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On the occasion of me becoming a large bear August 27, 2009

Posted by markgeil in Awana, Church.
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Last night was our first Awana club for the year at church. That’s when we gather on Wednesday nights with hundreds of children and mainly try to have fun and read the Bible without A) injuring, or B) losing any of them.

Last night represented a bit of a pinnacle in my Awana career because of something special that happened to us recently. I’ve joked for years about wanting this one item in the Awana catalog, a full-size Cubbie Bear costume. Cubbie Bear is the mascot for the 3- and 4-year-olds and an all around cool dude. The Cubbie Bear costume is rather expensive, like most Awana stuff, so it has remained for me a dream deferred, not unlike Langston Hughes’ raisin in the sun. Until now.

I was joking again during our training session for new leaders this year that we had about $12 in our Cubbie Bear Costume Fund. Of course, there was no such fund, and I always assumed no such costume, either. Later that night, one of the families showed up at our door with a check. “We talked and we decided we’d like to pay for the Cubbie Bear costume,” they announced to our incredulous faces. Cubbie Bear fruition. Dream no longer deferred. I felt like a kid at Christmas.

The big box arrived about a week later, and the big night, our Cubbie Bear debut, finally came. I tried the costume on about an hour early to see if it would fit. Along the way I figured out you have to take your shoes off, then put the furry shoe covers on, then put your shoes back on. I also learned that I’m just about as tall as one can be in the costume, and that I’m not nearly fat enough. I found some makeshift stuffing. Finally, I confirmed my suspicion that bears are made of warm cozy fur and this is still August in the ATL and that Cubbie would be spending his time inside that evening.

When the kids started to arrive, I found some stuffing, snuck into an empty room, and donned the costume. The next 20 minutes were so much fun. There were three categories of children that night:

Category 1: I’m a little too old to get too excited about a big bear walking around, but deep down inside I think Cubbie is totally cool.

Category 2: Oh. My. Goodness. That’s… that’s the REAL Cubbie Bear! This is like my wildest dreams coming true! Must touch. Must hug. My life will never be the same.

Category 3: AAAHHHH! MOMMY! THERE’S A BEAR!! AND HE’S SIX FEET TALL!! WHY AREN’T YOU PEOPLE RUNNING FOR YOUR LIVES?!! You just keep your distance, you scary bear. I’m watching you!

One little toddler (Category 2) followed me around the whole night, giggling. I did my best not to trample him as I peered through the little screen in Cubbie’s mouth. He must have hugged me a dozen times, and he just guffawed when I patted his head.

One Category 3 tike was walking through the front door when he glanced up, spotted me, and did a priceless double-take as the look of dread spread on his face. He almost fell down, right there on his bum, trying to crawl up his mommy’s leg.

A group of slightly older boys gave me hearty high-fives and then stood back a bit, watching me and sizing up the scene. Honestly, I sometimes forget what goes through children’s heads. Turns out these boys, who were old enough to know better, were having a fairly serious debate about whether or not I was, in fact, a real bear. As in, wild animal. Finally, one put on a wise face and whispered to his friend, “Look, you can see part of his shoe. I told you it’s just a guy.” Bittersweet to be a part of the end of the innocence, but really, it was time.

A sweet little girl wrapped her arms around me and then turned to her mother, smiling. “Oh my, mommy, he’s very soft!”

All too soon it was time for me to become Mr. Mark again, so I went back into my bear cave. Amy said that some of the older kids stood staring, wondering how I vanished like that. Another little cutie who can’t quite say her “R” sounds stood angrily in the hall, devastated that she had missed me, demanding, “Wheyw is Cubbie Beyw?”

Another time one of our leaders, Mr. Jimmy, who has a devious streak in him, decided it would be fun to perch me on a chair completely still as if I was a stuffed bear. Then my little friend Joshua came around, and Mr. Jimmy asked him if I was real. Joshua timidly poked me once or twice and I didn’t move. Then he lifted my arm, and I let it flop right back down. Mr. Jimmy said, “Why don’t you go give him a hug?” and just as Joshua approached I sprung out of the chair and wrapped my bear paws around him. He freaked. We laughed. I realize I have now ruined any chance of any of you sending your children to our church.

 

I could have been Cubbie Bear all night. We’re so happy that we’ve gotten the costume. It’s one of those silly, frivolous things that we know is not necessary for ministry, and we feel like God gave it to us anyway, just to show us a glimpse of His extravagant love.

