fisching

I've been a fan of John Fischer for a long time now. He sings and writes and composes and thinks out loud, all in profound ways. John sends out an email every morning that seems to say the thing I need to hear. Sometimes it tickles, sometimes is pinches. Sometimes it just nudges. If you get the chance, go to www.fischtank.com and sign up for the "Catch of the Day."

This poem was in John's catch today. He's not sure who wrote it, so he doesn't attribute it to anyone in particular. I'll thank him for sharing it.

I was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Nor the lights, or its decor.

But it was the folks in Heaven
Who made me sputter and gasp--
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics, and the trash.

There stood the kid from seventh grade
Who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.

Herb, who I always thought
Was rotting away in hell,
Was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
Looking incredibly well.

I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake.

"And why's everyone so quiet,
So somber - give me a clue."
"Hush, child,' He said, "they're all in shock.
No one thought they'd be seeing you."

a.m. drive time thinking

Ok, this black Audi has been promising to turn for about five miles now.

Yay! Adam Lambert is still alive on Idol!! If I could sing like that... If I could move like that...

I'm surprised that anybody is surprised to learn their political peeps are accepting cash from the bailout beneficiaries.

Note to self: buy more bananas... and apples... and grapes... and toothpaste... and batteries. Ok, I'd better leave myself a voicemail. What else do I need?

I've gotta get back to my workout tonight, but I'm still so stiff and sore from the last one. I will workout. I WILL workout. I WILL WORKOUT. (to myself)

DUDE! IF YOU'RE GONNA DRIVE IN THE FAST LANE, DRIVE FAST!!!!

I'm so embarrassed... Did I just scream that out loud?

hummmmmm..... la la la la...... One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight! Schlemiel, Schlimazel, Hasenpfeffer Incorporated... (in my head)

Why were those crazy girls skipping down the street - in the rain? Why were they singing Yiddish? (out loud)

Michael crawling across the Dunder Mifflin floor was hilarious!

Ok, people are staring. Prolly wondering why I'm laughing. That Michael!

Note to self: see if "The Office" tweets.

TURN ALREADY!!!

Did I take my vitamin?

The gym tonight... YOU can do it. You CAN do it. You can DO IT. (to myself)

They're asking WHAT for Jonas Brothers tickets? (to no one in particular)

Poor North Dakota. God, you know their stuff. Please provide for them. Thanks a bunch.

I shoulda done the bathroom thing before I left the house.

Guess I'll find out if I took my vitamin when I get to work.

It looks like the Dems are at liberty to speed across I-64 now. Two years ago it was the Repubs. The bumper stickers give it away. Guess who's governor now.

Oh man! I meant to call Christian before he got to school this morning.

I need a truck load of mulch.

Wish I had a truck.

Did I bring my gym shoes?

Whoa! What's that smell???

Yeah, gym shoes in the back.

Why won't this window go down?

Note to self: pay electric bill.

Note to self: make dentist appointment. aaaagggghhhhh...

I think I want to see Altar Boyz when I get to the city.

His tags are expired.

Does anybody think the university is going to fire Billy G. 'til the big tourney is over?

Did I feed the dog?

Why is every comment on the newspaper's web site so cynical and angry?

Oh man! This is casual day...

Is Greg's party tonight or tomorrow night?

I wish everyone had this Isaacs music. Wish I could sing and write like that.

She shouldn't be texting and driving.

Gotta cut back on some things. Think I'll let the Singing News and Met Home subs expire.

Lord, help Billie get a job. Thanks a bunch.

No. That doesn't smell like gym shoes...

ring... ring... Uh, should I take his call or not? I'm heading into a dead spot. I'll call him later.

Note to self: call Jeff later.

Note to self: text Jeff to let him know you'll call him later.

Ooh. I've not done MySpace in a long time. Bet my stuff is stacked to the cyber ceiling.

Wish I had some Advil.

Wish Starbucks had a key-fob card thingy.

I really, really wish I had time to stop at that rest area.

Which side of the fence is that cow on?

Wonder if anybody's found a way to make my Twitter updates be Facebook and Myspace updates too? That would be so cool.

Note to self: google the twitter thing.

Did I call Owen back?

Was that my exit?

for real

I'm perfect. Except for the unhealthy habits, I'm perfect. Well, there is the mood thing and my tendency to watch too much TV. But other than that, I'm perfect. Oh, and I've told a little white lie or two, and didn't return the too-much-change the cashier gave me. But for the sake of credibility I'm still perfect. I have yet to pay my pledge to Jerry's kids. If you don't count my oft spiritual laziness or that I've been known to wear a pair of socks for two, maybe three days; ignoring the sudden words when I stumped my toe, and disregarding the three minutes I parked in the handicapped spot, forgetting about the despicable thoughts I enjoyed when I saw THAT person and the delicious ones when that one strolled by... If you'll turn your head please, I'd like to "share" with someone. Still, it's important for you to know that I'm perfect.

Several weeks ago I was singing in Arkansas. Not to be a rebel or anything, I usually don't do the coat and tie thing when I perform these days - unless the occasion calls for it of course. This was an occasion. Black suit (slimming) with a white shirt, black belt, shoes, socks and tie. I spent lots of time and worked very hard to put on my performing perfection, and I looked dapper, not so much as piece of lint. No one would've known there was a flaw had I not confessed. It was well hidden, and could've been a secret for my grave, except I admitted it.

For a lot of years, when I depended on the crowds to feed me and my family, I chose my admissions. People don't buy tickets to funerals, interventions, confessions or pity parties. Besides, this was good news music we were putting out there; happy, sin-stopping stuff. If we're singing the Gospel we have to display it properly. We have to put it on and wear it like a model on a runway - perfect body, perfect fit, perfect walk. Who would believe us if we didn't look the perfect part? Our public won't allow us to sell the solution to sin if they think we're vulnerable to it. We're not qualified to point the way to a good and holy life if we don't at least appear to have attained it, and completely. Honestly though, even doctors get sick.

I may disappoint some folks here, and may even lose a few friends, but I wasn't then, and I'm not now the super spiritual man of God I appeared to be. Not that I didn't and don't love, seek and study Him. I do. But I'll confess to you just as I did to the folks in Arkansas: My hair was styled. My suit was pressed. My tie was straight. My shirt was starched. But inside my shiny leather shoe, where you couldn't see it and a professional would be forced to hide it, was a hole. My sock had a hole in it. Had I taken off my shoe you could've seen it, but the whole look would've been ruined. People don't admire and often disregard the better parts when they can see the flaw. And that's too bad, 'cause we have a lot of not-so-perfect people out there singing and preaching it who, for the sake of success, can't admit it. They dare not take off their shoes. Politicians too.

