Monday, December 24, 2007


It's amazing what a few days together with no distractions can do for your marriage. It's been 2.5 months and things are going strong. No regrets.

And man, I love snow. I want to go run around in it. Maybe I will today.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Thank you notes.

I am writing thank you notes. It is more fun than I thought.

Its something to note that they are 2 months after the wedding. I think when people recieve them, they will think:

"What? Thank you for what?"

I've gotten thank you notes before and thought that.

Thursday, November 8, 2007


I am awake and blogging again.

Today I thought a lot about Taco Cabana. I could eat there every day, and my mom says that's probably not okay. But why is TC so great? Well children, I'm glad you asked. Taco Cabana fulfills all the specifications of a fantastic taco restaurant, with its own added flair. It fulfills the laws of taco greatness.

  • The food shalt rock your face. This essentially means that you have a mouthgasm when you eat there. When you eat the taco, it has to taste fresh- not just the completed taco, but all ingredients in the taco. Nothing processed goes in your food. No canned meat. No canned cheese.
  • The menu should give you options but not leave you feeling overwhlemed. A beginner should be able to order alongside a veteran and still have a satisfying experience. However, the restaurant should also accommodate expert taco eaters, which means:

  • The staff has to have their stuff together. Service needs to be friendly and prompt, regardless of what color you are or what language you speak.
  • It must either make its own tortillas or have them delivered fresh daily.
  • It needs a strong hand of salsa- many varieties, all made fresh, from fresh ingredients. None of this Pace from a can, dumped in a bucket. That's offensive. A taco establishment really striving for greatness will have sauces and salsas designed to specifically compliment it's amazing food.
  • It needs to play awesome music. Taco joints that play straight Tejano polka don't make the cut. There needs to be something you can actually dance to. At least every 5th polka, there should be a good Salsa number in there.
  • It must serve tacos. I shouldn't even have to say that. But I do.
  • It should serve beer. I really have to insist here. Taco + Cerveza = Pure Rapturous Joy.
  • It should serve patrons at all hours of the day. (This is one of the things that separates a very good taco joint from a GREAT taco joint. For some reason, tacos really do taste better at three in the morning. I think there's some scientists who found that to be true.) If it can't serve patrons at all hours, it must at least accommodate the prime hours of taco eatage:

0530-1000 Before work
1100-1300 Lunch
1345-1500 Post lunch energy boost
1600-2000 Dinner
2100-2245 Taco Pre-Game
0030-0430 Taco Prime Time

  • It should inspire. This is the bottom line. A good taco joint gains the loyalty of a fan base. It has devoted followers who dream about its food day and night. People that get t-shirts and tattoos bearing the logos, food, slogans and likenesses of line cooks of their preferred taco house. These fans will fight tooth and nail to defend it against all ill will. If told it is going out of business, they will eat there as much as fiscally possible to keep it open. Any rumors of food poisoning will be dismissed as "Pussies complaining because they couldn't handle the hot stuff." If the question is posed, "Where should we eat?", this taco zealot will firmly ensure his or her demands are met. A great taco stand turns casual taco eaters into believers. A great taco stand changes lives and gives new significance to life.
If you have anything to add, let me know. You might be right.

Saturday, October 13, 2007


There are no words. There just aren't words.

It seems hypocritical to write that. I'm writing words to say that "there are no words". So apparently, there are.

The words you use to describe and indescribable situation. "There's nothing to say. There are no words."

And when you say that, people know what you're talking about. The best part is, you're not talking about anything. You're simply saying, "This thing is so complex, so beautiful, so difficult and so painful that I can't choose a word. I could sit here and try for hours to describe it to you. But laziness and brevity dictate my response. So I let you know that there are no words to describe it. I know you understand. I hope."

There are no words. That's a lie. Those four words are a euphemism for TONS of words. Words that we don't know how to say. So is that more profound than silence?

