I'm a quitter

I did it. I quit Facebook. I didn't do it the right way - I didn't announce it and wait for the ensuing pity party, "OMG, please don't go, We'll miss you, BLAH BLAH BLAH". You see those every once in awhile and you want to scream. Facebook is making us all dumber and more narcissistic. It's not Facebook's fault. They probably had no idea (back when they started it)  that the average human is so self obsessed. So I just stopped.

I had been thinking about it for awhile. I mean, I had hidden so many people that it was just becoming a news feed for me. And there's certainly better ways to get news than FB. I couldn't believe how many people - people I thought were intelligent and decent - were spreading stories that are absolutely full of crap. But I guess if it fits the narrative of what they believe, well then it must be true. I don't know who said it. but some brilliant mind captured it. "If it ain't true, it ought to be". Even before the stories started coming out about FB's role in the election and how they spread fake news stories, I knew something was amiss. Collectively, we used to look down on Wikipedia for being a shady source of information. Turns out, that community does a better job of fact checking than the average moron. God forbid we verify the source of information we consume. That takes time, and most people don't have time to verify the regurgitated BULLSHIT that they spread. 

I will miss seeing updates and pictures from people I really care about, but it's not like connecting to people is that hard any more. I really don't have much of a presence on social media anyway. It's been almost two weeks and no one has noticed that I'm not on FB. So I can do one of two things. I can sign on again and say "I'm back, bitchez!" Apparently that's good for some egos. Or I can just stay off and consume information from better aggregates. Which is what I will do for now. In the meantime, you'll just have to let me know when Angelina Jolie gets caught in a three way with Drake and Paul Ryan. Egad.

Killing time while being unemployed

At some point in time, being unemployed means running out of things to do. If you're a handyman, you've probably got an endless list of projects you can work on. But if you're not (and I fall in to that category), then you have to look for things to do to avoid becoming a couch potato. Sure, you can stumble on the internet, but it becomes as mindless as watching TV. And you really don't want to be "that guy" who constantly sends links to people you know to the point that when your name is mentioned in conversation, it's in the realm of "did he send you that web site link that had a picture of a chimpanzee dancing to 'Moon River'? That was atrocious."

Anyway, last week I began volunteering at my daughter's school. The week before I ate lunch with her and noticed that some of the teachers had "lunchroom duty". Which consists of, among other things, listening to complaints, opening ketchup packs, and wiping down the tables. I don't even know when they get to eat. Never the less, I figured I can wipe tables and open ketchup packets.

Now, I know a lot of these kids since I've coached some of them in softball and soccer. I can handle those kids. But if they don't know me as 'Coach' or 'Olivia's dad', then there's going to be a period of feeling me out. I must admit, they look at me like I'm a new guard in maximum security prison. They're curious to know if I'm going to rat them out for shanking another 2nd grader. Luckily, the other teachers know which ones REALLY have to go to the bathroom and which ones are just wanting to get out into the hallway so they can slip into the laundry room and carve up a soap bar into a zip gun.

I always thought I respected teachers for their dedication and passion. My wife is a 1st grade teacher so I KNOW. Working for an hour and a half in there each day, my admiration has grown even more. Teachers are paid so low because their salaries come from public funds. I will never, EVER complain about taxes anymore - knowing that teachers must truly believe in what they're doing but we're just low-balling them.

Day.......yeah, I'm not keeping count

Well, Mark Richt and the Dawgs certainly had a better month than I did. In HR, we call it attracting talent. In college football, it's called "getting 17 and 18 year olds to commit to you, even though you went 6-7 last year". And since I doubt he's paying those kids, he certainly deserves a huge kudos for pulling in that haul of players. The only downside is watching running back Washaun Ealey implode from within. I'm not sure what's wrong with him, but he hasn't exactly displayed a very good grasp on 'think first/act second'. Regardless, I'm not really worried about him. Because this is what Richt excels at. I'm just certain that Jesus called coach up one day and said, "...and I especially want you to pay attention to those kids who are right on the edge, who are in desperate need of guidance, OK?" We all have a right to second guess Richt for kicking a field goal from the 2 yard line against Central Florida last year, but we've also admitted that HE'S THE GUY that we want in charge of our kids. So, if Ealey can be saved, then by golly the man that new Georgia RB Isaiah Crowell dubbed "a God-fearing dude" can do it. If not, he'll go the way of Zach Mettenberger, Michael Lemon, and a host of others that he tried to help out.

