My January 2012

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Well it's the end of January.  Only 11 months until I'm 5 months away from being 50....

Surprise surprise I didn't make my weight goal.  I only lost 8.8 lbs for the month (1.2 lbs away from my monthly goal.)  I want to be 20 lbs down by February so I'll have to lose 11.2 lbs in 29 days as opposed to the 8.8 lbs I lost in 31 days without taking into consideration the post holiday poundage and dividing it by the square root of my belly and taking it times 3.14 (I love pie.)

I did make my work out goal and feel really good about that.

I also made my Chiropractor goal, however my pain level is exactly the same, I'm just more flexible...and in pain.

I spent a few days contemplating jumping into a Asplundh wood chipper, and I didn't do that...so that was good.

Still too afraid to go get a physical. That is bad.

Still getting people from Russia who read the blog every day (WHAT-UP RUSKIES!)

That is all. I'm done typing now.

chris

For more information about the Aspludh Tree Service: Asplundh

More "Fun Phone Calls" from KDS

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As I’ve chronicled earlier, at The King’s Daughters’ School I was often required to monitor phone calls between parents and their children.  Here is another such tale.

Kids would come into custody for a variety of reasons:

1. Sometimes a child would come into state custody because of something the parents had done (neglect or abuse.)

2. Sometimes a child would come into custody because of something they had done (violence, assault, runaway, sexual acting out.)

3. But sometimes a child would come into custody because of something (or things) they had done because of something their parents had done (i.e. Parents didn’t feed them so they stole or parents beat them so they beat-up their teacher or someone in the family sexually abused them so they acted out sexually with someone else.)

Which brings me to Imogene…

I hesitated to accept Imogene into our program.  Imogene was from East Tennesse somewhere in the “hollers.”  She had become unmanageable at home.  She had reports of violence against her parents. The final straw was that Imogene beat her parents with a broom handle, driving them into the yard. Eventually the police were called and she was hauled off. Not bad for a 13-year-old girl.

We finally relented and allowed her to enter. I was surprised when she walked into our lobby.  She couldn’t have weighed 80 lbs.  She looked malnourished.  She had an “ashen” color.  Her hair was stringy and lifeless.  Her wrists and ankles looked so thin and frail, like twigs.  The most unsettling part of her appearance was her eyes.  They looked almost fogged over. They were such a pale blue almost grey color, her eyelids were droopy and she had a very flat expression.

She spoke slowly and drawn out. “Whhhhhen…can…I…ccccccall…my…Ma…..ma?”  I wasn’t naïve.  We had had plenty of tiny people who could whip-up into a frenzy of hurt if you weren’t watching. But this girl had no energy.  We found it hard to get her to do anything.  At times she was irritating, but never close to aggressive.

Then I monitored a phone call between Imogene and her parents.

I took the phone call in my office, put it on the speaker phone, and shut the door:

            IMOGENE: Maaamaaaaa? Are you there?

            MAMA: I’m-a here Genie. How are you?

            IMOGENE: I’m fine Mama. How are you doin?

            MAMA: I’m fine Genie. I miss you. How are things at your new school?

            IMOGENE: Fine.  Where’s Daddy?

            MAMA: He’s right here.

            IMOGENE: Can I talk to him?

            PHONE: (shuffle/creak/crimple/crumple/muffled voices/crinkle)

            DADDY: Hello? Hello?

            IMOGENE: Daddy is that you?

DADDY: Hello?

            IMOGENE: Daddy?

DADDY: Hello? Hello?

            IMOGENE: Daddy is that you?

            DADDY: Imogene?

            IMOGENE: Daddy?

DADDY: Imogene?

            IMOGENE: Daddy?

(This goes on for some time.)

DADDY: Hello Imogene.

IMOGENE: Hello Daddy.

IMOGENE: Daddy?

DADDY: Yes Imogene?

IMOGENE: Are you wearing your new leg?

DADDY: No. It don’t fit right.

IMOGENE: Daddy, you got to wear that new leg.

DADDY: I tried to the other day, but it fell off and I fell down in the front yard and I couldn’t get up.  Your mama had to try to get me in the wheel chair.

IMOGENE: Daddy, you gotta start wearing that new leg.

