The Violent Munkee

Per chance to...Meme

RULES:
1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write on their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

1. I am currently attempting to memorize the Gettysburg Address

2. I have a bad habit of pulling out eyelashes

3. I took Tae kwon do in 2nd and 3rd grade and could jump kick the highest out of my entire class that included junior high age kids.

4. I took Judo in 4th grade and felt really bad about throwing a man in his 70's

5. I sit out in my backyard every evening after the family is asleep and track the stars and planets while smoking my pipe, listening to my iPod, and playing chess on my cell phone.

6. I am a janitor and clean two offices once a week.

7. I go through phases of strong aversion to and a nearly passionate pursuit of the other particular styles of alcoholic beverage, sometimes beer, others wine, and whiskey too.

8. I used to talk, yell, scream, and even sit up and hold conversations in my sleep. In Junior High and High School my parents were appalled to here me dropping major f-bombs in some episodes. I still on occasion will sit up thinking I've heard a noise or seen a foul creature in the room, convinced of its reality, Sara has to coax me back down.

Tagged:
Frank
Annie
Erica (i'm sure she's already done this one)
Sean

(8) comments

Funeral

Timothy Plew

Born- ????

Died- Monday, June 25, 2007

It was early this morning when the kids woke up, as usual, before me, and demanding me to be up. Damn. I wanted to be up before them today. Timothy died yesterday. I Washed my hair in the sink, just to get the bed-head out, and then attempted to sneak out the back door unnoticed. With plastic zip loc bags in my hand and sticky $11 “leather” sandals on my feet, I set out on my “morticious” mission.

I came to Timothy’s cage under the strange looking tropical tree. There he laid, in a cheap zinc metal enclosure on loan from a neighbor, stiff as a stuffed guinea pig, ants running in and out of his oral and nasal cavities. “Sorry Timothy”, I whispered, feeling I had failed this guy. With a shudder of “gross” I picked up his body with the small plastic bag and placed it in the large plastic bag. Almost as if it was timed, the back door opened and out came Basil and Juliana, sensing with their magical child radar that something interesting was taking place.

Basil looked at the bag and gave the plastic a couple of strokes, “Are you gonna throw him in the trash daddy?” Embarrassedly I fumbled with what to say and finally admitted, “Well, I don’t have enough time to bury him.” “Do you want to me to pray for Timothy?” I asked Basil. “Sure.” my dear boy replied with just a bit of smile in his face. “Lord Jesus Christ, thank you for our dear pet Timothy, thank you for how happy he made us, thank you for making him. Maybe we can meet him again someday. Amen.”

We walked together to the large grey plastic barrel, waiting lamely under the grapefruit tree, lifted the lid and tossed him in. “Daddy, can I look at him?” Basil asked. I lifted the lid and allowed Basil to peek at his first real pet, lying dead amongst the week’s trash. Basil turned back to his sister and said firmly, “J, Timothy is DEAD, he’s dead J.” “Daddy, should we write his name on it?” Basil asked motioning to the barrel. Taken off guard by a few tears I said calmly, “Sorry buddy, no.”

The two children accompanied me as I rolled the clumsy barrel through shaggy, dewy Saint Augustine grass out to the curb. As we passed “Mufasa”, a neighbor cat, perched atop the cinder block wall and looking down on us with some interest, Basil again proclaimed, “Timothy is DEAD, Mufasa, he’s dead.” I looked quizzically at my 3-year old mourner, “They were friends, daddy.”

So this is fatherhood? I can barely get through a pet “burial”, how am I going to survive the difficult times?

(4) comments

Smoking with the Scrivener

A comment I left on D.I.D.'s extremely beautiful post, Irene:

Smoking, such a foolish habit. It's interesting to ponder all of the psychology and sociology surrounding this known killer.

Last night, at our reading group, there were twelve men present and only one was not partaking of the tobacconist's fare. Some smoking marlboro, american spirit, djarum, some smoking pipes. Nearly a 60/40 split.

I would say the pipe is the least likely to entangle in addiction, and the least likely to incite a carcinogen riot...but that's always what is being toyed with, isn't it?

I've personally known two folks who died of lung cancer (Memory eternal James and Devron). One hadn't smoked in 21 years, the other had never smoked.
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Irish Priest Strikes Again!

Father Michael has written another humorous and thoughtful piece filled with strange coincidence and irony.

What Must I do to be Saved?
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Sara and I talk politics...

Sara: if you're a Republican, can you only buy American cars??

Me: honey, I'm a Republican!

Sara: you are?? I'm not anything.
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Prayers...

Please pray for the servant of God, Dn. George Lehman, who suffered a serious heart attack this evening and by the grace of God was revived at the hospital.
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The Perry Bible Fellowship
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Will Someone Please....

...buy me one of THESE!!!
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Angst

Thinking about death causes angst*...not sure...it very well can have this effect/affect. Thank you Mr. Heidegger.
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Pilgrims, Philosophers, Beggars, and Saints

Matthew Gallatin, recently retired philosophy professor and author of Thirsting for God in a Land of Shallow Wells, has a new podcast rolling out each week on Ancient Faith Radio. The content is largely based on essays he has written. The most recent installments, Beggars and Saints, cut to the quick, clocking in at just over 15 minutes each. Take a short break and give them each an attentive ear:

Beggars and Saints I

Beggars and Saints II
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