Stephanie and I spend Tuesday nights in the summer at church, serving on the Jr. High staff during an event called TNT. It’s a great time hanging out with Jr. Highers, playing games, listening to (and making) music, and talking about God. And it usually involves water balloons. Nothin’ wrong with that. But this most recent Tuesday, it wasn’t the most interesting thing that happened that evening.

After TNT, a group of staffers headed down to Coldstone Creamery with Stephanie and I, and we hung out and chatted with each other and other PBCCers who happened to also be there. We were probably there for about and hour, or an hour and a half, and the crowd started to thin. Eventually everyone but Camille had left, and the three of us sat there chatting.

And then Meeeewww!

Then silence. Then Meeeewwww! again. A kitten. A very distressed kitten, mewing from across the parking lot. I stood up in the middle of someone else’s sentence and started to walk towards the sound, and the three of us wandered across the parking lot toward Steven’s Creek, a very busy four-lane street that runs through Cupertino and the rest of the valley. The mewing got louder, and it became apparent that it was coming from the low, thick ivy ground cover that separated the parking lot from Steven’s Creek.

Continue reading “Chasing the Fuzz” →

I know, I know, it’s been awhile since I’ve updated. My blogging style as of late has truly defied the general idea of blogging: small, simple updates on a frequent basis. I’ve sucked at that recently. When Neal was here I was busy hanging out with him, travelling around the state by obligation to our visitors (since my parents also came and stayed with us for the last few days of Neal’s visit), and schooling Neal’s Mario Kart game (well… except for those times where he schooled me, that is). Sorry about all the deafening silence.

Here’s a good excuse: I’ve been working on the redesign of this site quite a bit. I’ve already thrown two different designs out after getting about half way done. I just ended up not liking how they looked. This stuff is grueling. Hopefully I can keep the good parts from each and chuck the bad parts, but I’m going to eventually have to simplify the project and not reach so far if I ever expect to finish it. So maybe the redesign won’t be as blog-shattering as I had expected it to be originally. We’ll see!

It’s been a good year. 🙂

Yesterday was one of those days that really remind me of who I am and what my purpose in life is. I spent almost the entire day with friends, talking about God and life, and hanging out and doing “kingdom work” of some sort, whether it be direct or indirect. I don’t usually do “this is what I did today” entries, and in fact I avoid them, but this time I’ll make an exception because it was so great.

Obviously Steph and I started the day off in church, going to the Jr. High group’s service (which was Parent’s Day, for parents with kids in the group) and then to what most PBCCers call “big church”, which is the normal, whole-church worship service. After that, though, most of the JH leaders went over to la casa de Mark Bucko (the JH youth pastor) to have lunch and spend some time talking with each other, praying with each other, and sharing where our lives are at currently so we would know how to pray for each other. It was totally idyllic.

After that, Steph had Annie Hanneman and Camille Estrada (the two girls she has partnered with in leading her JH small group this year) over, and they worked on nice little parting gifts for the girls in her group. I did a Home Depot run when they ran out of paint primer. I listened to Beastie Boys’ Ill Communication and Hello Nasty on full volume in the car on the way there and back. That part wasn’t exactly kingdom work, but it was still good. (You’ll notice I’ve been digging those guys lately if you also notice that some of their lyrics have been added to the little taglines that randomize at the top of this site when you refresh your browser. That’s probably the highest compliment I can personally pay a lyric. 🙂

As the evening came on, Annie had to head out, but Camille and Steph stayed and kept working, and we all sat around the kitchen table. I was helping to design and compile a little booklet of memories from the year for the small group. We all just sat there and talked as we worked. The conversation wandered between topics, and it was a ton of fun. We discovered that Camille and I both love the video for I Believe in a Thing Called Love by The Darkness. You seriously must see it on iTunes. (Just click on “Video.”) Note that this was made in 2004, not 1984. It’s completely hilarious, and wholly 1980s-semi-satanic-freaky-outer-space-big-hair-retro, but done in such a way that you almost want to take it seriously. But then you don’t. So please do check it out, if only to hear the most ridiculous falsetto you’ve ever heard in your life. He really does that well.