Now we just need to start a fund for the therapy bills for those Category Threes. And Joshua.

Cubbie costume

Review: Mark Schultz – Come Alive August 26, 2009

Posted by markgeil in Music, Reviews.
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Mark Schultz
Come Alive

Tracks:

  1. All Has Been Forgiven
  2. Grace Amazing
  3. He Is
  4. What It Means To Be Loved
  5. God of Glory
  6. Closer Than I’ve Ever Been
  7. Come Alive
  8. Live Like You Are Loved
  9. Father’s Eyes
  10. Love Has Come

 

 

 

I missed that voice. It’s been three years since Mark Schultz released Broken and Beautiful, and I had forgotten how much I enjoy his distinctive vocals, his energetic pop arrangements, and even his schmaltzy story songs.

Schultz returned yesterday with Come Alive, his fifth studio release. Though the credits are spiced up with guest songwriters and producers, don’t expect a radical departure from the time-tested Mark Schultz formula: catchy pop-praise that sticks in your head, power anthems showcasing that aforementioned voice, and first-person story-songs that tug on your heart.

That’s not to say Come Alive is a paint-by-numbers offering. There’s a lot to like here, and there is spice and innovation; it’s just subtle. Anyway, I’m not sure I would want Schultz to depart too far from what has worked for him in the past, and what keeps his music so accessible. The same songwriter who had the chutzpah to release two radically different but equally effective versions of the same song on his last CD here offers songs with titles and themes that are blatantly derivative, but he does them so well that they become a welcome addition. Case in point: “Father’s Eyes”. Yes, the title is borrowed from an Amy Grant standard (you do remember that song, right?), and yes, the first verse is a thematic reworking of Steven Curtis Chapman’s “Fingerprints of God”, but the song is still beautiful.

“Live Like You Are Loved” is another version of the child-leaving-home-and-spreading-her-wings theme taken on by everyone from Bob Dylan to Carrie Underwood, but Schultz’s piano ballad (with abundant strings, common on this album) is delivered with such signature tenderness that it stands up well beside any of its predecessors.

On the other hand, decidedly original topics are addressed as well. “What is Means to be Loved” takes a lofty place in the Schultz story-song canon, chronicling the emotions of a mother and father facing the birth of a child with special needs. “He Is” is unique, not because it was inspired by a young girl fighting cancer, but because her story is not told in the song; instead, it’s a departure from the formula as a simple proclamation of her response to the disease.

The influence of the broadened roster of writers and producers is noticeable on two tracks in particular. The title track is a welcome mid-tempo finger-snapper with a pair of decidedly contemporary falsetto breaks in the chorus. “God of Glory” brings a thumping drum beat beneath layers of instruments that build to an overlapping chant-response chorus. The result is one of the best songs Schultz has written.

All told, Come Alive is a polished, compact album that reveals Mark Schultz doing more of the same, but doing it as well as he ever has.

A time to mourn August 25, 2009

Posted by markgeil in People.
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I had something to say yesterday. It was a funny, even flippant story about cutting down a tree this weekend. Instead, I went to a funeral. Now I don’t feel like telling that story anymore.

Our neighbor Anita died a few days ago, along with her unborn son. Nobody is quite sure why. She was young and healthy, married with three kids already. Now she’s gone.

My eyes teared up so many times at the funeral yesterday. For some reason, I feel like writing them down. The first time was when I watched Greg, Anita’s husband. He walked down the aisle, and he looked strong. He was carrying their youngest child and was flanked by their 7- and 8-year olds. Really, they all looked strong, and so brave. At the end of the aisle was the casket, and by the time Greg reached it, everyone else had paid their respects. Then, as Greg watched, with Penny in his arms, the casket was closed.

We sometimes try to say that funerals are celebrations, and parts of them usually are, especially when we know as in Anita’s case that this is a passage to a far better place. Still,it’s physical, visceral moments of finality like this that make them so sad, no matter how much you try to celebrate. It was so hard to bear the sight of the casket closing. There will be memories, and photographs, and stories, but oh, the physical void left in passing.

A second moment: Greg and Anita’s oldest children, Ben and Julia, participated in the service. Julia sang a beautiful song, Mercy Said No, and played the piano. She was radiant. Then Ben walked up to the stage. The microphone was adjusted to his 8-year-old frame. He held a folded sheet of paper, and he spoke, clearly and calmly. “These were some of my mom’s favorite verses.” I marveled at a child so small, so brave, experiencing something no child should have to experience. He read verses about comfort that were so fitting. I prayed the verses back for him.

