I vow to you to keep writing in this blog - sporadically and with no discernible schedule whatsoever

Hello world! It's me! Sam! You know... Sam? That guy?

I have something interesting to announce here. I bought a new domain and now the extremely popular website www.samterito.com is live and on the internets. As of now, my plans for it are to basically put up a standard GoDaddy template and then awkwardly edit the hell out of it. The first design is a clearly irresponsible accounting firm. Go check it out. NOW! QUICKLY!

I'll wait...

Did you go there yet?

DID YOU?!

Cheese and Scary Thunder

   This morning at about 6:30, it started raining. I guess I'd gotten up about 6ish to let Kitty out (who was meowing in the living room, right at the folding door) so I turned off the alarm from my phone and went to let him outside. Got back in bed and couldn't sleep, so of course I did the completely logical thing and look at wikipedia entries on everything from US presidents to various historical calamities that have befallen humankind. Twenty minutes later, it started pouring. I assumed it was just a run of the mill rainstorm, but suddenly the loudest crack of thunder clapped outside - scaring me and unfortunately, Cooper. The millisecond the thundercrack stopped, he started crying. Now, it's not easy raising two little kids, but somewhere in the folds of frustration and never ending joy, you always want to comfort them. I ran to him as fast as I could. Mostly to try and make sure he knew everything was ok but albeit, to keep him from waking his baby brother as well. He sat up and tearfully said "I want to go in your room". Normally this is a no-no, but thunder IS scary (even to me) and clearly there was no other solution. I scooped him up, walked into our room, put him in the bed between me and Aim and tucked the sheet and blanket over him. He let out this little gushing sound - one that is an unmistakable sound of his smile that he's made all his life. He makes it when you hug him. He makes it when you hold him. Even in the dark of our room, I knew he was smiling. I will never forget that sound. I'm sure it's one he'll grow out of, because I can't imagine making that sound if I was happy, so I have to do all I can to document it. I'm sure I've recorded it somewhere, on some video I'll have to go find one day, but it's one of the happiest sounds I'll ever hear in my life.
   Conner on the other hand, has briskfully entered the terrible two's. The only good thing about it though is that he's so alert, and even though every other thing is a fit, he's constantly trying to tell you something. Too bad I rarely understand. He's constantly going on these long, rambling explanations that are usually rebutted with me saying what I thought he said back to me, then him saying something like "No, no... bleee bluugrg me um are... Spiderman.. Buzz... WeeWee...". Still he just recently started this incredible thing. When we're putting on his little shoes or tiny pants through gritted teeth or while biting our lips in frustration, he says "Cheese!"to us. It means he wants us to smile. That way, he thinks we're not mad. I don't know if I can speak for Aimee here, but I can definitely say more times than not, it's worked on me.

So whatever I'm doing when I'm reading this. How old I am, or how old you are - "Cheese!" It's not that bad. Life's pretty good. Life is wonderful. Because these tiny little shoes are getting bigger every day.

Cheese!

Cars, Bands, and Death.

                In 1993, I was in a death metal band. It was weird, because I didn't really like death metal all that much. At least, not death as these guys liked. I'd rock out to Obituary, Death,  Sepultura, Fear Factory. Sure, there was the occasional Cannibal Corpse song that ruled, but a drummer playing blast beats typically lost me. It's just sort of a personal preference I guess. At the time, there was a lot of other music in my collection of CD's and tapes which got more play. Either way, all that changed when one night after death metal band practice, we decided to go hide under an overpass on Old Hammond Hwy and throw glass YooHoo bottles at cars.

                I was grounded for the summer and my band career was derailed until early 1996. We played 3 or 4 shows in garages full of people with bands we all knew. Later that year, we played our first bar show to familiar faces. Years went by, bands broke up, and bands reformed. Shows were played out in cow pastures on flatbed trailers, in storage rental units, in bedrooms. But one recurring theme was that we usually played with other bands we knew and hung out with.  It seemed like there was some collective of the same people that would always come out, and the shows started to reflect that. After several years of drunken antics, parties, sharing members, caravans to out of town shows, and late nights sitting around a dining room table, we decided to call ourselves Love Affair Records.

