CKWR, Danville is within a 1.5-hour drive of the Red River Gorge for day-trips. For overnight trips, Mammoth Cave National Park, Land Between the Lakes Nat’l Recreation Area, and the Great Smokey Mountain Nat’l Park are within a 4-hour drive - All great places for outdoor discovery and recreation.

A Convenient Truth

2008-10-19T23:02:00.000-04:00

Inner city residents often complain about the lack of a grocery store. There used to be one on Main Street, but the city decided that parking spaces were more important. Now, we have to venture two miles to the by-pass where urban sprawl is in command.

City officials have been busy with attempts of revitalizing Main Street Danville. A new parking garage was erected, the Hub Coffee Shop and Café joined with the Centre College bookstore, construction workers have been busy installing new sidewalks, and many building faces have been restored. The Heart of Danville, a community driven economic development initiative, secures millions in grants for downtown Danville, establishes farmer’s markets on Main Street during the summer months, and sponsers community wide events. Wonderful improvements.

But, there still isn't a grocery store.

In my world, this is a dire situation. Stubbornness, and wanting to limit my use of gasoline had forced me to look for other options for "grocery stores" in downtown Danville (ok, it’s more about laziness).

Speedway is a gas station and convenience store located 2 blocks from the heart of Danville. Convenience…I'll say. And, It's 30 paces from my office at the Presbyterian Church. Problem solved.

I used Speedway for all of my eating needs. The people were great. I never had too look them in the eye, which was good for me because I was somewhat ashamed of my newly formed habit. And, more importantly, they had everything my stomach desired. Let's face it: McDonalds can't quench that 5th-avenue-sour-patch-kids-corn-dog-slim-jim-combos-coke-gatorade thirst. It's really the only place you can go to satisfy all of your heart's desires. They are more dangerous than Mickey D's, trust me. Along the lines of Supersize Me, Morgon Spurlock should subsist on food from Speedway, and call it A Convenient Truth. My formative, protruding belly demands it. America needs to know it's fat because of Speedway.

And when I bump into old friends, they usually greet me with, "Ooohhh, and I see you're carrying a little one with you these days – quite the beer belly." I never spoil their fun and let them know that it is actually a Speedway belly. And besides, I rarely have beer in my house these days. I only drink it at Applebee's with the softball team after we get crushed by scores of 32-1, 26-3, and 25-4. Pitiful, I know.

Anyway, even though old habits die hard, I was able to shake the Speedway one, although, the occasional 2 for $1 hot dogs draw me in from time to time.

Now attempting to cook real food back at my apartment, I purchased a miniature Weber grill. I cook huge quantities of chicken, steak, and vegetables and eat them for dinner and lunch for days. It is hard to cook for one person. That's why people get married.

All this to say, Speedway is evil. After quitting, I soon realized that I had racked up exactly 17,506 Speedway points. 750 points gets me a coffee of any size.

Guess I'll have to go back and cash in my 23 coffees.

Godforsaken Town

2008-10-18T18:24:00.001-04:00

Ok. Maybe I was a little harsh.

But, come on...most Danvillites would admit that the post-grad-single-mid-to-late-twenty-something population is pretty scarce. And it's not like I don't try. When I roomed with Mark and Nate within the past year, we were pretty oblivious to this drought. Then Mark moved and Nate graduated. That is when it first hit Nate and I: "Where is everybody?" Nate and I went on a quest to form a 'community.'

Don't worry, it wasn't going to be like one of those communities that you join in Texas and then the next thing you know you are being told to drink something. No, this was to be an inclusive group of people with similar interests, facing the same challenges of the quarter-life crisis - much like Seinfeld (even though Jerry was probably 40 in the show).

We met Thom the Catholic (George) and an 'Elaine'. We had our ups and downs. Thom the Catholic moved to Cincinnati, Nate moved to New York, and I don't really know what happened to Elaine. Back to zero.

Now, I do have a few other friends in Danville - I see them once or twice a week.

If I'm not at a conference or retreat on the weekends, I usually travel to the big cities of Kentucky to visit family and friends. I am contented with this.

Danville is not the place for people like me. Danville is the place for married people, children, and college students. But, I will accept this place for the time being.

I have a couple of hands full of friends who I have talked with and found to be in a similar situation. Not necessarily with the Danville dynamic, but in a place with a lack of similar people. This isn't because we are obtuse. I think the root of the problem exists because the heart society (perhaps civil sphere could fit in here) has turned into a conglomeration of gesellschafts.

I am not lamenting or seeking pity for people's ill-disposed prescriptions of loneliness. Sure, I do not deny loneliness at times, but I'm more so stating the simple facts of Danville, KY. I am quite happy.

But, you now might understand how I could sometimes surmise this town to be godforsaken.

Change of Pace

2008-10-17T18:43:00.000-04:00

Prior to the beginning of my tenure with the Presbyterian Church of Danville as Youth Director, I have had many adventures since graduating from college:

-I have worked as a car-salesman (that's another story), substitute teacher, Starbucks barista, outdoor education instructor, summer-camp counselor, and assistant program director.

-I have tasted different cultures in 24 states and 7 countries.

-I have made and lost contact with many friends.

There was much movement in the two years after college, and many people were surprised when they heard I had settled down in the town of my alma mater. I surprised myself, but I was finally encountered a change of pace. No, I am not in the rugged mountains of Colorado, where within two-hours driving radius is any majestical outdoor beauty imaginable. I am not traveling, pilgrimaging around, discovering new and different cultures...

I am in Danville, Kentucky. And have been here since December of 2007.

The change was an adjustment, to say the least. As time has moved on since my arrival, I was met with emotions of bitterness, apathy, and regret. How I longed to be back in Colorado, backpacking with students in the wilderness for weeks on end.

These emotions eventually subsided, and others took their place: a sense of rebirth, stability, searching, becoming. I have always been on the go. Now I have found myself in a place where time seems to have come to a standstill. The opportunity to discover intellectual capabilities, spiritual awakenings, and physical fortitude is at hand.

I could wither this time away, feeding myself with shallow pacifiers of movies, TV shows, pointless internet surfing, fast-food, and compulsive sports-following (which can be, at times, good things). Or, I could challenge myself during this time by reading and researching stimulating books, defining what I am passionate about, challenging myself physically, and being intentional with friends and family. I chose the latter.

Danville has a lot to offer, and treating it as such will open many doors. Now I find myself within a two-hours driving radius of family and friends of the past. And, as a wise man once told me, "You might discover the world out in Colorado, but you might discover Mars here [in Danville]."

On to Mars...

This blog will account my travels, adventures, and discoveries while living in this Godforsaken town of Danville, Kentucky.

(To read the blog that inspired "Whereabouts in Danville," visit http://mark-mallman.blogspot.com/)