My Perspective

I'm pregnant.

No, obviously not with a baby. But with emotion. I feel like I have so much to say, building up inside, that it's about to spill over in the form of big crocodile tears, chocolate, and an added 4 pounds or a hail of gun-fire. But I'm not Nicholas Sparks (The Notebook) and I don't own a gun. So, I will acquiesce to rhetoric.

It's hilarious, to me at least, to think of the state of our nation. But I'm a horrible person and much prefer and enjoy other peoples bad attitudes and dis-encouraged perspectives, over their smiles.

I have my own take on things though. So here goes. I will try and make this as quick as possible. Take it or leave it, I don't care about you anyway.

(to be read as quickly as possible):
The economy isn't as bad as you think. If you're losing your house you should have bought a more affordable one. If you are losing hope- go to church. If you say it's the Republicans fault I will slap you, who really cares either way, there's nothing we can do to change the past. I agree, the best thing to do when you're upset about finances is to eat at McDonald's, we all know getting fat makes anyone happy. I'm still waiting for Al Gore to blame everything on global warming. Green is an ugly color so let's stop going that way. If I hear one more person say they are a Christian but don't believe in the Bible, I will hit them with it. God is in control, and the governent rests on His shoulders, so stop whining.

There you have it.

My start

I love that the first thing you get when sitting down at a restaurant is, "can I start you with something to drink?" .... Really? Talk about pressure. Im an indecisive person by nature. Step off wuth the spanish inquisition! I would much prefer starting with a seat, to be honest. And then you can probably fetch me a menu. We'll call that healthy start. Baby steps people, baby steps.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

My Marketing Department

Can we discuss, momentarily, how happy I am that it's basketball season again? Sure I am a fan of basketball and love to watch the game, but if I was forced to choose between it or Football... well I would choose football every time.

No, I love basketball season for the unbelievable, incredible, heart-wrenching "Amazing Happens Here" ad campaign.

I love those ads. I'm partial to football season as well because it is then that Nike kills your transmission with their "Leave Nothing" campaign. I mean honestly the ad with LT and Polomalu..... RIDICULOUS.

I suppose that could be the end of my praise for the advertising world, but I'm actually going somewhere with this.... Where is that? Baseball.

Where in the profanity are the killer baseball commercials?!?! Seriously! It's, more or less, America's past-time, it is an awesome sport and just so happens to be my favorite sport of all time.

But the only thing they throw their loving and adoring fans are some cheese-ball, lame-A, "There's Only One October" campaign! I'm a man among men and you're going to throw me poetry, baseball? Wow. That hurts I'm not going to lie.

You bring me the guy that says, "MMM, I'm going to grab an nice, ice cold, Michelob Ultra/Wine Spritzer/Mike's Hard Cider and watch the game. Oh! Oh! I love this commercial." And I will show you his wife's trophy case. (if you don't get that, it's a reference to his testicular fortitude and a challenge to his manhood).

I am a man! I want to see triumph! I want to declare "VICTORY" from the mountain tops! I want heads rolling! I want Braveheart battle sequences! I want to see LeDanian Tomlinson get knocked back to 3rd grade and then get back up in celebratory fashion, pat his enemy and tackler Troy Polomalu on the back and beg for more!

I want the "Leave Nothing" ads!

But no, baseball is going to throw me washed up has-beens and bad poetry.

Real cool baseball, real cool. No wonder you're being deported.

"My Arrested Development" part 4

"Five hours later, I'm put on what's called "the chain" (basically inmate jargon for "heavily armored bus") to the Kent Regional Jailing Center, or "Kent RJC"...."


The ride in "the chain" was rather quick. At least it passed quick. I found the fact that I was shackled about my hands, waist and feet, (and by this, I of course mean, my hand were cuffed, shackled to my waist and then had shackles about my ankles as well), staring through meshed cast-iron caging incredibly amusing.

On top, of the visual stimuli (<-- that's a dollar word for ya. thank you Futon) the audio enhancement, from the inmates of female persuasion sitting in front of me, was absolutely delicious. Due to graphic nature I would need a "parental advisory" sticker on this blog if I included it. Without going into detail, let's say that I now have extensive knowledge of "baby daddy drama" and a first hand look at what you find on sketchy street corners....

At 2:15 in the morning I arrive at my palatial overnight stay. Sure the bell-hop left a little to be expected and the hosts were less than personable but I could get comfortable I suppose....

SCRATCH. THAT.

This is no destination to be desired! My room is cramped and cold. A light has been left on and I cannot find a light switch ANYWHERE! Not only that but when I get into my room... well, I can't get out. I don't fit on my concaved, plastic bed with no pillow. My "mattress," (I use that term liberally) was paper thin and was not concaved...

