I am officially an underachiever. W00t!

I let myself get talked into taking the Mensa Admissions Test by one of the guys at work.  No, it doesn't test for gullibility.  Anyways, it's always been one of those "I wonder" things - could I really qualify?  Other than the accompanying social awkwardness, and the ability to run categories on "Jeopardy" (at least watching on TV), would I actually test well enough to get in?  I had to admit, the ego boost would be pretty nice.

 

Besides, there was a challenge on the table.  The gauntlet had been thrown down.  Game on!

 

So, there I went, shlepping myself down to CalTech, killing a Saturday morning in the process, to have my brain tossed about like a ship on the ocean.  Of course, my buddy doesn't show up.  Slacker!  I end up in a classroom with the proctor and six college-age kids, all bright eyed and bushy tailed.  I've never looked like these kids, not even 20-25 years ago when I was their age, nor went to the schools they were at - the aformentioned CalTech, USC, UCLA.

 

The proctor tells us that, on average, half of those that go so far as to take the test do not pass.  What the hell am I doing here?

 

We start off with the 50-question Wonderlic test - the same one the NFL gives to all the college players before the draft.  12 minutes.  Nobody ever finishes.  I get 45 answers written down that I feel pretty confident about.  So far, so good, but I'm still inwardly pissed that I didn't complete the whole thing.

 

Next comes the actual admissions test, 7 sections, 4-6 minutes per section.  When I finally leave, an hour and a half after starting, I feel as if I've been folded, spindled, and mutilated.

 

The test sheets get mailed back east.  We'll get something in the mail saying if we passed, with an invitation to join.  We can leave our email address if we want to find out sooner.

 

Well, it's ten days later and I got the email back.  Although I'll have to wait for the snail mail to deliver the actual results, the bottom line is that I'm in.  Hooray for me.  Does this mean I have to wear a pocket protector now?

 

Upon further investigation, I could have obtained my SAT scores from high school and saved myself the trouble.  C'est la vie.  Time will tell if they (or I) will regret this later.  I'm still somewhat embarassed by the whole thing.

 

Sure I am.  That's why I'm blogging about it.  Right.

 

Well, what the hell else do I have to talk about?

This is going to be short and sweet

...as I am composing this on my iPhone in a hotel room in Williams, AZ after spending two days at the Grand Canyon. It was simply more than the human mind can absorb at once.

First of all, stuff in the distance looks like a matte painting that changes depending on your point of view. There is no real way to judge "far" from "far", other than the fact that some stuff in front moves slightly in respect to the stuff in back. In other words, the parallax effect.

It's the closer in stuff that's really interesting. Every ten feet along the rim trail presents a new and wonderful camera shot, provided you have the guts to get close enough to the edge to take it. It's ridiculously scary dangerous. There's guard rails only in a few select locations. People routinely go out onto outcroppings of rock, inches from the edge, with drops of several hundred feet on either side. The mind boggles.

Anyways, here I am, face redder than the cliff face, after burning roll after roll of virtual film. Tomorrow, we head for home.

Why "Crunchy Frog"?

Well, I'm glad you asked! (Oh, I crack myself up.)

 

The first thing a prospective employer/loan officer/university admissions critter/anyone doing a background check does nowadays (or should do) when faced with making a decision on someone's future, is to see what's in his past.  Step one in that process is Google.

 

Sadly enough, if you searched on my name in Google, my home address and phone number show up on page 1.  This in itself is distressing enough for me, and makes me thankful for Caller ID.  The last thing I need showing up to accompany it is some political rant or off-color joke I made in a moment of weakness 5 years previously.

 

Yes, I know, "Don't post anything you wouldn't want to see on the front page of the New York Times."  I don't.  But even so, I don't want to miss out on a job opportunity because some unscrupulous HR critter decides he doesn't like Republicans, or heavy metal, or something completely unrelated to the topic.

 

Okay, but why "Crunchy Frog" specifically?  Because it's been my computer handle/screen name for the last 25 or so years, since the days of Bulletin Board Systems and Compuserve.  It's how I am known everywhere on the internet, with the exception of Facebook, where I use my real name.  It's the name that my future wife first came to know me by, and up until the day she died, I was her "Froggy" and she was my "Pooh Bear".

 

If you still don't get it, I suggest you acquaint yourself with the madcap brilliance that was Monty Python's Flying Circus.

Birthday musings

Well, it seems I've made it through another year.  Forty-four of them, but who's counting?  Besides Uncle Sam, the State of California, various insurance companies, etc...

 

I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up.  Hell, I don't know what I want to do next week.  Some folks (myself included) would probably call that a lack of ambition.  I'm not so sure.  It's easy to be ambitious when you're brimming with self-confidence.  When the world is yours for taking. That's when you can make plans.  Not me.  I've always been well aware of my shortcomings.