                There was nothing special about us. We were just one social circle of college kids from the same couple of old high school cliques and other similar peer groups. A tribe of 20 year olds that went to a few of the same parties as the thousands of other hordes of kids. They all had their bands. Their shows. Their bars. Their art galleries. Their skate parks. I guess they just didn't come up with dumb names for their groups of bands. Either way, we all just kept playing music at different bars and drinking ourselves into oblivion. Looking back, I don't remember a definitive night I can say it all officially started. But there's one recurring event that always swells our group of friends to their rawest and deepest cores: Death. And never through disease or old age. Just tragic, accidental death.

                My buddy Brett was driving down Airline Hwy, coming back from some trashbag strip club in Prairieville, when he lost control of his red, 1994 Pontiac Sunfire. We always kind of assumed he passed out, but I never really asked all that many questions. His car slowly drifted off the road, eventually crashing into a ditch in between the north and southbound lanes, flipping and rolling, and throwing him right through the windshield. The day after, a bunch of us drove out to where it happened. Before Bayou Manchac, across from the vacant state fairgrounds. There were a bunch of dents in the grass, marked by spots of orange spraypaint from the investigation. We found broken cassette tapes, notes, one of his shoes, and some of those little, circular white sticky things the ambulance puts on people they're trying to revive. It was April 7th, 2000. He was 20 years old.

                It was the first time that we'd all had to deal with this wave of emotion.  Suddenly, that guy from your band is gone. That guy you wrote songs with, the guy you talked to about girlfriend problems. He's dead. What do we do now? I remember he had a black Stratocaster with this weird, glittery pickguard. Used a BOSS distortion pedal and a DOD stereo flanger. During practice, he'd always have to borrow somebody's tuner. I remember seeing his guitar leaning against the wall when we were all in his room, after his funeral. His mom was giving away a bunch of his t-shirts. We were all standing there and she was handing them all out. We took this big, group photo in the backyard. We're all standing there, wearing shirts and ties, smiling big smiles. When I look back on all this and where we all are now, that event seemed like the first bookend. Music started with death metal. And music collective started with actual death. An odd way to think about it, but that's pretty much the long and short of it.

                From there on, we were off. Band after band. Beer after beer. We rented storage units to practice in, and tore up every rental house we could get our hands on. I'm pretty sure if you poll everybody in that picture in Brett's backyard - I bet none of us ever got a single security deposit back. Just like every other group of kids in America, we were living the dream. We'd drag around boxes and boxes of 4-track cassette tapes, broken guitar cables, and our Love Affair Records sign from house to house. It was all we needed. It was all we wanted.

                At some point, groups of people and what draws them together start to diminish. Of course, there's a wide variety of factors as to why that is: Marriage, babies, jobs.  We all started to find ourselves at different crossroads. The band I'd always considered my musical home slowly splintered off to Seattle, Shreveport, St Petersburg, Nashville, New Orleans, and Atlanta. Even more broad, the people in that picture started to drift away. From New York to California, some people refused to stop writing songs, but probably more than not, guitars got stashed in people's closets. It's probably the natural order of things, really.

But then one day, the roof caved in.

               

                Getting a phone call at 6 in the morning is never good. Especially when you look and you realize there are a few missed calls from a certain group of people. You just know.  There are really no words to express it, but you'd think that almost a decade later, there would be some internal preparation you could manifest. There's not. You basically count the people who called, and you realize now you know that at least all of them are still alive. But who didn't call?