I'm not all bad, but I'll tell you that my list up top is pretty abbreviated. Sometimes I'm selfish. I drink too much coffee and don't always eat right. I cheat on the treadmill when my trainer isn't looking. This past Sunday I cut off an old guy who was moving way too slow. I ran a red light just yesterday and I ate a grape long after I dropped it. You can ask, but I don't plan to get much more personal than that. Except to say that sometimes I lie when people ask me how old I am.

the original

George was a happy man. I'm not sold on the reincarnation thing, but I've heard so many stories about my grandpa and his antics, and everyone I know who knew him well tells me that I must've taken up his mantle. I do feel an especially close kinship to the one grandparent I never knew. There were times in my younger life when I'd do something ridiculously zany, and really should've gotten at least a good scolding out of it, but Dad or someone who had known Grandpa would say, "That's exactly what Happy would do." My grandpa's nick was Happy. That tells you a lot right there. His tombstone even says it: George "Happy" Bishop 1905-1964.

I had the chance to spend a good part of the day with my parents this past Saturday. I always enjoy being with them, and it's even nicer when I have them all to myself. It's fun when the whole family is around, but talk-time with the folks isn't as personal or deep when lots of voices are chiming in. I get to ask questions when it's just me and them, questions I wouldn't ask if others were in the room. We got out the old photo albums and walked backwards for a while.

My dad grew up poor. I found an old picture of the whole Bishop clan when most of them were young. They were standing in front of an old car, all of them looking angry or disinterested, except Happy of course. They weren't dirty, but they weren't dressed for a party either. There were eight mouths to feed when there was no company in the house, and for a meat-and-potatoes family, that meant lots of starch-only meals. Dad told me of walking past the cafeteria when he was a kid and watching the other kids eat. Catching aromas and glimpses was about all he could afford. I get hungry about thirty minutes after breakfast. I don't know how managed.

Although Grandpa Bishop was a hard worker, the need to help make ends meet made it necessary for Dad to drop out of school. Later though, when he met his love, he decided he was going to make a better home for her. He found he had a chance to do something about his lot in life, so he did it. He went to a technical school and learned a trade. Kenneth and Shirley got married, started a family, and created a loving, stable, responsible environment that fostered singing and playing, enouraged ingenuity and prayer.

I wish I'd been able to meet my Grandpa Bishop. To this day I hear from folks who tell me what a character he was. I'm right proud to have inherited his personality. Dad can be funny too, he's just not very loud about it. One thing he is though is consistent. I have lots of traits that I'd gladly trade for some of his gentleness and spirit. I don't want to take it from him though, too many people rely on him. They have been for sixty-five years now, as of today. Happy b'day Dad!

for pat's sake!

I'm all about a parade. Besides Mom's turkey with stuffing, sweet potato casserole and jam cake, my favorite part of T'day is the parade(s) - the cool floats and big balloons, the singers lip-syncing in front of Macy's and Santa Baby bringing up Christmas at the end. That's a sweet part of life that I look forward to every November.

I don't remember as a kid waking up on St. Patrick's Day anxious about a parade. Maybe I had no clue there was such a thing. Maybe I was ignorant to how significant the day was for some folks. Besides, what did short, green men with red beards - Leprechauns or Martians or something - bring that Santa didn't? Like Jesus, at least the big, jolly man is an American. (uh...) Their little outfits are kinda tart though. Love the shoes!!

There's even a little bit of a fight going on about which city actually put on the first Irish pride parade. New York says they did it. Boston says theirs was not only the first one in the U.S., it was the first one in the world! Somebody in Ireland oughta check that out. Seems like a smack down to me. From what I saw in Lexington tonight I don't think we have a dog in that fight.

I didn't realize how many Irish pubs and hangouts there are in my town until I saw all the pods of people clustered on the sidewalks. Downtown, just across the street from the big courthouses is Molly Brookes Irish Bar. Molly's is one of the city's favs, and getting in tonight would've been a task. Sorta like the day after Christmas at Kmart.

I'm told I have some Irish blood in me from my mom's mom's side. Looking back, I can see it. For some reason though, cultural allegiance was never reinforced in me as a kid. That's prolly because I have such a mutt-mix thing going on, and it could be why I walked past Molly's earlier tonight. A Taste of Thai is just around the corner and that was my mood. I don't think I have an Asian branch on my tree, but I wouldn't be upset (or surprised) to learn I did. I think Kwanzaa is cool too. More questions...

We wanted a seat outside, but it didn't happen. A table in the front window was perfect though for looking at people. I love people watching, and sitting inside meant we weren't being stared at by the people sitting inside who stare at the people who are outside. I don't like being stared at. I'm a hypocrite that way. The weather was gorgeous, so there were lots of characters out and about. Most everyone who passed our way was doing green in some form. Green shirts, green shorts, green hats, green hair, green faces, green beer, green lips (yep), green shoes. I was greenless. I felt ashamed that I'd snubbed the holiday, although not on purpose. My friends and I weren't trying, but it was hard to ignore the occasion.

Then, off in the distance, we heard the sound of all St. Paddy sounds. Did I mention I love a parade? I had no idea our city held a St. Patrick's Day parade. I didn't notice any streets blocked off or super-large crowds gathering on Main Street. That's usually where we hold parades. Our little table in the Lexington branch of the Thailand embassy was in a good spot to take it in. So, as the strains of "My Old Kentucky Home" got gradually louder, I got a little anxious. A surprise parade!! (BTW, evidently there's one note in our state song that bagpipes aren't equipped to make.)

I noticed lots of people from Molly's and some of the other restaurants and bars moving toward the street. About 22 seconds later they all went back. That was it!? About two dozen people in pretty kilts, hats and boots, a few on the pipes, a couple twirling batons and a handful of drums. No wonder I didn't see any TV coverage.

I admire the guys in the band. Although they should be proud of what they do, I'm sure it's not always easy to inject into a conversation, "I play the bagpipes," much less march down Main Street Kentucky in last century's Irish fashion and be the only band/float/horse/firetruck in the parade. There wasn't even a police escort.

Spring rolls done, bill paid, me and my friends strolled on down the street to catch up on the celebration with Irish coffee and deep-dish cookies. A Catholic, European holiday in a South-Midwestern city is a good enough reason to indulge.

a resolution

On March 13, 2009 the Senate of the Commonwealth of Kentucky unanimously passed Senate Resolution 156. It reads as follows:

A RESOLUTION memorializing Angela Sue Cox and adjourning the Senate in her loving memory and honor.

WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was a native daughter of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, raised in Hindman in Knott County; and

WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox knew the value of a good education and was a tenacious student attending Bethel Christian Academy, Alice Lloyd College, and the University of Kentucky; and

WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox dedicated her career to public service working for United States Congressman Ernie Fletcher handling myriad and diverse concerns on all topics from the thousands of constituents he represented. She took this task very seriously working each concern, simple and complex alike, with precision, earnestness, and dedication; and

WHEREAS, proving herself an able assistant to Congressman Fletcher, Angela Sue Cox continued her services to the citizens of the Commonwealth under the administration of Governor Ernie Fletcher, again addressing concerns of the citizens of the Commonwealth; and

WHEREAS, realizing her value to his administration, Governor Fletcher invested even more responsibility and trust in her efforts and capabilities and appointed Angela Sue Cox the Director of Scheduling for his office -- a position which demanded the utmost organization, diplomacy, intelligence, and commitment; and

WHEREAS, in the position of Director of Scheduling, Angela Sue Cox proved herself worthy of Governor Fletcher's trust, as she worked with the State Police in ensuring the security and well-being of the Governor, and with the National Guard in ensuring that the Governor arrived safely in his many travels within and without the bounds of the Commonwealth; and

WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was known for her beautiful, sonorous voice whether she was singing to open one of the many official events she was asked to grace with her voice, or was praising God; and

WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox not only dedicated her life to public service, she dedicated herself to God and was a faithful attendee of the Bethel Harvest Church in Lexington, Kentucky; and

WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was loved and respected by her many friends and family, to whom she was ever constant and generous with her own love, respect, time, and gifts; and

WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was the loving and beloved daughter of Jesse Cox and Peggy Cox; the loving and beloved sister of Marcia Stamper and Beth Ann Cox; and the loving and beloved aunt of Curtis Cox and James Darby Stamper; and

WHEREAS, Angela Sue Cox was the loving and beloved stepdaughter of Treba Cox; and

WHEREAS, on March 10, 2009, Angela Sue Cox began her Heavenly sojourn, her kindness, love, and angelic voice a perfect fit for her Heavenly home;

NOW, THEREFORE,

Be it resolved by the Senate of the General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Kentucky:

The Senate does hereby express its most profound sense of sorrow and proffers its sincerest condolences to the family and friends of Angela Sue Cox on the event of her passing.

The Senate affirms that in her time on this Earth, Angela Sue Cox's good works have benefited the citizens within and without the border of the Commonwealth of Kentucky. The Senate furthermore affirms that Angela Sue Cox's good humor, kindness, gracious spirit, and generosity will resonate, as did her beautiful voice, in the hearts and minds of her friends, family, and others fortunate to have made her acquaintance, for many years to come.

When the Senate adjourns this day, it does so in loving memory and honor of Angela Sue Cox.

angelic angela

I'd never been in my congressman's office before. I was a little nervous, although I learned about ten seconds inside the door that I had no real reason to be. The young lady at the front desk was pleasant and welcoming. Everyone I encountered was warm. I was being introduced as a new colleague, the timid new guy. Then I met Angela.

"Oh my goodness!" she said. "I know you. I have your music. I love your music. You're Kenny Bishop!" From then until our last conversation much of our talk centered around our mutual love of Gospel music. Whenever she heard a new song or discovered a new artist I'd usually get a call right away. When she became a new fan, she became a fanatic. As much as she crushed on the music and the music maker, her love was more for the Gospel than anything else.

Every constituent of Congressman Ernie Fletcher who was able to secure Angela's help for their concern was fortunate indeed. The calls that come into an elected officials office are often emotional, sometimes angry, and occasionally desperate. People don't tend to call their congressman as a first resort. Angela dealt with every case as though her own mother were on the other end. She took them personally and sacredly. If the resolution wasn't as good as hoped, she often commiserated, sometimes with tears.

Angela was the unofficial-official singer in the Sixth Congressional District office. When an event with the congressman required a voice and a song, she was the go-to girl. That particular district is one of the more historic ones in the nation. When a book was released detailing the history of the "Henry Clay District," Angela had the distinct honor of singing "The National Anthem" at the release ceremony in Mr. Clay's own back yard. I was there that day and smiled for her, even though I was a little envious. She knocked us out with her amazing rendition.

When the congressman became the governor Angela went to the state capitol. She continued to field calls from constituents for a while, a job that requires thick skin and lots of patience. As difficult as that work was, she really stepped into it when she transferred to the main desk in the governor's scheduling and travel office. There are very likely few more high-pressure government positions than that of the governor's chief scheduler. The demands, threats and subterfuge are loud and clear every day. The intense requirement of intricate detail is a constant dynamic that changes by the minute. The governor's safety and efficiency is always the top consideration. When so many others would be wringing hands and pulling hair, Angela was singing. With incredible grace, she smiled and she sang.

Ever since I met her we said we were going to sing together one day. Lots of days came and went before we finally had the opportunity. It was at the Governor's Mansion, and the occasion was Christmas when we stood at the piano and worked our voices together. The texture and the harmony were sweet and complimentary. I don't know if we got the words right, but we made a moment. I don't remember who else was in the room, but I know Angela was. You always knew when Angela was in the room.

Several weeks ago I was at a party when I got the call that Angela's house had caught fire, and thanks to a brave man who learned she was trapped, she was pulled from the smoke and flames. The local news covered the story, and as far as the world knew Angela was a survivor on her way to recovery. Those of us who were closer though learned through constant updates that her injuries were more serious, many of her treatments were not working and the infections were increasingly uncontrollable. Some days brought good news and we smiled. Other times we worried. We prayed hard for Angela's healing and just as hard for her family's strength.

A few weeks ago I had a chance to stop in to see Angela. The hour was late and the attendant was kind, but getting back to her room was not possible. I wanted to see her mother too, but she had left for the day. She'd been staying at her daughter's side for weeks, and certainly needed to rest. Peggy is another beautiful lady who was generous in passing her hearty laugh and gentle spirit on to her daughter.

This past Tuesday we all got the call that we dreaded but began to expect. It had been since before the fire that Angela was able to use her voice. At about a second past 6:15 PM she sang again.

a swell place in africa

Go ahead, ask me about Swaziland. I'm prepared. I know more about the people, the government and the culture of the tiny south African nation than I imagined I would this time last month. Know where it is? Neither did I. Get your map out and find Africa, the continent. Go south to the big country of South Africa, then look for what might be confused as a lake in the northeast edge. There it is, a small, land-locked nation tucked right up against the southwestern tip of Mozambique.

One of the really great things about my job at the state capitol is preparing for and hosting dignitaries and other VIPs when they visit with us. A few weeks ago it was parliamentarians from Croatia. This week we had a blast entertaining and hanging with several big time officials from the Kingdom of Swaziland. I have to tell you, I sorta got attached to them.