As for me, still looking for work. I've learned several things. First, no matter how many channels of TV you have, it still ain't enough. Even the interwebs has its limits. After a while, "fail" web sites don't make you laugh, even at others. So my advice to you is, if you're going to be out of work, make sure it's in the summertime.

Day One

Everyone went back to work today after the holidays. Everyone that is, except me. Downsized, position eliminated, squeezed.....whatever the term is, that's what happened.

Now if you're going to be out of work, human resources is the field to be 'out of work' in. You already have contacts. You KNOW who's looking to hire. Problem is, none of the positions are IN HR. So begins the journey to once again, as my "about me" description says, be a productive member of society. I'm just thankful for the internet. And hey, I could get some other things done around the house. Something tells me I'm about to find out just how many hours there are in a day. I may not jot down my thoughts every day, but it ain't like I don't have time.

Oh, and I'm OK with Mark Richt having a job and me not having one. For now.

Recon mission @ Barnes & Noble

I did what everyone does when they get a new job. I patrolled the area at lunch looking for the closest place to buy food, drinks, or just some place to kill time. Fortunately, I now work near a mall, so killing time won’t be a problem. But the other day on my way TO the mall, I realized that there is no convenient store nearby to get a newspaper. There was, however, a Barnes & Noble attached to the mall.

Let me tell you about me and reading. To say I’m not a reader is like saying Britney Spears is not well adjusted, or Hilary Clinton is not beloved in country clubs. It is something that cannot be overstated.

So I thought I could stroll in, meander through the store without being noticed, grab a USA Today (you know, the paper for idiots) and escape without any shrapnel.

Hmmmm.

It began as soon as I came to the door. I was walking parallel to a lady toward the door from the outside. She was sure there was no way I was going in there, so she kept pace. I was keeping pace to try to open the door for her, being the Southern gen-teeel-man that I am. As I opened the door, I noticed she had her finger on the button of her mace spray, accompanying her look of horror and shock. I think she might have backed in, but I was too busy covering my eyes for protection.

After giving her ten paces. I walked in and began looking for a simple sign, “Newspapers”. I could have probably found that section sooner had I not been so self-conscious about others watching me. No one says a word, but they give the looks – “What’s he doing here?”, “Omigosh, it’s a NON-READER”, and of course, “Geez, I’ve got to get to a phone, we’ve got a code 14 near Cooking”. I had to wander through the store twice before I asked the clerk. I swear this was his response. “Ok, back up towards the front of the store, you’ll see a “Death of A Salesman” sign, it’s right under there.” I literally thought it would be a picture of a scene from the book, and almost replied, “Dude, I never read the book, how will I know what to look for?” But I trekked back through the store AGAIN, fielding a barrage of evil looks from nerds of all kinds, when I saw something that would bail me out – a guy in a camouflage shirt. HELL, YEAH!! The dweeb throng had shifted seamlessly from me to the more imminent threat. I heard them conspiring, “I’ll head him off at the Conway Twitty biography section and you cover ‘Field and Stream’ in the periodicals….on three….GO!”

This gave me the opportunity to slip by, grab my four colored paper and slither back to the mall entrance cash register. “Do you have one of our frequent reader carAH AHA HA HA HA HA HA……” As he wipes the tears from his eyes, he says, “I’m sorry, I gotta ask. You understand. Boy, that was funny!” I seriously wanted to take a swing a Phyllis, but I noticed that they had cornered Rambo in the café and were going in for the kill. “I don WAUNT NO LATT-TAY, I JEES WAUNT CAW-FEE”. I felt for Rambo, but since I don’t drink latte (or really know what it is), I knew I would have to leave him behind and just consider him a casualty. An MWR (Missing While Reading).

God Bless Rambo, we “non readers” will miss him.