                Eventually, you  get the bad news. Another vehicle. Another windshield. Nine years later. The world kind of stops spinning and you try to make sense of things. I took a shower and went to work. I called three people to tell them, and then I stopped answering the phone. Justin was in Illinois somewhere when his truck flipped over. Inside were his girlfriend Molly and some guy whom I haven't ever gotten the story of who he was, and why he was in there. Everybody walked away except Justin. I don't know what happened. I have no authority of guessing what happened and it's never been any of my business. All I did know is that we had to prepare. There was going to be a revival.

                In my mind, I think of the things that occurred in those 9 years. There are sounds I have archived, CD's I have, and whole albums available on bandcamp. Sometimes you have to get a little crazy and dig up an old myspace link. But there's whole lifetimes of projects that spanned that near decade. Some songs about dying. In fact, some songs Justin wrote about Brett dying.

Life's kind of funny that way, I guess.

On the day I moved out

My mom told me one day, probably without really thinking about it or really just having it come out in passing, that on the day I moved out of my parents house and into my first apartment, my dad cried. She told me this I think a couple of weeks afterwards. Now, we had an amazing time living in that apartment. It was probably some of the cornerstones of my adult life. That part of life sandwiched between being a kid and being an adult. It was necessary. All of it. It was probably time to do it, but I don't know for sure. Who's to say?

That thought has stuck with me.

Maybe I don't think about it every day, but I think about it probably every couple months. Maybe 2 or 3 times a year. But I think about it. It's part of living - when a baby bird leaves the nest. And I remember really only half leaving. I only moved a couple of things, took a couple of clothes and probably stayed there 3 or 4 days a week. My bed was still at my parents house. My TV. Pretty much all my stuff. But it was more or less this passage that I think all parents have to go through and it pains me so much today, that I made him feel like that. He was 44 years old. Today I'm 35 years old. I'm 9 years from the point he was at when I moved out. His dad, my grandfather, died at 68 years old. My dad is 60 now. He's 8 years from the age HIS dad died. These numbers constantly flicker through my head. And it's sad that I spend really any time thinking about that kind of stuff but it's really just part of life, I guess...

Every day I get home from work, my kids run up to me. "DAAAAAAADDDDYYYY!" They're so excited. Screaming uncontrollably. But I remember being that little boy. My Dad would come home, all dirty from work. And I remember screaming uncontrollably. I guess one day that kinda stops happening. It's why we bottle time up. It's why remembering this stuff is so important.

I need to write in this thing more. I know my kiddos are gonna see it someday. That's the goal. When you're reading it, remember THIS time. It's 2014. I love seeing my kiddos run up to me. It's the highlight of my life.

I hope I don't cry too much on the day that they move out. But I almost tear up thinking about it TODAY. So I'm probably toast for when it happens.

Guess only one way to find out.

My Kids Are Growing Up. And I don't like it.

   The other day, I set up the swimming pool in the backyard. Cooper of course asked about 10,000 questions while we were swimming. Mostly questions that he knows the answer to "Are we in the pool?" "Are we swimming?" "Am I swimming?" "Is mommy swimming?" I love that kiddo. I try to slow him down as much as I can, and ask for hugs and stuff. Tell him he's a good boy. We're trying to get him potty trained, so that's a hoot. But regardless, I just look at him all the time and I can't believe he's growing up so fast.
   Conner too! He's 9 months old as of last Thursday. We had his 9 mo check up at the doc and he's in all the big boy percentiles (75% for height, 50% weight, 95% for head circum). He's so close to crawling, it's scary. Gonna be mobile soon. He pivots onto his hands, gets up kind of on one knee, and then sorta just wilts back to the ground. I'm worried once that kid is able to get around. He's already a terror in the walker. Lord help us when he's able to get around even easier.
   We went out to MeMe's the other Sunday while Aimee was throwing an Open House at Missy and Patrick's. It was cool to be able to see her and both my babies together. Con wasn't really having any of it, but Coop is so great with her. She had a stroke back in May and she can't really say what she wants to, when she wants to say it. But she gets the point out, and Coop just stands there asking questions and genuinely being loving with her. That's rad. I'm so lucky to be able to see these generations able to interact. I remember my MawMaw Neal and MawMaw Galloway and talking with them. I'm glad my kiddos will be able to hopefully one day say the same.
   Life's great. Thanks be to God.

