More on the pASSport People

This is Congressman Gary Miller. He's my congressman (and yours too if you live around me). Not even he could get Jason's passport done on time. Well...it's not like he really tried all that hard. He forwarded my e-mail to one of his constituent affairs people who couldn't get anything done - not even in the name of the good congressman. His representative was a nice guy and I believe he tried his best to help. But, he's not a congressman.

So...the pASSport people said I needed to make an appointment at the pASSport office in San Francisco and head out there with wife and son in tow to get an emergency pASSport. I called the automated pASSport appointment line ('cause you can't speak to a live person) and was told there were no appointments available. Of course.

I contacted the congressman's constituent affairs rep again and explained what was happening. He was able to arrange for us to be seen. But, we have to be on a standby list. I was told we need to plan on arriving before the doors open and being there all day. Great.

So, off we go to San Francisco tomorrow to spend the day sitting in a government office waiting to be seen. That should be fun. Oh, and I have to pay for the pASSport again - with emergency service fees. "Oh, you'll get a refund for the first application," I was told. Yeah...that doesn't include the overnight postage I paid for, a day I'm going to have to miss from work, all the cell phone minutes I burned up, and the stress we've been through over this.

I was thinking, isn't it ironic that we call ourselves the "Land of the Free," when in fact we're really kinda like prisoners in a way. We're prisoners of an inept government that lacks leadership and vision. Because they won't let you leave without a pASSport. It's a shame.

Don't get me wrong. Nobody loves this country more than me. I spent over 22 years defending it. But this situation has really opened my eyes to the amazing inefficiencies of our government agencies. Once I get this pASSport...IF I get this pASSport...I might just find the time to do something about it.

What do you say? Laurence for Congress???

Stupid pASSport people!

Why is it our government agencies have to be so fantastically inept, so incredibly inefficient, and so monumentally stupid?

Why is it I can spend over $160.00 on express handling and overnight shipping in two directions back in May, and still be biting my nails 6 days before the flight in July because my son’s passport hasn’t arrived? Why?

Why can my wife – a Spanish citizen – casually apply to her embassy (thousands of miles away from her capital of Madrid), and have her passport ready 3 days later? Why? And why does hers only cost $20.00? Why?

The guy on this passport pictured here? That’s Frank E. Moss, Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for Passport Services. He’s got his passport. Big fat jerk!

I checked the status of Jason’s passport online: It says it will arrive within 2 to 3 weeks from the date we applied (it’s been 6).

I called the Passport Agency on Thursday: I was told his application hasn’t been processed yet and that they’ll send an e-mail to a supervisor to speed it up.

I called the Passport Agency on Friday: I was told they started it, but they haven’t finished it. “Why have they not finished it?” I dared to ask. “Well, because they have to do background checks and things like that,” I was told.

What? Background checks on a thirteen year-old? How long can that take? Could he possibly have mob ties or connections with al Qaeda at that age?

Note: I mentioned al Qaeda on purpose so that I might get a few hits from the FBI or the CIA on my blog. Maybe they can speed up my son’s passport.

Hey, you! Mr. FBI Agent Dude…My son doesn't have any ties to al Qaeda! And I spent over 22 years in the U.S. military fighting those bastards. So, can he PLEASE have his passport now? He's supposed to leave next week. Call the passport agency for me, will ya?!?!

I e-mailed my congressman, The Honorable George Miller. There was no response from him. He probably has his passport and is vacationing in Europe. Thank you to all you liberal Californians who voted Democrat and made that loser my congressman.

And so we wait...

The Trouble with Feminine Hygiene Products

DISCLAIMER: The following post contains the word “douche.” If you’re offended by the innocuous name of a feminine product, you probably shouldn't read any further. I vacillated on whether or not to post this. And, now that I decided to press forward with it, I’m still not sure if it was the good or the evil side of my brain that won out. I mean, if I can't be real on my own blog, then why bother?

There they were, two kids I know fairly well (and probably you too – it shouldn't take much imagination) standing in the feminine products aisle of Walgreen’s giggling like a couple of school girls. Something they found was making them laugh uncontrollably.

What were they up to? They were taking pictures with their cell phones of a certain box on the shelf. Yep…you guessed right…it was a box of Summer’s Eve Douche.

Where did I go wrong?

Okay…I gotta come clean, as I’m convinced this was some sort of delayed lesson for me. God, in His own perfect timing, has His way of driving home these little lessons. You see, I had a kind of “experience” with this product when I was in the sixth grade.