Nearly every foreign delegation that visits us here is escorted by a member of the US State Department. This gives us an opportunity to gauge our hosting skills against some of the other states that participate. We want to do things right, and we certainly want our guests to go back to their parts of the world saying Kentucky was one of their favs. We hear often that we do a good job with the southern hospitality.

As old, old, old as it is, Swaziland has only been independent of Great Britain since 1968, and is ruled by a king. He rules it too. He picks the prime minister, many of the members of the parliament and all of the judges in the courts. The rest of the legislature is made up of elected members. One thing that's cool about the Swazi government is the requirement that thirty percent of their delegates be women. Way to go Swazigirl!

Swazi life is pretty much what we'd expect. It's arid and warm there, often hot. Agriculture is mostly for self-subsistence, although the farmers there do export a fair amount of sugar cane to South Africa. Tribal customs and traditions are strong among the mostly native population, and Christianity, both Protestant and Roman Catholic, is the most practiced religion. Islam, Bahaia and Hinduism are present but not as popular.

Like most other African nations, the Swazi people are a mixture of modern society and traditional customs. Although their contemporary might seem a little outdated to us (not bad out of date though since we're already exchanging emails), their documented ancient goes father back than we North Americans can claim. Beyond all of the research and text book stuff, if the men and women I met are par for the course of the other million or so who live in Swaziland, I think it's a swell place to be.

why i'm sleepy

OK, this time thing - standard, daylight, summer (in the British vernacular), Eastern, Pacific, Greenwich... - is out of control. Just like everything else the governments of the world try to manage, the hours of our day have been taken over by "experts" and now the rest of us are confused - and sleepy. Here are my thoughts:

The inventor of Daylight saving time was a guy named William Willet, a builder in the United Kingdom. Yep, not a scientist or an astrologist or a physicist or even a clock-maker. He was a builder, but obviously one with lots of money and more than a few key connections. This one man who wanted more time to play in the sun made it his task to change the rules for all of us. Can you get much more selfish than that? BTW, some folks think DST was Benjamin Franklin's idea. Actually, BJ's solution to making candles last longer was getting up when the sun did and hitting the sack when it got dark. Good ol' American ingenuity.

A good piece of the world has decided that playing with the clock a couple of times each year just isn't necessary. Some folks even say it's unhealthy. Regardless of why, those of us nations who are reluctant to change the tick-tock tradition much more than moving it back or forth a few weeks should give it a little more serious consideration. Let's call it preventive health care. Maybe the insurance companies should hire lobbyists to address the matter.

There are others who claim that abandoning Standard time in the spring is good for the pocketbook. Merchants sell more they say. Ball games and outdoor activities thrive, and we don't use as much electricity. Farmers disagree on the help/hurt of it all, but the police say it cuts back on thieves who work dirty in the dark. That being said, I have friends who take full advantage of the switch back when last call is announced once, rescinded, then again an hour later.

Maybe shifting the clock around is a good thing overall, but for me it's just a bit annoying. I feel cheated the morning after the change, even though I slept through the sequence of events. Which causes me to question why I'm so sleepy. And if one man can mess it up, (BTW, Mr. Willett didn't live to adjust his watch.) maybe I'm the man to fix it.

ken 'n shirl

I'll bet the young Kenneth Bishop and the younger Shirley Richardson had no idea back in 1964 that life would be so excitingly dull and slow in a fast-paced sort of way. I've not asked them what their dreams or aspirations were when they agreed to marry and stick together, but their upbringing made for tempered goals I'm sure. It certainly affected their modest wedding. They got married at the preacher's house. I hear they had to shush the kids more than a few times (those PKs!!), and if there was rice it was probably on the stove.

Dad and Mom have done well for themselves. They live comfortably and in fairly good health. Their kids and grand kids know how to get to their house, and other than an occasional ice storm or church incident, things are working well. I'm proud of my folks. They're models of temperance and honesty. They have what they do because they've worked for it - Dad outside of the home, and Mom holding down the fort.

They'll quietly celebrate their anniversary today. No big deal, no cake or streamers. That's just who they are, and I love 'em for it.

my mother's day

Mom probably won't do much celebrating today. Not because she's unhappy or angry, but just because she doesn't usually make much of a deal out of her birthday. Never has that I recall.

She may think it much-ado-about-nothing, but March 2, 19?? (I don't pick unnecessary fights) is a most special day in my life. If that day wasn't she wouldn't be and neither would I. Neither would Theodor Seuss Geisel, and then there'd be no Grinch or Mount Crumpit or Whoville or Whos!! Then Jim Carrey would be stuck in a career with only mediocre movies on his resume'. Thank God for March 2nd!

Shirley Bishop has been a much better mother than Kenny Bishop has been her son. We talk a lot. The phone is our friend. I wish she did email or at least tried texting, but Mom is simple and she enjoys an uncluttered life. If I were to call her right now she'd probably be making coffee for Dad or washing sheets or watching one of my nieces or nephews. Her family gets her up every morning. She lives for us, and plans her stuff around ours.

When me and the bros are fighting, she plays like Woodrow Wilson and stays out of it. Unlike the old POTUS, she really stays out of it - no matter what. She sympathizes, but takes no position.

Call her names, throw rocks in her direction, dig up her tomatoes or refuse her cooking and she'll likely tolerate it. Mess with one of her kids or grandkids and you've picked a fight with someone who can both catch you and beat you up.

Mom is a beautiful Christian woman inside and out. She likes to laugh, knows she's stubborn and reminds me of my mamaw, who was one of the most entertaining women I ever knew, including Carol Burnett. She's not rich, but Mom is most generous. She holds no degree, but I hear lots of wisdom when she speaks. One thing she is though is a super-fantastic-wonderlicious wizard of the kitchen. I wonder if she made a birthday cake?

wednesday's ashes

Today I will attend the Ash Wednesday service at the Cathedral of the Ascension. It is a beautiful, old church with abundant history, built in 1850. Since it is in Kentucky's capitol city, many of the state's governors and other dignitaries have worshipped there, and the community is richer and prettier because of its presence and outreach.

The service today will be mostly quiet. We'll recite, sing, pray and kneel - mostly in unison. My church upbringing pretty much allowed and encouraged everyone to do their own thing during services as long as it was prompted of the Spirit and not distracting. Sometimes it was definitely not the first and certainly was the second - depending on the worshippers personality. It was what we were used to, so no one but the visitors from other traditions paid much attention.

The songs we'll sing today probably won't be found in the old red-back Church Hymnal that I grew up with. "I'll Fly Away" and "When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder" are wonderful, old pieces of music that mean a lot to me. But I'm just as moved by the very classical and majestic songs we'll enjoy inside the beautiful cathedral of stained glass, statued saints and pipe organ today. We will reverently approach the ornate and grand altar to receive the Eucharist and ashes from robed priests moving along the rails in a steady, flowing motion. It is a beautiful and spiritual thing for me. It reminds me that God is large and aware of us.