Nah. Silence is open to too much interpretation.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007


I'm bonkers about this band I just found.

They're called "Pete and the Pirates" and I think they're the Bees Knees. Bob's Your Uncle. The #1 prize lobster festival. Whatever. They're super and from the British Isles.

Which reminds me:

Why can't I buy UK music online from UK suppliers? It seems really idiotic to me that I can log on to the UK iTunes music store, but I can't buy from it because I don't have a UK billing address.


Wednesday, September 19, 2007


I constantly wonder why people are offering condolences to me instead of congratulations. I'm getting married, and it's the most thrilling, wonderful thing I can think of- yet somehow, people all around me think it's the end of my life.

When did marriage get so screwed up? When did it start being the end of your life? When did it mean "giving up your dreams and freedom" and wearing a ball and chain? I mean really, I thought that didn't happen until you had kids.

But seriously! What's wrong with men these days?

Dudes! If you really think all that shit, don't get married! You shouldn't be getting hitched to somebody who's trying to cut your balls off anyway, if that's really what she's trying to do. However, don't press your bitterness toward matrimony off on me. I'm not having it.

Still, it's not hard to see what the problem is. When we stop giving and start thinking about what we're getting out of our relationships, instead of what we're giving, we start being dissatisfied, and thinking that our significant other is somehow "depriving" us of the love and joy that we used to have. And maybe they are, because they don't feel loved anymore. So they start caring about themselves, and using your "devotion" as a weapon to punish you for the love you're not giving them any longer.

Until it falls apart.

Selfishness is human nature, and two can never become one flesh if they indulge that nature. Only when we can deny our self and become something new do we have the true ability to sacrifice and love. Consider this:

That, in reference to your former manner of life, you lay aside the old self, which is being corrupted in accordance with the lusts of deceit, and that you be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth.
-Ephesians 4:22-24

If God is love, we move closer to loving like He loves us when we are renewed in His Spirit.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007


I think I need to write shorter blogs.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Taco Sighting

I have been shown something incredible today. Bobby Henderson, the Orson Welles of taco photography, has created a fitting tribute to our beloved food.

You can check out his work at his website, It is quite incredible. Inspiring, to say the least. And it makes me hungry to boot.

Thanks to Paul for the tip.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

You can't say that in church.

Disclaimer: This blog contains profanity. If that offends you, keep reading. I wrote it for you.

I'll be honest. I like to swear. I think it's a hoot. The very fact that certain words in our vernacular are somehow more "taboo" than others constantly bemuses me, and using those words at the appropriate (and sometimes inappropriate) times gives me a kick.

And why shouldn't it? Is there really anything special about 4 or 5 letters arranged in a special order?

No, but it would be naive for me to say that words have no meaning, or that what we say has no effect on other people. At critical junctures in history, a single word has meant the difference between success and failure, order or chaos, even life and death. The difference isn't the words we say, but the intention behind them. The spirit of the language is what hurts and heals and bonds and breaks. Which brings me to my point:

Can I say the word "shit" in church?

I once made an announcement video for my church, (as I often do) and at one point in an announcement I said,
"Somebody's gonna be in deep doo-doo."

After the video aired, our pastor's wife (who is an awesome woman, don't get me wrong here) came up and said, "I like the video. But you can't say that word in church."
"Which one," I replied, "Doo-doo?"(I had been forewarned that she was ticked.)
She grimaced and nodded. "Yeah. That's the one."
I just raised my hands and gave an embarassed smile as she sighed, shook her head and walked away.

I was flabbergasted. It was never my intention to offend anyone- quite the contrary. I consciously chose "doo-doo", thinking it would be a better alternative than, "Somebody's gonna be in some deep dog shit over this one!" (Which, to note, I don't think is wrong. It might have caused some unpleasant ripples in the congregation, though.) But seriously, it was as if using fecal matter as a quantifying measure for trouble was some anathema towards Christendom! Have people become so petrified of words that their meaning and character has become secondary? It's just a rude word for feces, folks.

