Me: "So kids, how do we know what Jesus wants us to do?"
Kid: "HE TEXTS US!"
I need that phone number!
Monday, November 29, 2010
Your friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart
Wal-Mart. Its a very interesting place to say the least. I'm supposed to be working in the online department, but in my first two weeks I have already unloaded a couple trucks, worked as a door greeter, logged endless hours on a register, and even helped stock groceries. Its good work and decent hours so I can't complain, but I must say working there is interesting.
Lets use last night for example. I was helping the people in the grocery department "downstack" freight. What is "downstacking" you ask? Picture this. Its the worlds largest game of Jenga, except in reverse, and if the Jenga tower collapses, you will die. No pressure right? Apparently not. If I were in charge I would be hiring a contractor to determine the load-bearing boxes and such before I touched anything, yet the people who work in the back will grab boxes off the bottom all the time without a thought or care. Perhaps they've all made their peace with the prospect of death, whether by a case of mayonnaise or a giant can of yams. It wouldn't surprise me if that were the case, the back room has a very gloomy and even morbid look about it. No windows, no air circulation, and there are hundreds of full outfits hanging from the ceiling awaiting transport to the apparel section , reminding me of the unfortunate ending to countless Nazi Resistance movies. Morbid I know. Perhaps everyone else is OK with the irony of being crushed by the world's largest case of throw pillows, but if the last thing I see in life is the back room of the Bastrop Wal-Mart, I will consider my life a major FAIL.
There are always strange characters showing up to our friendly neighborhood Wally World at all hours, but there is an incredible disparity between those that show up at night and those that show up during the day. Think of the kind of fish you will find in the shallow warm waters of a coral reef, then think about the kind of fish you would find living in the bottom of the Mariana's Trench. That's the difference between daytime customers and night-time. You have the sick, the afflicted, the insane, the just plain unfortunate looking, the heavily intoxicated (I would venture to say that after midnight, 25% of customers fall into this category), and the soon-to-be-heavily-intoxicated (buying three cases of beer at 1am). Please understand I'm not necessarily judging the character of these people. I do not consider myself a looker by any means, and most everyone who comes in at night are very friendly (by natural or synthetic means) and I do not have any disdain for these people, if anything I'm grateful for something to write about.
I also had the opportunity to push carts last night with perhaps the most interesting character I've met so far. "Shopping-cart Dundee". He takes his job VERY seriously. Decked out in a hunting hat and full camo gear (I realize that camo does not blend into concrete, but still, when working in a place full of moving cars and questionable drivers, I would exclude camo on principle.) and hunting boots, he looks much like the love-able reptile wrastler we all know and love, just add patchy facial hair and subtract the Aussie charm. I worked with Dundee for an hour that I will never forget. He kept commenting on my natural ability to line carts up, and complemented my obvious instinct on the cart pusher. Apparently, I did excellent for a first-timer. So if anyone needs things lined up or pushed call me, I'm like the Chosen One dude. I'll definitely be putting "knack for cart-pushing" on my resume.
Lets use last night for example. I was helping the people in the grocery department "downstack" freight. What is "downstacking" you ask? Picture this. Its the worlds largest game of Jenga, except in reverse, and if the Jenga tower collapses, you will die. No pressure right? Apparently not. If I were in charge I would be hiring a contractor to determine the load-bearing boxes and such before I touched anything, yet the people who work in the back will grab boxes off the bottom all the time without a thought or care. Perhaps they've all made their peace with the prospect of death, whether by a case of mayonnaise or a giant can of yams. It wouldn't surprise me if that were the case, the back room has a very gloomy and even morbid look about it. No windows, no air circulation, and there are hundreds of full outfits hanging from the ceiling awaiting transport to the apparel section , reminding me of the unfortunate ending to countless Nazi Resistance movies. Morbid I know. Perhaps everyone else is OK with the irony of being crushed by the world's largest case of throw pillows, but if the last thing I see in life is the back room of the Bastrop Wal-Mart, I will consider my life a major FAIL.