I got in trouble once and was sorta scolded by a Pentecostal pastor who took issue with my speaking from prepared notes during a revival service. He felt I was not yielded enough to the immediate direction of the Holy Spirit. My response to him was that I was sure the Lord was only obligated to give me the message once, and since no one was around to preach it to then, I wrote it down and saved it for later. The pastor, as sincere as he is, probably would not appreciate a recited prayer such as the one we'll honestly and contemplatively speak to God today from the Book of Common Prayer. When I consider its words seriously, I find it hard not be humbled.

Most holy and merciful Father:
We confess to you and to one another, and to the whole communion of saints in heaven and on earth, that we have sinned by our own fault in thought, word, and deed; by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.

We have not loved you with our whole heart, and mind, and strength. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We have not forgiven others, as we have been forgiven. Have mercy on us, Lord.

We have been deaf to your call to serve, as Christ served us. We have not been true to the mind of Christ. We have grieved your Holy Spirit. Have mercy on us, Lord.

We confess to you, Lord, all our past unfaithfulness: the pride, hypocrisy, and impatience of our lives, We confess to you, Lord.

Our self-indulgent appetites and ways, and our exploitation of other people, We confess to you, Lord.

Our anger at our own frustration, and our envy of those more fortunate than ourselves, We confess to you, Lord.

Our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work, We confess to you, Lord.

Our negligence in prayer and worship, and our failure to commend the faith that is in us, We confess to you, Lord.

Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done: for our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty, Accept our repentance, Lord.

For all false judgments, for uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors, and for our prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from us, Accept our repentance, Lord.

For our waste and pollution of your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us, Accept our repentance, Lord.

Restore us, good Lord, and let your anger depart from us; Favorably hear us, for your mercy is great.

Accomplish in us the work of your salvation, That we may show forth your glory in the world.

By the cross and passion of your Son our Lord, Bring us with all your saints to the joy of his resurrection.

Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who desires not the death of sinners, but rather that they may turn from their wickedness and live, has given power and commandment to his ministers to declare and pronounce to his people, being penitent, the absolution and remission of their sins. He pardons and absolves all those who truly repent, and with sincere hearts believe his holy Gospel.

Therefore we beseech him to grant us true repentance and his Holy Spirit, that those things may please him which we do on this day, and that the rest of our life hereafter may be pure and holy, so that at the last we may come to his eternal joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

potuses

Delaware became state number one in 1787. No other could claim the honor. You'd think such a distinction would mean something when it comes to sending a president to Washington, DC. However, with all of the other claims, the first state has yet to send it's first chief executive to the White House.

Only a handful of states have actually groomed future presidents. New York has produced eight, more than any other. Early on though it looked like Virginia was a breeding ground for the job. Four of the first five presidents came from that commonwealth, and the only one of that group not reelected to a second term was the guy from the other state. Ohio has given us six presidents, then Virginia (5). Massachusetts gave us four, Tennessee, Texas and Illinois brought three each, two have come from out west in California then one each from Louisiana, New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, Indiana, New Jersey, Missouri, Michigan, Georgia and Arkansas.

Not every president was born in the state that claimed them when they U-Hauled it to Pennsylvania Avenue. Even though Illinois gets credit for sending him up, the current POTUS was born in Hawaii, a state that was barely two years old itself when he let out his first baby cry. Besides Mr. Obama, Illinois also calls itself the Land of Lincoln, even though the often polled most popular president was birthed in my home state of Kentucky.

Two other presidents were native Kentuckians. Well, sorta. The only president the Confederate States of America ever swore into office was Jefferson Davis, from Christian County, Kentucky. Because he was their senator, Mississippi mostly lays claim to him. We've never fussed much about it though since our state decided not to join up with the south. (Of course, we didn't officially "join" the North either. Not that you had to.)

Then there was David Rice Atchison. Born just outside of Lexington, Kentucky in 1807, he, like so many others, moved west for fortune and opportunity. It's while he was President pro-tempore of the U.S. Senate, serving the people of Missouri, that he found himself in an odd situation. On Sunday, March 4, 1849 outgoing President James K. Polk's term had expired. His successor, Zachary Taylor, refused to take the oath. "No swearing on the sabbath!" he said. According to the Constitution, since Taylor's VP hadn't been sworn in yet either, that made Atchison the acting president. Know what he did with his presidential day? He slept. All day long he slept, and he dared his housekeeper to wake him. The voters of Missouri should be furious. It was nearly a hundred years before another Show Me man got the job.

OK, full disclosure here. Atchison never really believed or acknowledged that he was the actual President of the United States. Like the president's term, his senate leadership post had already expired too, and neither did he take the presidential oath. Had it been the real deal though, the senator would've been the youngest to ever serve the office at 41 years, six months. He also would've held the record for the shortest term, 24 hours. Officially, Theodore Roosevelt is the youngest to ever have the job (42 years old) and William Henry Harrison only had it for 32 days.

Since today is President's Day, it is entirely fitting, and completely acceptable to offer the honor and extend the appreciation due every man who has held the office. Some of them were prepared, others were obviously not. Some that I thought were fairly good, others rank at the bottom. But while being misunderstood, maligned, mocked, criticized and misinterpreted, they sit in that oval room, hear and see constant worst case scenarios, consider the results and make monumental decisions that affirm or alter life on this planet. I for one appreciate it. Thank you Mr. President. You deserve a day of your own.

david's valentine

As best I can recall, there were twenty-five or thirty kids in my first grade class. Every single one of us got a card, if you could call it a card. They were actually little cut-outs or sometimes stickers. "Be my valentine." "Be mine!" I guess some of us guys figured it sorta weird to get a card from another guy, but that would've been reading a lot more into it than was intended. The teacher sent a note to all the parents saying every student in the class needed to leave the party with the same number of cards. So every kid gave a little Mickey & Minnie or Bugs or Superman or Incredible Hulk love to every other kid. It worked out just fine for everybody, but especially for David.

I don't remember anyone in my first year at Waco Elementary being exceptional at anything. David was though. He was especially good at annoying Mrs. Yader. He was unaccustomed to rules, and didn't know how to take anything seriously. He didn't see the need to raise his hand or get permission to talk, that is until the teacher made it clear that he'd find trouble in the form of a paddle if he went to the bathroom, spoke out loud or sharpened his pencil without her approval. David cut line a lot, especially at lunch. But you don't protest much when you know the class entertainer is hungry - and why.