Dust, Clean Clothes, and a Fetal Pig

At some point in time, all of us put off cleaning our house, apartment, room, cave, etc. I have been in both camps. As a kid, I had a subconscious notion that I must have the messiest room in the entire world. I just didn’t care. But I was forced to clean up when we had company. When we lived in Tennessee and our relatives were still in Georgia, it was imperative that my room be clean enough that it could be inhabited by family members. To me, that meant someone could conceivably walk through the room without tripping on something. And clean clothes were hanging up. On something.
One summer I attended an honor’s school (no, seriously – I did) that specialized in several subjects. Music, Math, English and Biology. In biology, we dissected several types of animals. And even though I’m not a “science” guy, I was absolutely fascinated by this. The entire process of opening up a former living thing and seeing what’s inside was something I can remember to this day. What is a little fuzzy to me is how it came to pass that I was able to take home a fetal pig to dissect later. I mean, seriously, I don’t know if I stole it, or the professor saw my enthusiasm and figured I would schlep it out on the kitchen table at home, showing everyone how smart I was. Regardless, I took that pig, wrapped it up in a trash bag, stuffed it in my father’s 30 year old duffel bag, and took it home. I was going to revolutionize the…..dissecting industry. No one would do the kind of intelligent research that I was going to do. I might even find a cure for cancer, or at least fatty bacon.
Keep in mind this was summer. As fascinating as Biology was, I was a kid and summer duties called. Sleeping late, playing tennis and scoping the school yearbook for next year’s girlfriend prospect list…..all things that I just had to do. Because of these all important jobs, I conveniently placed my “lab work” on the back burner.
Enter my dad’s brother and his family for a trip to see us. Which of course means giving up my room and sleeping….wherever there was space. The long and short of it is that, yes, he slept next to that pig for a week and never knew. In fact, I think it was still three days AFTER they left before I threw it out.
The ribbing I took from that was endless, as it should have been. However, my uncle, who has since passed away, had a special way of teasing you. It was never mean spirited, but it was constant. It starts out with “Hey do I need to bring any slop with me next time we come up?” and then morphs into “Doctor, we need to open this pig up STAT!”. And for the record, in my family, if you’re going to make fun of someone, you’ve probably already made fun of yourself – self deprecating humor is bestowed upon the Ards very early, I think we all take a class at two years of age.
Ultimately, there is no comeback for making someone sleep next to a fetal pig. But if I was as much as a smart aleck then as now, I could have tossed a few zingers his way – “Jere, is there anything special I can make you for breakfast? Are you craving bacon?” or “Why do you smell like formaldehyde?”

Parents, there’s a reason you have to make sure your kids clean their room. You just NEV-ER know what they have up there………..

Big Bry is on drugs

That’s right. I could no longer fend off the need to take medicine for high blood pressure, so for the first time in my life, I’m popping pills.

A little history. I’ve always been anti-drug. I mean, sure, in college, I would have no problems smoking weed that was grown in a toilet by a guy who called himself “The Chemical Bandit”, so I understand how hypocritical that is. One thing is for sure – that stuff never came with warning labels on the bag (or empty film canister, or coffee can, or my favorite; an accounting book with a carved out middle). There were definitely warnings, but they came in the form of Nancy Reagan and those “this is your brain on drugs” ads, which, by the way did more to INDUCE people into to taking drugs than deterring (“DUDE!!I wanna get that fried!!”) If marijuana had labels, we know what they would say:

“Getting high can seriously inhibit your ambition to get up off that couch. Seriously”.

“Reefer has caused the following side effects: lower grades, constant hunger and interaction with some of the stupidest people on the face of the earth”

“Smoking this product has been known to cause that God-awful high-pitched white man’s laugh”

So…….have you ever READ warning labels for medicine? I understand that legally, they have to be there, but my goodness. It gives pause, for sure. Let’s examine a few from my new bottle of Hydrochlorothiazide, shall we?

Uses: …….Hydrochlorothiazide is a “water pill” (diuretic) that causes your body to get rid of extra salt and water. This increases the amount of urine you make……..

We’ll just put that in the ‘win’ column. Of course I’ll have to get up five minutes earlier each day, ‘cause it sounds like it’s gonna take a little longer to get ready.

Side Effects: Dizziness, light headedness, headache, blurred vision, loss of appetite, stomach upset……………..

Ok, in 1987, I called those symptoms ‘Saturday night at Poor Richards Bar & Grill’

………….diarrhea or constipation………..

Eeeeeyow. What….do they put Krystal burgers in those things?

You may also experience decreased sexual ability or increased sensitivity to the sun

Like, uh, at the same time? I could handle decreased sexual desire (hey, I’m 40 – it’s a right), but ABILITY? That’s just five ways wrong! And is the sensitivity related to my eyes or skin? I can handle wearing sunglasses all the time, but will I start looking like one of those pale red-heads with pink freckles on my butt?

If any of these effects persist or worsen, notify your doctor or pharmacist promptly

“Uh, Doc, my vision seems to be pretty bad. I could have SWORN I saw a picture of Scooter Libby that read ‘no jail time’”

Remember that your doctor has prescribed this medication because he or she has judged that the benefit to you is greater than the risk of the side effects

Somewhere there’s a guy with an invisible scale, saying, “Hmmm. Continue to be a sexual dynamo OR lower my blood pressure….I’ll think about it”

Personally, I’m hoping Doc is right about this, because three of those symptoms might require wearing a diaper. Although, for years I have threatened my wife that I would keep a jug by the bed at night to avoid getting up to take a whiz – this could now be deemed medically necessary.