How's that for doo-doo kid?!

I often hear people using language as a standard for morality, both in their own lives and those of others. I think people are afraid to be transparent and really connect with the character of other people, so we use something tangible and audible to measure our integrity: profanity. This is a grave mistake! It's unfair to write someone off simply because their vocabulary is more colorful than ours. That's taking the easy route- instead of getting to know somebody's heart, we simply take a surface reading based on their words. But it's as simple as this: if the language of our hearts isn't being transformed, we all might as well be saying "fuck you" at the end of every sentence.

I can think of people in my own life who would never be caught saying as much as "pee-pee" in public, but the words that do come out of their mouth are more venomous and despicable than the oaths uttered by a salty sailor any day. I believe it's because they got the wrong idea- as if we could change our hearts by altering our words, instead of the other way around. It's only when I allow Christ to transform my personality do I truly witness the outpouring of loving speech. And speech like that might even have a few "doo-doo's" and "shits" in it.

That's why it's so important to look at the heart, not just the mouth. Transparency is the road to communication, and when we stop being afraid of words and start examining why we say them, I think we'll all understand each other a lot better.

And by the way:
By saying all this, I'm not condoning reckless swearing and allowing children to let their mouths run amok. If your kid drops the f-bomb, smack them. Then explain: Words like that are like a verbal handgun or knife- they can be used as weapons, tools, or (carefully) for fun. However, if you don't know how to use them properly, you can really hurt somebody or get yourself in a lot of trouble. So do mommy and daddy a favor and don't call your teacher an asshole anymore.

I know, in a perfect world, right? What do I know. I don't have kids.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007


It is a long time aspiration of mine to go to college to become a jazz piano player/commercial music guru. This is just something I want to do. Sometimes I am afraid that I'll be poor my whole life. Sometimes I feel pressure from the world, from my culture, from my father in law, that I should go the "easy" route and go with the grain, doing a job that makes me enough money to support me and my soon to be wife. And I understand that.

But at the same time, I think all of it is bullshit.

In our world, particularly American culture, happiness and success are equated with a significant income, a big screen TV, a house with a yard, 2 cars and 2.5 kids. And even though everybody looks at that as the ideal, nobody is satisfied with these things. Hence comes the cycle of accumulating more stuff, and then the inevitable problem of what to do with it when you're dead.

Don't get me wrong. I've accumulated a lot of great stuff, and I'm sure a lot of that is from dead people.

But in the process of life, as I collect more and more things to haul around with me through this life, I long for something simpler- a life where I can play piano. A life where I can serve others. A life where I can please my God through simplicity.

When Jesus said, "Sell everything you have and give it to the poor", my first reaction is:
If I do that, I'll be poor. Then I'll just be waiting around for somebody to make the same fool move I did, so I can get back on my feet.

But the more I think about it, I realize happiness and simplicity go hand in hand. That the most important things in life become the only important things in life when you eliminate the clutter and the noise and take a second to breathe. I think everybody knows this. I just get so caught up in the lie of accumulation that I forget where to look for real happiness.

So this is breath number one. Cool.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Violent Music

I've been saying for years that there are subliminal messages buried within Chris Martin's ever so sappy lyrics and Coldplay's ever so sappy music.

And now there's proof.

It would appear this woman just couldn't handle it any more and went ballistic. But who can blame her? "Yellow" sucks, and any jackass who would attempt to sing that in a karaoke bar DEFINITELY sucks. I really just hope this means Coldplay will be banned from karaoke bars.

Yeah? Well I'll "Fix You" too, motherf***er!

And if it wasn't enough that she went nuts in the bar, she attacked everyone else in the area, including an off-duy cop, who she "headbutted at least twice."

Seriously people. It's only a matter of time before somebody goes nuts because you're singing that God-awful "Chasing Cars" song by Snow Patrol and you get your ass shot. Stop listening before you're sucked into a world of violence that you can never escape from. Please.