DADDY: Ok honey. I’ll start wearing my new leg.

(and on it went)

Later we intercepted a cassette tape Imogene’s Dad (or Grandpa, or both) had mailed to her.  It sounded like circus music that was recorded with a microphone held up to the speaker of an old record player.  On the “B” side of the cassette Imogene’s one-legged Daddy/Grandpa was heard whispering inappropriate sexual comments, presumably for Imogene to hear, but maybe he was just mumbling then to himself while he recorded the twisted circus music.

I really wanted to beat him with a broom handle.

chris

Mr. Pecs, Mr. Newbie, & The Coach

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There is this guy (Mr. Pecs) at the gym every time I’m there. This tells me that there is some super-coincidence happening or he is there all the time.  He is ripped.  His shoulders and pecs and lats make his upper body almost look like a globe.  He lifts for strength and power.  He looks like one of those “World’s Strongest Man” contestants, you know. The contests where giant dudes throw barrels filled with concrete over buildings for fun.  He knows weights.

There was a new guy (Mr. Newbie) at the gym last Thursday.  He was a smaller guy and you could tell he was new to the whole “weights” thing.  “Mr. Newbie” was at the chest press machine and “Mr. Pecs” was at a pull-down machine.  Mr. Pecs had been on that one machine when I got and had been steadily been doing these pull downs for a half-hour.  Mr. Newbie was watching Mr. Pecs as Mr. Newbie did his 6 reps at 50 lbs on the chest press. Then he decided to give Mr. Pecs advice:

            MR NEWBIE: Hey, that’s for your back, right?

           

MR PECS: (Who is Hispanic, and I’m not sure about his English): Uh-huh.

MR NEWBIE: Well, I saw the lady doing an orientation on this machine and she said you have to pull down like this (then he shows him) and you were pulling down like that (then he demonstrates)

MR. PECS: Uh-Huh.

Mr. Newbie went on to do his 5 to 6 reps per machine at 50 lbs while Mr. Pecs continued to pull down on his machine for the rest of the time I was there (an hour.)

I smugly thought, “That would be like me giving nutrition advice to that super fit dude on Biggest Loser.”  Then I saw Mr. Newbie approach Coach Freeman.

Coach Freeman is a teacher at the high school, was formerly the head varsity football coach, and whose son is Josh Freeman-the quarterback for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  Coach is equally strong and muscular and awesome-looking.

I couldn’t see what he’s saying, but young Mr. Newbie (who must be an IHOP-er) was talking to Coach Freeman. “This guy just doesn’t know when to quit,” I think to myself.  Then Coach puts me to shame.

I see Coach Freeman listen intently. Then he nods. The he says something pointing to a machine.  Then I see Mr. Newbie sitting in the machine. Then I see Coach talking to Mr. Newbie.  Then I see Mr. Newbie lift, and lift, and lift.  Then I see them go to another machine, then another machine.  Finally I see Mr. Newbie and Coach over to the free weights with the “real” lifters.  My workout was over. As I took one last glance Mr. Newbie was doing curls with a straight bar.

Coach became his personal trainer for an hour (probably a $25.00 value.)  Coach wasn’t irritated (as I had been, and the kid wasn’t even talking to me) he was patient and actually really helped him. (I’m a heel.)

Do you think Mr. Newbie was sore in the morning?

chris

We Are the World (still...)

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On this day in 1985...

