EAT SOMETHING!
Remember: The camera adds 10 pounds.
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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Put Your Money Where Mouths Are
Saturday, October 04, 2003
Remember: The camera adds 10 pounds.
DISTANT THOUGHTS
Amy and I are working on a computer project for a client up the road today. My work is done, so I'm killing time by writing meaningless stuff here.
Did you know that the happiest place on Earth is Nigeria? Those email scams must be working.
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Frog eggs anyone?
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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Friday, October 03, 2003
GOING GOING
What a nice feeling...breathing.
Amy's had a stretch of a couple of fairly good days, which is helping me breathe easier. Plus, I think the viral invaders are on the run and I actually feel like a return to normalcy, as defined by me at least, is feasible.
I'm really only dashing out a note here to abide by my vow to write at least something every day. Amy and I have had a full day attending to one of her clients. Now it's time to relax and enjoy each other, and the unburdened ease of Friday night.
I actually came home intent on blogging about Rush Limbaugh, the sad state of journalism in America, and Satan. Not that I think those three are intertwined by any means, but all three topics were on my mind. However it all seemed too heavy. I hit delete.
Perhaps I'll ruminate some more and maybe the end result will manifest itself here...or maybe I'll just let it all go.
It's Friday.
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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Thursday, October 02, 2003
OF JOBS AND TRIALS
Thursday already? Another week has shuffled by virtually unnoticed, and worse yet, not fully appreciated. This has probably been the nicest weather in months in San Antonio. We've missed most of it...too absorbed in an almost pitiful state of medical misery.
Amy is still undiagnosed and battling pain. We should hear from the doctor today, no doubt to schedule some other test. I'm still wrestling some neurotic viral plague which can't seem to decide if wants to attack my nose or my lungs. I'm alternately sounding like an elephant with a gnat up its trunk and a harp seal trying to hack up salmon that went down the wrong pipe.
I hauled Amy out to church last night so we could at least see some other people. I don't think we were a pretty sight.
I should have known it was bad when our Pastor immediately started bringing up the trials of Job.
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Speaking of Job...actually jobs...I love this story.
How would you like to have that career?
"What do you do?"
"I hand carry messages to God."
Now that I think of it, I guess we all do have that job...in a way.
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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Wednesday, October 01, 2003
WHAT THE HECTOR
I got cut off in traffic on the way home today. Actually it was more of a mini-road rage incident. A driver came up behind me at about 80 miles an hour in a big red truck and then proceeded to ride my bumper to express his outrage that I was impeding his attempt to become the first human to reach light speed on asphalt
At first I couldn't move over without getting hit, and then that bizarre semi-suicidal symbiotic relationship that is almost exclusive to highways suddenly came to bloom. I got obstinate. I decided to ignore the maniac behind me, and drive the speed limit. I wasn't going to move over no matter what. He would have to go around. Within seconds he did, and then he pulled in front of me and slowed down to 40 miles an hour. I wasn't in a hurry so I didn't really care, he was the one rushing to get somewhere didn't he remember? I tried to change lanes but he pulled in front of me blocking my way. I changed lanes again and he did the same thing. Eventually I slowed down and let him get caught up in the waves of traffic which propelled him safely away. I watched him exit...and I made a mental note of his license plate number.
The Internet is a wonderful thing. When I got home, I looked up my highway jousting friend's plate. I found out his name, Hector. His wife's name. Their address.
I actually started to send him a note. I wanted to word it so it wouldn't contain any overt threat. I figured an anonymous note letting him know I knew who he was and where he lived, while he didn't know anything about me, besides a certain intimacy with my front and rear bumpers, would imply enough.
How silly is that?
Hector was probably having a bad day. I've had plenty of those. Hector was in a rush. I've been in a hurry before too. Hector wasn't thinking straight. I've been there also.
I'm ashamed I let myself get caught up in such ugliness, even for a brief moment. I'm thankful though that moments like that pass.
Hector, wherever you are, I hope your day improves.
We're all on the road together, and none of us are truly behind the wheel.
PSALM 25:9
He guides the humble in what is right and teaches them His way.
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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NO FOOLIN'
Does anyone think 'cherry flavored' Nyquil actually tastes like a cherry? To be fair it's not just Nyquil..everything man-made that purports to taste like a cherry, doesn't come even remotely close to the real flavor.
For that matter those green lifesavers don't taste like a lime either.
I think God has a legal cause of action here.
Of course God may not know many lawyers.....
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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Tuesday, September 30, 2003
MISSED MESSAGE
In my role as an official member of the news media I manage to get on any number of lists. I'm really not sure why, but I get calls, letters and emails from a wide variety of folks with their own agendas. For whatever reasons they've pegged me as a person whose opinion matters, and more importantly whose views can be influenced, thus impacting our radio station's news coverage. They're wrong, but it's flattering.
The first time this happened was when I was in college. I was the News Director for KNTU radio, the campus radio station, which at that time broadcast at 400 watts, which meant you could only hear it if you were close enough to also see the actual "ON AIR" lights in the studios.
Despite these meager surroundings, Exxon decided I was someone they wanted to impress. Although I'm still a little mystified they chose me, their motives were less cryptic. It was at the height of the first major gas crisis in the late 1970's. The big oil companies were looking for allies anywhere they could find them. Obviously since I was targeted, they must not have found many.
