The Adventures of Ollie and Ray

Ollie and Ray grew up in the same small town. They knew each other from birth, but then again everybody in that town knew each other--since it was so small. No, they knew each other better than they knew anybody else in town; they were best friends. Their families were close long before either one was born, even though Ray was born a couple years before Ollie. Although they were friends before high school, I will not be writing about those years, as their best adventures were had both during and after high school.

One stands out in my mind particularly (It stands that they both had slightly different opinions of the facts of the story, but the ones I heard I will tell you now are from Ray)It began on a cold day, but you probably guessed that because in stories like this, it always does...

Ray was a strapping, adventurous boy. He thrived out in the open air, spending most of his time running, climbing, and exercising in the midst of nature. Conversely, Ollie was always plagued by health conditions, which resulted mostly in physical and mental weakness. It was unfortunate for Ollie that God chose Ray to be his best friend, for he was always a little behind at most games they played together.
It fell that one day Ray heard a rumor of a cave near where he and Ollie lived. The rumor was that in a field just outside of town, underneath a dilapidated windmill, there was a shaft going down fifty feet into the earth. No one knew what was at the bottom of it, but Ollie and Ray decided that it was probably a treasure trove of Dr. Pepper 24-packs. After much complaining by Ollie (who thought the adventure seemed a little, "scary"), they decided to investigate.

As I said earlier, the day was cold. So cold, no one could communicate because their words were freezing and falling to the ground before they reached the people they were talking to. The trip down into the cave was uneventful enough. There was a pole about two inches in diameter that ran all the way down the shaft, and they found it fairly easy to get down to the bottom. You would be shocked to know what they found there...


nothing


Yes, the cave beneath the windmill only contained water and mud. No Dr. Pepper troves (btw, where did the word 'trove' come from?). Disappointed, they began to climb back to the surface.

Since, as you have heard, Ray was so athletic, he scaled the 50 foot shaft in about three seconds (and he didn't even use the pole). Ollie, however, was a different story. His weakness made it very difficult to climb. It might seem strange, but in the midst of his weakness, he was for some reason arrogant about his "abilities." What that means is that as he struggled to haul his body (which was overweight) up the shaft, he was bragging about what an amazing climber he was. Ray discerned this to be a problem and slid back down the pole to Ollie, who was now about thirty feet up. Ray hung on to the pole with his ankles, let go with his hands, and flipped his body upside-down so he could offer his hands to Ollie for assistance. This kind and athletic offer, unfortunately, was given this reply,
"You? Help me? Unbelievable."
Ray persisted, seeing that his friend was in danger, "Ollie, let me help. I don't want to lose you."
But again, Ray's help was shunned: "I'm shunning your help," Ollie said, "In fact, let me show YOU how to climb."
Ollie then made his third mistake of the day* He attempted to show Ray that he could hold on with only one hand while simultaneously putting his feet over his head. He had barely unflexed his pinky before he fell, crashing down from thirty feet onto the rocky floor of the cave. "NNOOOOOOOOOOO!, cried Ray."


Ray did a triple backflip with a half gainer twist off the pole and landed gracefully beside his fallen companion. "Ollie, are you alright?"

no response

The safest thing to do would be to wait for help; but Ray knew that Ollie, whose ankles were covered in blood, would need medical attention soon. Fashioning a crude harness out of tadpole skins, Ray strapped Ollie's limp, large body to his own. Luckily for them both, and at the risk of being redundant, Ray was an amazing athlete. So even though it took two days (actually the climb only took half an hour, the rest of the time was spent catching and skinning the tadpoles), and even though he broke both of his own legs in the climb, Ray got them to the top.
The real bummer was that when they got back to their truck, they discovered the heater wasn't working. That should put how cold it was in perspective for you.

Ray vowed never to tell anyone the story, because he knew that Ollie would be scorned for the weakness he displayed in the cave. To this day, I'm not sure if Ollie has ever said anything...

*the first was being fat
the second was trying to climb something

Avalanches, Tanks, and Snakes (oh my!)

