Dalmatian Not Enjoying Rave

04/10/2008, 7:00 am -- by Steve | 2 Comments

Bweinh! Goes to the Movies — Leatherheads

04/9/2008, 1:43 pm -- by Connie | 3 Comments

Read all our movie reviews here.

Sarah and I hit the local theater last night to see George, Renee, and — let\’s face it, John Krasinski (I really miss The Office) — in Leatherheads, which had been touted as a quick-witted romantic comedy. Sure enough, it scored some points.

The story follows the birth of professional football through a scruffy little team called the Duluth Bulldogs, headed up by George Clooney. But the team is headed for the exits until he gets the idea of featuring a star player, who happens to come along in the form of war hero/college star Bullet Rutherford (Krasinski) who may be hiding some secrets from the war. Renee Zellweger plays an ambitious reporter expecting a promotion if she can uncover those secrets, and there\’s our love triangle. Let\’s set our pinball game into motion and see if we rack up any fun.

The main characters were fine; you just cannot go wrong with George and Renee and their dialogue. It was well-written and fast paced, taking me back to the Groucho Marx/Cary Grant era of verbal sparring that was just so much fun to experience. Cool! Extra ball!

But there was something lacking in the Rutherford character. Krasinski lacks the charisma of a true movie star; when he\’s not smiling, he tends to disappear into the background, something that just doesn\’t happen with Clooney. Still like John better, though. Even worse, when it came to the climax of the story, we couldn\’t decide who to root for! Bullet hadn\’t really done anything wrong, but the reporter hadn\’t either — so what were we to do? This whole part needed a rewrite. Sarah and I are available. Lose a turn…

Ultimately, we enjoyed the movie a lot, although at 1:54, it could have been about 15 or 20 minutes shorter. So I\’m taking the letters E and I from “edit” out of Bweinh!, and only giving it a five out of seven for a final rating of “Bwnh!” Game over.

Battle of the Bands LII

04/9/2008, 1:32 pm -- by Bweinh | No Comments

Here are the next batch of band names from Luke (The Other Son moves on!)

{democracy:232}

Bible Discussion — Luke 16 and 17

04/9/2008, 1:00 pm -- by Bweinh | No Comments

This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next two chapters of Luke, Luke 16-17.

Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I)
Ch. 8 (II) | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15-16
Luke: 1:1-38 | 1:39-2:40 | 2:41-3:38 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14-15

INTRODUCTION:
David:
Chapter 16 starts with one of the more difficult parables, so let\’s simplify it. Parable comes from two Greek words: para (alongside) and ballew (to throw). In a parable, God throws something beyond our experience from His kingdom alongside something we do understand, for perspective. It\’s like photographing the latest microchip next to a dime as a reference point.

What is being compared here? In v. 9: how the wicked know enough to use wealth to furnish themselves with a comfortable future, a lesson we need to learn. Jesus goes on to stress that dishonesty (vv. 10-12) is undesirable in a Christian and thus is not the point of the story. Instead, He illustrates it in vv. 19-30, where a rich man passes up an opportunity to use his wealth to assure himself a better place in eternity, and is punished for it.

SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Connie:
In v. 5, the apostles begin a request to Jesus with the words, “Increase our faith.”

Reaaalllly?

Oh no they di’in’t!

But they did. I wouldn’t have had the nerve. I just would’ve shut up and hoped to have increased my own faith.

David:
That the dishonest steward is called a “rascal” in the NLT.

Steve:
The Pharisees, described as lovers of money, “sneered” at Jesus after he spoke of its incompatibility as a dual master with God. What does He know?, they probably thought. What could a poor itinerant teaching carpenter understand of the blessings God has entrusted to us? And then, just as now, Christ put the lie to their implicit boast that wealth and success were signs of God’s favor.

BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Steve: Roof
Josh: One or The Other
Connie: One Tittle
David: Rascal

Continued here!

Quote of the Day, 4/9/08

04/9/2008, 7:00 am -- by Bweinh | No Comments

“In every power, of which taste is the foundation, excellence is pretty fairly divided between the sexes.” — J. Austen

A Mystery of Delmarva, Part Two

04/8/2008, 6:18 pm -- by Erin | 2 Comments

Read part one of this short story here!

The nightmares had begun that night and slunk steadily downwards until Sunday. Each time, he fell into the twisting, tormenting river, and each time a gnarled, bony hand drew him out like a helpless babe and held him before the strange woman\’s face, a thousand wrinkles on every once-beautiful curve, age spots accumulating like maggots, eyes dulled by the sun. Each time Jaffey would try to hear what she was saying, try to read her lips, try to discern what was going on, and each time the woman would talk to him, threatening his sheep and his goats.