A third moment: Throughout the funeral, Julia, the seven year old, had the face of someone leaning toward the celebration instead of the grieving. She smiled sometimes. You could tell she was not oblivious to the circumstance, but she exuded peace. In fact, she was a comforting presence that ministered to a room full of people many times her age. Later, at the graveside, she stepped out of the white limousine, the hardest of rides. She sat in a chair covered in velvet, under a tent, as the casket was placed above the grave. Her smile faded. Her bottom lip quivered. She rested her head on her father’s shoulder, and quietly mourned.

A final moment: Little Penny would not leave Greg’s arms all day. Even at the reception, in the receiving line, though many offered to take her, she wanted nothing to do with anyone but her father. She is too young to understand how her life has been forever changed, but she is old enough to know that something is missing. I hugged Greg, and through tears I told him how proud I was of his children. Inexplicably, Penny reached out her arm and touched my shoulder. She said, “Mama. Mama.” And then she started to cry.

The Effort Formula August 21, 2009

Posted by markgeil in Philosophical musings.
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Have you ever dreamed of a life free of obligations and deadlines and nasty things called deliverables? Oh, how sweet to have all the money you need, all the comforts you need, no formal job. Let’s throw in someone to do your laundry and clean your house, too. You could do stuff if you want to, but only if you want to. The only items that wind up on your “to-do” list are items of your own choosing.

The trouble is, I don’t think we’re made that way. We long for such a carefree life, but our desires are misguided. We forget the “effort formula”. I just made it up. It goes something like this: “E is directly proportional to A”. E, obviously, is Effort. A is appreciation. The more effort we put into life, the more we can appreciate one or both of two things: 1) the fruits of our labor, and 2) a reprieve from all that work.

Today is Friday, and my appreciation for the end of a work week is especially deep today. That’s probably because I’ve put so much effort into this week. It was our first week of classes, which for me included lectures and registration issues for one of the largest classes I’ve ever taught: 4 combined sections of undergrad biomechanics. I wrapped up a policy revision that’s taken a year. I remembered that I’m supposed to write a book chapter on anthropometrics, looked up the email from March to see the deadline, found out the deadline is September 1st, and subsequently started the book chapter. (That’s how I roll.)

None of these things would have been on the to-do list of my choosing. But because they were on my to-do list, I am really happy today, because a busy week is ending. Just like the shadow proves the sunshine, our work, however difficult or distasteful if might be, begets appreciation that we cannot experience if we don’t do the work.

Take heart, fellow laborer! You’re mining appreciation.

Rock stars playing dress-up August 19, 2009

Posted by markgeil in Music, Things that amuse me.
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Call it harmonic convergence. I write about rock stars and their multi-layered clothing. Then I post an interview with some real live rock stars. Then, wouldn’t you know it, I stumble upon a video of those actual rock stars getting photographed in multi-layered clothing! Check out the rack of scarves, all suitable for insertion into back right pockets of guitarists.

The band Downhere on politics, the economy, and music August 19, 2009

Posted by markgeil in Music.
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Allow me once again to recommend the perpetually-underrated band Downhere. They’re a talented, insightful quartet of Canadians who consistently make outstanding music. Plus, they have one of those cool two-lead-vocalists lineups that worked so well for the Beatles (and Air Supply!).

I interviewed the band during GMA week for my article on the impact of the recession on the music industry. We had lunch in their record label’s suite, during which I quite enjoyed hearing Marc Martel perform his Michael W. Smith vocal impersonation. Later, I asked the band how the economy was affecting them personally and music in general. Their responses were absorbing. Here are a few of the quotes that didn’t quite make the article, plus some that did so you have some context:

(Jason Germain) I think about the recession a little less than I think about deeper issues: the entitlement of a generation that would get themselves into debt, the entitlement of a government that would get itself into debt. We’ve been talking about this for years, the idea of how everyone believes that they deserve this big thing – or anything – and to be truthful, the whole economic downturn for us was not even the beginning of a surprise. We kinda wrote a record for it beforehand. Anyone with their ear to the ground a little bit, artistically, our poets and musicians who think are for a large part our prophets, not to say they tell the future but, Jesus said when you see the sky at night and it’s red, you can tell what’s coming. Actually when Marc and I we were writing for the record in 2007, we had a conversation – we need to write a record for whatever season is ahead, which is likely going to be a tough one. I don’t think we’ve reached the bottom by any sense. Maybe economically, but there are deeper issues at stake here.  I think we’re headed to a bit of scatter mode. Pre-persecution. Not in the sense of the sky is falling, but a season in the church in which things degrade and the new ideas didn’t work, and people return to a sense of orthodoxy, and people realize that I’m part of this problem. There’s a little more ownership. Right now everybody’s pointing fingers, and everybody’s angry. People are pointing their fingers at government, or their state, and not many are pointing at themselves. “Why did I buy this house with money I did not have.”

(MDG) Does your message become a message to encourage or a message to this entitled generation?

(Jason) Both. We have a song called Hope is Rising, and it does the encouraging thing, in a backward way.

Then, another song – Cathedral Made of People – similar vein. Hey, things are falling apart, but we are a cathedral made of people, we’re the church. The gates of hell won’t prevail against what Christ is building. We’ve got a different economy.

But then also, Marc wrote a song called The Problem, and he takes a quote from G.K. Chesterton who responded to an article back in the day asking, “What is the problem with the world?” by saying to the editor, “In response to your question, the problem with the world is me.” That’s the subtle way of including ourselves. We are the problem. We can’t just point fingers here. We need to be pointing at ourselves.

(Glenn Lavender) The economic downturn hit our band at a time that coincided with a time when we had to shift around how we do our business. Business is an important part of how music happens, and I think we haven’t focused on that enough. As of the beginning of this new year, we’ve made serious changes. It’s been a tough beginning of the year.

It is much tougher to keep a band afloat than it is a solo artist. You think of an honorarium for a show, and a lot of times it’s the same for a solo artist or a band, and we’ve got five guys to fly across the country. The economic stuff has hit us, but we’ve tried to stay close to the ground. We don’t have a ton of overhead. We never bought ourselves a bus, we haven’t done some things that other people think of as necessary. We wanted to be flexible enough to not hamstring ourselves.

(Jeremy Thiessen) I think it works to our advantage that we’re not an A-level, big ticket, selling-out-arenas band. That then becomes your expectation, you think that will happen every year, you build your lifestyle up to that, and you budget accordingly. When you’re suddenly selling half the tickets, your overhead is still expensive because of the expectation your fans have of what your show is going to be like. In that sense, I feel like we’re in a really good place to handle this.  

There’s not a lack of people needing bands. There’s work out there. You have to be willing to get creative about how it happens. March was our best month we’ve ever had.

(Glenn) January through February, we had 4 gigs in two months. The economic crisis is the fall guy for everything, but you could say that we didn’t plan well enough in the fall for those two months. The problem is us. We’ve got to get on top of things.

(Jason) We’ve talked from the stage about how hard times have become our songs. My wife is putting plants from the inside, outside. They’re spending the day outside. Hardening off before we plant them. That’s been our life. We carve just to get out there and get planted, but we’ve been in this season of being hardened. Like Glenn was saying, it got to a time to say, we’ve got to make some changes. We’re no longer boys, we’ve got to be men about what we’re going here.

(Jeremy) We did. We got through that. I feel like we’re in a great place.

(MDG) Do you wish you were one of those A-list acts?

(Jeremy) I don’t care, honestly. If I can pay my bills, and I’m in the place where God wants me to be, and I have the privilege of playing with great friends and great musicians, I’m not going to crave the next big thing.

(Jason) If you choose to be a beat poet, why would feel entitled to something different? If you choose to be the vineyard that’s putting out $100 bottles of wine, not everybody’s going to buy that, and that’s okay. We do what we do really well ,and what God’s gifted us to do, and when He provides the venues for us to play, we share our gifts and tell our story.

(Marc) Let’s be honest, would you rather play for 50 people in a 600-person room for $50, or would you want to play for 600 people in a 600-person room for $3,000? Of course you want to do that. But you have to say, okay, there are 50 people here. It’s going to be a whole lot more work. We’re going to have to suck up the flesh part tonight. They paid to be here, we’re still going to give them what we feel we’re called to give them.