Hey guys,

I finally figured it out. The purpose of my existence is to bring people to know the Love of our Lord by playing games like tanks (Wii Play), snake (snakegame.net) and avalanche (addictinggames.com).
I haven't fully figured out how this is going to work. I imagine it to be something like this: I am sitting in the McVay's house playing games on their computers when some lost individual walks in off the street and says, "I don't know what I'm looking for in life, all hope is--hey, is that the snake game? Wow, there is no way a computer program like this with thousands of functions could have originated by random chance. There must be a God, will you help me know Him?"
Okay, so maybe that is a little idealistic. After all, in Matthew I guess it doesn't say, "Go ye therefore into the McVay's living room and get comfortable while you hope people from all nations come to you to be discipled."
I get it, God. I'm getting off my butt in front of this computer and am going to make my day count for you.

I encourage you to do the same

Hick Tales (part one)

Someone asked me what I do for a living the other day...

I am a singer/server at the Prairie Rose Chuckwagon Supper dinner theatre, prairierosechuckwagon.com.
I get paid to tell jokes, wear tight-fitting flowery outfits, and sing old-fashioned cowboy songs to old people; basically Dolly Parton and I have the same job. During the sightseeing part of the evening, I make popcorn in one of the theaters, which usually involves five to ten seconds of small talk. Sometimes I say, "Is this your first time out here?" Most of the time, however, it is started by an older person coming up to me as the Hopalong Cassidy movie plays in the background (Call of the Prairie, copyright 1927 running time 66 min). "Boy, I used to watch these when I was a kid." Always the same comment.
Just once I'd like somebody to shake things up a little bit. It would be so much better if someone walked up to me and said, "Boy, these movies sure are stupid. Here's five hundred dollars."
Last month I was sitting by the popcorn stand when an old man with a heavy texas accent walked up to have this conversation with me:

Tyler: Would you like some popcorn?
Old man: No...

(five second pause)

Old man: I used to watch these when I was a kid.
Tyler: Of course

(ten second pause)

Old man: Do you know who Chuck Johnson is?
Tyler: No sir
Old man: Oh, well he has a ranch in Oklahoma

Tyler: ...

Old man: It's a horse ranch, I saw Hoppy's horse and it reminded me of it.

Tyler: Oh, right...horses

Old man: Figured you might know him

Conversations like that happen all the time. I can especially relate to the scene in Barnyard where the old farmer says, "Itsaceowfarm, therzgonnabeceowsoutside," because unintelligible farmer is the dialect of most of the clientele that I deal with

The Trinity

Author's note: This post is not about the Godhead

My brother got married to my sister-in-law yesterday, how weird is that?
The wedding was perfect, the setting was perfect, the music was perfect, the food was perfect, the dancing was perfect, she was perfect, and he was okay.

So, I'm not going to blog about the wedding, because there unfortunately was nothing to chastize about it.

I will spend a few sentences talking about Andy's dancing, though.
Andy has really come out of his shell during the last four years or so. Unfortunately for him, that means that instead of everyone assuming he might be able to dance while they watch him standing off to the side, they now know that he has as much rhythm and coordination as a newborn giraffe with cerebral palsy.
Conversely, Emily has quite a bit of coordination and rhythm, so Andy's inability is magnified directly by her ability.
There is a dance he is pretty good at, I call it the "Trinity."
Trinity Academy is a Christian private college-prep high school, with most of its students being awkward white kids. You can imagine what our dances were like (this time, imagine three hundred newborn giraffes all trying to move together).
The Trinity begins wherever you want it to, and ends in a similar fashion. During the move, you...well...move. However you want to, wherever you want to, and whatever you want to. The only specifications for the dance move is that it never looks the same twice and you should never be on beat.

Andy has mastered the Trinity

New Gadgets

Hey guys,
I put some new stuff at the bottom of my blog.