Aimee's kissing those babies.

I just walked in from watching Adam, Mikey, and Glenn play in their cover bands first gig and I walked in and, of course, having a couple beers makes me super sentimental.
Aimee was feeding Conner a late night, impromptu bottle. He'd waken up 3 hours to the minute since his last bottle. I walked in and talked to her a few minutes while he finished his bottle, and tiredly looked up and down at both of us, nodding off. I kissed them both and walked out, but right as I pulled the door shut, I paused and peeked in the door crack and looked at them both. Aimee was just looking right in that baby's eyes, as he was looking up at her.
She smiled, and pulled him up, kissing his forehead. It was deeply moving to me. She's so awesome. And our babies are so awesome.

Just wanted to write that before I forgot it.

Conner turns 6 months old today

   It's amazing to me how fast time flies. It seriously seems like yesterday that Aim was going into labor and we were on our way to the hospital to meet our newest addition. Unbelievably it's been 6 months. He's now old enough to pretty much stand on your lap when you hold him, facing towards you, and he just smiles and coos and laughs... The friendliness in his almond-shaped eyes, his forehead and eyebrows kind of scrunching upward as he just has this happy little look on his face. It melts me. It just hits you sometimes, looking at this little baby boy, and watching him start to develop these traits that you know will shape who he is. Watching a personality grow in this baby that, just months ago, was getting his first spongebath under an incubator lamp at 3 in the morning, in a room filled with a very tired mommy and grandparents and sisters and aunts...
   I'm lucky enough to be able to read to these kiddos almost every other night, and I remember rocking and singing Coop to sleep, though now he wants to stand or sit on the floor while you read - and he's getting very good at stalling when it's time to actually get in bed. We've moved onto bigger books, more words, more pages... And his little Sesame Street Beginnings books have inevitably been passed down to his little brother. Conner can now grab the books, and light up with excitement when he sees Big Bird or Elmo, following page to page and using his hands to swipe at the large colorful figures who smile back at him.
   Cooper lately has been taking note of the time when his whole family is in a room, and he'll say "We are all together...". He's said this at least 10 times since we've been at Mom and Dad's while our house is being remodeled. But it's such a huge statement. He's right. We are all together. It brings me back to when we were all together in my family, and when they were all together with their Moms and Dads, and so forth and so on. I know one day these kids will grow up. It's happening right before my very eyes. But right now, we are all together. And that's what matters the most.

I am the luckiest man on the earth, and being a daddy is the highlight of my life. The tears in my eyes are the testament. Thank you, God. So very very much.

Babies Babies Babies

   So we baptized little Conner over the weekend. He was perfect up there - smiling, laughing. He even looked at Father Mike while he was anointing him with oil or something or other, and gave him this big smile. It was sweet thing. Little guy... I mean Conner, not the priest. He was somewhat portly. But still...
   Last night he fell asleep in the swing like he does all the time, while me and Aimee were swiftly flying through the 5th season of Mad Men (gotta hurry, Season 6 starts in like a week). We picked him up and carried him to his crib and he never even stirred. Aimee changed his diaper and held him up to me to unfasten his little bib from the back, and then laid him down and he went right to sleep. I looked down at the bib and it was a Winnie The Pooh bib with him sort of skipping, with the words "Hello Little Friend" on it, or something like that, and I folded it and set it on the armrest of the little rocking chair... and it sort of dawned on me how special this time is. It's so great. That room being dimly lit with the sound machine making little wave noises. I spent many a night rocking Coop in that same room and now I get to rock Conner in there while these little babies sleep in your arms and you just look down at them and just, you know.. It's a great thing.
   But all in all, Baby marketing is weird. It's all soft and cuddly animals and pastels and soft colors. The blankets and jammies are soft and down, and there's little bunnies or ducks or little dogs on things. And they're always smiling. I guess in our lives, you have plenty of time to get desensitized to all the horror and shitty things in the world. But as a little baby, you have time to just soak in all the warmth and softness and love. It makes you realize that as little babies, we're all so innocent. Everybody is, literally. Everybody needs a hug, and to be cuddled, and loved on, and bottle fed, and have someone sort of stroke their little baby head, and dote on them. And I don't know when that stops. Or why at some point, we just move on. But wouldn't it be great if we could just hold on to it a little bit longer? I know there will be a time when I miss it. I just hope I can remember it perfectly... and God helps me get past the point that it ends. But while there's time, I'm gonna enjoy it. It's the greatest thing ever.
 