The special instruction Quincy Jones sent out to the several dozen pop stars invited to participate in the recording of "We Are the World" was this: "Check your egos at the door." Jones was the producer of a record that would eventually go on to sell more than 7 million copies and raise more than $60 million for African famine relief. But before "We Are the World" could achieve those feats, it had to be captured on tape—no simple feat considering the number of major recording artists slated to participate. With only one chance to get the recording the way he and songwriters Michael Jackson and Lionel Ritchie wanted it, Jones convened the marathon recording session of "We Are the World" at around 10 p.m. on the evening of January 28, 1985, immediately following the conclusion of the American Music Awards ceremony held just a few miles away.
Singer/actor/activist Harry Belafonte was the initiator of the events that led to the recording of "We Are the World." Inspired by the recent success of "Do They Know It's Christmas?"—the multimillion-selling charity record by the British-Irish collective Band Aid—Belafonte talked Lionel Ritchie, Michael Jackson and Quincy Jones into helping him organize an American response under the name "USA for Africa." Ritchie and Jackson wrote the song over the course of several days in January, and Belafonte's manager, Ken Kragen, who would go on to serve as President of the USA for Africa Foundation, the nonprofit organization that managed the profits from "We Are the World," came up with the plan to hold the session on the night of the AMA's in order to guarantee that the greatest number of big names would be able to participate.
Among the 45 stars who sang on "We Are the World" that night were huge-in-the-80s figures like Cyndi Lauper and Huey Lewis; Country stars like Kenny Rogers and Willie Nelson; pop icons like Smokey Robinson, Tina Turner and Paul Simon; and musical giants like Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles and Bob Dylan. Also in the studio that night were half of the Jackson family, one  Irishman (Bob Geldof, co-organizer of Band Aid) and one party-crashing Canadian, comedian Dan Aykroyd. Egos fully in check, the group laid down the chorus and solos before sunrise on the 29th, and "We Are the World" was in the stores and on the airwaves just five weeks later.

chris

Seven Inventors Killed by Their Inventions.

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I have a morbid fascination with stuff like this.

Click below & enjoy

7 inventors killed by their inventions.

chris

Julie: Released from Grief (Part 3 of 3)

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For years I had “suffered” from stomach problems. When I become overly or chronically stressed, I have a very specific place on my right side just below my ribcage that feels like I’m being stabbed by an ice pick.  This pain had been treated as an ulcer.  But I had a physical where the Doctor wanted to check me for Crohn’s disease.  (After further exams I was “diagnosed” with “Irritable Bowl Syndrome” which sounds really gross, but doesn’t require surgery. Plus it has allowed me to say to people. “Hey, hey, hey…its not ‘me’ that’s irritable. It’s my bowel.”)

Months before Julie’s death, I had gone to a new Doctor for a routine exam. That was when he dropped the “Crohn’s” term on me.  Like I usually do, I ignored him and didn’t go back.  I had not had a single episode for months, but after Julie’s death, I wondered if I was the subject of a Voodoo curse. It felt like a knife had been plunged into my side and was being twisted.

New Life was hosting a guest speaker, Jack Taylor. Jack was a known charismatic speaker who taught, wrote books and prayed for people.  Sometimes the freaky “manifestation” stuff happed.  We knew this would be a regional draw and not just for our congregation so we were preparing.  The worship band had been rehearsing intently for the weeks prior to Jack.  There was a great anticipation that God was going to move. Jack’s first night at New Life was the Friday after the Monday Julie died.

The worship band and families got together for a meal the evening before the Jack Weekend.  I hadn’t talked about anything that had happened at school. I just couldn’t.  I was so heavy and I felt paralyzed to some extent.  So I went to the rehearsals and played and sang like always.  But Rick wanted to pray together as a band just to get us focused.  So there we were, me sitting on the floor in the far corner of Rick’s living room.

Rick began to pray for each of the band members by name, praying protection and a blessing.  Then he got to me. “Lord, I pray for Chris….”  A cry spilled from Rick and he began to sob.  I don’t remember what he said. I just remember him crying with grief.

The next night the church building was packed.  We played the worship set and the people were going nuts.  After we played Jack got up to preach and I stood near the back.  I can’t remember anything he said.  It was enjoyable. He was definitely a gifted orator.  Then it was time to pray for people.  I didn’t go back up to play the invitation song.  They really didn’t need me to.  I put it out there to the Lord, “I’m not going to go down front unless you call me by name out loud.” (Arrogant. I know. But God’s not intimidated or put off by my weak arrogance.)

Jack began calling groups of people forward:

JACK: If you need to be saved tonight, come over to the right side of the stage.

ME: That’s not me.

JACK: If you are dealing with addiction, come over here.

ME: Again, not me.

JACK: If you need to feel the touch of the Lord, come over here.

ME: Not specific enough.

JACK: If you need physical healing

ME: No dice.

JACK: If you are dealing with loss, come over here

ME: Close, but no cigar, Jack.