Finally, there’s this nugget:

Precautions: Before taking Hydrochlorothiazide, tell your doctor or pharmacist if you are allergic to it…………

Duh huh!?! That’s the medical equivalent of the hair dryer warning “Do not use in the shower. You would know that you are allergic to it “before taking it”……….HOW, exactly?

So many things to look forward to…….whizzing all the time, my wife saying the obligatory “d’jou take yer medicine?”, and vomiting while blaming in on my pills.

Sweet.

Notes from Disney World

My family and I just spent five days at Disney World. But, I look at theme parks differently than the average person.

--Left lane campers. Everyone understands who these nimrods are, right? Listen up, because if you don’t know what it means, you probably ARE one. Those signs on the interstate that say, “Slower traffic keep right”? That means you shouldn’t be in the left lane unless you are passing everyone. EV-RY-ONE. If you’ve ever been passed on the right, you’re a LLC. Losing the title of LLC is simple. Pass someone on the left, then after you’ve cleared them, move back into the right hand lane.

--I’m not saying I agree with this theory, but I have heard people (black and white) say that, in general, blacks have a higher chance of being better athletes. Again, I’m not necessarily agreeing with that. But IF that’s true, then I know why. White people cart their kids around in strollers long past the time when it’s acceptable. When you’re black and you turn two, you’re ass is WALKING. If you’re white and can convince mommy that you can fit in a stroller (even though you’re knees are shoved back behind your ears) you’re getting a ride. I swear one girl had to have been 10 years old asleep in a big plastic stroller. Guess what, Dad? You might as well save up for bail money, cause she’s gonna need it one day – and YOU are the guy she’ll be calling. Folks, strollers are for TODDLERS. If they are getting ready to shave, they need to walk everywhere they go. If they can’t hang through a 12 hour theme park day, YOU HAVE WORK TO DO!!!

--I know now the origins of the name “Orlando”. It means literally “abundance of Latin cleavage”.

--My hats off to the employees of Disney. I can’t go a day without emitting a little bit of crankiness. These men and women are happy all day long. And they’re happy wearing long sleeve shirts and pants in Orlando IN JUNE. We can’t let them wear shorts because, why? They’ll be TOO happy? I used to work at a Disney retail store and those Disney fans are CUH-RAZY. Step in front of them in the Mickey Mouse Autograph line and they’ll cut you with a shank they made from plastic ears. This is one group you just don’t mess with. And these park people deal with them (in addition to the average Joe’s family) all day long. So if you ever complain about the prices you pay at WDW, think about the LAST theme park you visited. Did they say “that’s not allowed” or “I’ll take the picture for you”? These cast members are just heroes, plain and simple. The only names I can remember are Jackie from McMinnville, TN and Allison from Winter Haven, FL.

--If you’ve just finished watching a parade or light show, and you’re not even a little misty-eyed, then you may not have a soul. Seriously, even if you don’t have kids, it’s hard not to get caught up in this “magic”. Having said that, if you find yourself at a parade yelling out “Darth Vader! Over HERE!!!”, and you’re yelling for yourself AND you’re 40 years old, you may need to re-think your hobbies, m’kay?

--Lines are long. This place is popular. Just DEAL with it. Seriously, no more bitching – no one wants to hear it. Did you really think that you could ride the Rockin Rollercoaster in under fifteen minutes?

--I’ve noticed that WDW is the only place where I will truly enjoy striking up a conversation with a total stranger. Anywhere else, I’m suspect of chatty people because I assume they will eventually try to 1) convert me to their religion, or 2) sell me some brand of sports energy drink. Chances are you can have a decent dialogue with anyone either in front of you or behind you. Even a loudmouth windbag from Ohio (Is it me or do they teach those people to dominate a conversation?)

--Your kids are definitely adorable – TO YOUAND YOU ALONE!!! Please don’t misinterpret our initial “Awww” to mean that we want to see more of their bratty behavior. What we’re really saying is “Awww…..someone needs a WHIPPIN”. You know, on second thought, maybe it’s a good thing some of you let your 12 year olds take naps in those strollers…………

--SPECIAL NEWS BULLETIN. This just in – Florida is HOT. Just because the redneck natives wear jean shorts that don’t breath, doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Long sleeve shirts, all black outfits, blue jeans?????………….THINK BEFORE YOU PACK. Even chunky people wearing halter tops is acceptable.