One is fun, the other is funny--win win.
The airplane game is german I think, but the goal is to land the plane just as you are running out of gas. There is a little number in the bottom left hand corner that tells you how much you have left. I figured out the perfect flight path to get you there right as you land, but you guys play it first and see if you can do it. The highest "Note" I have gotten so far is a five.

Women Blogging

No offense, but women are irrational, and men are not. Also women are immature, and men are not.

No, we are not immature
Hey, I said we aren't immature...
Men are NOT IMMATURE!!
Guaaah! *
You're immature, you are!! You're just a stupid GIRL!



As I was saying, there has been a recent influx of women bloggers as of late (I am of course speaking of the two that I know of) and I'm not sure what I think about it.

Actually, one of them is my fiancee, so I'm not even sure what I'm ALLOWED to think about it. I'll go ask her...hang on...


...



...


...Okay, it turns out that women blogging is actually not only acceptable but really cool and possibly even more entertaining than men blogging.

Now that we have that settled, let's talk about some estrogen-filled woman being vice presid--oh hang on... "what molly?"

Okay, men. It seems that that's good also...



*I'm not sure how this particular interjection is pronounced; probably something like "Guahhh!" with the main inflection coming from the back of the throat


CHECK OUT MOLLY'S BLOG EVERYONE! http://mrsbrickley.blogspot.com/

Funny stuff I found

Here are some funny answering machine message recordings I found. If you are offended by any of them, remember that I am not the one who suggested them to you.
Ted, George's recording is the one I figured we would be most likely to try.

If you want to skip right to the best part, read the Psychiatric Hotline answering machine
And since I went to Dusty Meadows today, I now know how to help you get to the site with all the stuff I have been talking about.
You just click

HERE!!!!!!!!!


omygosh I think it worked...

Stephen, not Steeivin

I'll say one thing for him, He's got a way with the lady.

Lady Luck, that is
Stephen emailed me this yesterday:

Dear Tyler,

Everyone has been saying that I am the unluckiest person in the world lately.

However, when I googled 'world's unluckiest people' to verify that fact, my monitor fried and sparks shot out everywhere, which wouldn't have been a big deal if it weren't for the gas pump at quicktrip malfunctioning earlier that day, leaving me covered in gasoline. Naturally, my shirt burst into flames and since as you know I wear shirts that are way too tight I couldn't get it off so I decided to jump in the shower, which was hilarious because it turns out I hadn't paid my water bill for a few months--After I had a good chuckle about that unfortunate irony, I ran outside to roll in the dirt by the highway. That I think definitely proved that I do have some luck, because when the tanker semi carrying a load of water swerved off the highway to avoid hitting me, it spilled just enough water on me to put out my shirt before it, in turn, crashed into the ditch in a twisted heap of metal and flames.

Me, the world's unluckiest person?
Absolutely not...


Just ask the truck driver.

Kisses,
Stephen,
NOT STEV#&*$EN!!

Engagement

Which stage of life is better: Singleness, engagement, or marriage?*
I am not sure whether or not marriage is better than singleness (since I'm neither married nor single), but I do know that engagement is rough.
Engagement; to be committed out of singleness and into marriage, but to enjoy the benefits of neither.

You think all I'm talking about is sex

Wrong.

"Marriage is about way more than just sex,"
- Forrest Hett, married 07
To me the "benefits of marriage" encompass a wide variety of things...glorious, sweet things that are so wonderful I can't even imagine them.
As soon as some come to mind that trump the afore-mentioned benefit, I'll let you know.



*Answer: Whichever involves a Chocolate malt.

Of Golf and Men

Golf is the greatest games ever played, which would be a great movie title. If I wasn't such an amazing writer I'll bet I could get paid to come up with original movie ideas--or maybe inventions. I once invented electricity.

Ok, not exactly.

I once invented a specific use of electricity which involved a circular saw and a pulley system...many deaths

Writing about inventions always makes me think about golf, because I invented a movie about golf once. Golf, like me, is simply complex; and open to the general public, but there the similarities end.
The game of golf also reminds me of handling money--it's a simple concept that nearly everyone tries but at which only a select few are proficient. They are also similar in that playing golf costs money. So it could be said that money and golf are indirectly proportional. The stewardship and maintenance of the one leads to the depreciation of the other, and vice versa.