There are always strange characters showing up to our friendly neighborhood Wally World at all hours, but there is an incredible disparity between those that show up at night and those that show up during the day. Think of the kind of fish you will find in the shallow warm waters of a coral reef, then think about the kind of fish you would find living in the bottom of the Mariana's Trench. That's the difference between daytime customers and night-time. You have the sick, the afflicted, the insane, the just plain unfortunate looking, the heavily intoxicated (I would venture to say that after midnight, 25% of customers fall into this category), and the soon-to-be-heavily-intoxicated (buying three cases of beer at 1am). Please understand I'm not necessarily judging the character of these people. I do not consider myself a looker by any means, and most everyone who comes in at night are very friendly (by natural or synthetic means) and I do not have any disdain for these people, if anything I'm grateful for something to write about.
I also had the opportunity to push carts last night with perhaps the most interesting character I've met so far. "Shopping-cart Dundee". He takes his job VERY seriously. Decked out in a hunting hat and full camo gear (I realize that camo does not blend into concrete, but still, when working in a place full of moving cars and questionable drivers, I would exclude camo on principle.) and hunting boots, he looks much like the love-able reptile wrastler we all know and love, just add patchy facial hair and subtract the Aussie charm. I worked with Dundee for an hour that I will never forget. He kept commenting on my natural ability to line carts up, and complemented my obvious instinct on the cart pusher. Apparently, I did excellent for a first-timer. So if anyone needs things lined up or pushed call me, I'm like the Chosen One dude. I'll definitely be putting "knack for cart-pushing" on my resume.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Dear....
Dear....Sidney the transvestite manager.
I'm sorry for hesitating before I called you "sir". It was not to offend, I was only trying to figure out if you preferred "ma'am" or "sir".
Dear....Walmart bagging station.
Why are you so SHORT??? My back was sore after the first hour from doubling over each time I had to bag an item!! Was Sam Walton a midget???
Dear...Cleavage Lady
You insisted on telling me all about the weight you put on after menopause, and how it makes you self conscious, all the while wearing an incredibly revealing top that made me want to puke. That made me INCREDIBLY uncomfortable.
Dear....Little girl buying candy
Thanks for leaving without paying the full amount before I realized it. Your cute little act was pretty convincing I must admit, but still, not cool. BTW you owe me eight cents.
Dear...Hot Dog barcode.
Of all days for you to refuse to scan, you chose the super sale???? I had to type in your barcode number over twenty times!!!
Dear....Trojan dude.
The triumphant head nod you gave me when I scanned three boxes of condoms was pretty funny, but still, gross.
That is all. I shall be posting again tomorrow!
I'm sorry for hesitating before I called you "sir". It was not to offend, I was only trying to figure out if you preferred "ma'am" or "sir".
Dear....Walmart bagging station.
Why are you so SHORT??? My back was sore after the first hour from doubling over each time I had to bag an item!! Was Sam Walton a midget???
Dear...Cleavage Lady
You insisted on telling me all about the weight you put on after menopause, and how it makes you self conscious, all the while wearing an incredibly revealing top that made me want to puke. That made me INCREDIBLY uncomfortable.
Dear....Little girl buying candy
Thanks for leaving without paying the full amount before I realized it. Your cute little act was pretty convincing I must admit, but still, not cool. BTW you owe me eight cents.
Dear...Hot Dog barcode.
Of all days for you to refuse to scan, you chose the super sale???? I had to type in your barcode number over twenty times!!!
Dear....Trojan dude.
The triumphant head nod you gave me when I scanned three boxes of condoms was pretty funny, but still, gross.
That is all. I shall be posting again tomorrow!
Monday, November 15, 2010
Eight Is Really Enough
Growing up in a big family is a very cool but very unique experience. There are things you learn while growing up with five siblings constantly surrounding you that you cannot learn anywhere else. I will always be grateful for my parents willingness to have a big family, because its had everything to do with the person I've become. Here some things I have learned being a part of an anything-but-typical family.
1.First and foremost, looking out for number one will leave you looking out of one.....eye I mean. Its not tolerated. If your parents don't get to you first, your siblings will let you know how they think about selfishness in a much less civil way.