Friday, August 10, 2007


I'm not sure if we're in the throes of climate change. I don't know if the world is melting, and giant, lightning-throwing killer tornadoes are just around the corner. I don't know if California is going to be underwater next year. For all I know, greenhouse gases are going to bring dinosaurs back to life and they'll kill us all by December. (Which would be an AWESOME way to die, by the way. But that's another blog.)

All I can say is this: If CO2, the internal combustion engine, SUV's and cow flatulence are whats making it 106 degrees in Augusta, GA this week, somebody really dropped the ball.

Because this weather sucks major ass-butt-hole-ness. It makes me want to lay naked under my celing fan, crying.

This was what I looked like yesterday.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007


It's occurred to me that the word "pianos" is in the title of this blog, and I haven't written a single word about them.

I suppose I should preface this with: "I'm going to talk about my life here, so if you don't care, read the blog about taco genesis. It's more interesting."

I'm against the idea of forcing your kids to do anything they don't want to, for the most part. Granted, things like bathing, wearing underpants and pooping in a toilet are probably reasonable guidelines for instructing your kids. However, when it comes to fulfilling my unrealized childhood ambitions vicariously through my children, I'm not going to be the guy bouncing a soccer ball off my 5-year-old's forehead for an hour a day because my parents didn't push me hard enough to be David Beckham. (Damnit parents! SHE'S POSH SPICE! The hot one! COME ON!)

However, if I had to vouch for one "my parents made me do it" burdenous activity, music would be at the top of the list. Even if your kid sucks at it. My mother and grandmother began a conspiracy against me when I was 6 years old by purchasing a piano. They got a crazy, red-haired Irish Catholic authoritarian to teach me. And through 11 years of getting smacked in the head by pencil waving dictators (and many other teachers, at that), I learned the piano. I'm no Mozart, but I can play.

I quit when I was 16 to learn the bass. I thought it was more "punk rock" and it would help me pick up chicks.

This is a vicious, terrible lie. To this day, a girl has NEVER, EVER, EVER come up to me and said anything remotely resembling, "Wow, your bass playing is hot. I want your baby."

In fact, I think the closest thing to a compliment I've gotten from a lady (that I wasn't already dating) about my bass playing was, "Wow, you were really spazzing out up there! Cool..."

Fortunately, God blessed me with a wonderful woman anyway, but the point is- I probably should have stuck with the piano. My mother constantly reminded me the piano is the most romantic instrument, and that it melts her heart, and women blah, blah, blah, some long rumination about the 1970's, your father this and that and the other thing, etc.

(On third thought, maybe it's best that I started playing bass after all. I could have ended up the ivory-tickling pool boy fantasy of a 50 year old Steely Dan fanatic. And granted, as appealing as that sounds, I'm happy where I'm at. Thanks all the same though, destiny. It would have made for interesting dinner table converstation.)

Anyway, the point- kids need music. Whether they just learn enough to clap on beat or they can play Beethoven's Hammerklavier Sonata, it's important. I'm not saying I'll beat them over the head with a piano bench (though the picture does make me chuckle), but I'll probably do a little more gentle coaxing than even my mother or grandmother did to me. And the next time I feel like rebelling against the matriarchy, I'll just stop wearing underpants and bathing instead of quitting piano for the thrills (or lack thereof) of the punk-rock bass-player lifestyle.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Latin of the Day

Cape nuces tuas et amove!
Take your nuts and get out of here!

Te relinquo; mores tuos agitantes invenio.
I'm leaving you; I find your behavior irritating.

Tempest est dormiendi.
Time for bed.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Tacos, cont.

So friend, we know what tacos are and how they came to be. We even know a little about the "why?" behind tacos. However, the lingering question in all our minds is the same, of this I am sure.

Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?

are the tacos?

Oh, I wonder this too my friend. I wonder this too. And when I finally find them, you'll be the first to know.