Exxon paid for me and the editor of the college newspaper to a spend a weekend at a relatively posh resort in Austin, posh being a subjective term since at the time I was living in a typical college town hovel with three other guys which we lovingly referred to as "Withering Heights". It was not uncommon for my food budget to be about 4 bucks a month -- you'd be surprised how far you can stretch a box of Quaker Oats, a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter.
The trip was couched under the guise of broadening my understanding of journalism, and various impressive speakers were brought in like Sander Vanocer, the then-President of ABC news and Fred Graham who at that time was the Supreme Court correspondent for CBS. Sandwiched between them were other speakers who were less famous and less focused on journalism. They were more intent on not so gently passing along the message that oil companies were not evil and that sky rocketing prices and long lines at gas pumps were the fault of others. Rumors of price fixing and profiteering were pure fiction.
I listened to their words. I ate the free food. I applied more than a few grains of salt to both.
I washed down this wisdom with beer from a keg that was available nightly.
I left the retreat with no higher regard for Exxon, Vanocer or Graham. Nor did I feel I understood the energy crisis any better than when I arrived. I wondered if I got anything out of that weekend more valuable than a flashback of what a clean room felt like, a full belly and a slight hangover.
In retrospect I'm sure Exxon would now think it's money could have been better spent elsewhere.
Amy just cleared away some of the debris on our desk and about eight inches down I found something that was sent to me a few weeks back. It's a little book entitled, A Brief Illustrated Guide to Understanding Islam. It's about 70 pages long.
I've read what the book says, but I don't understand Islam any better.
The book dedicates one page to the question: What does Islam say about Terrorism?
It says this:"Islam, a religion of mercy, does not permit terrorism".
Flipping through the book again today, I couldn't help but think about that weekend in Austin. I think this is another case where the message may have been misdirected. It seems like there are other folks who could stand a refresher course in that aspect of Islam. Send them the book...the postage charges would likely be a lot less.
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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LET'S SLEEP ON IT
I slept on C.S. Lewis this morning without realizing it. I spent last night coughing and wheezing and I'm sure I slept at some point but I didn't really feel like it this morning.
After a few hours at work, my coworkers sort of insisted I leave...working next to someone who sounds like he belongs in a TB ward makes that collective decision easier to arrive at I suspect.
Came home and crawled right into bed, and when I awoke I realized I had been sleeping on top of my copy of The Screwtape Letters. I have several C.S. Lewis books on my nightstand. I have picked up The Screwtape Letters off and on for the past few weeks and fallen asleep almost every time. In my world, that is not a bad thing. Sleep is always good and it's pretty obvious now that C.S. Lewis has already made an impression upon me...just not in the place I expected.
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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Monday, September 29, 2003
DEEP THOUGHTS
There are days for deep thinking....this isn't one of them.
Fall is in the air...almost. It's not Fall in my mind until I step out the door in the morning and am hit with a brisk breeze peppered by the fragrance of a distant fire.
It's still 70 degrees at night....no one's loading logs in the fireplace yet.
At 60 let's talk.
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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Sunday, September 28, 2003
HARD LESSONS
Samantha's world is being torn apart. I saw it today when she came into the Sunday school room where I had been recruited as a substitute teacher. There were only three kids, all about Samantha's age, 7 or 8.
I hadn't seen Samantha in several months because our little church doesn't have Sunday school over the summer, and her Dad only comes to church to bring her to Sunday school. The last time I saw her, she was wide eyed, talkative, and cheerful. Today she seemed more unsure of herself and reserved.
They were late, her father said he always has trouble remembering when Sunday school starts. Being late, the small class, and not having been in church for months, all contributed to the awkward feelings I'm sure Samantha was experiencing.
There are other factors. Her dad has had a long series of problems. Her parents are divorcing.
It took a while, but I finally got Samantha to open up a little. She began to talk, and giggled a few times when I did something silly (everyone has their own teaching methods).
Still it didn't take long for me to notice something new in Samantha.
Cynicism.
It's a trait I am intimately familiar with, more so than I would like. I see it everyday in the people I work with, the world at large, and too often when I look in the mirror.
It's not a trait I see frequently in children. In one so young it stuns. I was repelled by its familiarity. It may be the confidante of the world at large, and I'm certainly not immune to my own jaded moments, but in Sunday school...in children's Sunday school... it hit me like the first sight of blood oozing from a gaping wound. I wanted to bandage it; to stem the flow; to prevent this cancer from spreading.
Today's lesson was on the 10 commandments, but we were only covering the first four. Next week, the regular Sunday school teacher will take up where I left off.
Before class ended though, I briefly mentioned the fifth commandment: "Honor thy Father and thy Mother."
Without hesitation Samantha said, "Not my father."
I pushed her for only a moment and told her she didn't mean that. She disagreed with me, and I realized this was not the time or place, in front of other children, for her to bleed this misery .
I felt wounded too. It cut like a knife.
Samantha's little heart has hardened since I saw her last.
I pray Samantha keeps coming to Sunday school.
I pray some lessons can be unlearned.
posted by Michael
©The Main Point by Michael Main
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