Then he seemed to be done.  He was walking to the steps on stage right when he hesitated for a moment.  Then he looked up and said with somewhat of a frown on his face, “If you have a pain in you side right here (then he points to the exact spot as mine on his own side) and it’s like Crohn’s disease, come over here.”  That was even more specific than actually calling my name. So I went forward.

I was met by one of our prayer team leaders, Randy Nichols.  I started to explain what was going on, but he “shushed’ me.  So I just stood there.  He didn’t say anything and neither did I.

What happened next is hard to describe.  It felt like a wave washed down on me.  My eyes spilled tears.  But still I stood there. Then another wave and another and another.  Finally my knees buckled and I went to the floor.  I just lay there, weeping.  In that time there the Lord communicated to me some things. He said, “I feel you.  I know.  I know what is happening in you. But there are people at your school who are hurting as well and you are their leader.  You can’t stay paralyzed with grief any longer. So I’m going to lift it from you so you can do what I want you to do.”  When I got up the heaviness was gone, as was the pain in my side.

I still cried at the funeral and cried with staff the following weeks. I cried over the phone with a former teacher who had moved to another school in another town.  (I’ve cried about five times while sitting here writing this blog about it.)  But I was not “stricken” as I had been.  From that time on, I never looked down on the “fallers,” even the serial “fallers.”  I actually understood it.  It was a great, affirming feeling.  It was a tangible encounter with the intangible.

My take away was that (again) I can do nothing. Nothing.  My flesh can produce short term, weak results that end up as chaff.  For eternal results you must draw from the Father of eternity. The Ancient of Days.

chris

To learn more about Jack Taylor: Jack Taylor

Julie: A Bad Day (Part 2 of 3)

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At New Life, I could see (visibly/tangibly see) that God was moving in the hearts and lives of people.  I wanted “in on that”, but I wasn’t going to “run down front” and participate in all those shenanigans.  I did however, start meeting with a group of men who went to the church building in the mornings before work to pray. It wasn’t what Mike Bickle calls a “Rock-Pile” prayer group where you sit in a circle with a list of needs and you just start swinging away.  I was with a group of guys who just, basically laid on the floor and listened.  I had never done that.  I always thought I needed to fill the silence with my words and thoughts.  Here, we just laid there and listened.

We ended up listening to the same live Dennis Jernigan CD every morning. Part of it was, we never took the time to switch it out, but another part was his lyrics being so targeted at the Lord Himself and the sincerity in his voice.  It was mostly just him on piano singing a song directly to Jesus.  It was an enriching time for me. I was fasting and getting up really early to pray.  I was focusing my spirit in the Lord’s direction. I felt peaceful and confident.

I also worked very hard on the two days of teacher meetings before the start of the new school year the 3^rd Wednesday in August. After a number of years I had seen that if we could come together those first couple of days and build our team and settle the vision, it would propel us on a positive wave for a couple of months.  I had also seen the opposite happen.  If we were fuzzy and disjointed at the beginning of the year, we would hit burn-out almost immediately. Playing catch-up is no fun.

I had all of my activities planned.  I had the games and prizes for the staff lined-up. I had all the information printed and sorted.  I had the teacher notebooks ready. I had the rooms decorated.  I had a good plan and all my pep-talks ready.  I had been fasting and praying intently.  I was ready.

A Bad Day

I came to the school early on the first day of teacher’s meetings. I was in my office when I began to see female students from the residence coming to the school lobby. They were unaccompanied by staff and they were still in their pajamas.  I went to them to see what was happening. “They just told us to come over here, we don’t know why.”  I had them go to the library when I saw the AM residential worked come in the door.

“Julie’s dead,” She said to me in a panic.

I stared at her, not really comprehending what she was saying.

“She’s lying on the bathroom floor of the residence, dead.  Mr. Willis is already over there. I didn’t know what to do with the girls so I just sent them over here.” She then stared past me and walked into the library behind the girls.

I saw the ambulance pull into the circle drive and people running around.

Julie had been at home with her Dad the previous two weeks for break.  He commented at the funeral that it was the best period of time he had spent with her.  She had gone to extra dialysis over those two weeks and was feeling very healthy. Later we found out that even though she was getting regular dialysis, fluid had built-up in the pericardial sack around her heart, effectively stopping her heart.  The Doctor indicated this was always a possibility and we couldn’t have predicted when it would happen.