Two weeks after the encounter when the dreams had just begun to dull in time\’s first gentle dose of amnesia, Jaffey\’s sheep started getting sick. One by one, they fell ill: all eight in the span of four days. Jaffey didn\’t tell his wife; he just butchered the meat and gave the extra away.

The old woman\’s voice counted down with him in his head. Eight”¦must have been a blight. Seven”¦that old ram was on his way out. Six”¦not a very strong lamb, was he? Five”¦I should change what pasture they\’re eating; this one has a poison in it. Four”¦that old woman cursed me. Three”¦how did she do it?! Two”¦God please spare my flock!

One”¦ God please spare me”¦
_________________________

So in church Jaffey prayed the whole service long; through the worship and the prayer and the four altar calls, through the sermon and the offertory and the special. Through the prophecy, the greeting; yes, he even sat down nineteen minutes before the service was to start and prayed though the coffee break. God spare me the only animals I have left. What will I tell my family?

These and a hundred other thoughts raced through his mind as the service began. Like voices in his head, the fears taunted him and tempted him to keep silent. He could imagine them having a conversation, sitting contentedly on his medulla oblongata, massaging it into submission.

“She\’s got to him, that\’s certain,” the first Fear would say, purple and shriveled, youngish voice grating.

“If he can just keep a silence, we have a hold on him for sure.” A second; old as the river, with a voice just as gravelly.

“Truly true. And what do you suppose? A coward like this hasn\’t the voice nor the nerves to do what he has to.” The first again.

“Ha. If he knew that speaking would help him”¦” the second Fear would pause, acidly comedic. “Well, he\’d have been yelping long ago!”

Jaffey saw that it was inevitable, then, that his prayer was no longer a thing of cowardice and silence, but something — anything — else. He opened his mouth and out came the howl.
__________________________

Marianne wouldn\’t speak to him the whole way home, whether for anger, fear, frustration, or a combination of the three, Jaffey couldn\’t tell. When she had gotten the children into bed she collapsed onto the nearest chair at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. Jaffey had already seated himself at another chair and he looked at her, brow furrowed, in expectation.

She wasn\’t crying. He could tell this when she raised her head to fix him with a gaze and her cheeks were quite dry.

“What was that, husband?”

“Um.” A long pause ensued, in which Jaffey tried for a few words. “It was”¦well, it wasn\’t”¦there were these”¦oh, hum”¦”

After a few more hums, Marianne became impatient. “I know that we attend a church that is . . . progressive, is that what we called it? When we were first going there? But we were never that type, were we?”

Jaffey decided that it was probably best for Marianne to know the story of the old woman, of the sheep, and of the voices that he had heard in his head. When he finished telling it, however, she gazed at him in the same manner as before.

“I knew that you were a bit odd”¦” she began.

“A bit odd?” Jaffey was taken aback. “This isn\’t odd! This is a curse!”

Marianne nodded. “I\’ll give you that. But I\’ll not give you leave to go terrorizing all the neighbors with”¦whatever that was.”

“So what are we to do, then. Doing nothing so far has got us nowhere!”

Marianne shrugged and lifted an eyebrow. “I guess we don\’t raise goats or sheep anymore.”

And that was that.
_____________________

Or at least, both of them thought so. But sure enough, as the goats grew weaker and weaker and began to die, Jaffey had his doubts. Finally there were just two left — the two that had always been the most especially hardy, and even they were sickly, ribs poking out, weak bleats, thinning coats. It was on a sunny afternoon that Jaffey was leaning on his garden hoe, chewing his lip and watching the two of them graze pitifully that he caught a dark shape moving out of the corner of his eye.

The old woman.

He lunged toward her as she was drawing her brown corduroy pack around her body to the front. She was quick, though, and darted away. Around the barn he chased her — how could she move so fast? — until he could bear it no longer. He stood in one place…

…and the wailing prayer came forth again, stopping the old woman in her tracks. Snarling, she made a dash for the nearest window and Jaffey stalked toward her awkwardly, still howling his prayer. It was not made up of words, but neither did it come from a string of awkward vowels. There were ups and downs and crows and ululations and it stopped and started and stopped and started again. It sounded like fourteen or fifteen roosters, or what roosters would sound like, could they crow backwards and just barely out of unison.

There was a weight — a hand — on Jaffey\’s shoulder and he whirled, knocking the shape down. Gazing down, horrified, he ceased praying.

Marianne lay on the ground, disbelieving and in shock. Backing away, Jaffey spluttered even fewer intelligible syllables than his prayer had contained as she rose to her feet and ran toward the house.

Joke of the Day, 4/8/08

04/8/2008, 7:00 am -- by Bweinh | No Comments

A well-dressed businessman walked into a bar.

“What can I get you?,” asked the bartender. “A glass of 20-year-old Scotch,” he answered. The bartender brought him the drink, but after a sip, the man spat it out. “This is 13-year-old Scotch! How dare you insult me with inferior Scotch?!”