I feel like I'm set up for a bad "Final Destination" movie...

After two hours of trying to sleep, I'm woken up and told to gather up my bed linens and put them in a laundry basket.

Exsqueeze me? Baking soda? I live with my grandparents... I don't do "bed linens"... is there a Grandma in the house?

I know find myself in another holding cell, thankfully there is no sign of "6-7"...

There are, however, a group of the oddest, most uncomfortable people I have ever been in the midst of...

One gentleman is discussing the "hot points" of brewing up your own meth-lab, another is talking about his bought with Hep-C, and another gentleman is talking about EVERYTHING.

Hmmmm.... what doesn't fit in this equation?

Oh yes, that's right.

ME...

For three hours I'm dreading being asked "what i'm in for" and what crazy answer I'm going to use so i don't get jumped for being the "pretty boy, newbie"...

Murder...

No, too dramatic.

Vehicular homicide...

Dane... You're twisted... stop it!

Thankfully, I get out of the situation without the awkwardness, without soiling myself, and without a drug habit...

Next stop, Ellensburg...

(to be continued...)

"My 'I Saw You'"

Here's to the driver of the AMAZING car I saw today in the U-District... You know who you are.

You were driving the unidentifiable "fast" car and I saw you at the corner of 17th and 45th... You had the wicked "carbon-fiber" hood, the stellar spoiler, and, oh yes, the rims. You had everything planned out and executed.

Well, almost.

What you didn't plan on, was somebody that knows cars by body style seeing you in your unbelievable WIP. (in case you don't have as much street-cred as me, "WIP"--pronounced "whip"-- is an acronym for Work In Progress).

You were driving a Mitsubishi Mirage. Your hood was a no carbon-fiber but rather, the hood to a Honda Civic that you painted black. Most likely spray painted. And your rims? Well, let me tell you about those... they were 13's... and I'm willing to put money on the fact that you got the whole set of them from Les Schwab for under $100.

In your defense. I know that when you saw Fast and the Furious, and Paul Walker's Oscar worthy performance, you were probably around thirteen years old and the movie impacted you. Something moved inside you.

But here's the dirty little secret. 13'' rims don't make your car fast. A black hood doesn't make your car fast. A spoiler won't, in any way, have any affect in keeping your car from flying off the ground. Stripping all of the identifying marks off your car doesn't make it any more "legit."

The fact of the matter still remains. You still drive a Mitsubishi Mirage.

Embrace this. Let it be. Don't try to change the fact. You're still just as cool as you were before you had your drivers license.

The next time you get into your car and think "what else could I do to make my car more ostentatious and embarassing?" Ask yourself this question, "is this where I want to be when Jesus comes home?"

"My Journey"

When a situation gets "hairy" in life, people do crazy things. They take chances, make changes, act impulsively, and try to make their own way out of the mess that only they could have gotten themselves into in the first place.

I turn to the Lord.

I've been in some pretty "hairy" situations in my day, some would even make the 70's jealous. The only reason I got into them in the first place was because I turned away from the Father, and stopped listening to the Holy Spirit. So, it seems within divine reason that, turning back to the Lord to get out of them makes sense.

Without going into details as to why, on Wednesday I started fasting.
I want to hear from God.
I want the direction of the Holy Spirit.
I want the arms of Christ around me and His feet below me.
Establish my steps oh Lord....

I fasted for two and a half days. On Friday, after listening to Jason Michalski's message "Wait For It" for the second time, I got an overwhelming feeling that I could eat again. Sparingly.

Sparingly? Not only I had I already been eating sparingly for the past two and half days, eating only one meal and only after sun-down, but right now I'm on a journey into the wilderness! What am I suppose to do without food?!

Just trust Me.
Just trust Me.
Just trust Me.

Alright Lord.... If it is your will, I will go into the wilderness with no nourishment and limited means of survival to climb a mountain... But I swear if this is some sort of cruel joke....

With a sixty pound pack on my back only a liter of water, one pound of trail mix, some "ginger snap granola" (best thing ever. you must try it. it's at Whole Foods...), Jason's message and Psalm 27:13-14 stuck in my head, one loaf of bread, and coffee grounds I hit the trail.

Something tells me I'm not entirely prepared for anything out-doorsie unless it involves a restaurant with patio seating and a Starbucks across from a public park. But "all things are possible through Christ who strengthens me"....

I went into the woods to have an encounter with God. You know, truly ENCOUNTER God. Away from the city place where there is so much distraction in my daily life. My cell phone is off, my iPod is off... my transportation is walking, and all of my possessions fit on my back.