2. Socks are like currency. Theres a myth that each sock has an identical twin. Do not believe this. It is a lie.
3. When dad brings home the good cereal (meaning the sweet stuff that was on sale), it has an estimated survival time of under ten minutes. You better be fast, or you WILL be eating Great Value Toasted Oats for breakfast.
4. You might become a legal adult when you are 18, but you become self reliant eight years earlier. Like it or not. By the time you are 10 you will be doing your own laundry, making your own breakfast and lunch (except for Saturdays when dad cooks breakfast), and you will be required to do the dishes (most likely without a functioning dishwasher).
5. 3 pairs of jeans, a pair of dress pants, two pairs of shorts, and you've got it made. But remember this: you can NEVER have enough pairs of underwear/undershirts.
6. Taking more than three minutes in the shower on a Sunday morning will earn you a trip to the ER. God hath no fury like the wrath of three women who had to take cold showers.
7. That cute little plot on TV where the older sibling threatens the younger one into agreeing not to rat him out to his parents NEVER works. The younger ones are tough and won't be afraid of you.
8. The scenario where the mom cooks, cleans, does laundry, makes your bed, cleans your room, ya it doesn't exist either. Probably for the best.
9. The fight over who gets to be "player 1" on the playstation will create more casualties than D-day.
10. Older siblings are actually only half sibling/half parent. You look two siblings up the chain from you and you are looking at someone who has changed your diaper and spent half of their social life in high school babysitting you for free. Thus giving them the ability to create the ultimate guilt trip.
11. Everyone has at least one near death experience, often created by another sibling. Whenever there are guests you all go into story telling mode, where everyone talks about their worst injury or something of the sort.
12. Bathroom humor happens at the dinner table all the time, but mention the word "sex" and everyone immediately turns crimson red and changes the subject.
13. You will grow up thinking every family in the world has a rotating chore calendar. Its not true. You are the only one.
14. NEVER get stuck grocery shopping with your parents. Feeding eight people requires on average 3 hours of grocery shopping per trip.
15. Road trips bring out the worst in people. Invest in your future and buy an mp3 player. Death by boredom (or the bored person sitting next to or behind you) occurs frequently though poorly documented.
16. Every family has a legendary flu story. Its part of the family lore. Ours was Christmas of '98. Known by my family as "The Barf Christmas". 30 cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings, parents, etc suffered the stomach flu while spending the holidays at my grandparents house. I still have nightmares.
17. You will develop the ability to ignore ANYTHING! You will impress your friends as they come over and witness you go about daily life full of crashing pots and pans, yelling and screaming siblings running around, and dogs barking, without hearing a SINGLE thing. Turns out people at school notice your skill as well.
18. Your first car will be able to seat AT LEAST six people. It will probably be a van or the most uncool suburban. Great for hauling your guitars and drums to a gig, not so great for impressing dates on say, Prom Night.
19. "Leftover Nights" are either full of masterpieces, or some of the most inedible creations ever consumed by a human being. It all depends on the skill of the artist.
20. No matter how you got along with each other, you will miss each person as they begin to move out. One of the strangest transitions in life will be going from the house that never slept to the quiet house. The solution? Pick up a couple guitars and a drum-set and start a band with the remaining siblings. Because a quiet house is a very boring one.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Kids say the darndest things!
On Wednesday nights I teach the eight-year-old Cub Scouts. On Sunday's I help teach the three-year-old's. These kids in both groups are absolutely freakin hilarious! These kids make my day twice a week! It's amazing what little kids will think to say.
*Disclaimer: The identities of these kids will be revealed only by nicknames of my choosing. I will refrain from using any real names.*
There is this boy in my Cub Scout Den that looks a lot like Calvin from "Calvin and Hobbes". On my first day, "Calvin" felt obligated to repeatedly inform me that he had a "sexy butt". I told him I did not care about his butt, however I would be happy to kick it should he continue to teach the rest of the boys a new word. When he refused to stop, I asked him if he even knew what sexy meant. Before Calvin could answer, another boy in the group chimed "it means he's got NATURAL CURVES!!". What has this world come to?