The bartender apologized, explaining that the bar didn’t have any 20-year-old Scotch, and he had thought the man wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. “Well, then, bring me some 15-year-old bourbon,” the man replied, but when he had a drink, he spat it out again. “This is 11-year-old Bourbon!” The situation repeated itself with his next request, a 30-year-old bottle of port wine.

Finally, an old drunk at the end of the bar called the bartender down. Handing a glass to the bartender, he said, “Give this to the well-dressed man and tell him it’s on me.” The bartender did so, and the man took a sip. Wincing, he spat it out. “Yuck!,” he yelled. “This tastes like urine!”

“It is,” replied the old drunk. “Now how old am I?”

The Council’s Ruling — Overrated Band

04/7/2008, 10:30 am -- by Bweinh | 2 Comments

This and every Monday, the Bweinh!tributors, having convened in secret for hours of reasoned debate and consideration, will issue a brief and binding ruling on an issue of great societal import.

This week’s question — Who is the most overrated band of all time?

Steve delivers the opinion of the Council, joined by Djere, Josh, and David:

The Beatles. They were incredibly influential, but this influence FAR outstripped their talent. Their singing voices were poor and their lyrics were either insipid pablum or drug-crazed nonsense.

David concurs, joined by MC-B:

The Beatles-They were a product of their age and rode the wave.

Mike dissents, joined by Chloe:

U2. I just don’t get it. There’s some good stuff, no doubt, but I just don’t get most of it.

Connie dissents:

Bob Dylan. HE SIMPLY CANNOT SING!!!!

Erin dissents:

N’Sync. Just face it, people, the boy band was the worst musical catastrophe ever.

Job dissents:

The Ramones. A socially awkward band tethered to a few chords, they have seemingly come to embody teen angst through no effort of their own.

Tom joins this dissenting opinion:

Green Day. From their faux-punk eyelinker to their faux-intellectual lyrics, they are the true “American Idiots.”

Kaitlin played no part in the determination of this issue.

Next time: Who will be the next president of the United States?

1913 Ad of the Week — Trusses and Braces

04/7/2008, 7:00 am -- by Steve | No Comments

This is the fifth in a series of real ads from the 1913 World Almanac…

If you’ve forgotten how grateful you should be that God put you on earth to start the 21st century rather than the 20th, perhaps you need a crash course in medical devices. You can click on any of them for a closer look.

There wasn’t much to this ad — just a series of pictures of the frightening medical equipment the company provided, with a promise of more details on the next page. But somehow, to me, 95 years removed, that makes it all the more intimidating.

Remember — this was the equipment the Empress used! Just think what the commoners were subjected to!

Whether it’s a “maternity belt” cut from the hull of a mighty battleship or a “self-adjusting truss” straight out of Abu Ghraib, I find myself unable to imagine even a halfway-pleasant use for some of these items. Do you want that thing adjusting itself on you?

While you’re on the subject of imagination, why not check out the sheer amount of metal supports and whirligigs on the delightful “leg and spinal braces”? I can’t tell from the illustration whether they came with special shoes — in fact, the ad makes it look like you actually got fresh new asbestos legs to go with the spiky metal braces.

I can’t wait — if God and medical science allow — to read the 22nd-century version of this article, poking fun at we ignorant boors who still let doctors poke around inside their bodies, and took all the wrong pills for all the wrong reasons.

But above all else, this one thing our descendants shall grant us: our trusses were elastic, and our braces were plastic.

View the whole ad here.

How You See the World

04/4/2008, 11:45 am -- by Steve | No Comments

We see things differently, you and me. Literally.

That’s because your eyes work together, allowing you to perceive the world as it truly exists, in all three spatial dimensions. But like feuding brothers in a sandbox, my eyes do not share, they refuse to cooperate. Stereoblindness makes me incapable of knowing just what it is the rest of you see — or more accurately, how it is you see. My brain basically takes input from only one eye at a time, and although its marvelous compensations have somehow allowed me to be an excellent wide receiver, something is still missing — something I might never truly understand.

This knowledge might explain a lot about my childhood — from my subpar batting average in Grasshopper baseball (my mediocre left eye faced the pitcher) to my B- in art class. But beyond this enlightment, like the Apostle before me, I appreciate the utility of a physical condition that can double as metaphor.

If I were lazier, here I would churn out a few hundred words of tripe about the importance of perspective, how one alone can never see as richly as two united, and how we must take time to think about how others see the world. Maybe we could close by holding hands, at least virtually, as we solemnly promised to forever respect each other’s diversity. But I respect your intelligence more than our differences, so I will spare you such a paint-by-numbers conclusion. It’s not what I do.