The guys in the class sorta saw David as crazy. The girls thought he was scary. He'd do anything for a quarter - not that they were that easy to come by. Out on the playground David had a good business going. It wasn't unusual for someone to fork over their milk money to watch a kid eat a handful of gravel or bite the janitor's dog or dance on the hood of Coach Turner's car. All it took was a quarter, and the sideshow was on. David was the center of attention for a few minutes and usually walked away with at least a dollar in his pocket. As far as we knew, David was happy with the arrangement.

Valentine's Day was early the next week, so party preparations began the week before. We'd all been given an allotment of construction paper, crayons, glue, glitter and supervised access to the stapler. After decorating the front of one sheet, we stapled the bottom and the edges to create a pouch that would collect our classroom love notes. When we arrived at school on the big day everyone's envelope had been taped to the front of their desk. Just before the 2:00 party was to begin we all sat at our desks and sorted the colorful store-bought cards we'd addressed the night before and played like little mailmen. Except David didn't.

While everyone else was scurrying about the room dropping tiny two-by-three envelopes into pouch after pouch, David just sat at his desk and watched. It was unusual for him to be quiet and still while everyone else was noisy and active. He'd either forgotten about the party, or as most of us knew, couldn't afford to participate. Maybe he ate the note he was supposed to take home. If he made a quarter doing it, everyone knew his family could sure use the money. So, for at least a couple of minutes David just watched. Like everyone else, he received his share of cards, and though he didn't seem like the kind of kid who'd be bothered by such a thing, it appeared to sadden him that he couldn't give back.

It's pretty safe to say that David saw Mrs. Yader as his mortal enemy. He was on his second stint in her grade, and he didn't show her any love or any mercy. She made him mind, and he didn't appreciate it. That changed though on February 14, 1972. I can't imagine I'm the only one who noticed, but no one ever mentioned it if they saw what I did. David's nemesis quietly coaches him to her desk where she gives him a small box full of little envelopes, one for every student. He didn't know it was her signature on the inside, or maybe he did and didn't care. He only knew that he was now part of the action again. It looked like David outdid us all that day. His card came with candy attached. That was the day the teacher became David's Valentine.

how do you get on a penny?

"Happy Birthday" the song was born in Kentucky. So was POTUS number sixteen, and today is his birthday. If he was alive, and wouldn't that be exceptional, Abraham -no middle name- Lincoln would be 200 years old. I've visited his birthplace just outside of Hodgenville, Kentucky, and I've been to his tomb in Springfield, Illinois. Fifty-six years, two months, four days and roughly 375 miles was the distance from his modest cradle to his grand grave.

I really do wonder what thoughts the perpetual student - practical teacher A. Lincoln would have if he were here right now. Being the great debater that he was, I can't imagine he was any slouch of a thinker. Being the always-willing-to-admit-there-may-be-a-better-way kinda man he was, we might be surprised at some of his views on a few things. As much as he didn't concern himself with his popularity, he refused to sign the Emancipation Proclamation with a shaky hand for fear history would think he hesitated. Even with a steady mind, his grip was sometimes weak - something he'd probably admit.

Lincoln was not nearly as popular alive as he is long dead. Even though he always spoke of his birth state with great affection and pride, it was here that he came in dead last in a field of four in the 1860 presidential race (he received 1,364 votes - not even one percent of the total) and didn't get half the votes here that his opponent did four years later.

We've attached ourselves to him now, but about 145 or so years ago this Commonwealth wanted nothing to do with the self-made trouble maker. As a matter of fact, it was other Kentucky-borns who always seemed to be a constant haunt to him throughout his personal and political life. His in-laws, the Todds in Lexington, didn't have much use for him. None of them voted for him. During his first presidential run, one of his opponents was Kentucky Senator and former Vice President John Breckenridge who got over fifty times the Kentucky votes Lincoln did. We all know that Lincoln's nemesis during most of his presidency was Confederate President Jefferson Davis, another native Kentuckian. The two were born within a hundred or so miles and eight months of each other. Nowadays Jefferson stares at the back of Lincoln's head in the rotunda of the Kentucky state capitol. Breckenridge stands in the room about half as tall, as though worshipping at Lincoln's feet.

There has been some debate over whether or not it was Lincoln's personal conviction that blacks should live as free people that motivated his noble actions. Some believe he simply wanted to hold things together, and that's noble enough since the end result was the same. Whatever the reason, today we are a better, much better nation and people because of the risks and decisions he undertook. Some have made him a saint. He'd disagree. History says that although he read his bible, he was barely religious and not much for attending church. To many he was a hero. He might even argue with you there. He knew his plans, and how woefully short he'd fallen in fulfilling them - partly because of Kentucky. To all of us he is an inspirer. He not only emancipated our darker brothers, he gave everyone else permission to accept them and respect them. We were all freed in that regard. To the world he was a visionary, and to a little over four million of us in this state, he's our long lost neighbor and son. And that's how you get on a penny.

"We may differ with him, and have differed with him, but when the judgment of future events has come, we found we were differing blindly; that he was right and we were wrong . . . experience and time have demonstrated that his was the only line of salvation for our country."
-Kentucky Governor Thomas E. Bramlette (1817-1875) shortly after learning of the death of President Lincoln.

“In no ‘northern’ state was he so vilified and hated. But he belonged to us, the people of Kentucky, because no claim shall come before the mother.”
-Historian John Kleber, University of Louisville in 2009

"I too, am a Kentuckian."
-President Abraham Lincoln in 1861

For more information on Abraham Lincoln's Kentucky heritage, life and connections go to http://www.kylincoln.org/.

something you have to see

Joel Lindsey is one of the worlds great modern song writers. He's good partly because he's a sensitive thinker, and because he lives with his eyes and ears open. That's why I love his musical creations, and why I'm addicted to his blog. You can find the link on this page - just to right of these words. Earlier this month he wrote about a recent personal and emotional experience he had. He did it with openness, dignity and honest but cautious speculation. I was moved by it, and felt a strong urge to pass his story AND his very deep contemplations on to you. Please read.

I first noticed him when we were boarding: the strapping young man, a boy really, in his army uniform, buzz cut, carrying a wooden box wrapped in what looked like Saran-Wrap.

A distinguished older gentleman stepped up to him in the line and asked "Where are you sitting, soldier?"

"28-F, sir," the soldier responded, checking his ticket to make sure.

"I'll trade with you," the older man said, handing him his first class ticket.

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

"It's an honor." The man said, walking away before the soldier could argue.

So we boarded and the soldier was seated one row back from me, on the other side of the aisle. After the cabin doors were closed, the captain's voice came over the speakers:

READ THE REST OF THIS STORY AT http://thistlelane.spaces.live.com/Blog/cns!7CEB3EDC0E898C38!1319.entry.

solutions

My ideas on how to resolve...