My first day teaching the 3-year-olds was no less eventful. I began by going around the room asking each kid their name and age (i knew their age, but I enjoyed watching them trying to figure out how many fingers they needed to put up...i'm such a kind man.). As I was making my way around the room, one of the boys stood up and introduced himself as "Tony Stark, Stark Industries. But at night when my mommy and daddy go to bed, I'm IRON MAN!!!." Five minutes later, when I finally stopped laughing, every other kid decided that they were a super hero as well. I was totally fine with referring to them as Spiderman, Superman, Hulk, Wonderwoman, Catwoman, etc. I even got into it (I was Jason, The Red Power Ranger). However I had to tell the kid who wanted to be Jesus Christ that he would have to pick someone else. Talk about ego issues!
When trying to teach little kids, leverage is vital. Kids are not dumb, as I learned quickly. I am sad to say that I have been manipulated and outwitted by a child who still wears pull ups and has yet to step into a pre-school. I was once persuaded to allow the little ones to have their snack ten minutes early. Instead of appreciating the gracious reward, they decided that after their animal crackers had been consumed, they would begin removing their clothing and streak across the classroom. When I asked one of the "ringleaders" to put his clothes back on, he asked "u more ammal crakuhs?" I told him I had no more. He then laughed at me and resumed his streaking. Thus we see that even before they are completely potty trained, children understand leverage, and WILL use it against you.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Singin' Til My Voice Is Gone
I love music. Like everything about it. Its so versatile. It can be used to convey any emotion on the planet. I absolutely love the power of words and language, however I think words can be over rated. Music makes us FEEL. If you listen to someone speak, you may get a lot out of it, you may get nothing. It all depends on your knowledge of the words the person is speaking and your ability to discern what the person means by their words. Music is so much simpler. A small child can listen to a complex piece such as "Pathetique" and feel its haunting intensity.
The beautiful thing about music is that it causes you to feel, without requiring anything from you. If music is playing and you have functioning ears, you will hear the music, without giving any kind of effort. Sure that aspect can be used for good or for ill, but when used properly it is an incredible gift. A very unselfish gift.
From the time I was two, I've loved music. I knew all the primary songs by heart (and after teaching sunbeams for the past few months I've realized I still do), I knew every word to every Garth Brooks song in my dad's CD collection. I would run around the house (sometimes clothed, sometimes not) with an oversized plastic baseball bat as my guitar, pretending to be Travis Tritt. Its always been in my blood, but it took a few more years to realize it.
By the time I turned 11, puberty took its toll on my singing voice. I'd never felt like I was much of a singer in the first place, but a changing voice really makes singing that much more difficult and awkward, so I decided that music just wasn't going to be for me, and I gave up.
Then came June. For my dad's birthday we bought him a classical acoustic guitar from the pawn shop for him to learn on. My dad, a HUGE fan of the guitar, loved the gift, but his busy traveling schedule forced him to put the guitar aside and focus on providing for the family instead. When he was gone on business, I would go into his closet and pluck the strings, trying to find my way around the fret board. It was right then and there that I fell in love.
I wrote my first song when I was about 12. I was in love. At least as much in love as a sappy 12 year old boy can possibly be. I re-wrote the lyrics to one of my favorite songs, dedicating it to the girl who I was so crazy for at the time. I can't imagine how weirded out the poor girl must have been when I gave her the lyrics, confession my undying affection in the creepy and awkward way only a pre-teen could. But thankfully she was a very kind girl, graciously accepting the paper and even encouraging me on my writing.
The year I moved to TX was the year I truly began writing on an everyday basis. It was a very emotionally draining time. Lots of sadness from leaving my friends, but also so much excitement from making new ones and looking forward to what the future held for me.
Writing took away from other things however. Looking in my shoebox full of old lyrics sheets the other day I realized over half of the lyrics were written on the backs of homework worksheets I probably should have turned in rather than using them as scratch paper. I always seem to have inspiration at the most inopportune times.
