My own personal sherpa

I went to Pangboche to practice my Tibetan, but Pasang (my buddy from college who moved back in '93) wanted to brush up on his English almost the whole ten days I was there. He has two brothers, Pemba and Pasang, but it's not as confusing as it sounds having two Pasangs in the house. They mostly don't talk to each other anyway because my pal Pasang is "westernized" from his twelve years in New York City which is kind of a trailer park thing there. He got his Master's in diatetics from Columbia with a minor in interior design. He started in therapeutic recreation, but I told him there was no future in that.

So we started talking about his great uncle Tenzing Norgay (actually everyone is a great aunt or uncle there, so I'm not sure about the blood relations), and we decided to go to Tshechu where he was born which is like a little sherpa party town. They have three Starbucks and a disco called the Yak Yak and there are people dancing there 24 hours a day. The problem was that they only had two CDs; Kate Bush and KC and the Sunshine Band. It made for an interesting four hours, but still no help with my Tibetan.

Shake, Shake, Shake... Shake your Buddha.

Fried Mosquito in a Black-eyed Pea

I've got a Pez dispenser of the greatest athlete ever to play any sport: Michael Jordan the Jumpman. I'm thinking some day it will be worth more than my Jordan V's (white with red and black) which are the most awesome shoes ever made. My Jordan XIVs and XVIIs come in a close second and third, but all three pairs of my XVIIs wore out in less than six months. It's like they don't make them to play basketball any more. You would think a $200 pair of shoes would go at least a year.

Man! I promised myself no more posts about shoes. Why do we always go back to shoes? Let's talk about something else. Anything. What's up with that Froggie went a courtin' song? So the frog marries a mouse with her Uncle Rat's consent and then they have a wedding dinner with moths, june bugs, bees and fleas. Then a dancing cow, glutton tick and a thieving snake show up and things really go sour. A party crashing cat eats the bride and her uncle and then a stray duck eats the groom. Where did he leave his sword and pistol? This could be a blockbuster summer movie, but what was the deal with the cornbread?

I love cold cornbread. Uh-Huh!

Mmmm. Cheese Nips!

People tell me that poetry is hard. Well, actually no one ever told me that, it just sounded like a good start to "Hey! Look what I can do!" Dang, that's from Boobah isn't it?
*pounding his head on desk*
Zing Zing Zingbah!

OK. Poetry! Let's start with some Haiku. Standard 5-7-5 stuff:

I don't like to brag,
But sometimes I slay myself.
It's a private thing.

Crap, I'm out of chips.
What could I replace them with?
How about Cheese Nips?

Not so hard, eh? I did that in about three minutes. Maybe I should do this for a living. I was going to say Cheez-Its, but I liked the rhyme of Nips and chips. Can you believe that we still have the incredibly politically incorrect Cheese Nips on the shelf? Couldn't they have at least changed the name to Cheese Japs? Still a pejorative, but maybe not so offensive. Or maybe we could have a new flavor called Chinese Nips. Now that would be confusing. I tried looking up the history of Cheese Nips in the hopes it came from that raw feeling after a really hard workout where your T-shirt was like sandpaper and you said, "Dang! We played basketball so long I got cheese nips!" But I'm pretty sure that's not it.

Those would be hamburger nips.

Der Übermensch

Why was god so bored after the seventh day of creation? Isn't it hard to believe in a god that wants to be praised all the time? Why is insanity so rare for individuals, but the rule for congregations? If life is so short, then why do we bore ourselves so much? How do we become the Superman? The answer is of course that we can't become the ideal. We can only fight to get closer. Self-awareness of being the Superman means you aren't there yet, and even believing that you will some day reach Nirvana means that you will never get close or your motivations are false.

So why even try? If you ask this, then you're not living. It's like climbing a mountain. Every day you either get a little higher, or prepare yourself for the climb tomorrow. So we are all a bridge with no end. I'm trying real hard to be a shepherd, but bacon tastes good and pork chops taste good, so I end up being the weak like Honey Bunny and Pumpkin. Maybe someday I can be one of the three little fonzies, but I better not get my hopes up or I'll be diverted to Monster Joe's Truck and Tow like Marvin. Maybe I'll just try to be a dog. A dog's got personality.

Personality goes a long way.

Captain Howdy

Most of you probably don't remember Mr. Doody, but those 48 freckles (one for each state) were the bright spot on NBC from the time we got a TV in January 1948 until Clarabelle finally talked and said, "Goodbye, kids" in September, 1960. I remember being glued to the screen as Buffalo Bob would ask, "Say kids, What time is it?" and we would all yell, "It's Howdy Doody time!" It was the politically incorrect Chief Thunderthud who brought us the Bart-jacked "Kawabonga."

Oh, those were happier times when we only had to worry about mutual atomic self-destruction, enlisting to die 5000 miles from home for an ego-driven cause to police the world, or the repression of any liberal ideas (like civil rights) by the return from the brink of hell caused by the first great depression and the second great war. A father could rule his house with an iron fist and mom's only release from the hellish normality was the liquor cabinet. Help us Billy Graham!

The power of Christ compels you...