All the educational staff was gathering in the meeting.  There was excitement and anticipation and laughter.  I walked in with what must have been a horrible look on my face. The room immediately went silent.

“Julie has died this morning in the residence.  She’s still lying there on the bathroom floor as we speak.  That’s why the ambulance is here. I don’t really know what to say.”  Then I just burst into tears (as did everyone else.)  I just walked out and sat in the dark in my office.  Janice (one of the vocational assistance) came to my office and hugged me around the neck, ‘We need You Lord! Oh we need You!” she prayed/shouted.

Now what?

Julie: I Met Her in an Ambulance (Part 1of 3)

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I first met Julie in the back of an ambulance.

She was strapped to a stretcher and she had a look of terror on her face.  I introduced myself to her and said this, “Good Morning, Julie.  My name is Mr. Geil.  We can do 1 of 2 things. You can walk very nicely and obediently with me to a room here in the school where we’ll let you get dressed (she was still in her pajamas) and then we’ll talk, or I’ll fling you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and I’ll carry you to a locked room on the other side of the school.  You’ll probably just want to walk nicely and obediently with me right?”  The teenager’s eyes got even bigger as she slowly nodded her head.  I could see her tugging at and lifting up her pajama shirt.  The two ambulance attendants unstrapped her and we walked into the building, me wearing my tie and Julie, barefoot, wearing her terry-cloth pajamas.

She lived with her father, a super-great guy, but Julie had become unmanageable for him (on any one person for that matter) at home.  She had a “Pervasive Developmental Disorder” which simply put means, “There’s something wrong and it’s all over.”  She had medical concerns as well that required her to be on dialysis a couple times a week.

I worked particularly hard on Julie.  She was bright. She was excellent in academics, especially reading.  She had no tolerance for frustration What frustrated her the most was any kind of work she didn’t want to do, which (at first) was everything.  She had learned to throw some pretty significant tantrums which is expected when you are 2 years old. When you are 15, it is a problem.

However, she was quick on the up-take and within 6 months she had shown great improvement.  She loved the Power-Rangers, especially the Pink Ranger.  I would often sing a little line to her whenever I saw her, “Go-Go Power Julie! Whiner-saurus Transform!”  She liked that.

We worked with her Dad (did I mention, he was super-great) and Julie had regular home visits.  It was a great year for Julie.  Our structure really helped her and her father.

This was a period for me at KDS where I had “hit my stride.” We had a great teaching/day staff.  We had great residential staff.  We were unified and all pulling in the same direction.  I felt like we had a clear vision for our students and school and we saw a lot of behavioral success.  Looking back, I realize I had a thinking error that, on one hand made me very effective temporarily, but nearly killed me long term.

I think I believed that if I loved someone in my heart intensely enough, they would change.  Earlier in my career I had detached my emotions from what I was doing, but at KDS I saw I needed to invest my own heart into the kids.  In hind sight I think that my emotions for the kids influenced the way I dealt with them.  It influenced my decisions and my ability to be “longsuffering.”  I would always keep trying when it was clear a kid needed another placement. I just hated ‘giving-up.”  I felt that they would “feel the love” through osmosis or something.  It was, again, Magical Thinking on my part.

The fantasy crashed pretty hard that 3^rd week of August.

(Part 2, A Bad Day, Tomorrow)

chris

I feel a bit better.

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I feel like I’m getting some “traction” at the gym. I have finally put together some consistent work outs over the past couple of weeks and today I found myself looking forward to lifting.  I had the best workout in years last Saturday morning and today was good.  I can only last about 8 minutes on the tread mill before my hip and back start to tighten up.  I tried the elliptical machine again, but I couldn’t last 1 minute.  That smooth motion works into a place on my hip socket that is excruciating.

My water intake is good but my food intake has been pretty inconsistent. I’m a pretty “lazy” eater in that I’ll eat whatever is convenient or available.  When I’ve been successful at losing weight in the past I’ve prepared and cooked a lot.  I’m in no mood to prepare and cook.  I just want to grab something filling and be done with it which (of course) leads to fatness.

I got panicky yesterday when I saw “The Countdown” at 354 days.  Then I said to myself, “Hey, it’s still January, relax!” which has been my problem for the past five years. I’m glad I panicked for a second. It shook me out of the early-onset complacency.