(Glenn) It’s almost like it’s gut check time for the Christian music industry. The church is going to be around. There will always be people who need to be ministered to and who need to hear songs and have the prophets and poets as part of it. It’s not like the audience is disappearing. It’s just that the machine is having to figure out how what that looks like. To change their expectations.

(Jason) I think the industry as a whole is a little self-important. There are a lot of people who make money on artists. And that’s fine, they’re necessary things. There’s a community that needs to surround and support artists. We’re not good at marketing, we’re horrible at distribution and all those necessary things done by people who love and support music who are not musicians, But like many industries, it’s a little top-heavy. There were heydays there for a bit, a lot to go around. Now, people are thinking cutback time, and that’s appropriate. I think you’ll see people who have a valid voice finding it in a better place. People that didn’t have a valid voice might find new careers in different industries, that maybe they were meant for. And artists that had nothing to say going away. I think it can be over-spiritualized too.

(Marc) There’s a significant danger of that. There’s an easy way to explain what happened. Put it on God, no personal responsibility.

Millbrook High School Class of 1989 August 17, 2009

Posted by markgeil in People.
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It was a 30-hour vacation, all told, Saturday to Sunday. Fourteen of those hours were spent driving. But it took twenty years.

I can’t say that I’ve ever really been to a class reunion. I’ve missed out on college reunions, and although we did attend our 5-year high school reunion, that doesn’t count. Not enough time had passed.  Twenty years, though. Now we’re talking.

Reggie and Jeff are attorneys now. Edgar is a college basketball coach. Billy is now Bill and he works at IBM. George is a firefighter. At least two other pairs of high school sweethearts stayed together and got married, just like Amy and me. Some people got taller and, inexplicably, some people got shorter. And mercifully, Dink no longer has a mullet.

We were the class of 1989, and I think we’re doing pretty well for ourselves. Some have grown up. A lot. Some still have way too much to drink at parties and act like, well, like high schoolers. Most, though, have the same expressions and personalities and quirks that drew us all together way back when.

In high school, routine things in life take on deeply magnified importance. The person occupying the seat beside you in the cafeteria, or the dreaded lack thereof, is everything. The decision to sit in the bleachers at a football game and cheer or to walk around the whole time, ignoring the game, is everything. The lumpy guy who is bigger than you and bumps his shoulder into you in the hall, probably on purpose, is everything. The girl who somehow forgot to invite you to the movies with all the other girls is everything, because they probably talked about you the whole time. The fact that each of those things can independently be everything, all at the same time, explains why high school can be so difficult, and so miserable, and so easy, and so fun. At no other time in our lives do we let ourselves be so defined by others.

Twenty years later, as it should be, we’ve defined ourselves. What we value as important has changed, but we are still made to value other people. I think that’s why I had such a good time at the reunion. There were people there who were so very important to me in 1987, and then I somehow forget they existed in the intervening years. But Saturday night, in 2009, I’d see a face, and I’d glance down at a nametag. And that person would see my face, and glance down at my nametag, and the recognition would occur, and after that happened two or three times I realized I genuinely still care about these people and I loved finding out what’s happened with their lives.

Edgar, the college basketball coach, and one of the ones who grew a lot taller, looked over the crowd while we were talking and became suddenly philosophical. “You know, it’s surreal,” said Edgar. “There are so many people in this room that I will never see again.” That may very well be true. But even if it is, I’ll take that 45-second conversation, shouted over too-loud 80’s music, about what are you doing now and where do you live and do you have any kids, and I’ll file it away to help me complete a picture of a person who might have been everything to me, and then was sadly nothing, and now might be something again, at least for a while.

I’m all over your TV August 13, 2009

Posted by markgeil in Music.
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I’m kind of a big deal in the ATL these days. You won’t know it until December, but I’m all over the TV. Like, extreme close-ups. I’m a total actor. I’m thinking of going pro. And, we didn’t even have to have a massive wall built around our house for my big TV breakthrough.

Hopefully you get the Gospel Music Channel, because I pretty much own their airwaves now. Also hopefully you get the channel because we don’t and I need someone to tell me about my shows. Yes, that’s right, I said show-sss, as in plural. Friday night I went to the taping of the Matthew West Christmas special. This afternoon I was at the Christmas with Compassion special, watching Stephanie Smith and Decemberadio. I wasn’t performing with any of the bands, or actually saying anything. I was what they call in the business an “Audience Member”, which means I sat in a chair, smiled a lot, looked incredibly entertained, and clapped on cue. It takes major acting chops, so they put me on the front row. Actually, that might have happened because I took my cute daughters with me. And actually, there was very little acting involved, because I was quite entertained the whole time.