35

I was just brushing my teeth and thinking. A couple of days ago, I was changing out of my work polo and into a tee shirt for band practice with the fellas. I grabbed this old Metallica shirt out of the drawer I've literally had since 1992. Wore it and jammed out. Never even thought twice about it.

I was thinking about when me and my family went to Disney World in 1992 and I wore that shirt in the park... the rebellious 14 year old shithead teenager I was. My bangs all hanging in my eyes like I was Kurt Cobain or whatever.

I finished brushing and looked at myself in the mirror. My hairline has receded back well past the curve of my scalp and past my forehead. And my hair is graying. Sort of salt and peppery (though thankfully much more pepper for now). I turn 35 on Sunday. The same day my 5 month old is getting christened and the day after my 2 year old's birthday party.

And my life is more perfect than I could have ever dreamed of.

So fear not, parents who's kids are walking around Disney like a bunch of little motherfuckers. There's hope for them yet.

:)

Yard Of The Month

On the way out the driveway, I noticed the neighbor across the street has been awarded "Yard Of The Month". Well, aren't you something? I'm going to Kinko's and getting an identical one made to put in my yard. We'll just see about that, mister fancy pants. Your distinction will called into question every time neighbors drive by. "What the hell? Two yards of the month? WHICH ONE IS REAL?!?!" And I can assure you - if people think my yard has somehow received this prestige, it will surely water down people's standards of Yard Of The Month. Maybe I'll get one that says "Yard of the Year", or "Yard of the Millennium"... Maybe "The Yard of Infinity"...?

Dreams

I've been having some really vivid dreams lately. Not sure what that's about but I don't know if I like it. I see people from my past, and it genuinely feels like I've seen them in real life. And not in a good way. I don't know. Maybe it was Utah.

Just Boating It

Went out on the boat today with Dad, PT, and Coop. It was pretty cool watching dad and coop play and talk, doing things that they both love.

Life is so great.

Come on, Sam. Make sure you remember all this.

   Tonight while putting Conner to bed, I put his little seahorse thing up next to his head and pushed the little thing's tummy to turn it on and it started playing that all too familiar song. I remember it so well from Cooper that it's literally ingrained in my head. But I know there's a day coming somewhere off in the distant future where I won't be able to remember anymore. And that scares the bajeezus out of me. Again, sad soon-to-be-nostalgic Sam ruins things for current present Sam, sorta. But still.
   There's a little video I shot tonight of him cooing and making all these little blurbs. He was on the changing table and Aimee was leaning over him. He was wearing his little Daddy's Rockstar onesie thats getting too small for him, smiling. I gotta hold on to all this. Because I know there comes a day  where I wish it was all still happening. I love you all, little babies. Oh, I just love you soooooo much.

   Mark 2: 18-22. Something just tells me all these Pharisees are gonna be trouble. I mean, when Jesus mentions wineskins, you better be listening...
  

I wrote this. On Dec 18, 2012.

Jesus wept. That's all I could think about. Jesus weeping.