While we were working, Dave Favela called up and asked about hanging out, and said he’d make us dinner. And how could we refuse such a thing? So the three of us headed over there and we all had some hilarious conversations and some serious conversations, and it was truly great. Steph and I got home after midnight and went to bed.

My entire day was just full to the brim with friends. We conversed, and hung out, and had a great time and got a few things done. Sometime during the evening, I made a rather revealing comment as far as my personality is concerned. I said something to the effect of, “Don’t you think that this is what heaven will be like? Just hanging out, worshipping God and being with the ones you love? What else would there be to do? You don’t have to work. You don’t have obligations. You just worship God and enjoy his creations.” To me, being with friends is exactly that. It’s just so great. The one important thing I always have to keep in mind is that friends and friendship are not the thing that I am pursuing, but a gift from the One I am pursuing.

Thank you, Lord, for those people. They’re so great. All of them.

Over the last few months, I’ve discovered something that is distinctly non-Lewisian about me. I actually enjoy exercising. Let me tell you how this odd turn of events came about.

Last summer, I was pretty far overweight. I still am, actually, but it was quite a lot worse back then. I was a bit over 200 pounds and I’m only 5’11” with a pretty thin frame. At the time, Steph had heard from a friend of hers about a diet called Atkins. I didn’t want to go there at first, but a point came where I got sick of my jeans not fitting comfortably, and I knew nothing but true decisive action was going to fix it (Note to self: try not to make Richard Simmons cry) so I decided to go on the diet, and Steph did too.

And what do you know, it worked! I lost about 8 pounds in the first month, but I wanted it to go faster (as I do with almost everything) and Steph and a few others (including Dr. Atkins probably, but I never read the book. I just kept asking Steph questions) suggested I try exercise. This created a problem, because I’m Josh Lewis, and Josh Lewis doesn’t exercise. I’ve never exercised ever except when I was a part of a sports team, which was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. On the other hand, our apartment had a little gym thing which was free to use, and the gym had… get ready for it… television. And as you know, television has The Simpsons, and other things that make me feel like I’m not exercising. So I decided that TV was my Novocain, and that I would allow that to help me deny reality while I pumped the pedals on that oval-step thingy they had in there.

The fact that I brought my iPod with me was great, and sometimes I would read Zeldman’s book as I exercised too, so it was a lot of fun. I would go for 30 or even 50 minutes at a time. I felt tired and healthy when I was done. And I wound up doing that three or four times a week for three months. I got down below 170 when all was said and done, and frankly, I’m sure Atkins had a lot to do with it, but the exercise was probably the part that truly made it work. So now I’m not afraid of exercise anymore.

Well, I didn’t stay quite as low as I was when I left the Atkins diet of course (and technically I’m not doing it right because you’re never actually supposed to completely stop), although I’m nowhere near as high as I used to be. Since quitting the diet I’ve come to the realization that while I can diet if I really want to, I’m not sure that dieting is something that is overall beneficial to me. Dieting affects my attitude negatively and everything. It’s horrible. Exercise, on the other hand, makes me really happy, and it has the same effect as dieting if it’s done correctly, so… why would I diet?

I don’t mean to say that I’m going to eat everything in sight constantly and never control what goes in my mouth. Let’s not quibble over what a healthy meal plan looks like, and start whipping out our food pyramids. I’m just giving a bit of advice to those who want to lose weight and are sick of all the diets and the gimmicks they may have tried. Dieting may show some results, but no one can deny themselves of something they love (especially when it’s literally for the rest of their lives) and unfortunately that’s what it takes for a diet to work. So skip it. Get a bike. Join a club. Start sweating. It won’t kill you.*

Two weeks ago I went out and bought a cheap Schwinn and I’ve got a 4.4-mile route near my house that I ride now a few times each week. It’s in traffic and everything, so I have to be careful and wear my helmet, but it’s a good time with the ol’ iPod and the road. I see road-kill up close at 14 mph, and there’s a killer hill near the end that goes up (at a 12% grade according to the sign) for quite awhile and makes my legs feel like they’re on fire. The other day as I approached it and rode up (in the very lowest gear my bike offers, panting all the way) Daft Punk’s Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger was randomly selected on my iPod. That made it bearable.

