Slow and Low - [Etcetera]

Slow and low, that is today's show. Take your time, hurry up, the choice is yours, don't be late.

Sometimes you just have to take some time to stop and smell the Etcetera. Click here to listen.

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Now...move aside and let the show come through.

Crape Myrtle Meditation - [Erik]

Last year on Father’s Day, my wife gave me a crape myrtle. She wasn’t motivated by my love of nature or her appreciation for me as the father of our children. It was no kindness. The gift was born of embarrassment.

When we moved into the house, I promptly removed the scrub oak that the homebuilder had deposited in the front yard. I don’t like scrub oaks. They’re common.

I live in the suburbs. Remember the neighborhood in the movie Edward Scissorhands? That’s where I live. My house looks just like the one next to it and the one next to that and the ones across the street. That’s bad enough, but on top of that, as the homebuilders in Florida put the finishing touches on their middle class developments, they deposit one crappy scrub oak right in the middle of each yard (not unlike a dog relieving himself as he walks from house to house).

So I replaced that scrub oak with a crape myrtle. Crape myrtles have these wonderful blossoms. When they bloom, it’s like a fireworks display. They pop. They come in different colors, but I like white. Next to cherry trees, crape myrtles are my favorite. Sure they’re a little messy, but they’re worth it.

I carefully followed the directions from the nursery. I placed it in the ground with the same care I use when I place my baby boy in his crib. I made sure the root ball was exposed just so. I fertilized it. I watered it. I dreamed of the day that it would put my neighbor’s ugly scrub oaks to shame.

Then it died.

In accordance with the stages of grief, I refused to accept it. Within a few days of getting the thing in the ground, all the leaves fell off and I thought, “Maybe it’s in shock from the transplant.” A couple weeks went by. I scratched the branches and there was nothing but dead wood beneath the bark. I scratched the trunk and a little bit of green gave me hope that it may come back. The weeks turned to months and for all of my scratching and watering and spraying for bugs, all I got was this thing that looked like a dead branch on end, stuck in the ground right in the middle of my front yard.

My wife’s embarrassment grew as I held onto hope against all the evidence. She would comment from time to time that a palm tree would look nice as a centerpiece. I would grunt and go scratch the trunk again. Father’s day approached and she saw her opportunity to be rid of the object of shame in the middle of our well-manicured property.

When I got home on Father’s day, there was a brand new, potted crape myrtle by the front door with a bow around it. Although cloaked in a gift, I got the message right away, “Get that fucking stick out of my yard!” Of course she would never say that…she doesn’t have to. She’s got too much class. (I am willing to admit, that may just be my skewed perspective, but I’m not convinced. She’s good.)

Either way, it was time to give up. It was time to accept that my dream had died. I scratched the trunk one more time and it was dry as a bone. I looked over at the new sapling and I thought, “Well…at least it’s not a palm tree.” Like I said, she’s good.

I uprooted the old and planted the new. I was even more careful than before. Even though I was sure I was manipulated into giving up, I was glad to be done with “the stick.” As I watered and became acquainted once again with what a crape myrtle looks like with leaves on it, I started to dream again.

A few days later it started to look a little dry. I watered it.

The next day, I noticed some leaves on the ground. I quickly picked them up and hid them at the bottom of the garbage can under a couple trash bags.

Each day there were fewer leaves on the tree and more on the ground, until it became painfully obvious…

…the stick had returned.

My wife and I stood there, staring at it. Then she looked at me as if to ask, “What did you do?”

“It’s not my fault!” I sounded like Han Solo, incredulous at the persistent failure of the Millennium Falcon’s hyperdrive.

I did the only thing I could think of. I scratched the trunk. It was bright green. Life…it still had life. It looked like hell, but it was still alive.

“See? It’s green.” I showed her the evidence that I did not kill again. She said something about a palm tree.

Days, weeks, and months passed. The stick would see me off in the morning as I got in the car to go to work, and it would greet me in the evening as I pulled into the driveway. From time to time I would scratch the trunk and show my wife that it was still green. I told her that it was bound to sprout a leaf sooner or later. While I may have seemed confident, I didn’t have much hope. I had been through this before. But at each scratch, I saw signs of life. So I waited.

I let the yard go over winter. It didn’t need much mowing, and I like to pace myself knowing that the summers in Florida are brutal and that in no time at all I’ll be doing yard work twice a week. A couple of weeks before Lent, I hit the lawn with some weed and feed. We got a little rain and things started to get out of hand, everything really started to grow…everything except the stick.