Kids are Dicks

   The other day on Facebook, I wrote a short little blurb about irrational fears. About how I have them. Kinda got me to worrying about why I would have them and where it came from. The long and short of it I suppose is - I don't know. More than likely it stems from my traumatic experiences in middle school, and really discovering how much of an asshole some KIDS can really be.
   Looking back on my life as a kid, from about 0 (I assume) to about 10 or 11, everything was pretty good to go. I suppose I really didn't learn about how cruel kids could be till about 5th grade, when people could start being REAL dicks. And it really didn't escalate till about 6th or 7th grade when it was made certain to me that human beings could be such motherfuckers to people. Not really too sure of where this impulse comes from, I suppose I can't really hold these kids too accountable for what they did to me 20+ years ago. But I do know this - I've never, and will never forget about it.
   One of the lessons I must always remember to teach my children is to not be assholes to people. They'll remember it, I'll assure them. I'm sure I treated some people badly. Though I don't remember it all that well, I'm sure it happened. I know I was kinder to people all my life than unkind. That's the important part of it.

So kids, if you ever read this. Don't be dicks. People will never forgive you.

Gospel of the Day:

Gospel, Luke 10:1-12

   I try to knock the dust off my sandals from middle school, but it's tough, man. It's tough...

What I Want, Right Now edition

   Sometimes I think about things I want, but can't come up with anything. I guess that means I have everything I really need. Sure, I'd love to have a million dollars or a boat made of glass, or an El Camino that plays Metallica all day. Or a lawn chair in the surf, while I'm half drunk on pina coladas, about to head up to the condo for a sandwich I'm gonna make with some carving board turkey and some mayo on toast. The new iphone just came out. The iphone 5. I don't really care though. So I guess there's that.

   Todays gospel comes from Luke:

Gospel, Luke 8:19-21¹⁹ His mother and his brothers came looking for him, but they could not get to him because of the crowd.²⁰ He was told, 'Your mother and brothers are standing outside and want to see you.'²¹ But he said in answer, 'My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and put it into practice.'

   I only have one brother. I guess it'd be alright if both he and my mom wanted to see me. It's good to be wanted. Even better if everyone who hears the word of God would want to see you, right?

Grandmaw's and Boat Rides!

   Went to go visit my MeMe yesterday with Coop. For some reason, mortality weighs on me everytime I do things like that. I mean, it's probably the whole drive for getting me there in the first place, and it always kind of hangs with me on my way back home. These people aren't going to be here forever. You have to recognize things like that because I think if you don't, you'll deal with it tenfold somewhere down the line. I don't wanna be that guy. "Why didn't I go visit _____ when I had the chance?" It's a real fear I have. So I've decided that's the new me. The guy that does shit while people are here instead of the guy who regrets it later. My life is partially lived in a nostalgic haze anyway. Might as well try to keep everything as positive as possible. Saving all the good times in the memory banks. Because I know damn well I'll be drifting through them again down the road.
   Took Cooper on his first boat ride Saturday. Picking out his life jacket was a real hoot Friday, but watching him on the boat for the first time - watching him and wondering what is going through his mind, that was the real treat. You see a little brain just slowly working there, taking things in, learning, processing. It's really one of those miracles of life. It blows my mind daily looking at this kid learn to do everything, and take it in. It's so rad. People are so scared of kids. I was too. It's a humongous life change. But this past weekend as he was playing hide-and-peek up from the corner of the bed with Aimee and just laughing, I was laughing my head off. What a tremendous little bundle of awesomeness. I'm so happy I have him in my life, and I can't WAIT until his little bro gets here. Good times.
   Today's gospel is as follows:

Gospel, Luke 8:16-18
¹⁶ 'No one lights a lamp to cover it with a bowl or to put it under a bed. No, it is put on a lamp-stand so that people may see the light when they come in.¹⁷ For nothing is hidden but it will be made clear, nothing secret but it will be made known and brought to light.¹⁸ So take care how you listen; anyone who has, will be given more; anyone who has not, will be deprived even of what he thinks he has.'