But this is a piece about hope. Oliver Sacks, the brilliant neurologist and author, wrote in The New Yorker about a woman with a similar problem who was able to train, or retrain, her brain to properly see. An NPR story on the subject concluded, “[W]hile baby brains are more malleable than adult brains, adult brains are not frozen in place. They can change.”

Now I have been generally suspicious of the human mind’s capacity to change; I happily pay it abstract tribute seasoned with anecdotal evidence: Change? Certainly, people can change! Why, I know a man who heard God’s voice in jail and left his old life to become a pastor! It’s just that it happens so rarely, you see, and you can’t necessarily expect it…

This is an understandable position, bred by past disappointments, and incubated by the soul-deadening cynicism that hides in the guise of realism. But at its core, I think, is an unholy despair about life, a pessimism that goes beyond an acknowledgment of man’s fallen condition and slips into a knee-jerk doubt that anything of worth can be accomplished. It is ultimately incompatible with the Gospel that called its earliest converts from lives of exploitation and persecution, and taught them how to truly walk in abiding love, to the point of death.

Mankind will never bring heaven to earth. But just as I hope that my eyes can one day be trained to work together, I pray to keep that aspect of childlike faith that can look at any situation — at every man and woman — with vision undimmed by the eye-crossing lessons of the past, and repeat, in response to the words of Christ: “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.”

Quote of the Day, 4/4/08

04/4/2008, 7:00 am -- by Bweinh | No Comments

“If physical death is the price that I must pay to free my white brothers and sisters from a permanent death of the spirit, then nothing can be more redemptive.” — M.L. King, Jr. (1/15/1929-4/4/1968)

The Heroes Series — Caedmon

04/3/2008, 11:30 am -- by David | 1 Comment

Read the first in the series!

Caedmon was a 7th-century cowherd in Saxon England. During gatherings at the abbey which employed him, it was a common form of merrymaking in the evening to pass around the lute and take turns making up frivolous songs in the easy, alliterative style of rhyming popular at the time. As the lute drew nearer and nearer to Caedmon, he became more and more distressed, and finally, as his turn arrived, he quickly left the house and retired to his bed in the stable, where he cast himself down in misery.

Suddenly there appeared to him a vision of Jesus saying, “Caedmon, sing.”

“I cannot sing,” was the melancholy reply. “That is why I came out here.”

“But you will sing to me,” Jesus replied.

“What shall I sing?”

“You will sing of all created things.”

The next day an amazing transformation took place as Caedmon went to the Abbey and had the abbess read to him from the Scriptures. He then began to sing the story of Creation. With all of Europe lying in spiritual darkness, Caedmon began to put the Bible into the language of the common English-speaking people.

Caedmon became a voice to his generation; his writings became seminal resources for the eventual English translations of Wycliffe and Tyndale. This was Caedmon\’s call, and although I have no confirmation, it must be the origin of the name for the Christian band, Caedmon’s Call.

I stumbled across this account in a book called How We Got Our English Bible, and I have been challenged ever since by thoughts like, “What can I do to be a voice for my generation, a voice to my culture? What excuses do I have? What deficiencies can He turn to His glory?”

We never know until we open our mouth — or pick up a pen — how God may use us.

Pinworm Medication Package Not Helping

04/3/2008, 7:00 am -- by Steve | No Comments

Year of Jubilee

04/2/2008, 2:30 pm -- by Connie | 1 Comment

“Consecrate the fiftieth year and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you . . .” — Leviticus 25:10

Last Friday was my birthday, and not just any birthday — my year of jubilee. It\’s a gift God gave to the Israelites: a Sabbath of Sabbaths. It restored lands and other property to people, so that once in a lifetime they\’d have a chance to start over, perhaps retire, without overwhelming debt and despair. Unfortunately, greed and other factors prevented anyone from actually ever experiencing Jubilee, except on some weird old Star Trek episode once. The gift was offered but never received.

A few years ago I began to notice that the weather on my birthday was unseasonably beautiful, and I found myself thanking God each year for the extra birthday gift. It would be sunny and 50-60 with unusual warm breezes, I\’d be grabbing a coffee, and the clerk would say, “What a great day, huh?” I\’d reply, “Oh you\’re welcome. It was just a little birthday gift from God for me today.”

My daughter has a sweet friend who challenges me on this point every year and he “wrote on my wall” last Friday, pointing out that the weather was not up to its usual standard. Boy, he was right about that.

But as I passed by a window first thing that morning, knowing that the weather forecast wasn\’t backing up my usual claims, and wishing I\’d kept my extra birthday gift secret — just between me and God — suddenly, He took my breath away. The tree branches were lined perfectly with an overnight snow that was so beautiful, I didn\’t even mind that it wasn\’t 50. We stepped outside to a sunny morning where everything was sparkling so brilliantly that I couldn\’t begin to ask for a different gift. He did it just right. And I took it, and loved it.

Thank you, Father. Bring on my Jubilee.