By the first weekend of Lent I couldn’t put it off any longer. I got some Radiohead going on the iPod and I started trimming bushes. By the time I was mowing I was lost in the music and the lyrics’ relevance to the task at hand.

“Everything…in its right place. Everything…in its right place.”

I began to see the yard work as a meditation…a physical representation of an invisible reality. I had given up drinking for Lent in an effort to exorcise my free will. That’s a story for another time, but the point is, I saw that the yard was my life and things had gotten a bit overgrown. I didn’t need to pull up the bushes just because they had gotten out of control; I simply needed to put them in their right place. I needed to trim the edges of the yard and define a few boundaries. There was plenty of raw beauty and bursting life, but it needed a little tender loving care.

It was wonderful. I sensed the presence of God. I may have looked like a simple gardener, but I was one with him.

As I trimmed around the crape myrtle, I asked, “Father…why won’t this thing grow?” I scratched it again…still green. I thought about the approaching holiday. I thought about life hidden in the ground. I thought about resurrection. I thought about seasons and preparation and timing. I thought about hope. I thought about my life…my yard…the centerpiece of my yard…the crape myrtle…the symbol of the fruit of my labor…the potential beauty…the stick…the fucking stick.

One day, the kids were playing in the yard and my wife and I were joking about yanking the stick out of the ground and being done with it. I was actually considering it.

“Maybe a big rock would look good there.” I suggested. I’m a master at aiki-gardening…go with the flow of nature. If nothing will grow in a spot, maybe the yard wants a rock there. I’ve actually developed some really nice gardens this way.

She responded, “Our neighbors just bought palm trees for cheap from a guy that’s been cruising around the neighborhood.”

I didn’t say anything and went to go scratch the trunk…maybe for the last time. It was still green, but what’s more…I saw a bud.

I shouted, “Come over here and check this out!” We both leaned in to look closely. There were actually a number of buds…burgundy nodes of life, juicy and ready to burst forth in the shape of leaves. Leaves! I think I actually did a dance.

Once it started, it moved fast. Months of invisible preparation gave way to almost instantaneous growth. Every inch of the crape myrtle was covered with visible life within two or three days.

The time of the stick was over.

The creation story tells us that God said let there be…thus and such…and there was. One of the things he “said” was crape myrtle. I believe that the tree in my yard is his created word to me. I have listened and this is what I heard.

“I am doing things that you cannot see. There is life below the surface. At the appropriate time, it will flow with beauty. Wait…it will come. You cannot force a tree to grow and you cannot rush your life’s work.”

This weekend while mowing the yard I noticed something among the many leaves on my tree…it’s first blossom. The picture of it is attached to this post.

I have so many dreams, but I still can’t even pay my bills. I often meditate on the crape myrtle. It has kept me from yanking up my life as I know it…leaves, roots and all. So I wait. I have hope that my life’s work will blossom soon, but who knows.

This may be a good place for a rock…or even a palm tree.

Lost? - [Erik]

Lets talk Lost. I would love to hear your theories.

Before I get to a few of my own, if you are lost, go to lostpedia.com. You will be blown away by the amount and depth of the information there. It's also a great place to follow the storyline this summer through The Lost Experience alternate reality game.

Alright...last night's season finale...here are a few thoughts...

- Penelope (Persephone?) [Desmond's girl friend] has been introduced as a new key character. As the daughter of the very loaded Charles Windmore (possibly associated with the Hanso Foundation), she seems to have stumbled across the island (and its unique electromagnetic qualities) during her search for her one true love (the brootha guy). Daddy very possibly trapped Desmond on the island to get him away from his daughter.

- Here's the problem, Penelope can't find the island. Like "Henry Gale" [apparently the leader of the others (and I must say I called that before last night's episode and am quite proud of myself)] like he said, once you leave the island you won't be able to find it. Only when the electromagnetism of the island is discharged (through failure to push the button or through turning the key) can somebody outside "see" the island.

- So, Penelope (given her vast resources) has placed guys in Antarctica to monitor for strong electromagnetic activity. They missed it before (when flight 815 came down) but this time they saw it. They now have the coordinates and have notified Penelope.

That's enough to get things started. There's so much to talk about...storyline/cliff hanger stuff, the giant four toed foot, and of course the alternate reality game. I'll see you in the comments.

XXX - [Etcetera]

***WARNING - SPOILERS AHEAD***
Join us for Second Life party talk, a report on my "Man Date" with Matt, an update from the wonderful world of Sharon (complete with profound insights), a review of X-Men: The Last Stand, and...drum roll...a special appearance by Ninjanun.