I feel extremely comfortable playing in front of crowds. I'm not much of a singer, but I feel more confident now that I can at least carry a tune. I would love to go on tour and play my music for people. Even if I got that opportunity I would think about it very carefully. I want to have a family, and growing up with my dad on the road, I've seen the challenges that presents. On the off chance I ever got chosen to go on any kind of tour, I would make sure I put my family first. But maybe I'll find a girl who would enjoy it as much as I would. Maybe I'll find a Tarah to go with my Bryce Avery?
One can hope at least. As for right now, I'm enjoying the audience of my bedroom walls.
The beautiful thing about music is that it causes you to feel, without requiring anything from you. If music is playing and you have functioning ears, you will hear the music, without giving any kind of effort. Sure that aspect can be used for good or for ill, but when used properly it is an incredible gift. A very unselfish gift.
From the time I was two, I've loved music. I knew all the primary songs by heart (and after teaching sunbeams for the past few months I've realized I still do), I knew every word to every Garth Brooks song in my dad's CD collection. I would run around the house (sometimes clothed, sometimes not) with an oversized plastic baseball bat as my guitar, pretending to be Travis Tritt. Its always been in my blood, but it took a few more years to realize it.
By the time I turned 11, puberty took its toll on my singing voice. I'd never felt like I was much of a singer in the first place, but a changing voice really makes singing that much more difficult and awkward, so I decided that music just wasn't going to be for me, and I gave up.
Then came June. For my dad's birthday we bought him a classical acoustic guitar from the pawn shop for him to learn on. My dad, a HUGE fan of the guitar, loved the gift, but his busy traveling schedule forced him to put the guitar aside and focus on providing for the family instead. When he was gone on business, I would go into his closet and pluck the strings, trying to find my way around the fret board. It was right then and there that I fell in love.
I wrote my first song when I was about 12. I was in love. At least as much in love as a sappy 12 year old boy can possibly be. I re-wrote the lyrics to one of my favorite songs, dedicating it to the girl who I was so crazy for at the time. I can't imagine how weirded out the poor girl must have been when I gave her the lyrics, confession my undying affection in the creepy and awkward way only a pre-teen could. But thankfully she was a very kind girl, graciously accepting the paper and even encouraging me on my writing.
The year I moved to TX was the year I truly began writing on an everyday basis. It was a very emotionally draining time. Lots of sadness from leaving my friends, but also so much excitement from making new ones and looking forward to what the future held for me.
Writing took away from other things however. Looking in my shoebox full of old lyrics sheets the other day I realized over half of the lyrics were written on the backs of homework worksheets I probably should have turned in rather than using them as scratch paper. I always seem to have inspiration at the most inopportune times.
I feel extremely comfortable playing in front of crowds. I'm not much of a singer, but I feel more confident now that I can at least carry a tune. I would love to go on tour and play my music for people. Even if I got that opportunity I would think about it very carefully. I want to have a family, and growing up with my dad on the road, I've seen the challenges that presents. On the off chance I ever got chosen to go on any kind of tour, I would make sure I put my family first. But maybe I'll find a girl who would enjoy it as much as I would. Maybe I'll find a Tarah to go with my Bryce Avery?
One can hope at least. As for right now, I'm enjoying the audience of my bedroom walls.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Thinking
I've realized how much time I sit and think. I used to think of myself as an incredibly social person who did not like being alone ever, for any amount of time. But now I realize just how much time I spend lost in my thoughts.
There is this park in downtown Bastrop that I love going to. It's right on the river, with tons of tree's and nice green grass and a couple of short trails. I love going there. I'll shoot some hoops for a while, but then, like today, I'll sometimes go walk down the trail to a quiet sand bar along the bank and just sit there for a couple of hours. I just sit and think. Sometimes about lyrics or music I'm trying to write, or about God, about girls, about anything really. I can sit there for hours and not get bored at all.
It feels really good just to get away from the worries of the world. I used to think that was just cliche, but its become incredibly therapeutic for me to just sit there in peace and quiet away from anything that could possibly bring me stress.