Dr. Acosta commented on my increased "flexibility" (and I use that term verrrry lightly.)

I'm down 8 lbs for the month (which is really nothing for a giant dude like me) my goal is to be down -10 for January.

The gloom & doom voice has faded to the background the past couple of weeks and  I've tried to get in the sunlight every day.  I read there is going to be a huge solar storm this week so I should be feeling great (radiation is your friend.)

No pithy lesson today.

chris

I saw it in Grandview...

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So I exit MO Highway 71 North at Blue Ridge Blvd and take a left.  At the stop light I see the usual "Liberty Tax Service Foam Statue of Liberty" person waving at people.  This person is short so the giant seafoam green Statue of Liberty mask looks even creepier (kind of like a Statue of Liberty bobble-head.)

Yesterday at the corner of Mur-Len & 135th I saw two Liberty Tax minions working the corner.  One had the aforementioned full foam suit (and was busting some righteous moves to her/his iPod) and the other had a toga and the SOL crown thingy who was texting.

Apparently the Liberty Tax office at Blue Ridge & 71 Highway was very committed to their corner attractions.  There were four people on display:

1: The aforeafoermentioned foam person,

2: A super-skinny African-American lady wearing a tight bright red mini-dress, bright blue lace hose, knee-high black go-go boots, a bobbed auburn wig, and some type of glossy (vinyl) waist coat (color undetermined,)

3: A not super skinny (or any kind of skinny) AA woman wearing some sort of burnt orange jump-suit, stiletto heels, a weave of straight brown hair attached to the very crown of her head, down her shoulders and the middle of her back, while wearing a full length white fur coat,

4: And a round biker looking white dude with straight long long hair and beard that rested on his fat belly, wearing jeans and a Harley T-Shirt.

I have to admit the 71/Blue Ridge team kicked the 135th/Mur-Len team's butt!

Then the light changed at the intersection.

Go-Go Boots, White Fur Coat, and Fat Biker all crossed at the light.  Fat Biker appeared to be injured or drunk or something because he needed the assistance of White Fur Coat to make it across the street with Go-Go Boots skittering behind them.

They weren't "working." They were out for a little stroll.

Mr/Mrs Seafoam suddenly looked pretty normal.

chris

for more info about Liberty Tax Service:Liberty Tax Service

A poor joke...

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A poor joke...


Three men were standing in line to get into heaven one day. Apparently it had been a pretty busy day, though, so St. Peter had to tell the first one, "Heaven's getting pretty close to full today, and I've been asked to admit only people who have had particularly horrible deaths. So what's your story?"

The first man replies: "Well, for a while I've suspected my wife has been cheating on me, so today I came home early to try to catch her red-handed. As I came into my 25th floor apartment, I could tell something was wrong, but all my searching around didn't reveal where this other guy could have been hiding. Finally, I went out to the balcony, and sure enough, there was this man hanging off the railing, 25 floors above ground! By now I was really mad, so I started beating on him and kicking him, but wouldn't you know it, he wouldn't fall off. So finally I went back into my apartment and got a hammer and starting hammering on his fingers. Of course, he couldn't stand that for long, so he let go and fell-but even after 25 stories, he fell into the bushes, stunned but okay. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I ran into the kitchen, grabbed the fridge, and threw it over the edge where it landed on him, killing him instantly. But all the stress and anger got to me, and I had a heart attack and died there on the balcony."
 
"That sounds like a pretty bad day to me," said Peter, and let the man in.

The second man comes up and Peter explains to him about heaven being full, and again asks for his story

"It's been a very strange day. You see, I live on the 26th floor of my apartment building, and every morning I do my exercises out on my balcony. Well, this morning I must have slipped or something, because I fell over the edge. But I got lucky, and caught the railing of the balcony on the floor below me. I knew I couldn't hang on for very long, when suddenly this man burst out onto the balcony. I thought for sure I was saved, when he started beating on me and kicking me. I held on the best I could until he ran into the apartment and grabbed a hammer and started pounding on my hands. Finally I just let go, but again I got lucky and fell into the bushes below, stunned but all right. Just when I was thinking I was going to be okay, this refrigerator comes falling out of the sky and crushes me instantly, and now I'm here."