Click here to be spoiled.

Subscribe to the podcast here and get ready for the 103rd show (Yay!).

Enjoy the season finale of Lost tonight. See you soon.

SL Party Pics - [Etcetera]

We Could Be Heroes - [Matthew]

I hung out this weekend at Universal Studios' Islands of Adventure theme park with my little nieces.

As I stood in line at the Captain America Cafe, the thought occured to me: considering the Captain's lean physique, I'm guessing he doesn't eat many of his restaurant's $8 cheeseburgers.

I also enjoyed the songs playing on the speakers overhead, one of which was Tina Turner's 'We Don't Need Another Hero.'

Then I thought... 'Tina Turner. That sounds like a comic book character name.' One of the comic book companies (comic-philes, help me out here) usually has alliteratively named characters: Lois Lane, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker.

I started thinking of famous people with comic book-like names: Jesse Jackson, Ted Turner, Martin Mull...

And so, my (super) friends, the gauntlet has been thrown down. Gimme the best and the most you can think up and we shall see who will lay claim to the title "Super Pop Culture (Wo)Man"




[end ping]

It's Party Time - [Etcetera]

This Saturday night (5/20/06) we're gonna raise the virtual roof. Get your party dress on and join us at 9:00 PM EST at the Poseidon Casino and Club in Laothoe. The coordinates are 152, 197, 61.

If you haven't joined Second Life, click here to get your free account. Get familiar with how to use your avatar and optimize your settings for the best experience. Once in, go to Kuula (58, 143, 28) where you'll find all kinds of tips to get you set up proper. Pay special attention to the stuff about reducing lag.

(The pic in this post is from the place with the magic mushrooms. That's me in black with the red skin. That burst of color surrounding me is the shrooms kicking in. Sharon is in the angel outfit. Get ready for her new look on Saturday night. Also, if you look closely you can see a naked guy in a cape...he was fun...he really liked to give hugs.)

Whore-ca - [Etcetera]

We know what we are, we're just talking price. Click here and we'll show you a good time. But keep in mind, kissing is extra.

If you want to become one of our regulars, click here to subscribe to the podcast.

In other biz-nass, check back soon for info on this weekend's festivities in Second Life.


I'll now leave you with a joke from C.S. Lewis...

"What's black and white and dirty all over? Shamu!"

Help - [Etcetera]

Last year, through the miracle of buffoonery, we raised $1,300 [Canadian (don't ask)] to help out a village in Africa. While we haven't received any updates from Gordo, we hold on to the faith that this money actually went to the village people and did not in fact fund Gordo's trip to a "clothing optional" resort in Mexico.

This year, we will once again carbonate our collective holiness and harness the power of buffoonery to give evil and poverty a kick in the ass in the name of love.

Click here to find out more about where this year's money will go.

Click here to have your heart broken.

Click here to email me and get involved.

Caption Contest - [Etcetera]

I will get Steve to grant 3 free sins to the person with the best caption for this little gem. Here's my first attempt...

"I can only show you the paper. You are the one that must fold it."
- Morpheus


I obviously won't win with that one. Free your mind, stop trying to hit me, and hit me. Give me your best shot. [/Bruce Lee nose wipe and bring it on gesture]

Pump it Up! - [Etcetera]

Come suckle at the Etcetera teat. Today's show is guaranteed to nourish and comfort. Click here to listen. We'll take you to the land of milk and funny.

Click here to subscribe to the podcast and we'll keep the audio goodness pumping.

Words - [Sharon]

Words. They've become such a big part of my life.
Not just utilitarian anymore.
Now, they are nourishing.
They are cathartic.
They are an overture, an invitation, an embrace.

How did this happen?
By God only.

So grateful for words.
How did they become so full?
So faceted?
So healing?

By His Spirit.
"Don't be afraid, for I will give you the words to say when the time comes."

Listening.
That is the key.

For He speaks words.
Whether through a drop of dew trembling on a leaf,
an owl's soothing night song,
or the studying and unyielding gaze of a small child.

He speaks words.
At all times.

We must listen.
His treasures are there.
Just listen.
Hear it.
It is Truth.

Pop Culture Phrenitis - [Etcetera]

We've finally overloaded on pop culture. Click here and witness the swelling.

And click here to subscribe to our unique blend of buffoonery.

Thank you to everyone who makes the show so much fun. It was great to hear from so many of you guys this week.

See you in the Universe.