   It's an oldie but goodie. This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.

 

 

Coop's first haircut, Another In-utero appt, FRSS progress, and Breakfast at Tiffany's.

   A couple of days ago we got Cooper his first haircut. It was our third attempt. Apparently the location is quite popular. It's called "Pigtails and Crewcuts", in TownCenter. In a related note, Coop got neither a crewcut nor a pigtail. His hair was getting a bit long though. I really wanted to get him a rat-tail on the back all trailer park style, but of course, Aimee said no. There's a vid up on my youtube page of this glorious event. He didn't seem to enjoy it all that much. I said to the haircut girl, "I don't understand his reaction... I mean, I stopped crying during haircuts when I was 17 or 18 years old, but I thought he was a little quicker than me." She didn't laugh. I didn't get over the silence during the entire duration of the haircut. Anyway, see below for the visual proof:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YSX9AV5NWU&feature=plcp

   This morning at 11:20, Aimee and I have another appointment with the baby doc to see/hear the heartbeat of our voracious 32 week old utero-babe. I'm looking forward to it. I'm actually really looking forward to the new birthing experience in the new hospital but I'm not looking forward to the sleep deprivation. I know it's one of those things, and in the entire goings of life, I suppose it's a good problem to have. But still, it takes a while to get used to 3 hour sleep intervals and being tired most of your day. I know. I'll get over it. I still have an elliptical to move out of the house to continue to make room. MiMi is coming to stay next week and since it is currently obscuring her passage from the door to her bed in the guest bedroom, time is of the essence. Will it speed me up - probably not. But what's new?

   Last night, had practice with Family Robot Seizure Show (from hereon referred to as FRSS). I've never written about this project in my blog before, but for those wondering, check out the facebook page for more detailed looks in: http://www.facebook.com/familyrobotseizureshow. Being perfectly honest here, I sincerely enjoy the work I'm doing with this band. It is extremely rewarding to me to be able to put out a record, from start to finish, in less than a year. We're currently working on the third full length album, tentatively titled "Doom Falcon". The name came from a series of words Brandon put into a band name generator and those words together sound bad ass. We are at this point about halfway finished with the record and I'm really excited to show it off... Last night I put down new vocal tracks for a few working songs, "25 Minutes To New Orleans", "I Can't Believe", and "Where The Sun Don't Shine". This record will be the best one yet.

   During the last couple days, between here and there, I've managed to watch "Breakfast At Tiffany's" in its entirety. What an odd film. Audrey Hepburn plays quite an interesting and strange person, who's oddly charming and weird but I suppose that's kind of the point. The book it's based on was written by Truman Capote. I didn't recognize the lead actor but after some IMDBing, saw he was the guy who played Hannibal on the A-Team. So that's kind of cool. Either way, it was a neat little movie. Old New York style. Plus it's a classic (1961). It helps to brush up on that kind of stuff, I feel anyway, just to take some stock in pop culture. 

   Finally today's gospel reading: Matthew 9: 9-13. What was up with those nutty Pharisees? Always naysaying...

   

500 vs 50 - Sin is the Same.