Douche bag; it was the expression of the day. We used to say it on the playground in reference to the…well…dorkier among us. Yeah…I know it was wrong and I’m not proud of it. But that’s the way it was and I can’t change that. If you don’t like reality TV, you may want to tune out now. It gets worse.

Of course…I had no idea what “douche bag” REALLY meant. It was just the cool thing to say, so I said it.

Anyway, one beautiful spring day, my sixth grade teacher Mr. Porter was working on a lesson in class. He was a nice guy; a little on the effeminate side with a thick black beard and probably a little more touchy-feely with the kids than teachers are allowed to get nowadays. Everyone liked him. He never got mad and he’d reward certain students who had excelled each month with a trip to the Exploratorium in San Francisco. I got to go once. I think it was out of pity. It was that or he thought he could bring me back from the Dark Side with kindness and mercy. Silly man.

Alright, back to the story…

So, there’s Mr. Porter, holding up a poster board he’d put together with a montage of people’s pictures he’d cut from magazines. To this day, I don’t understand the lesson or the point he was trying to make. It may have had something to do with diversity, but I was too bored with it to really care. All I remember was him asking, “Okay, what do these people remind you of?”

There was a long silence. Nobody knew how to answer. What kind of question was that? Was there a right answer? Would someone be embarrassed by speaking up? Most of the kids looked away as though they weren’t listening. Maybe if they didn’t make eye contact, he wouldn’t call on them for an answer.

“They look like a bunch of douche bags to me!” someone yelled across the class.

There was a moment of deafening silence. You could’ve heard a pin drop. And then the class erupted in roaring laughter. All control was lost. Anarchy reared its ugly head.

Who said those words?

Oh…it was me.

Nice Mr. Porter…that wonderful man who never got angry…well, he was angry now. He was visibly glowing red right through that thick black beard as he yelled for the class to be quiet. Nobody was listening. Control was completely lost. It was pandemonium. And, the more he yelled and nobody listened, the madder he got.

Next thing I knew, he was literally dragging me by the arm to the principles office. Twin Creeks Elementary would never be the same sanctity of innocence again.

Mr. Porter tossed me in a chair outside the principle’s office while he barged right in. He slammed the door behind him. I couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but there was a lot of yelling. I heard him say the F-bomb a couple of times followed by my name. It was an impressive display of vulgarity rivaled in intensity only by my own father. And you wonder where I got it.

I was suspended from school and my parents were told to explain to me what “douche bag” meant. I then had to write a report about it. My report was my ticket back into class two days later when they allowed me to return. I think I may have been the first kid suspended from Twin Creeks Elementary. And I came back to a hero’s welcome by my classmates.

And that’s my story. Oh…and I guess I’ll be having a serious conversation with a certain someone. Yeah, I get it, Lord. Lesson learned.

33 Percent (Part Deux)

I created the logo (told you I was serious). I've already started using this with my team. I don't demand you overachieve; just achieve results! Look for the book coming soon. I'm gonna make millions!

Bono Joins The Family

Oh, sure…they look all cute and fluffy. But, do you know what your hamsters are doing when the lights go out at night?

When I woke up this morning, I caught Jason's new hamster Bono hanging out with a couple of white lab mice. I couldn’t help but hear their conversation.

“Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?” one of the mice asked the apparent ringleader.

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world!” the one with the big head announced.

The first mouse responded with, “Narf!” (That must be some sort of rodent code for, “Kill all humans.”)

Bono was cheering them on, shooting his little rifle up in the air. “Jihad! Jihad!” he was yelling over and over.

Yeah, he looked a little shocked when I snatched him up. He tried to play it off, saying that he was going deer hunting with his friends. Like I’d fall for that one!

I’ve banished him to the wheel. He’ll spend the rest of his life running and running but getting nowhere. That’ll show him!

I Hate Shopping

Day 6 - Ikea
We haven't seen Begoña for two days. The last time was somewhere in housewares. She was looking at cheap plastic bowls when Jason and I became distracted by a blue light.

"This would look great in my room," Jason had said as we turned away from Begoña and moved towards the smooth lines of this futuristic looking reading lamp. It was a mistake, and we haven't seen Begoña since.

We're now starving and I fear for me son's life. Three days earlier, we found the cafeteria and were able to stuff ourselves with Swedish meatballs and roasted baby potatos. Unfortunately, we didn't stock up enough for the rest of the journey. I pulled the last meatball from my pocket this morning and gave it to Jason. He'll need his energy if we're ever to find our way out of here. We're now dehydrated, starving, and tired. I'm not sure we'll make it.