 

A man's gotta know his limitations. - Inspector Harry Callahan

 

So, I muddle through, and do (not quite) my best with what I've got.  Try and be a good dad to my kids.  Continue the slow, arduous process of putting together a decent music catalog.  Volunteer at church.  Maybe learn to play an instrument.  It would certainly make songwriting easier.

 

I am going to be "teaching" (if that's a good approximation of what a Small Group Leader does) Communion to 15 or so boys (my own son included) for the next two years.  The prospect is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, as was the process of writing my faith story and delivering it to 100+ people.  (I may post it here at some point, most likely depending on how 'public' this blog becomes.)  Two years is an awful big commitment.

 

I suspect I will learn as much from them as they do from me.  And who knows, maybe one of them will have a single mom...

May the road rise to meet you

Known simply as "Irish Blessing", this has always been one of my favorite bits of... well, I don't know what to call it really.  Poetry?  Whatever you call it, it's a wonderful reminder that with apologies to David Gates (The Goodbye Girl), "Goodbye doesn't mean forever."  I've been toying with the idea of setting it to music, and have a chorus put together that I'm not thoroughly disgusted with.  Verses will of course take forver and a day to come up with, as always...

 

May the road rise to meet you

And the wind blow at your back

May the sun shine upon your face

And rain your fields never lack

Even though we go our separate ways

Do please understand

That until we meet again

May God hold you

In the palm of his hand

Be First

Be first in my heart

Be first in my soul

Be first in my mind

Be first

Be first in my strength

Be first in my faith

Be first in my life

Be first

 

You're the ruler of the nations

Lord of lords and king of kings

The master of the universe

Author of everything

You're a candle in the darkness

A lamp unto my feet

You make my spirit sing with joy

You make my life complete

 

Be first!

Too. Hot. To. Sleep.

Feels like I've spent the last two days on the surface of the sun. Summer has finally struck southern California, with a vengeance. It's been on the north side of 105, and tomorrow promises more of the same. Humid, too. So much so that thunderstorms have popped up in the AV, as well as Riverside and San Diego counties.
Where there's thunder, there's lightning, and resultant wildfires.

Oh joy, oh rapture.

I'll be on my way to the Grand Canyon a week from now. In July. Yes I am nuts - why do you ask?

Actually, the T-storms that are making life so pleasant here are supposed to roll through Arizona the beginning of next week, and by the time the weekend comes around, it should be sunny and 85. With the cactus in bloom.

I can live with that. If I can figure out how to upload pictures from my fancy-schmancy new camera, I'll put some in this space. If I still care enough to post.

I tried doing this once, years before. Didn't have a lot to say, didn't have much time to say it, and didn't really have a concept (oh, as opposed to now?) behind it. I think this time will be different. Already this is turning out to be a whole lot more autobiographical than originally planned. That's okay I guess. And if it's not, well, I do happen to be the one with the power to change what gets posted.

There's A House In Heaven

After taking a long look at the Blogger Terms of Service, I have come to the conclusion that Google is not going to assume ownership of any original material I post here.  Good.  I'd hate to have someone tell me I lost the copyright to my own songs!

 

This is the first worship song I ever wrote, and the second one overall.  No, I'm not going to post my first song.  Not now, at any rate :)

 

There's a house for me in heaven

Not for anything I've done

I was just a babe when it was built

But now that I am grown

I can see the shingles on the roof

And grass upon the lawn

I am his

I am his

 

In the name of the trinity

I was baptized to the Lord

I have pledged my life to Jesus Christ

And the promise of the word

Through the sacrament of bread and wine

My spirit is restored

I am his

I am his

 

Even though the flesh is given up to sin

I rejoice to know his spirit is within

And the day I draw my dying breath

Is the day I'll win

For that's the day my new life will begin

 

There's a house for me in heaven

And oh, what a sight to see

It was built in sacrificial love

By my Lord upon the tree

And I know that everlasting life

Is waiting there for me

I am his

I am his

"Here's a little song I wrote..."

I have an inordinate amount of other people's music taking up space in my head. So much so, that at random times a song lyric will pop into my conciousness that perfectly dovetails with the situation, mood, or conversation I find myself in. It's a little distracting sometimes.

It's also distressing when I try to write my own material. Many times I'll come up with lyric and melody (usually just a chorus; I can bang that much out in about ten minutes. The verses then take forever) and say to myself, "This sounds familiar." I then have to start googleing (is that even a word?) what I just wrote to see if it already exists elsewhere.

Kinda like the process of naming this blog.

Just what the world needs - yet another blog.

So why am I doing this? I'm getting old.

I suppose that beats the alternative.

I have noticed that with age, comes insight - random observations, (semi-)funny jokes, song lyrics, whatever. I have also noticed that if I don't write them down, they soon vanish from memory.

Poof. Gone.

Vapor trails.

So, for lack of a better idea, I'll deposit them here, brillince and banality in equal measure.

There may be other posters in the future; the glass is clowdy.

Polite comments are always welcome. Spam, not so much.

Please excuse the dust while site construction continues.