The federal deficit: Have everyone who feels that more taxes is the solution actually pay them. Have all of the celebrities who want the American Janes and Joes to pay up transfer their own fortunes from their foreign safe havens to a US bank so they can join the rest of us at the end of the quarter. Have all of the politicians who've scratched a back at the IRS come clean and settle up. Of course, if President Obama keeps nominating ex government guys and former DC power people to top level posts the issue may fix itself. BTW, how can you change anything when you're surrounded by recycled same-old same-olds?

The Minnesota Senate race: I don't know the normal procedure up there, but hearing about a fresh new bundle of just found, uncounted, now-disputed ballots everyday leads me to believe that either incompetent or industrious vote keepers are the real election deciders in the North Star State. Evidently they just hide votes in drawers, slide 'em under tables, mark 'em like crazy and creatively "discover" the ones they want - depending on the desired outcome. My solution, have a do-over. Have out of state, non-vested, unpartied parties verify every single voter as alive and registered. Check IDs. Some folks don't like having to prove they are entitled to vote, but the office and its responsibilities are important, and I like knowing that both the person giving them the job and the guy that wins the contest are legal and legit. Spring it on us so the manipulators don't have time to maneuver the results. No more commercials or rallies by the candidates. If the people there aren't aware of the applicants and their positions at this point they probably shouldn't weigh in on the decision. As soon as the polls close send the sealed boxes/machines to a place where the counters could care less who Coleman and Franken are. Lately, that would be most anywhere outside of MN and DC.

Global warming (aka climate change): Turn off Al Gore and Rush Limbaugh and Michael Moore and Sean Hannity and Bill Maher and Ann Coulter and all the others who distort the other guy's words and exaggerate his evilness while they anoint themselves as saints and expound tons of hot air. But do it yourself. Don't let the government do it for you.

The Fairness/Censorship Doctrine: See Global Warming.

Demoralization of society: Have every Christian believer get to know their God well and have a clear understanding of who He is before taking on the role of His spokesperson. An accurate display of His affection would go a long way toward making Him more appealing than the harmful stuff.

too much doggone pessimism

I've always thought I'd hate to be one of those people that others hate to see coming. I don't want to be a downer or a conversation hog or a gossip or a cynic - especially a cynic. These days though, with more news channels than we need, access to truth-mingled-with-rumors online and the opportunity to comment, blog and twitter, it seems that many of us have gotten very comfortable with our cynicism, and expressing it.

At the risk of sounding cynical here, I'm finding myself more and more disappointed in people, average and powerful, all the time. Full disclosure here, I'm often just as aggravated with myself as I am everyone else. So I don't exclude myself when I say, "Get a grip, man and consider the other guy when you spout something supremely arrogant and judgemental. Blogworld anonymity is no license."

When today's news reports that you and I gave hundreds of billions to banks and others, then tomorrow we learn that they remodeled the place and partied with it, we get cynical. When big time executives arrive in private jets then ask for money for private jets - and cars, we get cynical. When private corporate millionaires are bonused handsomely with public bailout dollars, we get cynical. When politicians wag their fingers at the guilty indulgers on their way out the door to a swanky retreat courtesy of us, we get cynical. When we pay our taxes to keep the elected employed, then find out we voted for tax frauds, we get cynical. When a man who is paid to shape a lawmaker's vote seals the deal with dollars and drinks, we get cynical. When the words of the preacher don't match his ways, then he gets caught and says it's not his fault, we get cynical. When all we hear from the big time news is that the economy is spiraling, the earth is warming, the government is corrupt and crime is abounding, we get cynical. If that's all there is to the world we live in today there's no reason we shouldn't be cynical.

Ever hear of Whitaker Bank? Their HQ is right here in Kentucky. I don't know for sure, but even if they've taken a hard economic hit, I don't recall that they jetted to DC and asked for the feds to bail them out. There are hundreds, probably thousands of smaller, more regional banks like Whitaker all across the country. They've chosen to tighten their belts and keep their integrity. Home grown corporate responsibility; That's a good reason to be optimistic.

I had to buy a new car last year. Even though the guy at the lot was the consumate car salesman, I signed the papers 'cause he said he owned the same model. I asked him to show me and sure enough we resemble. A car guy I can trust; That's a good reason to be optimistic.

When the top execs at Goldman Sachs forsook their expected bonuses, and when UBS decided to be extra responsible and put theirs on a living wage as opposed to an indulgent one. I was impressed. Big time corporate responsibility; That's a good reason to be optimistic.

Of the 535 federal legislators who make the laws in Washington, DC, only a tiny handful are in the habit of breaking and abusing them. Those are the ones who make the news. Of the 55 governors who lead our states, the ones in trouble are not the norm. That's a good reason to be optimistic.

Abramoff is not the typical lobbyist. There may be enough seedy ones to create a slight odor, but often it is the professional who bends important ears who serves as the only voice for a crucial or critical cause. Some of my closest and very best friends are lobbyists with a conscience who do their business with integrity and class. You'd appreciate their skills, expertise and knowledge if they spoke on your behalf. Most lobbyists are honest, hard working people. That's a good reason to be optimistic.

How many preachers can you name? Chances are, if you know very many at all they are/were either meaningful to you or you are familiar with their scandal. I have no idea how many ordained ministers there are in the world, nine digits worth at least. Most of them don't fly personal planes, live in scattered mansions, draw crowds in the thousands or sell books by the millions. I congratulate those that do if they do it honestly and give generously. I applaud all the rest for simply doing, sometimes without. They're not all Haggards and Swaggarts. That's a good reason to be optimistic.

Times are tough, but times have been tougher. The globe is in flux but it has been before. Some summers are hotter, some winters are colder. Mr. Gore is a journalist, a politician and a much awarded but amateur environmentalist. His dire messages of doom are based on inconclusive and often disproved science. His accolades come from Hollywood; That's a good reason to be optimistic.

The simple solution, I think, to living more cynic-free is to be informed but not consumed. Turn off the talk and turn on the music. Spend a day without the noise, the arguing and the non-stop depression of CNN, FOX and all the others. Scan the newspaper, but give a good book plenty of time. Even if it's small, enjoy what you do have instead of pining for what you don't.

*When I'm worried and I can't sleep, I count my blessings instead of sheep, and I fall asleep counting my blessings.

When my bankroll is getting small, I think of when I had none at all, then I fall asleep counting my blessings

So, when you're worried and you can't sleep, just count your blessings instead of sheep. Then you'll fall asleep counting your blessings.