If you ever have the chance to go, then go. It's worth every dime. But don't be a left lane camper on the way down.

There's nothing worse than being a fan of an out of state team. I live in Virginia, but LOOOOVE my Georgia Bulldogs. So all you people who get to go to the games, consider yourselves lucky. The rest of us have to pay for the privilege of listening to Larry Munson from afar. I'm so glad Al Gore invented the internet.

I don't know how I stumbled upon this, but I prepared a schedule for the Georgia/Florida game in 2005. Luckily, that game is always on TV. Anyway, here's how I planned the weekend for me and my family. The game didn't turn out so well, and even though my wife, Robin, and I actually WENT to the WLOCP in 2006, that didn't turn out so well, either. Oh, well, like the Gamecocks say, "wait til next year".

(It's OK to pity my kids)

Schedule for Georgia/Florida weekend.

Friday:

6:30am – Robin to Orthopedic Surgeon. Have hand operated on. (memo to self: bring large red & black foam “#1” finger for her to wear home)

11:30am – Begin badgering Robin about what she’s cooking for dinner with “one good hand”

11:31am – Regain consciousness, go pick up Olivia from Pre-school. Review cheer with her. “GOOOOOO DAWGS, SIC EM WOOF WOOF WOOF” (remind her it has to have FEELING)

12:15pm – Go to Atlanta Journal Constitution online, read latest updates to “Junkyard Blawg”. Ridicule Gator fans who, despite having their OWN blog, come onto ours and pick fights

12:30pm – Realize that the “Gator Fans” are really Tech fans who have nothing better to do. Since their team sucks.

2:05pm – Madelyn gets home from school. Pull Madelyn and Olivia into the living room and simulate the “Sprint draw”; discuss why it doesn’t work on 3^rd and long; fire off email to Coach Richt giving him said reasons.

3:30pm – Kid games. Play “So how tall are they?” Olivia plays running back Thomas Brown, who is 5’8”, Madelyn plays wide receiver Kenneth Harris, who is 6’3”, Daddy plays offensive tackle Dennis Roland, who is 6’9”. (tell kids Mommy is a party pooper because she doesn’t want to play tight end Leonard Pope – 6’8”)

5:00pm Enough of this kid stuff. Back to work. Watch game films of the Tennessee game. Madelyn will ask, “Daddy, what are we learning from THIS game”. “Nothing, sweetheart. I just enjoy watching UT get beat”.

5:30pm Watch film of Arkansas game. See if Olivia can count the number of ambulances that cart the Dogs off the field. Explain the significance of our new starting quarterback, Joe Tereshinkski, whose father and grandfather both played football for Georgia. Lie and say his great-grandfather planted the original hedges at Sanford Stadium. Explain significance of the hedges and tell them Scott Sergent and I broke into Sanford at 3am one night to get a piece of the famous bushes. Poke the girls to keep them from going to sleep.

7:00pm – Watch an ESPN pregame show. Explain to the girls that Lou Holtz is not retarded, he just has a lisp and combs his hair straight down.

7:30pm – In celebration of Halloween, show the girls a picture of legendary Georgia Defensive coach Erk Russell. Spend the next 15 minutes calming Olivia down.

8:30pm – Entertainment time. Show videos of past GA/FL games. Replay the one in ’97 when Steve Spurrier threw his visor 28 times, and his #1 ranked teams got their butts whipped 37-17. Also replay the Belue to Scott 94 yard TD in ’80. Lord above, that never gets old.

10:00pm – Put the girls to bed, tell them we have a long, long day tomorrow. Prepare something to eat since my slacker wife still hasn’t made me anything for dinner.

Saturday:

5:30am – Breakfast. Listen to Larry Munson clips to fire everyone up, “WE JUST STEPPED ON THEIR FACE WITH A HOB NAIL BOOT!!! WE JUST CRUSHED THEIR FACE!!”

5:45am – apply red and black face paint. I might wear some, too.

6:00am-8:00am – Go over offensive schemes

8:00am-10:00am – Go over defensive schemes

10:00am – Explain to the girls why they can’t go outside and play. Time to review punts and kick-offs.

10:30am – Watch “College Gameday” on ESPN. Make voodoo doll for Florida coach Urban Meyer. Remind the girls (who are hating life at this point) that Meyer cried in his press conference after the loss to LSU. This man was supposed to revolutionize the SEC. He is hereby dubbed Urban Cryer.

