Tuesday, August 31, 2010
"You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others the permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear our presence automatically liberates others." - Nelson Mandela
Saturday, August 28, 2010
WHAT THE HELL?
Ok. I need to tell the world about the craziness that is the "real world" (if you did not read the quotations as "quote unquote", then please go back and reread it for full affect) known to most as shopping malls. Three what the hells in a matter of an hour. So sit back, sip on some woodchuck and enjoy the isolated hour of my day.
The first of the three scenes takes place at a dandy of an establishment that goes by the name of T.J. Max. How I ended up in this particular venue is a story for another day, because the girth of the sha-nan-a-gins happened inside not out.
So. There I am. Minding my own beezewax. When I spot it. A Chiefs T... that just so happens to be coveted by my dear friend Brian Wehner. Its rarity was in its unexplainable low low price. In unforeseen excitement, my eyes quickly scanned the section for the appropriate size. Hot damn. Wouldn't you know, I got the last one on the rack. I nabbed the shirt and at the very moment I am searching my contacts for Wehn-dawgs number... my phone rings. Save your what the's, it was my mom. (She is in Florida and was just checking up on me) But five minutes later, Brian called. I announced heroically, both the find and the impending purchase of the day's holy grail, much to the chagrin (pronounced sha-grin) of my now elated buddy.
Had the story stopped there, the what the hell number one would have been an embarrassment and not worthy to put into a blog. But lucky for you and me, the shopping spree continued. Fast forward ten minutes and one sweet cardigan find. I am now leisurely posted up in the check out line awaiting my turn to exchange my money for their treasures. "Cashier number 2 may help you" rapped a automated response robot from an undisclosed location. My time had come. I subconsciously took inventory after slyly checking my fly to reassure me of its closed state. "What the hell?!" The Chiefs T was no longer in my possession. I did a slightly dumbfounded and fully confused emergency exit around an elmo display and doubled back to my original position of discovery.
A long 25 minutes short... I proceeded to comb the T.J. Max for signs of witch craft, involuntary drug use on my part (ha-loose-en-a-jins), babes, trolls with infinities for Kansas City athletic teams, clothes-warps and the found-but-now-lost-again Chiefs T. A manager named Stu aided in my frantic search asking me dumb parent-esk questions like "where is the last place you saw it" and "are you sure there was even a shirt". Stricken by defeat and haunted by demands from Wehner that I refrain from messing with his heart, I tuck my proverbial tail between my legs and exited the obviously haunted T.J. Max dazed and very much confused.
Yes, I agree. "What the hell?"
Due to a prior engagement...the final 2 "what the hells" will be posted at a later date.
The first of the three scenes takes place at a dandy of an establishment that goes by the name of T.J. Max. How I ended up in this particular venue is a story for another day, because the girth of the sha-nan-a-gins happened inside not out.
So. There I am. Minding my own beezewax. When I spot it. A Chiefs T... that just so happens to be coveted by my dear friend Brian Wehner. Its rarity was in its unexplainable low low price. In unforeseen excitement, my eyes quickly scanned the section for the appropriate size. Hot damn. Wouldn't you know, I got the last one on the rack. I nabbed the shirt and at the very moment I am searching my contacts for Wehn-dawgs number... my phone rings. Save your what the's, it was my mom. (She is in Florida and was just checking up on me) But five minutes later, Brian called. I announced heroically, both the find and the impending purchase of the day's holy grail, much to the chagrin (pronounced sha-grin) of my now elated buddy.
Had the story stopped there, the what the hell number one would have been an embarrassment and not worthy to put into a blog. But lucky for you and me, the shopping spree continued. Fast forward ten minutes and one sweet cardigan find. I am now leisurely posted up in the check out line awaiting my turn to exchange my money for their treasures. "Cashier number 2 may help you" rapped a automated response robot from an undisclosed location. My time had come. I subconsciously took inventory after slyly checking my fly to reassure me of its closed state. "What the hell?!" The Chiefs T was no longer in my possession. I did a slightly dumbfounded and fully confused emergency exit around an elmo display and doubled back to my original position of discovery.
A long 25 minutes short... I proceeded to comb the T.J. Max for signs of witch craft, involuntary drug use on my part (ha-loose-en-a-jins), babes, trolls with infinities for Kansas City athletic teams, clothes-warps and the found-but-now-lost-again Chiefs T. A manager named Stu aided in my frantic search asking me dumb parent-esk questions like "where is the last place you saw it" and "are you sure there was even a shirt". Stricken by defeat and haunted by demands from Wehner that I refrain from messing with his heart, I tuck my proverbial tail between my legs and exited the obviously haunted T.J. Max dazed and very much confused.
Yes, I agree. "What the hell?"
Due to a prior engagement...the final 2 "what the hells" will be posted at a later date.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
MANIFESTO 347
3:47 originated as a common thread of familiarity and comradery between two friends yearning for fellowship and brotherhood. The concept has blossomed into a movement of love rooted in prayer, dreams, hope, timing, friendship, creativity, imagination and a belief that life is better lived together than apart. Two turned into three, which quickly doubled to six. Six inspired, dreamt, leaned, invited, danced, laughed, washed, hoped, road tripped, grinded, texted and believed that the dreams of a full life that had engulfed their world as well as their hearts was worth the ultimate pursuit. 3:47 binds the original six and teams them with the many others whose dreams are as big if not bigger. 3:47 is a time during the day where eyes are opened, dreams are dreamt big and life is not only lived but also embraced and sought after. 3:47 is a daily reminder that love wins, dreams are worth pursuing and “I am because we are.” 3:47, the time of our lives is now!!!
So join our dream team and keep swept into the movement. This is a blog about dreams. Pursue them. Renewing them. Creating them. Sharing them. Celebrating them. Encouraging them.
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