*Written by Irving Berlin - performed by Rosemary Clooney & Bing Crosby

random road thoughts

Out the drive, turn left. At the stop sign, turn right. About a mile to the next one, stop, then straight through. Left at the traffic light, then up Main Street through town. Right onto Newtown, a couple of miles to the interstate. Go west, young man 'til the sign says Frankfort. Right at the end of the ramp, left onto the connector, right just after the bridge then left onto Capitol Avenue. Park it and do the steps to the top floor. It's always a magnificent sight, the capitol dome.

Ever just tune out? It takes me not quite an hour to get from my house to the office. Somewhere around thirty or so traffic lights, a couple of security checks and 111 stair steps (I try not to use the elevator) and I'm there. If someone asked me, I doubt I could tell them much about the trip. I'm a thinker, so most of the time I just zone out and count on habit to get me from A to B. Probably not a good and safe way to do it, but I've arrived alive and mostly ticket free for several years now.

On my mind this morning: More snow! The guy on TV said to look for about three inches of it. I'm afraid of ice. I can handle the snow.

Christian Bale... I guess he feels he is superior enough to talk to one of us mortals that way. I don't encourage you to listen to his latest inhumane tirade against the poor lighting guy. It'll make you angry and you'll hear x-rated words. I'm not sure I ever watched a movie because he was in it anyway. I might avoid one thanks to him though.

I was just glued to the Super Bowl. I wanted the Steelers to win it because my son is a huge Steelers fan. I wanted the Cardinals to win it because Rush is a huge Steelers fan.

I thought candidate Obama said he didn't want lobbyists at the White House desks...

All the unnecessary bells and whistles on AOL's web site annoys me. I wish they had a simpler, less clickity version.

So many "social sites" to keep up with. If I give a lot of time to one am I ignoring the others? If I give equal time to them all I'll never, ever do anything but "socialize." Is there a way to consolidate them?

I'll have a good reason to go to bed early when Conan moves to LA. BTW, did Leno call former President Bush stupid last night? He's starting to sound like the bitter old man that is Letterman.

I like Mike Duncan. He is a friend of mine. I'm excited though about the direction the new chair of the Republican National Committee will go. It's your turn Mr. Steele.

I'm so, so, so, so, so, so grateful to have a job. The scary emails and calls from too many friends out of work won't stop. I feel very blessed.

I hope Angela is doing better today. She's a wonderful Christian friend who nearly died when her house burned down. The doctors say it'll be a long and painful recovery. I pray hard for her and think about her a lot. My uncle Glen needs the prayers too. You know about it, God.

Paying attention to Hollywood news is like eating pretzels and chewing gum at the same time. What's the point?

Paying attention to gospel music blogs is like eating pretzels and chewing gum at the same time. What's the point?

It seems the natural progression of our government that we would go from subsidising crop success to subsidising corporate failure? Can we start all over?

In the bible each town had a church. You know, the church at Philadelphia, the church at Ephesus, the church at Laodicea. Why do we have hundreds and hundreds of them in Lexington? Can't we Christians get along?

Continuing the thought; Of the hundreds of churches within 20 miles of my house (no exaggeration), most of them are usually half or less full for a few hours a day, half of a day a week. That leaves them completely empty for about 28 days every month. If we can't worship together, why don't we at least take turns using the space?

I get reality TV and the news channels mixed up.

Caffeine, I need caffeine.

abbott & costello on american idol

Remember the famous "Who's On First" comedy routine that Abbott and Costello used to do years ago? If you weren't around back in the 1930s and 40s you probably don't. I've seen video and heard old radio broadcasts of the skit, and to me it's as confusing as it is funny. But it is funny. About 40 years after the big-time comics made it famous, Chris Simonsen and I felt it was time for our generation to get its own kicks out of the back and forth, so we decided to sign up for the Madison Central High School talent show. Honestly, it didn't go so good. Thank God it wasn't a Gong Show. We would've never made it to the next base. (What's on second...)

I like a good talent show. It's fun to watch people who don't normally stand in front of a crowd, stand in front of a crowd. Their song or dance or monologue or feat may be crippled by their nervousness, but they stand there and give it all they've got. It's fun to root for the best and cheer on the worst. They're not all winners. But they're all tryers, and usually it's an honest show.

I'll admit that I've had my fascinations with American Idol. Some genuinely remarkable talent and some of today's biggest music names have come out of the TV talent show, and if nothing else, it has proven the old adage; It's not what you know. It's who you know. But the however-many-seasons-the-show-has-been-evolving-on-the-air-show has proven too that it is not completely honest - at least not up front. Still, you've got several million people who carve a notch in the middle of their week to take it in.

I'm sure most people who watch the show know that Randy, Paula, Simon, and now Kara don't take the time to listen to the tens of thousands who show up to audition. We're kinda led to believe that they do. But they don't. The couple of hundred singers who eventually do get to sing to the stars have been strung along and pumped up for weeks by the show's producers, since their first visit to the city. Even the tremendously tone-deaf who get the call-back have been misled into believing that they could possibly be the next amazing phenom in the pop music world. That's why so many bad singers walk away in tears after they were first congratulated and lauded by a phone call from LA , then laughed at and poked with a stick when the arrogant celebrities come to town. But it makes for good TV, and right now, that's what this show is really all about. A more serious look at music is scripted later in the season.

Personally, I think American Idol is as much about humiliating good people who just can't sing as it is finding really good singers. Many of the best who show up at the original audition hoping to be discovered have to be passed over. The show must make room for characters. When the show meets its quota of blond/brunette or tattooed/clean-cut or black/white (and this season Hispanic) good singers, there's no more need for another good voice. Talent or not, when they're full they're full. Now, if your fashion sense is a little off or if you have bad teeth, a skin problem and greasy hair you may have a chance yet. But only if you sing like a wounded banshee.

Several months ago American Idol came to Louisville. Several weeks later the famous faces arrived to tape their parts. After a few more weeks of shooting fields, trees, barns and banjos, then creatively editing the hours of footage, some of the good and much of the embarrassing was put on TV. I'm not sure why, but the producers felt it was necessary to make our state and all of its great citizens look like back-woods hicks and country goons. We're proud Kentuckians, and we're not ashamed of our culture. We're also not stupid. I was, along with many of my friends, humiliated again by a Hollywood that gets a sick kick out of manipulating and misrepresenting good people for a greedy purpose.

On the Louisville show Paula and Simon made a big deal out of a not so talented good old boy's country way of saying goodbye. He said, "Y'all be careful." Paula and Simon exploded, "What! Was that a threat!?" I'm sure that these two judges are like most celebrities that you couldn't get to for a handshake, much less something more sinister. Granted, the simple fella who really meant no harm at all could probably shoot the hood ornament off their speeding Jaguar if he wanted to. But why waste a bullet on such hollow things?