12:00pm – Allow the girls to watch cartoons instead of football, but only if they promise to keep the face paint on.

12:00pm-3:30pm – Watch meaningless (read: any other) college football games.

3:30pm – Watch GA/FL game intro. Call announcers Verne Lundquist and Todd Blackledge a couple of @#&*!’s. (Explain to the girls it’s not really ok to say @#&*!). State out loud that I’m tired of hearing about Pollack and Greene. It’s 2005, time to move on. (Explain to Olivia who David Pollack and David Greene are. Draw her a map of Snellville)

3:30pm-7:30pm – Yell, stomp, kick, cuss.

7:30pm - ????? – Depends on the outcome of the game. Either of the conversations could take place.

Robin: Madelyn, go ask Daddy if we can eat out tonight while he’s in a good mood

Madelyn: Will we have to wait until the holes in the ceiling are fixed?

OR

Robin: Girls, try to avoid being on the same floor as Daddy.

Madelyn: Can we cover that hole with plastic, it’s supposed to be cold tonight?

Going to the G-day game

The family and I are heading down to Atlanta to visit my folks on Friday. Both of my brothers will be there and if nothing else was going on, I would still be excited. However this year, I’ll be lucky enough to go to Georgia’s G-day game, the annual intra squad scrimmage that signifies the end of spring practice.

We’ve elected not to take our six year old, but my eleven year old has stated she wants to go. I would balk but it’s at Sanford Stadium and I know she will want to see it. So she and I, along with my wife and my father will brave the cold and watch a game that only I will care about.

Oddly enough, I haven’t been to Sanford since 1992, when the Dawgs played UT. All of the UGA games I’ve seen since then have been either at Georgia Tech or in Jacksonville. Granted, an intra squad scrimmage is only a glorified showcase, but many like myself are DYING to see some of these redshirt freshmen who have yet to play. And, of course there’s this guy named Stafford.

I plan on taking lots of notes. Enough to give me something to do all summer. Then I can come back and watch the game again on the web site. Then argue for five months about who will step up and why South Carolina sucks.

I know what you’re thinking. “You need to get a hobby”. Well, this is it. You go ahead and debate who should get kicked off of “Dancing With The Stars”, and I’ll stick to this, ok?

The unavoidable intro

Let me make this perfectly clear. I didn't WANT to do this. Someone made me. Not because I'm a student or anything. It was more, "hey, Brian, you should really put your thoughts down somewhere." Fine. If I do this, ya reckon they'll leave me alone?
Closing in on 40, married father of two, blah blah blah. You're not gonna read it, so I'm not gonna insult you by typing it. You wanna know what I'm into.
I love college football. The Georgia Bulldogs. And ever since Al Gore invented the internet, I've been able to follow them more closely since I no longer reside in Georgia. I'm one of those fervent fans that can recite the three-deep depth chart.
I have found somewhat that the internet has taken the place of my love for TV. But I do still watch Scrubs, Family Guy, and My Name is Earl. If I can make it until Saturday night past 11:30, I'll nod off during Saturday Night Live's monologue.
Love softball, golf, HATE lawnwork. I used to manage a music store so I have a lot of CD's to listen to.
I spend a good bit of time involved with church activities. I'll complain a lot about it, but then I think back to Moses and all he had to contend with to even GET Christianity started.
God: Moses, come on, it's time to take the people to find the promised land
Moses: Aw, come on, God. I REALLY didn't want to start anything until next year.
God: Moses, I have chosen you for a really important job. Besides, you're brother's gonna be there, he'll help out.
Moses: Ok, I'll go. But this isn't gonna take long, is it?
God: Um......not as far as I'm concerned.........

I also avail myself to my kids' activities out of pure interest. I just want to know what they're doing. Therefore I coach softball and soccer, keep books for the PTA, and stock the concession stand down at the ball field. That way I can hover around my kids without.....seeming.......like I'm hovering.
By the way, coaching kids' sports is like being in the mafia. There is no getting out. I take that back, you can get out, but you have to be beaten out. You know those "arches" that soccer moms' make as their kids run off the field? If you want out, you have to run through that while the parents of Britney and Blake beat you with cell phones, mini-van keys and digital camcorders. It's just WAY easier to suck it up and coach.
Ok, this was long. I think I'm supposed to edit my page now. If I could, I would put little bulldogs all over it.
Two months til kick off, baby...............