Is this healthy? To a certain degree I'm sure, whether hours spent each day hiding from your worries would be healthy long term is another story, but for now, its pretty nice.
El Numero Uno: An Introduction?
Hello there, my name is Logan. I'm gonna skip the usual introductions and such because I figure if you are reading this then you probably know me at least a little bit. If not then I'd be a little creeped out, but kinda flattered....I guess. I'm not exactly sure where to begin. I'll begin by writing random facts about myself and maybe that will lead into something?
I am 19 years old. I am 6' 4.25" tall, and will need to somehow pass the 6'5" barrier or my pops will never let me live it down.
I am a goofball in every sense of the word. I laugh at myself a lot. If I didn't I would be the most depressed person on the planet! I can't imagine doing all the clumsy and ditzy things I do every day without being able to laugh them off. It just wouldn't work out for me.
I feel like there are times and places where one has to take a stand and possibly make enemies in order to do the right thing. Outside of those times and places, I thoroughly enjoy getting along with people. I just like everyone in general. Sure there are exceptions (my older sister's ex-boyfriend...I wouldn't be sad if I "accidentally" ran him over with my huge van), but people can surprise you. Even if they don't, they still have something to give.
I really hate mayonnaise. I despise it. On the dislike scale its above "Getting Shots" but below Nancy Pelosi.
I am pretty conservative, but I'm really not a party person. The republicans have been pretty lame lately, but they represent my views a little better than the democrats do.
When I grow up I want to either be a sports broadcaster, or a Director of Public Relations for a sports organization or college athletic department. I wouldn't mind going on tour as a songwriter either, but I'd settle for one of the first two.
Optimism is a beautiful thing. There is ALWAYS a silver lining. Trust me.
I love Norman Rockwell paintings. Especially his material from WWII and after.
I try to never let the trial at hand influence the way I perceive the quality of my life. Just as metal must be heated, melted and pounded in order to be purified, sometimes we must go through similar procedures in order to better ourselves.
I Love Ramen Noodles! Not in the "omg i love anime and want to be japanese so i am going to buy fake japanese noodles and eat them like my favorite characters." sort of way, more like in the "omg I just filled my stomach and only paid 12 cents which is awesome because I'm broke."sort of way. And just admit it, you know they taste good too.
I am 19 years old. I am 6' 4.25" tall, and will need to somehow pass the 6'5" barrier or my pops will never let me live it down.
I am a goofball in every sense of the word. I laugh at myself a lot. If I didn't I would be the most depressed person on the planet! I can't imagine doing all the clumsy and ditzy things I do every day without being able to laugh them off. It just wouldn't work out for me.
I feel like there are times and places where one has to take a stand and possibly make enemies in order to do the right thing. Outside of those times and places, I thoroughly enjoy getting along with people. I just like everyone in general. Sure there are exceptions (my older sister's ex-boyfriend...I wouldn't be sad if I "accidentally" ran him over with my huge van), but people can surprise you. Even if they don't, they still have something to give.
I really hate mayonnaise. I despise it. On the dislike scale its above "Getting Shots" but below Nancy Pelosi.
I am pretty conservative, but I'm really not a party person. The republicans have been pretty lame lately, but they represent my views a little better than the democrats do.
When I grow up I want to either be a sports broadcaster, or a Director of Public Relations for a sports organization or college athletic department. I wouldn't mind going on tour as a songwriter either, but I'd settle for one of the first two.
Optimism is a beautiful thing. There is ALWAYS a silver lining. Trust me.
I love Norman Rockwell paintings. Especially his material from WWII and after.
I try to never let the trial at hand influence the way I perceive the quality of my life. Just as metal must be heated, melted and pounded in order to be purified, sometimes we must go through similar procedures in order to better ourselves.
I Love Ramen Noodles! Not in the "omg i love anime and want to be japanese so i am going to buy fake japanese noodles and eat them like my favorite characters." sort of way, more like in the "omg I just filled my stomach and only paid 12 cents which is awesome because I'm broke."sort of way. And just admit it, you know they taste good too.
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