Somewhere around the couches, we came across the remains of another family. The skeletons reminded us of our pending fate if we don't find a way out of here soon. We prayed.

We've finally made it into the warehouse. I made us a camp for the night.

In the morning, we'll continue our journey towards to check-out stands. If we can make it that far, we'll make camp for another night and make our push towards the exit in the morning. I only hope we find some food and water along the way.

We still haven't found Begoña. She's probably been trapped by the 50% off sale items and their low everyday prices. Yeah...you pay way less here than at other furniture stores. But, then there's the insanity of putting it together later with instructions written in Swedish. Oh, we'll pay in the end!

Signing off for the day. Need to rest up for the remaining journey.

33 Percent

“An old boss of mine, years ago, said, ‘Never give 100%. Anyone can do that. Give 5% more and you’ll be twice as good as everyone else.’”
- Martin Avis

This little gem was place on our company’s notice board this morning. It made me think (Shut up! It happens!).

I won’t argue the math (105% is only 1.05 times better than 100%, not twice as good). So, right off the bat, the logic is already flawed.

The intent is to motivate everyone towards our company’s success. I get that.

But, how do you give 105% of something finite? My skills and energy are all finite; they don’t come without limits. So, when I reach my limit, how do I give 5% more?

If I reach my limit, dig down deep inside, and come up with 5% more, then I really didn’t reach my limit. I was holding back. I might even have 10% more held in reserve. That would make me a slacker by this person's logic.

As a sports coach and former athlete, I’m quite familiar with these expressions. “Come on team, you need to give me 110% out there on the field if you want to win!” 110% of what? I always wondered that.

And, really, can anyone ever truly give 100%? If I gave 100% of my energy to my job, what would be left for my family? What would be left for my friends? What would be left for God? What would be left for fun? Heck…what would be left for the drive home?

We should set more realistic expectations. I’m going to start asking for 33% from my team at work. Yeah, I know…it doesn’t have the same ring to it as asking for 105%. But, I think it’s more realistic.

Think about it. If everyone on my team (all eleven of them) gave 33% of everything they have to offer - their skills, talents, concern, mind, ideas, and energy - we’d be pretty darn successful. I’d be asking them to give a third of everything they are to the success of our company. That’s a lot to ask of anyone!

The typical employee works eight hours a day (a third of a day). So, if they give me a full third of everything they have during that time, they’d still have two thirds left for the remaining two thirds of the day. That’s good budgeting.

What does 33% look like? It means from the time they log in to the time they log out, they remain focused on the success of their territory, our team, and our company. For eight hours, they don't stop driving our success. They look for ways to improve, streamline, and create effectiveness. They focus on the tasks that need to get done and search out opportunities wherever and whenever they might arise.

So that's our new mantra on my team: Give me 33%.

I’ve even come up with an expression of my own. “Team, anyone can give me 33%. Give me 2% more, and you’ll be twice as good as the losers who only give me 33%.” Mathematically, it’s still not really correct. They’d really only be 1.06 times better than those who gave me 33%. But does truth really matter? After all, I’m the great motivator!

Ah...what do I know? Martin Avis is only a millionaire who built a multi-national business. Whatever. He can be wrong.

A Consolation Gift For Giants Fans

Far be it from me to rub things in. Okay...I will.

This broom is for you my Giants loving friends! Oh, how sweet it is now that the A's have traveled across the Bay and completed the sweep of the Giants on their own field.

Yes...it was a mighty fine day for baseball!

Stupid Church Signs

I don't normally like the cheesy sayings on these church signs. But, this one I had to post.

As a long-time Googlaholic, this one did get a smile out of me. So, I thought it was worth sharing with my friends.

Yeah, I guess even Google has its worldly limitations. I hate to admit that.

A Beautiful Day For Golf

What a great Sunday! Had a little church, went and got something to eat, and took the boys out to knock a few off the tee at the driving range. What else could a man ask for?

It was the first time for both kids. And, although I didn't see any sparks of Tiger Woods, they both seemed to have fun and wanted to come back another day.

One thing I learned is that we need to find a golf pro to go over some of the finer points with us. I don't have the patience to teach the fundamentals.

"Jason! Keep your head down. Aaron! Don't lift your shoulder." The poor kids probably got tired of me.

Still, it was encouraging. Going out again on a Sunday afternoon to walk 18 with my son sounds like a winner to me! I'm looking forward to more!

