Friday, December 30, 2005

The Things a Texan Hates

Ray Wiley Hubbard. Yep, awesome, awesome alt. country singer/songwriter guy. Picked up a copy of one of his CDs right before Christmas and I’m now officially addicted to it. The best song on the CD is this catchy little ditty about how Ray Wiley dreams he dies and goes to hell. While in hell, the devil shows him around. There, in the lake of fire, he shows where all the politicians, murderers, rapists and Nashville record executives now live. Now, we all know that, with the exception of Nashville record executives, all the others named probably are burning for eternity. Ha! Do I sound like I’m throwing some brimstone at ya? Trust me. I ain’t (that grammar is the Texas comin’ out in me).

Anyway, one of the other inhabitants of hell is, as Ray Wiley states, the place where live “all the mothers who wait until they get to K-Mart to spank their kids-instead of showing them what’s right they just hit them for what they did.”

And bam! Smack dab in the middle of a tongue and cheek tune about all the things a Texan hates in the world is… a lesson. Now, I’m by no means Dr. Spock. I mean, I’m not even a parent, but it does make a ton of sense to show individuals how to behave instead of correcting a behavior they actually perform. This isn’t rocket science, folks, but it DOES seem like something that I, for one, haven’t been able to put into words. And here’s a self-proclaimed Texas redneck who can put it into words better than Dr. Phil. Once again, pop culture teaches a lesson that can’t be verbalized in a self-help book.

Christmas Bride

So, my niece, Lauren, is four years old. She’s just at the right age to get so excited over Christmas that she’s about ready to pee her pants. Plus, she’s a girlie girl and loves all Barbie and princess and that sorta girl stuff.

So, Uncle Marc gets Lauren something totally, totally impractical: a play dress that makes her look like a four year old on her wedding day. Lauren was all excited to show this stunning wedding attire off, but as she walked in the room, her father looks at her and says, “Take that off…and I don’t want to see you looking like that for at least another 25 years.”

The conversation at the table continued and we noticed Lauren had slipped away. A few minutes later, she returned in her normal clothes, plopped herself down at the table and was very, very sullen. It took a few minutes until we figured out that four year olds do NOT understand sarcasm. Her father was totally joking, but in a way that put Lauren at the center of some playful teasing. Being the well-disciplined child that she is, the poor kid took it to heart… and was feeling ashamed for doing something “wrong.” It was really sweet and sad, both at the same time.
I’m not really sure there is a moral to this story, other than it showed that kids don’t always understand adult humor. It is definitely something I’ll be more aware of when playing with Lauren and her ‘lil sis in the future. And maybe something that’ll manifest in adult interactions, too.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Different Avenues

The last few days have been spent here at home with one of my favorite people. Yep, still sorta in recovery, though other than a little bruising and swelling, I’m fine. All in all, one might infer this as laziness… and one would be right.

Anyway, this favorite person and I have done a few different personality tests we’ve found in books and such. On the surface, she and I would look as different as night and day, but when we start talking values, opinions and ideals, we match up to a T. Yet, the “night and day” part? Yeah, that is just in avenues; the “how to get there” is where we differ.

Flip on any news channel and you’ll hear politicians arguing about anything and everything. While both sides like to categorize the other, I truly, truly believe we’re all working towards the same ends - a better world for everyone. Yet, the directions we take to get there are sometimes quite different.

Here’s a perfect example: homelessness. I believe that each American should help the homeless personally - give money to charities that support the homeless, work in soup kitchens, whatever. She, on the other hand, feels the homeless can best get the attention they deserve by protesting, having “sleep ins” on the stairs of public buildings, etc. Not that I disagree with her, but I think there are better ways to accomplish the goal. Yet, here’s the question: what is our goal? To help the homeless. If so, then we accomplish this how? Well, that’s where the avenues of difference arise - and where I have to stop, re-focus and be sure that I don’t get caught up in how the goal is accomplished, as long as it is.
This is something I need to keep in mind - and something that’s hard to keep in check. For a stoic soul like myself, its sometimes difficult to give up control - but it is, after all, not all about me, but rather what is best overall.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Front Row Seat

So, its butt early yesterday and I’m watching Imus in the Morning on MSNBC. Now, normally I’m not conscious until after Imus has been off the air for an hour, but due to having to wake up and ice my whole head down, I was. (BTW, surgery went well, took about five hours and other than looking like I mouthed off to Mike Tyson, I’m fine. Thanks to all who checked up on me.)

Anyway, so Imus has George Carlin on for an hour long interview. George Carlin is one funny, funny dude. Yet, what makes him so much better than Joe Average Comedian is that he’s also darned smart. His logic about the world and its inhabitants is almost always right on. Not idealistic, not pessimistic, just reality.

Anyway, Carlin is now…what? 70 or so? Anyway, the dude has been around a long time. Long enough that he is in that comfortable stage of life where he just sits back, watches and says what he thinks. Those of us who are young and vivacious jump in and try to change all aspects of life we don’t like. Not Carlin! He observes. You can almost see the little mouse wheel spinning in his brain. He seems to be thinking, “This is life. And it is absurd. And how can I make this funny for my audiences?”

So, the one thing he said in the interview that really stuck with me is this:
"Life is a great show. Being born gets you into the show, but being an American gets you a front row seat."

Now, ol’ George’s comment can be taken several ways, but the way I choose to take it is this: we’re darned, darned lucky in this country. I mean, we complaining about politicians, the Christmas rush, our relatives, the sticky bandage stuff that is still stuck to my face (okay, this is just me). Now, ask someone in sub-Saharan Africa what’s wrong with the world: no clean water, poverty, famine, rampant cases of AIDS. Kinda makes sticky bandage stuff seem pretty pathetic, eh?