Let’s hear your exercise stories!

* OK, actually it might. Talk to your doctor.

A friend of mine from Minneapolis sent me an interesting link: Three Poor College Guys. He’s the one in red on the left. I also know the one in the middle. They’re both very cool guys. Morally upright, etc. I can only assume the one on the right has similar qualities, or has been changed for the better under their proper influence.

Anyhow, we’ve all been in their situation. You come upon a real need and you realize that you just can’t hack it, and you turn to someone for help. Have you ever been helped? Have you ever felt Warm Fuzzies? Have you ever seen "Pay it Forward"? You know what to do.

In the spirit of Verry Merry May, this will be a simple entry, the crux of which is to bring some discussion about how the mind of a child operates. And not just any child, but the child who was you. You know, when you were a child.

I highly doubt I’m the only one who had a special toy or two. Did you have a toy that you simply could not part with when you were a kid? That toy which, looking back at it now, may seem silly, but regardless held your love and your interest captive without effort? If so, what was it? If not, what the heck is wrong with you?!? I’m talking young kid here, not ten or twelve, but like… six, or three, or something.

OK, I’ll start. First, a tragedy. There was a toy (whose name I cannot recall! Help?), and it came out sometime around 1985 or 1986, I think. It was like an Etch-a-Sketch in that it was hand-held and somewhat flat, but the drawings were done pixel-by-pixel, and the idea was that you would create “frames” and then make very pixelated, short little animations with it. They showed an animation of a cheetah running, and a boy hitting a baseball, and possibly some other stuff. And I wanted one so badly for Christmas or my birthday or one of those other days when kids all around the world suddenly deserve toys. Well… I didn’t get one. Never did. And I still remember that to this day. Cry a tear for me, I’m scarred for life. Watch out Greg Boyd, your red airplane has nothing on me.

Of course I did have some toys that I loved that I still remember. We had this old wooden toy box with an ugly green plaid rough-feeling cover on it, and I had all my treasures in there. Little Sesame Street cars, somewhat like this one that had Ernie and Bert and Cookie Monster and Big Bird in them, and you could roll them around and fill in the blanks with your imagination. We’ve still got those around somewhere. There was some kind of jack-in-the-box that I loved. But it wasn’t a regular jack-in-the-box (although we had/have one of those). It was smaller, and I don’t remember what it looked like. (We’re going way back into the subconscious here, people.) But you could push a button and something would open up and pop out. I don’t know.

G.I. Joes with parachutes were cool. You could throw them way up and watch them float down. Model rockets (with dad’s help, of course) were a blast. I remember the little cardboard fuel tubes that came with the little wire thingies you’d stick in the end and wire back to the ignition button. I remember how the used ones would smell.

The Intellivision was another favorite of course. Got me started as a gamer, followed somewhat closely by the Commodore 64. I’ve been playing video games since I was three or four years old.

Oh… this oughta damage me if nothing else does: I also liked Rainbow Brite for a period of a month or two when I was six and in the hospital on bedrest with an injured eye that was bleeding internally. I insisted that I be allowed to buy one of the dolls, and my parents were like, “Are you sure you want one of these dolls, hon?” And I was. So I got one. Then a couple months later I was like, “What the heck am I doing?” and I got rid of it. I have no idea where it came from.

Alright. None of you can have anything worse than that. Time to share. Out with it! I demand that you reminisce! It better be fondly! FONDLY!