'Roid Rage

Okay...maybe I was a little hard on Barry in my last post. It was late, I was in one of those moods, I don't like the Giants...yeah, all the above. Truth is, I don't have any proof Barry has taken any illegal substances in an attempt to boost his performance on the field and he's innocent until proven guilty(my lawyers said I should say that).


That being said, I'd be interested in hearing other sports fans views on the use of steroids in sports. Baseball, football, the Olympics, the Tour de France...people are juicing to get ahead all the time. I heard one sports analyst describe the Tour de France as the greatest drug testing program in the world.


Cyclists are tested well before the race several times, during the race, and after. Samples of urine are taken along with spare samples. What does that say about the sport of cycling when more is spent on drug testing (that's a lot of doctors) than on the purse for the winner?

And why do we as fans tolerate it? Do we really want our teams to win so badly that we're willing to pretend it's not an issue? I can remember as a kid my mom would tell me to drink my Ovaltine so I would grow up to be like Joe DiMaggio (yeah...I'm that old). It didn't work. Maybe she should have pushed The Clear, The Cream, or some Deca-Durabolin instead. Silly mom.

What should the penalty be for those who get caught cheating? Pete Rose has a little gambling issue and we ban him from baseball for life and won't let him into the Hall of Fame. Shouldn't someone who taints the game and the record books through the use of illegal substance get the same?

Mark McGwire, Barry Bonds, Rafael Palmeiro, Benito Santiago, Roger Clemens, Jason Giambi...they've all either admitted using steroids or have been implicated (and the list is much longer). Should we really support them continuing in the sport and possible induction to the Hall of Fame? And what's the lesson for our children?

Me personally...I think players who test positive for any illegal substance should be banned from the game for life. After all, we - the fans - pay these guys millions of dollars to play a game. We should demand they play it within the boundaries of the rules. But...that's just me.

Juicing Giants Can't Keep Up With Awesome A's

Healthy living, a good work out routine, and some chemical enhancements, and you can show personal growth like Barry too. Maybe at 42, there's still a shot for me in the Big Leagues!

All the steroids in the world couldn’t save the Giants today, as the A’s applied the whooping principle and won 6 to 0 off a 16-hit outing. It had to leave Giants fans wondering if they’re getting their money’s worth out of Barry Zito. He was gone after only four innings and throwing 106 pitches. Ouch…that’s gotta hurt!

As I listened to the game on the radio, I wondered if Barry Bonds will ever achieve the record he was willing to sacrifice everything to get. Those home runs are getting fewer and far between now that the chemical enhancement is wearing off.

Yeah, yeah…I’ve heard the arguments. Steroids don’t help you make contact with the baseball. That takes skill. Ugh…I think I might vomit.

You gotta read GAME OF SHADOWS by Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams. I’m a data person. And the data is stacked against Bonds.

By 34 years of age, Barry was putting up numbers that would surely put him in the Hall of Fame on their own merit. But, that wasn’t good enough. It’s reported that Bonds began using steroids in 1999. So, in the years when most players are winding down their careers, Barry becomes the bomber at 35. In fact, four of Bonds’ best seasons came after age 35, including a record year of 73 homeruns in 2001 at age 36.

Yeah…steroids don’t help you hit homeruns. Whatever.

So, in order for Bonds to get his record-with-an-asterisk, the Giants brought him back for one more year. The commissioner won’t be there. Hank Aaron won’t be there. So…really…who cares? And, at the pace he’s currently on, he may not even get it. Early projections suggested he might get it in July. Now they’re saying August. I say wouldn’t it be cool if he fell one short?

Anyway...I digress. The A’s are awesome. The Giants are juicers. And all is right with the world!

Oh...and don't get me started on what we did to the Red Sox!

Unblinded by the Light

“You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” - Revelation 3:17

I don’t have all the answers; but I can see with crisp sharp vision. My eyes are wide open and my mind crystal clear. There is no blindfold over these eyes.

It’s not because of my money (of which I don’t have much) or the things I own; it’s not through my works or because I go to church on Sunday. I am saved by the Grace of God through my relationship with Jesus Christ.

Yes, I am rich, but not in the way the world thinks of wealth. My life overflows in richness, meaning and purpose in Christ. He blesses me in ways money cannot buy.

He loves me through my beautiful wife whose heart overflows with gold. He loves me through my son who’s becoming more of a man with each passing day. Had I planned my own life from the beginning, I couldn’t have scripted in two better people with which to share all life has to offer. We have love; we have His love; we have everything.