Matthew West performed several originals, some for the first time ever (since it’s August and not even Wal Mart is ready for Christmas yet). They were excellent. One will be a duet with Amy Grant on the new Veggie Tales Christmas DVD. It’s called “Give This Christmas Away” and it’s a brilliant notion. He also made up a brand new song between takes with the following lyrics: “This Christmas Special, it’s very special.” Stephanie Smith covered a few classics (including, sadly, one of my least favorite Christmas songs ever, but I must admit her sass on the Figgy Pudding line made me smile), along with a beautiful arrangement of O Come, O Come, Emanuel that she and the band worked up on the van ride the night before. Decemberadio, who rock live, brought their own wonderful arrangement to God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

So, after many hours hanging out with rock stars on TV, I have some observations. These will be very useful if you have any plans to be a TV rock star someday. Seriously, you’ll thank me later. Pay attention.

Rock stars are all very interested in the mix in their monitors. Monitors are the hearing-aid looking things they all wear that let them hear the sounds of all the instruments. They’re constantly talking to the disembodied voice of the director saying, “Tony, I need more bass,” or “T-Bone, I need more of the click track,” or even “Could I get more of me in Mix Two?” I highly recommend asking for more or less of the click track, often. It just sounds cool.

Rock stars who play guitars have a new required fashion accessory. It’s called “Useless bandana hanging out of back right pocket.” They’re only available in the finest music stores, apparently. Honestly, I saw multiple guitarists in multiple bands with a bandana stuffed partway into their right back pocket of their skinny jeans. One of them even had a bandana that almost matched his flannel shirt. Sweet! I think the purpose of these might be akin to the sheets of gauze that hang off the costumes of figure skaters, thereby accentuating the flowing-ness of their spins and jumps. When a rock star guitarist is really really rocking, well, something just needs to flow.

Rock stars who have been around the block a time or two are unfazed when people appear out of nowhere with sticks in their hands and start poking the sticks in the rock stars faces. These people are not there to harm you. They are re-applying your makeup. It helps you look exactly the same as you did before they reapplied your makeup a few minutes before.

Footwear is very very important for rock stars, and you only have two choices: cowboy boots or Converse All Stars. You may vary your color and patterns as long as you choose one or the other. Also, all rock stars, and I seriously mean every single one of them, dress in layers. It would seem that all mothers of rock stars gave them advice when they were pre-rock-star children about dressing in layers because you never know what kind of weather the day will bring. At a very minimum they have a shirt and vest. Sometimes shirt and jacket, usually leather. Sometimes shirt, tie, scarf, vest, and jacket, usually leather. All on a single rock star. And here’s the thing. When I’m hanging out with the rock stars after their set, near the food table (of course), they look absolutely ridiculous. It’s actually very difficult to talk to them without chuckling out loud. I think they get dressed in the morning, and then ask their buddy, “How do I look?” and if he says, “You look ridiculous,” they know they are ready for a day of rock.

So remember, layers, proper footwear, copious makeup, useless bandanas, and more click track. You’re on your way, my friend.

Oh, and also, can you let me know how I look on your TV come December? Thanks.

Malfunction August 12, 2009

Posted by markgeil in The words of others far more wise than I.
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It’s cliché, but I like the roller coaster analogy for life. The pace varies, there are hills that require tremendous energy and beget anxiety, and there are exhilarating drops. Sometimes, though, there’s a malfunction, and the train stops right there in the middle of the tracks. It happened just a few days ago out in San Francisco. People were stuck, 80 feet off the ground, for as much as 4 hours.

The metaphor holds in life. Sometimes there’s a malfunction, and everything gets stuck. It happened recently for Shaun Groves, who battled an unexpected and severe depression. He was brave enough to chronicle his story. If you’ve ever been touched by this cunning and debilitating condition, I encourage you to read his tale:

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

The Little Flower that Could August 12, 2009

Posted by markgeil in Family.
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I just updated the sunflower story with one last photo. The strange little sunflower opened up completely just a couple of days after I wrote the story. It’s quite a site: some petals are stubby, some have holes in them, but all remain a grand testimony. Here’s a shot of the whole plant, with the original stem and the off-shoot:

sunflower_open_tall