In America, we complain so so so much. And we have so little to complain about when compared to the rest of the world. Switch that, we have NOTHING to complain about when compared with the rest of the world.

So, sit back, enjoy the show and be thankful - after all, you have a front row seat!

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Sunday, December 11, 2005

An 8?

A few months ago, a friend dropped me off about an hour before I had to speak for a college audience. Shortly after my speech, my cell rang and it was the friend who’d given me a lift. Ten minutes after he’d dropped me off, he’d been broadsided by another car. His vehicle was completely totaled. Worse, he’d sustained some injuries and was in the emergency room. Of course, his well-being was my biggest concern.

“Are you hurt badly?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’d say on a scale of 1 to 10, I’m at around an 8.”

“Well, what did the doctors tell you is wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing yet. I’m still in the waiting room.”

While I was worried about my bud, my first thought was, “If you haven’t been seen in two hours, then your pain darned sure ain’t at level # 8.” But, who am I to say? How he feels and views his situation is his business. I’m not qualified to tell him his pain isn’t at a level 8, after all, any more than he’s qualified to tell me what my viewpoint should be.

To bring this to a personal realm, I’m going in for surgery first thing tomorrow morning. I’m not the least bit concerned, really. Everything that’ll be done is some pretty minor reconstructive and cosmetic work; a follow up to all the damage from a dozen years ago. It should only take about six hours and I’ll only be in the hospital overnight.

Then, I step outside myself. I look at this situation from the perspective of someone who is NOT me. Six-hour surgery? Minor? Not worried? What in the world are you thinking??

If someone came to me saying they were headed in for an operation that would take six hours, I’d be thinking that’s some real, real major stuff. But, when it’s me, I don’t. I guess having been through surgeries that last 24 hours at a pop, this little six-hour job is no big deal. And truly, I’m not worried about it.

So, folks, thanks for your concern, your prayers, positive healing energies, whatever you want to throw my way. I really appreciate it, but don’t worry. I’m not.
Talk to you in a few days – till then I’ll kinda be indisposed, if you know what I mean!

Friday, December 09, 2005

Imagine

Yesterday was Thursday, December 8, 2005. Twenty five years ago yesterday, John Lennon was assassinated. Granted, anyone who kills another individual in cold blood is whacked, but how irrational was it to kill the guy who sang, “Give Peace a Chance”?
Now, I could sit here and sing the praises of Lennon’s songwriting ability, but I’ll save that for another time. Instead, I wanna talk about me.

When I was in high school, I was a gigantic Beatles fan. Still am, for that matter. Actually, my enthusiasm in high school might have bordered on some sorta sick fascination. I could have told you every album the Beatles produced, who wrote which songs, the story behind each song, any little bit of trivial knowledge that was associated with the Fab Four; including the date John Lennon was gunned down and, probably the address in NYC where he breathed his last. Yet, yesterday I had to be reminded by a news story that December 8 marks the quarter of a century mark since the world lost John.

What’s my point? Well, that our priorities change. Not only priorities, but our taste, our viewpoints, attitudes and feelings. When I was 16, I would have journeyed to the Dakota apartments in NYC just to stand on the slab of concrete where Lennon was killed. Now, I watch a ceremony to commemorate his death and I sorta think the people who traveled to this are, well, flakes.


That’s not to say I don’t still love the Beatles, I do. It’s just that I’ve found more important things in this world than “worshipping” rock stars. John Lennon will always have my respect and admiration, but as my priorities have changed, I’m not willing to give so much of my mental energy to fawn over someone who was still best known just for being a rock star.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

To Blog or Not To Blog

Blog blog blog blog blog
(to be sung to the tune of “The Thong Song”)

So, why blog? When I first heard of this whole thing called blogging, I had but one thought: Who freaking cares? I mean, who really wants to know if you painted the bathroom today, what you had for lunch, the fight you got in with your best friend? Face it - no one wants to read your diary.

So, what changed my mind? A couple of things…

First of all, I learned how many people get their information from blogs. Blogging seems somewhat generational, too. Like, young people (i.e., those college, high and middle school students I present for) are more likely to blog and read blogs.

Secondly, even with the monthly Marcus Engel Newsletter, I still have more to share. Hopefully, the stuff in this blog will benefit you, the reader.

Thirdly, (is that a word?) this blog will be a new and creative outlet. Don’t expect every entry to be another Marcus Engel Newsletter. Quite the opposite, in fact. Just this morning, I read a story about a girl in Memphis, TN who was arrested for hiring a hitman to kill four male acquaintances. Why is this something I’d blog? Because it’s just so darned weird! Okay, not only did she hire a hitman, but it was because of cheese. Yes, cheese. Apparently, the girl was a cokehead and happened to be at the guys’ home. There she spotted a brick of cheese and mistook it for some Peruvian marching powder. Her feeble little mind thought, “The only way I can get that stuff is to kill these guys.” So, she went out, hired a hitman (a.k.a. undercover cop) and, well, let’s just say she didn’t get away with it.

There! That’s the kind of ridiculous story that I read every day. God bless the internet! So, due to the absurdity of such stories, I’ll share stuff like this with you, the blog reader.

But fear not! There’ll still be plenty of good old all-American life lessons like the newsletter - just more of them! So, keep in mind that there IS a Marcus Engel blog now and it has the clever name of Engel’s Ensights. Drop on in, take a read, leave a comment, enjoy!

M