Have you looked at Taco Cabana?

Monday, July 23, 2007


I am back from San Fransisco. A few highlights:

Getting schooled by 5th graders at basketball.
Watching a crazy old Cambodian lady get in a fight with a Ving Rhames lookalike over whether or not she got free groceries.
Snaps is the name of the game.
Playing an overindulgent amount of freeze dance, duck-duck-goose and green glass door.
Observing/avoiding female drama, ages 14-29.
Smells like pee.
Sleeping on a pool floatie.
Wearing a mask made of peanut butter, rasins and chocolate chips.
In and Out Burger. Thrice.
Subsequent gas and bowel issues.
Homelessness. A lot.
Body surfing in the Pacific ocean. With my clothes on.
Giant Dipper.
The Dude getting in touch with his pentacostal side.
Watching kids with very little still enjoying life so much.
Seeing beauty in a very ugly place.
Knowing God still works in very mysterious ways.

I have many stories. Hit me up.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Just when you think...

You've got the world by the horns, it turns on you and you're just another goring victim.

You've raged against the machine, you realize you're another cog in the factory system.

Troubles have come to end. They were just taking a breather.

You're a sharpener of men, you understand that you are the greatest hypocrite of them all.

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

Mommy, Where do Tacos come from?

Furious debate has raged since mankind first gained the insight to ask questions, particularly on the subject of taco genesis. Although all scholars (aside from fringe extremists) agree that the taco does exist, there are two main camps that cross swords over the noble food's origin: Taco Evolutionists and Taco Creationists. We report, you decide.

Taco Evolutionism
In the beginning of time, there were two things: matter and energy. The matter, of course, was a tortilla, carne asada, cheese, lettuce and pico de gallo. The energy was...well, it was energy. Anyway, all the ingredients were floating around in space, and then they all collided with each other, exploded and the universe was formed. It was really hot for a while, and there were just single-celled tacos floating around in the primordial sour cream for a couple million years. Then, one of the taco cells grew legs and walked out. Over time, they evolved into huge tacosaurs, which roamed the earth. Coincidentally, there were cavemen there too, and they were damn hungry. So they formed death squads. Riding on pterodactyls, they used flame throwers and grenade launchers to kill thousands of the mighty beasts. Fueled onward by their hunger for taco flesh, they hunted the Tacosaurus to the brink of extinction. Then a meteor hit the earth and wiped them all out.

Then, on March 21, 1962, Glen Bell opened the first Taco Bell in Downey, California.

Taco Creationism
In the beginning, after God created Adam and Eve, He realized that mankind needed a way to combine all the important food groups into one delicious, easy to hold, easy to consume package. So God invented the taco, and it was good. Now God was walking in the garden to show Adam and Eve these wicked awesome goodies, but He couldn't find them. Eventually, He discovered them hiding behind some bushes with fig leaf thongs on. God knew what was up. And it was not good. A&E had eaten from the tree he told them not to, tried to be like God AND ruined their appetite for tacos- so God got righteously pissed: "I INVENTED THE GREATEST FOOD IN THE WORLD, AND YOU WENT AND SCREWED EVERYTHING UP!" Then the taco exploded in a huge flash of fire, animals were running all over and crapping on everything and eating each other, and when Adam and Eve woke up, they we kicked out of the garden. And mortal.

"This sucks!" said Adam.

Then God told them, "You guys are gonna die. It's gonna hurt a lot to have kids. Snakes are gonna bite you and life is gonna be pretty tough. But I still love you, even though you messed up. Here."

Then He gave them the recipe for tacos. Which took the sting off of mortality. Sort of.

Friday, June 29, 2007

The Mighty Taco, Pt. 1

In an effort to make the world a more beautiful, educated place, I submit to you a saga of the worlds most noble food. This stunning mini-series will take you through the untold beauty of the taco world using vivid, full-color photos, real life testimonials from taco eaters around the globe and fascinating history that will leave you saying,

"Wow, I had no idea they had tacos in Pakistan!"