Gospel Lk 7:36-50

A certain Pharisee invited Jesus to dine with him,
and he entered the Pharisee's house and reclined at table.
Now there was a sinful woman in the city
who learned that he was at table in the house of the Pharisee.
Bringing an alabaster flask of ointment,
she stood behind him at his feet weeping
and began to bathe his feet with her tears.
Then she wiped them with her hair,
kissed them, and anointed them with the ointment.
When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this he said to himself,
"If this man were a prophet,
he would know who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him,
that she is a sinner."
Jesus said to him in reply,
"Simon, I have something to say to you."
"Tell me, teacher," he said.
"Two people were in debt to a certain creditor;
one owed five hundred days' wages and the other owed fifty.
Since they were unable to repay the debt, he forgave it for both.
Which of them will love him more?"
Simon said in reply,
"The one, I suppose, whose larger debt was forgiven."
He said to him, "You have judged rightly."
Then he turned to the woman and said to Simon,
"Do you see this woman?
When I entered your house, you did not give me water for my feet,
but she has bathed them with her tears
and wiped them with her hair.
You did not give me a kiss,
but she has not ceased kissing my feet since the time I entered.
You did not anoint my head with oil,
but she anointed my feet with ointment.
So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven;
hence, she has shown great love.
But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little."
He said to her, "Your sins are forgiven."
The others at table said to themselves,
"Who is this who even forgives sins?"
But he said to the woman,
"Your faith has saved you; go in peace."

   Simon seems like a pretty good apostle. He meant well here, but obviously you shouldn't be all high and mighty around the Lord. I suppose when you ask for forgiveness, you should probably not judge the value of sin to be forgiven. Because whether it's a huge sin or a small sin in your eyes, really all that matters is being forgiven for it.

Catholicynicism

   "I'm a recovering Catholic." You hear people say this from time to time and it's an intriguing statement. Not because they're trying to distance themselves from faith. Or run from it, or whatever. But because they're usually converting to some other spiritual base that they feel is more suitable for where they need to be right then. Maybe they married a Baptist while their own faith was lacking. Or maybe they've discovered some other religion they can relate to a little better. Or maybe they discovered one of these humongous money covered  mega-churches that just appears more faith fashionable? Who knows. Either way, I know what it feels like to be a recovering Catholic. I recovered from the church. Now I seek to un-recover from it? Confusing? I guess how I could understand how it could be. Allow me to explain.
   Baptized a Catholic, First reconciliation, First communion, confirmed - I was raised in the church. From going to private Catholic schools my entire life, it seems like the church was ingrained in me. And it was fine and dandy. I prayed before and after receiving all these sacraments and went along with everything the church was teaching me. I've read a lot of scripture in my day, and know many a bible story good enough to remember how a lot of readings are going to end up. And while I'm can't say I never missed mass once from baptism to confirmation, I made a good many of them. Plus thanks to catholic school, I hit many a holy day of obligation along the way for good measure. So I'm well on my way to being an awesome catholic. Right?
   Wrong. Somewhere between confirmation and receiving the incredibly magical sacrament of holy matrimony, I erred. My wonderful wife and I went through all the pre-cana initiation kind of halfway paying attention but for the most part, managed to keep our faith intact. I can at the very least say that I pray every day and I always have. So belief and a closeness to God have never been a void in my life. I made confession for the first time since confirmation somewhere in the lead up to my marriage in 2006, but by and large, I fell out into and out of weekly mass attendance rather quickly around the time of receiving the sacrament. And that is a very sad thing. But I guess it's just my path.
   All through this time, I have been wayward in my faith. I prayed to the Trinity daily, making the sign of the cross and saying three prayers regularly. The same ones I spoke every morning at St. Thomas More. Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory Be. Then a little conversational piece here and there with the Big Guy. But I still find myself asking "What more is out there"? The last couple times I've been to mass (and they were very sparsely scattered), I'm just sitting there saying "WHEN IS THIS GOING TO BE OVER?!" But luckily I feel like the drought may be over. I have felt a compelling pull back to faith. Some way. Some how.
   I haven't always agreed with the Catholic Church. In fact, there's still a couple of things I still don't really support that they're into. But I think their true business is the healing of souls. And I think I've made the first big step there to being comfortable with redemption. I went to confession today at St Joseph Cathedral downtown. It was a pretty awesome experience. I prayed the Act of Contrition. And it was a great feeling. It really was.
   So bottom line I guess, is that it's ok to be Catholicynic. Just know that there's a lot more at stake in there. You go to church to heal. And it feels good to be back.