I’ve come to realize that God has created each of us so uniquely, so profoundly different in gifts, talents, personalities, and attitudes, that there is no one way we could possibly do church. Even ekklēsia, the Greek word most often used for church in the New Testament, does not literally translate as church. Instead, it denotes more of a coming together (or assembly) for worship. It’s an action more than an institution.

I’m of the mindset this coming together, this ekklēsia, will look different dependent on who is coming together. Each group has different needs, both individually and as an entity. And each group has its own unique collection of gifts and talents.

Setting aside for a moment my general membership in the Body of Christ, my family, and my circle of friends, there are three main groups I come together with in my Christian walk. There’s my church, the Bible study group I teach on Sundays, and the home-based small group my wife and I attend on Mondays. And, as I reflect on each of those groups right now, I can see how different each one is – and with purpose!

Each group meets in its own unique setting with its own unique collection of people. And each one grows me closer to Christ in its own way. And each ekklēsia I attend helps enrich my life and glorifies God – uniquely.

Church is just that. It’s a building where Christians can congregate, build each other up, raise their hands in corporate worship, network, learn, and get involved in the work of Christ. It’s also an easily identifiable point on the map – a large building where most people have a general idea of what transpires – and a place where someone might walk into on any given Sunday and begin their own personal journey of discovery.

The word “blind” in Revelation 3:17 is translated from the Greek word typhlos, which in this context means “spiritually blind.” For all their wealth in the Church of Laodicea, they couldn’t see the truth that was right in front of them. And gymnos, the Greek translated here to mean “naked,” speaks to the vulnerability and destitute lives the Laodiceans were leading.

In speaking through John, Christ used visuals the people of Laodicea could directly relate to (see Rev 3:14-22). Laodicea was a highly resourceful and industrialized city. “Poor, blind, and naked” stood in direct contrast to the Laodiceans’ major trades of banking, eye medicine (salve), and wool.

And, much like the Laodiceans, it’s up to each and every one of us to not place anything – including the way we do church – ahead of our personal relationship with Christ. When we get so focused on “my way is the right way” and “that person’s way is the wrong way,” we completely miss the point of doing things Christ’s way.

It’s not the church that makes us poor. That’s a condition we bring on ourselves when we become indifferent as to why we go and who we’re going for. It’s not the church that makes us blind. That’s a condition we bring upon ourselves through apathy; when we no longer grow in Christ and become contentedly stagnant. It’s not the church that makes us naked. Our vulnerability is self-induced when we no longer clothe ourselves in Christ and remember He is our protector.

If it weren’t for my church, I may never have come to know Christ. There were no people involved in small groups inviting me off the streets to join their group and introduce me to Christ. And, if it weren’t for my church, I would not be personally growing through home-based small groups and our current circle of friends.

The only blindfolds I wear are the ones I choose to. Nobody forces them over my eyes. Personal growth and vision remain choices, no matter where God leads us into worshipping Him. If I say I’m a leader – and I do – then it’s up to me, with Christ as my guide, to help remove the blindfolds people may be wearing.

It’s up to me to support the work of my fellow Christians who are following Christ’s direction over their lives - regardless of how they ekklēsia. The blame game stops with me. My blindfold is off.

Praise Him Forever!!

God is sooooo good!! Today, He blessed our family with amazing news regarding Begoña's health. I'm not about claiming miracles, but I know she had a ton of folks praying for her. And God answered all of our prayers!! That's miracle enough for me!

Thank you, God! Thank you for my beautiful wife and how you blessed us today! And thank you for the family of believers You've surrounded us with for love and support. Their prayers mean so much to me!

A simple post...but, nothing could mean more to me at this moment.

Return of the Dead

Yes I'm let loose
From the noose
That's kept me hangin' around
I've kept lookin' at the stars
'Cause they're gettin' me high
Forget the hearse 'cause I'll never die
I've got nine lives Cats eyes
Usin' every one of them and runnin' wild

I'm ba-ack!

Yeah...I tried avoiding the blog world, but it sucked me back in. Maybe it's all those calls and e-mails from friends. "Hey man, did you see what so-and-so posted on their blog? Are they out of their minds or what?" I guess we all have a morbid curiosity about crazy people. It makes me feel better about myself.

Or, maybe it's my desire to always be right. "I'm right and you're wrong. So, nyah!" The blog world is the only place I know where I can always be right. Yeah, you can tell me I'm wrong. But, you'd be wrong.

And besides...it's NFL Draft Day 2007. And the Raiders picked a quarterback. Welcome to the team, JaMarucus Russell. Bub-bye, Andrew Walters. It's been real...real bad.

Whatever. It just doesn't matter. I'm back and I've got plenty to say.