Oh, you will. You will.

What is a taco?
Tacos are many things. The most important:
1. The best thing to eat in the world. Period.
2. The godfather to all the other great foods in the world.
3. A hall pass that works at your grown up job
4. Your best friend forever, even when you don't call for 6 months
5. Jesus' favorite food
6. A temporary substitute for a real relationship
7. The key to a successful marriage
8. One of the finest artists of the 20th century.

C'mon. Don't be an idiot.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Stop Crapping on me

I called the lady and asked if I could lower my interest rate. She said no, so I cancelled my credit card. In the following 48 hours:

I agreed to pay for my mom's 400 dollar plane ticket to come visit me. Which is awesome, except that I don't even have a finished bathroom in my house for her to use when she arrives (in one week!)

I had to take Tyson, my foster dog (who is going back to his original family in ONE WEEK) to the emergency room because he ran his dumbass through a bramble patch and seriously gashed his legs and paws open. And that cost 400 dollars.

And as I'm driving my car today, I notice the temperature is really high. It overheats. My radiator is leaking. My engine is covered in coolant. I manage to make it home. I'm sure this is going to cost me. Unfortunately, I can't get it fixed tommorow, because i have to work. I'm gonna guess that it'll cost 200-400 dollars.

400+400+400+no credit cards= empty, overdrafted bank account.

This coming smack dab in the middle of my "work" week- I've been in for 6-8 hours on both of my off days this week, and now I'm going in for three more days. I'm overwhelmed. I'm miserable. I'm broke. And I'm complaining a lot. I'd say "feel sorry for me!" but I'm already doing that. And I'd feel even more crazy, because I know nobody is reading this.


Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Phrases for the growing parent

Gratis deis solum tres annos plures dum te exercitui iungis.
(Thank God, only 3 more years until you join the army.)

Te vendam si non bene moratus es!
(I'll sell you if you don't behave!)

Sile et sede!
(Sit down and shut up!)


I have a firm belief that my life is currently a giant hamster wheel.

I am caught in an endless cycle of mundane.

Feed dog.
Go to work.
Stay at work too long.
Call Rene.
Check email.
Feel guilty.
Call my mom.
Play the same song on the piano.
Overcome guilt.
Promise to do better tommorow.
Fall asleep.

This sucks.

Monday, June 25, 2007

The Primate World Order

I'm quite confident that many things that I do will be done by computers/monkeys very soon. In fact, once they teach a monkey how to type, I'm sure almost all government jobs will be done by primates.

Which means that monkey blogs are almost a certain inevitability.

Terrifying Photo of Actual Monkey Blogger

(and somehow, they'll figure out how to throw feces at you, online. This is terrifying to me, because I have nightmares about primate feces.)

The anger over the monkey blogs will upset enough web-savvy bloggers, and a war will begin. And because wars are fought at the lowest common denominator, the weapons will be purely scatological in nature. It will be ugly. Shit will literally:
  1. Roll down hills
  2. Hit fans
  3. Become very, very deep
  4. Be eaten for breakfast
Monkeys will take to the streets. We're talking doo-doo bombs here. We're talking banana inspired doo-doo flinging catapults here! I WILL GET DOO-DOO IN MY EYEBALL! COME ON!!! DO I HAVE TO SAY DOO-DOO AGAIN?

It gives guerrilla warfare a whole new meaning, doesn't it?

(Brilliant pun self! Who said you're not funny? Who said it? Hah! They're not laughing now, are they! Wait, don't we want them to be laughing now? Damn!)

Enough! Write Congressman Norm Dicks of Washington's 6th Congressional District today and demand all monkeys be put to death! Especially the endangered and cute ones. Because they have a lot to write about.

P.S. Congressman Dicks kindly asks you to refrain from banal jokes about his name.