You have too many damn cottonwood trees, or whatever the hell you call those things here. Not every yard needs three of them. In fact, none of them do. God made other trees. You should have planted more of those. They’re also nice to look at.

You see, the problem is that their pollen goes straight into my bronchials, where it turns into spackle. Which is why I’ve been hacking like my great Uncle Jack, the one with emphesema. I’m too young for that. I’m not even as old as dead Jesus or Dennis from The Holy Grail. I don’t even smoke. Which is to say, dear Atlanta, that your damn trees make spring unpleasant, which is unfortunate as I tend to prefer pleasant things. Like spring without bronchitis.

There is, however, an easy solution. Three quarters of these damn trees are planted directly underneath powerlines, which would explain why my electricity flashes off once or twice every day. I propose that you let me cut down every last one of the damn things that lives under a powerline. In exchange for my cutting them down, you will not arrest me or sue me. And you’ll still have at least three of the damn things for every single resident of the thirty-eight country metro area.

Deal?

A communications director for a large congregation reports that trying to “clever” people into church ain’t gonna work. Says he: “Advertising simply points to what is already happening. And if nothing’s happening, then you’re in trouble.”

I started shaving regularly when at the ripe old age of fourteen. I had a beard by the time I was sixteen, and I’ve had it ever since aside from a fast food job my senior year of high school.

Which is to say I hate shaving, but it is oh so necessary. The beard can hide my shavelessness for a day, but after that I’m looking sporting the crazy wilderness guy look.

On top of that my beard hair is rough and thick. My beard does not want to be shaved; in fact, it actively resists it. The not shaving against the grain rule? Sorry, Queer Eye, but that only gets me down to a five o’clock shadow.

Click to continue reading “In search of a good clean shave”

A little over seven months ago I left my steady gig as a communications/program director for a small university research center. This week I expect to sign my first website design contract and send out my second bid.

Burnout is the easiest explanation for the quit, but there is a long story behind that explanation. I regret the loss of our savings, the boredom, the floundering as a bad waiter, the almost but not quite bartending. But do I regret the quit? No, not at all. It was necessary.

Eighteen years ago I learned that going into the ministy was heroic. I learned that a congregation of 350 people would applaud a fourteen-year-old’s announcement of a call into the ministry. I learned that having a call into the ministry gave you the trump card in any conversation at church, and often at home. I learned that a call into the ministry earned instant respect from ministers I admired. I learned that a call into the ministry and a good ACT score would get a barber’s son a full scholarship into college.

Click to continue reading “Killing a fourteen-year-old”

For those City of Villains fans out there: Rumor has it that a new villains group by the name of Unitarian Jihad will be forming on Virtue server.  Leave a comment to get more info.

Yup, I feel a lot better now. Only half of my fellow seminary graduates go into the ministry these days. The trend changed in the 90s, mostly among the under 30 crowd, which either makes me a stereotypical trendsetter or trend follower. Believe me, I’ll be using these figures in my next few job interviews. (Hat tip to AKMA.)