Wow, that's brilliant.

I don't even know what point I was trying to make, I just maxed out my brain coming up with that last thesis
I need to go watch a good movie to unwind, anyone know of any movies about the greatest game ever played?

Snake in the grass

Before you get any farther, I should warn you that the title of this entry is not literary; it is literal. It is time someone spoke up for snakes, and I think I am the only person who cares enough/has enough time to do it (besides maybe Ted Kriwiel).

I like snakes

Yes, they slither; but this fact alone does not qualify them as the world's most disgusting animal. In fact, as far as relativity is concerned, slithering could be said to be a much more positive mode of transportation than creeping.

Spiders creep.

I'm sure by now I have adequately convinced you that spiders are the most disgusting animals in the world. Unfortunately, you are wasting your time because spiders are not actually animals; but I digress...

There is a girl I know named Allison who is probably the human being most like a snake in the world, certainly in my large sphere of social awareness (which includes Leon). Although not in actual looks--in spite of her slender appearance--her personality and mannerisms are inherently snakelike.
e.g.,
Snakes for the most part mind their own business, unless they are crossed, then they turn into coiled balls of vociferous fury. Allison exhibits similar characteristics. In fact, she very much resembles a snake in the way she stalks her prey--innocent, unsuspecting men. She watches them on facebook and around her church, unbeknownst to them, just waiting on the perfect moment to strike. She hasn't struck yet, but when she does I'm sure it will be a lethal blow to the man's heart.

I'm just glad she doesn't remind me of a spider...

Passed

The past is a ruthless companion.
Everyone has a past. A person who denies having a past would probably have an easier time denying the dna that makes them an individual. No one is completely satisfied with their past; there is always something that we would change. The problem with pasts, though, is that they are not realities in the present. Now replaces then, then is history.
So why can't we shake the past?
Answer: we can
The past is something that is only carried by Christians voluntarily, for Christ took all of our pasts upon himself and personally cast them into the infinite ocean of his Father's mercy and grace. When we are in Christ, he is our Alpha; we don't have a past.
Too often we paralyze ourselves by voluntarily chaining the heavy burden of past memories, guilt, or insecurity to our hands (which makes the work of our hands much less effective) and go dragging along with life, wondering why our lives seem to weigh so much.
The past is passed, it is no more real than a dream we can't remember. Why work to keep up punishment that is not only unnecessary but also imaginary? Praise God for grace, which equips us with the power to get past our past.

I'm Tired of Sleep Deprivation (get it?)

If you are going to operate a vehicle, you must first meet the following criteria:



1. You must have a valid driver's license as issued by your state of residence.


2. You must not be under the influence of any hallucinogenic narcotic.


3. You must not be emotionally unstable*


4. You must not be deprived of sleep.



I'm not sure if those driving prerequisites are on any sort of legal documentation, but they definitely should be. While the first three are remarkably self-explanatory, the fourth needs a bit of informational development.

Sleep deprivation is a dreary topic for most people, but those who are morally awake never tire of pursuing safety. You may think that you can pull an all-nighter and drive to work the next morning with blinking being the only time your eyes have shut in the last 24 hours, but you can't. But wait...I'll bet you will tell me you have a fool-proof tactic for staying awake; but let me inform you it's all been done before. Here are some of the most original that I have heard:
Taping your eyelids open
Turning on some music
Turning off the music
Rolling down the windows
Slapping yourself
Screaming
Shooting yourself in the foot with a BB Gun whenever you hit the rumble strips

I will testify that the last one does actually work, but I doubt any of you are that committed to life. I have attempted all this and more in an attempt to stay awake, I even tried all of them simultaneously, which must have been a comical scene for fellow motorists**

Take my advice; don't drive when sleep deprived. In fact, if you are the kind of person to read a blog like this, don't drive at all. You obviously aren't intelligent enough to operate a vehicle.