Once again, Peter had to concede that that sounded like a pretty horrible death.

The third man came to the front of the line, and St. Peter asked for his story.

"Picture this," says the third man, "I'm hiding naked inside a refrigerator..."

I apologize...

chris

Here's more of what I think...

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Here's what I think...

No one can run the country. (Doesn't matter your political affiliation, no one can do it.)

I would like Barak Obama in a social setting (if we were buds.)

I would like to hear him sing more...

I would like Brett Favre to sing less (the two are oddly alike...)

Kim Jong Un looks like Russell from "Up."

Barak Obama makes a better Queen than president (hear me out.) He looks great, likes to do stuff, travels, takes great pictures, has a beautiful wife who takes great pictures, has beautiful kids who takes great pictures...he's just a bad at governing. And seriously, how nerdy would the guy (or gal) have to be to be smart enough to run the country well?  The guy (or gal) would be a total social doofus.  Let's keep the Obamas (but strip them of real power) as figureheads and get some geeky super geniuses to run the economics of our country.

That is a good plan.

chris

Marc Chagall

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I like paintings by Marc Chagall (I especially like his colors.)

The painting below is called "White Crucifixion."  He (being a Jew) was having a trying time in 1938 Germany.  Chagall placed Jesus in the middle of the societal and political turmoil he witnessed.

This painting kind of reminds me of today.  Jesus died for people in turmoil.

 

Here is a historic description of this painting by art dude David Rumsey:

Chagall painted "White Crucifixion" to draw attention to a recent series of political events perpetrated by the ruling National Socialist party in Germany. Both as a Jew and as an abstract artist,Chagall was a target of Hitler's art censorship policies. His dealer in Germany,Herwarth Walden, was forced to close hisBerlin gallery (Der Sturm), cease publication of its influential newsletter, and flee to the Soviet Union in 1932. In 1937, the Nazis undertook a systematic inventory of modern art in German museums, removing some 16,000 works unacceptable to their taste to use in propaganda campaigns, to destroy, or to sell outside the country. Four works by Chagall were among those included in the 'Jewish' room of the infamous 'Degenerate Art' exhibition staged in Munich at the end of 1937, which mocked deviations from Nazi Party art standards. Meanwhile, anti-Jewish policies in Germany escalated to an unthinkable level. Following the September 1935 laws to curtail the civil rights of Jews, the Nazis in 1938 took a Jewish census and registered all Jewish businesses as preliminaries to plans for ethnic genocide. In June and August of that year the synagogues in Munich and Nuremberg were destroyed, and on November 9, the so-called Crystal Night, these anti-semitic atrocities reached a climax. In reaction, Chagall conceived a painting of the martyrdom of the Jew Jesus as a universal symbol for religious persecution. Instead of a crown of thorns, the Jesus on Chagall's picture wears a head-cloth and a prayershawl around his loins. The round halo around his head is repeated by the round glow around the Menorah at his feet. Mourning his persecution, figures of the Hebrew patriarchs and the matriarch Rachel appear in the smoke-fille nightimt sky. All aroound he cross, Chagall has depicted a bleak snowscape with horrific scenes of modern Germany.In the backgound to the right, a soldier opens the doors of a flaming Torah ark removed from a pillaged synagogue, the contents of which litter the foreground. Both the flag above the synagogue and the soldier's armband originally were decorated with inverted swastikas. One of the fleeing figures in the foreground at the left wears a sign which originally bore the inscription "Ich bin Jude" ('I am a Jew'). In the background above is a ship full of refugees trying ineffectively to flee a burning village, destroyed before the arrival of a liberating People's Army from the Soviet Union carrying red flags; this last detail was wishful thinking, motivated by the antagonism of Stalin's government toward Hitler's before 1939. Included in an exbition of Chagall's works in Paris in early 1940, the ""White Crucifixion" was designed to raise awareness of the events in Hitler's Germany and their implications for mankind in general. Evidently the artist decided to paint over the most explicit historical details after the invasion of France in May 1940 or after the German army's occupation of Paris, begun in June 1940. Chagall himself fled the first occupied zone for Marseilles, and with the help to (sic) the Museum of Modern Art in New York, escaped to his country for the duration of the war