Ode to Rosie

I had a few minutes to waste,
so the Internet I went to in haste.

So if you have time to spare,
and what you see you don't really care,
you need to check out this site,

Watchout!

What you see you will not delight.

But it keeps me warm...

People have been talking. So it's time for the truth to come out. I bought the same coat as Aaron, a few months ago.



I wish I didn't do it, but it feels so good. It's hard to resist the Gap clearance rack. I'm sorry.

Bags only sir

Click on the picture for more pictures or click here.

A small anecdote:

Washington was my favorite part of our East Coast tour for SB 05. Kyle, Bri, Kelley and I had a great time together. My last visit there was during a 7th grade D.C. trip with Mr. Memmelaar when Linsey Bradshaw was my girlfriend. I believe I talked to her twice on that trip, but hey--you can't hurry love, right? Now she's probably kicking down doors and arresting drug dealers with SDPD; she always was a bit rough to me.

Anyway, this time, things were different in Washington. Since 9-11, every place feels like an airport because of the tightened security. On our way into the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, I was ready for the same routine that we had been following all that day.

"Place your bags on the x-ray belt and walk through the metal detector," the old man lazily mumbled as if the phrase had become a burden to repeat. But I was ready for him and his little procedure. Since I hate buzzing while going through the metal detectors, I had everything remotely metal in my jacket so I could simply hand him the jacket and slip through the metal detector, undetected.

"Here's my jacket," I said in an extremely pleasant tone (I was trying to counteract his bad attitude).
"Just bags sir," he repeated as if he was about to fall asleep.

Still being perky and thinking he didn't hear me, I repeated myself, "Here's my jacket."
"Just bags sir."

Realizing he DID hear me, but still thinking that my jacket was an exception, I said, “But here's my jacket; my keys are in the pocket.”
Annoyed, with a little more force, "Just bags sir," he replied while never looking up at me.

The line was getting shorter and I was getting scared. I didn't want to walk through the metal detector and have everyone look at me while I spread my arms and legs to get dreaded "pat-down".

"Sir! My jacket, it's going to set off the alarm! Please, take it!" I was begging for his attention; "Look at me while I'm talking to you", I thought.

"BAGS ONLY SIR!" He said, finally looking me straight in the eyes. Now, being more scared of him than the metal detector, I held my breath and stumbled through—head down, outstretched arm, jacket in hand, and wincing. Shortly after opening my eyes and realizing I made it through "unalarmed", I found out they were not using the metal detector in the Smithsonian that day. But I didn't care; I had made a friend—a friend who had only one thing to say to me:

"Bags only sir."

If you missed the link at the top, click here!

Forever 21?

I know you are all dying to ask, "Does it feel different to be 21?" The answer is "yes."

I have had one beer since I have been able to have beer, and the beer was weird. The beer itself wasn't odd but drinking the beer was different. I enjoyed the beer but I constantly was thinking, "I'm allowed to do drink this beer?" I felt like I needed a brown paper bag to hide the beer. Before 21, beer was out-of-bounds, so drinking beer will beer something I have beerter get used to.

Good Clean Fun

It's about that time again—I’m getting down to the end of my bar of soap.

There's something special about getting to the end of a bar of soap, but something sad at the same time. On one hand, the soap has been my companion, learning every square inch of my body. He has given himself to me, making my scent an Icy Blast of coolness. And what have I done for him? Nothing. All I’ve done is put him situations he didn’t want to be in.

But on the other hand, a small piece of soap is kind of fun. When he gets to be the right size, he sticks to my body. The little guy will just magically sit on my chest while I take the time to shampoo my hair. But I always seem to forget that after an aggressive lather, my small friend can mysteriously slip away. Then I am left wondering—where did he go? Is it time for a new bar of soap or is my old friend still hiding on my body somewhere?

As the World Swims

Swim team today was drama central. I felt like I was the director of a terrible, terrible TV soap.

Many things happened: I snagged a girl from the water, lifted her up, and explained to her the reason she should be swimming instead of floating like a jelly fish. The brother and sister combo kept kicking each other under water, when confronted, the 7-year-old boy said, "It was an accident!" Another little 8-year-old decided she didn't know how to count and would swim 2 laps instead of the required 8. When I told her she only swam two she said, "But I counted!" Sometimes I wonder...

But one situation topped them all. One young 7-year-old made my day and possibly my career of teaching swimming lessons.

The boy's name is Teddy—a chubby, selfish, and conniving little 7-year-old, who will do anything to get out of swimming. Today, his tummy hurt. He was going to throw-up.

Sometimes I handle these plots & schemes better than other days; often, he knows, I will let him set outside of the pool. But today I decided to handle it differently.

I frantically yelled, "Oh my goodness Teddy!!! Get out of the pool if you are going to throw-up!!! Hurry! Hurry! Go stand over the trash can!"

So Teddy waddled over to the trashcan and stood with his head over it, looking like a frenchman ready for the guillotine to chop off his head. I continued watching the swimming lane and instructing swimmers on their strokes, often glancing over at Teddy. I noticed that every time I would look at Teddy, he would "pretend" throw-up in the trashcan and then "wipe" his mouth in disgust from the taste. I couldn't believe it; I had found a new game to play. I continued to watch the swimmers and periodically shift my eyes to Teddy so that he would see me looking and begin his throw-up routine once again. It became a game to me, my glance was all that was needed to see chubby little teddy hurl his face into the trashcan and pull the infamous "wipe the mouth clean".

After this game had lost its fun, I went over to Teddy to find out his explanation for the lack of throw-up in the garbage. I asked him where it was and he pointed to a small loogy on the side of the plastic bag. I chuckled and went back to my lane.

Later, Teddy came up to me with a very important question:

Teddy: "John? Can I go to the bathroom?"
Frustrated me: "Why?"

Teddy: "Because I have to... (He looks down at his crotch)"
Me: "You have to what?"

Teddy in a whiny voice: "I have to... (grabs his crotch and looks down again)"
Me, knowing exactly what he needs to do: "Teddy, I don't know what you are talking about. Just tell me."

Teddy: "I have to... I don't know how to spell it.... P.E.E.?"
Me: "Oh, you have to P.E.E., why did you spell it out?"

Teddy: "Because I don't people to know what I am going to do in there."

What Teddy doesn't realize is that jumping up and down, while grabbing and staring at one's crotch is the universal pee sign. Even Cooper could have told him that (he still does it).

iGot an iPod

Yep. You heard me right—I bought an iPod.

But, before Cooper tries to give me a pat on the back, Aaron prepares to give me a "high-five" and Bill gives me his tips on iTunes, I have a confession to make. I stole it from Cooper over Christmas break.

Ok, that's not true; the confession is that I didn't listen to all of the "blogger" advice. I bought an iPod mini. The reason is, the iPod mini recently dropped in price. I bought a silver, 4G iPod mini from the Apple store for $180. Before, many of you reasoned, "Well the mini is $250 and the regular is $300, why not just pay $50 more for 16 more gigs?" At the time, you were right. But now, 1000 songs for $180 will do me just fine.

I mean what's $180 anyways: Bill probably makes that an hour, Cooper drops that in a week on Mexican food, 180 times 10 and I could buy Aaron's camera, and 180 times 50 is what Luke would have made if he put his money in aapl.

The silver beauty should be here by Spring break and I hope to get a few books on tape/sermons on it before we take our road trip to the East Coast. Any suggestions for books or sermons?