Righteous... No iPod, no cell phone, no texting, no Facebook, I have to walk...A LOT....

WHAT THE HECK AM I DOING?!

The first thing I see as we're getting under way, is a view, through a clearing through the trees over a pristine lake, to a peak known as "The Cathedral" with a "Jacob's Ladder" exploding over it. (in case you don't know, a "Jacob's Ladder" is where you can actually see "rays" of sunlight in the sky... make sense? Google it or something.)

I'm going to meet God....

As my comrade and I march foreward, (oh yeah, my great friend Brett was with me), it is realized that we are running out of daylight. This is un-nerving. Where we are, we are not at the top of the food chain and there are definitely things that go "bump" in the night.

I think I'm going to wet myself...

"Brett... we need to find a place to camp down for the night."
"Yes we do!"
"Pray that God brings us to an awesome camping spot!"
"Pray that God brings us to the RIGHT spot..."

He did just that.
God was already showing himself to me.

Not only did He give us the RIGHT spot, He gave us an unbelievable spot. In order to get to the area we camped at on Friday night, you had to walk an "almost" trail, cross a stream and search for the flattest ground possible in about twenty square yards of clearing. We were well off the trail and any "organized" camping grounds, we had to build our own fire pit and search for any dry wood possible.

We conjure up a meek fire and enjoy it's warmth. After enjoying a warm cup of hot chocolate and eating some incredible trail mix and granola, it's time for bed.

It's been a great first day.

(stay tuned)

"My Arrested Development" part 3

"Anything in your truck that we should know about?"
"Yes. The nine-year-old under the driver's seat..."
I thought this was hilarious, officer compassionate disagreed...
"Oh yeah? And how'd that work out for ya?"
"Oh you know. Pretty well at first, but the femur was difficult with just a hack saw..."
(Damn it Dane. Stop talking...)




I watch as a second squad car pulls up and, the officer driving, helps tear apart my truck. Awesome.

"What's this?"
I look up, from my very humbling position in the back seat of the police vehicle, to see my best friend in the world, holding two little zip-lock sandwich baggies with white powder in them.
"Oh, hahaha, that's protein powder!"
"Protein powder? Right.... You're sure it's not Cocaine?"

Okay. First of all, if I had two baggies that at one point carried that much cocaine would I be driving this broke down piece of crap truck" I mean honestly?? Second of all, do I look, in any way, disabled in the brain? It can be hard to tell these days, I agree, but it would take a new breed of stupid to have that much coke in such an obvious placings as the floor of my car.... Would you like to rethink you're question?

"Um... yeah... I'm not so much into the coke..."
"No drug charges on your record?"
"Yeah no.... you can taste the powder... it's vanilla and it's delicious!"
"Should I taste it Sarge?"
"I wouldn't... it could be Anthrax..."

Hold the phone!

ANTHRAX?!?! ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!?! Honestly, don't lie to me! If you're joking you tell me... you tell me, right now! Because if you're serious I'm worried for you and it's probably for the best that you don't reproduce...

At this point, I'm so beyond "done talking for fear of conversing with fools" that they just close up the police car and we call it an evening.

Besides, I've got a hot date with the Intake Officer at the King County Jailhouse...I hear she's a looker...

After a very quick date with Intake, I'm put into a small changing room and asked to strip naked... yes naked... with another man right outside a measly curtain. Needless to say, I'm not too keen on this situation. Once I've dressed myself down to my "birthday suit" I'm handed in my new attire.... Socks that make me want to rip my feet off, scratchy "whitey tighties," a shirt that you only wear if you're very proud of your belly, and pants. The pants? Well, they were exquisite! They were flamboyant, comfortable, and boy, were they roomy!

I asked to take them home, but they declined...

We, now, find me in a holding cell with several other gentlemen who seem to have less than stellar attitudes.

And then.... we meet "6-7."
Yes.
He is known as "6-7," most likely because he is 6 foot-seven, but then "his type" have really clever nick-names so who knows.

After getting my mugshot taken, I take my place back in the holding cell and sit down, next to a napping "6-7" who has taken it upon himself to take up most of one bench with his overwhelming self...

"You kicked me boy."
"What?"
"You just kicked me with your foot!"
Well I would hope it was my foot... it be rather unsettling to see someone be kicked with anything other than a foot..
"No.. I don't believe I did..."
"Yes. You just kicked me in the head! Stop kicking me before I knock the cowboy s*** out your a**!"
Wow... YES SIR! I've always wanted to be a cowboy though...

Five hours later, I'm put on what's called "the chain" (basically inmate jargon for "heavily armored bus") to the Kent Regional Jailing Center, or "Kent RJC"....

(to be continued.... yes, again...)