*Please note my discretion in not making #3, "You must not be female." I believe women--under controlled circumstances--can in fact operate a vehicle almost as well as some men (e.g. Clinton, the host of 'What not to Wear')
**Just imagine driving by a car with music blasting the shutters off nearby houses, windows rolling up and down, the driver screaming and slapping himself all while waving a BB Gun in the air...

If my Life were a Movie...

Ok, I know you wouldn't watch it anyway; but if my life were a movie, I would categorize it as an action adventure-romantic comedy-horror-drama. It would also not have an ending, just like

I suggest Amendments to certain Traditions

There are traditions in this country that are--to put it bluntly--outdated. Things like women presidents, cranberries, and traffic laws.
Since I have the least to say about women presidents, I put it at the first of my list. Suffice it to say that we have never had a woman for a president, but even the idea of an estrogen-filled emotional woman being in control of this country sends a chill down my spine (Al Gore has been the closest we have come so far).
More importantly, cranberries are outdated and deserve to be "squeezed"* out of any and every tradition. They are exponentially less-valuable than their tasty cousin, the strawberry, and also are in too many juices (youtube Brian Regan if you want to die laughing).
Last but not least--unless your goal was to get valuable information from this blog--traffic customs are "driving" me crazy** It seems that there is a small percentage of the population who would object to me driving sideways down a main city street in my camaro. This small percentage might also suggest that I am only allowed to drive in one lane, which conflicts with my desire to become a stunt driver in Die Hard 13 ("Die Harder than the Last Time with a Vengeance for Death")

*That pun hurt me more than it hurt you; stop complaining
**Ok, you can complain now

Another Great Blog

I am fully in support of the following blog:

http://brickabrac.blogspot.com

I peed my pants laughing. He's a great writer.

And also http://dustymeadows.blogspot.com

My bladder was empty from the first one, so I didn't pee my pants, but I laughed alot.

Friends

Do you have many friends? If you need help discerning how many constitutes "many," I would suggest 4-5 very close friends and 15-20 acquaintances (people whose names you don't forget on a regular basis) would be "many" friends. There are good things about having many friends, things like counsel, advice, correction, rebuke, criticism, challenges, critical encouragements, correctional rebukes, good times, etc. Today, however, I want to give a shout out to the person without "many" friends.

You have it better than you think.

Your life, albeit boring, is also peaceful. You feel sorry for yourself because you have no one to hang out with, but think about it--you don't have to hang out with anyone. You feel lost and without direction, but think about it--you don't have to be guided and directed. The direction you are going is all your own. Yeah, yeah friends are great if you are trying to do life correctly, but if you are some free loading HALO 3 worshipper who spends 2o hours a day in your room* then I submit no criticism for you; mostly because I'm not your friend.


*The other four hours are reserved for HALO parties
which your mom will drive you to.

On School

Life is funny thing. You think you know somebody, then they do something completely out of their ordinary. You think you know yourself, and the same thing happens. I thought I knew myself going into this semester, and was very confident in my ability to pass all of my classes. I am Ray, I graduated high school with a 3.7 GPA, got a 1300 on my SAT and a 29 on my ACT. No junior college (with junior expectations) is going to have any chance against me. Well, college was easy; so easy it was hard.
I forgot about Apathy
Apathy is the inconspicuous monster that keeps the open wound of school from healing into educational epidermis and instead produces an ugly scar of stupidity. Apathetic people are only fighting themselves. So yes, I beat the college, but I lost to myself. You skip one class only to discover that, unlike high school, professors in college don't care if you come or not. They are there to fulfill vocational obligations--to "profess"--not babysit lazy college students. After that you are cooked, the ratio of classes attended to classes skipped continues to switch places until you get a final grade that doesn't make the cut. You have wasted your time, and now get to do this or that class again. Failing academically has never been a reality in my life, and I don't recommend it; it tears you up from the inside out.