Newton's 3rd Law and why it Sucks

"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."

Although, Isaac Newton was a scientist, and the above statement is really intended for use in making physics equations as it relates to motion... I find it an astute observation about the universe. Of coarse Newton wasn't the only one to see it. Buddhists call it karma. Oprah calls it empowerment. Milton Bradley calls it Shutes and Ladders. I call it choice and consequence.

I've pretty much accepted this as a way of life. It goes back to my firm up bringing in modern/linear thinking. "If I make this choice, then the actions that follow are a result of that choice. Therefore, it's no ones fault but mine, and to move on I have to choose again." Every day is a list of decisions that will shape the future. If you wrong someone, it usually comes back to bite you. If you do good, usually you are blessed in return. Usually...

This system has a flaw. You see while Newton dealt with "The Universe" he was dealing with the laws of physics and nature. Things that do not change and that function the way God intended. People are different. There are a number of people on this earth that believe the rules do not apply to them. And they're screwing it up for the rest of us. I don't mean that they don't think the Pool Rules or the Class Rules or the Rules of the Law apply to them. I mean they think that in some why they can defy the laws that glue the very fabric of time together.

My brother right now is battling addiction. By battling I mean... we're battling his addiction. He doesn't see it. He doesn't see that his addiction has consequences. He truly believes that he can Forest Gump his way through life and expect his wife, his family, and friends to pick up the pieces. He doesn't get that his choices affect other people. And he is just selfish enough not to care. I've realized that my actions do have an equal and opposite reaction. I help him and he hurts me back. He hurts me and I help him. What that hell is that!?! He thinks he should have a good job, 2.5 children, a healthy marriage, a ministry, and a nice home, but he is not willing to choose any of it. He thinks he should be able to run himself into the ground and the world will just cough up all of that. I don't know what to do anymore.

On waiting...

I'm not quite sure what it is about waiting that makes it so painful. I'm sure that if new some kind of government secret, the kind that warrants James Bond having to go looking for missing scientists, that I could endure the torture chambers of any country on earth. I could be caned, burned, seered, poked, proded, beaten, and tenderized. But to get me to crack all they would have to do is give me a phone and put me on hold. In fact, I'm sure that if the Hitler would have had Kenny G playing in the background while a deep voice told you about the money you could save with a home loan, the war may have turned out differently.

I seem find myself waiting in alot of areas of my life right now. I'm not sure why I don't like it. Some people really enjoy it. "It's the antisipation!" They can't wait to see how it's all going to turn out. Usually these are the same people that look on the bright side of life and like going to the dentist because their teeth smell like bubble gum afterwards. For me its just a nagging. No, it's more than that. I imgaine that it is similar to the fear that sets in when one has alsheimers and enters those moments when they are unsure of who they are, where they are, how they got there, and wondering if it will be all right. It is stark terror mixed with utter despair, because it's out of your hands.

I wonder if it is just the notion of not being in control that scares me to death. To trust something to someone else. To trust someone else. To believe that someone will return your call, send you an e-mail, get that project done, memorize that music, not let you down, that somehow the great loving God of the universe will not let you slip through the cracks... that you're hard work will pay off, that she'll feel the same way eventually, that their intensions are good, that someday I'll find what I lost (thanks for finding my jacket Adam but now I lost my hat).

Not knowing is the worst feeling in the world. I would rather just win or lose. I would rather screw it up or make it right. But this waiting... its like life has put you on hold.

The Fair is a Veritable Smorgusbord- Orgusbord - Orgusbord

That's right. Last week was the Sandwich Fair. Where the crem' de la crem' of society come out to play and buy a deep-fried Snickers. Mullets and rattails as far as the eye can see. This has got to be one of my favorite things about summer. People actually say it's better than the state fair. Is it really? You'll just have to come find out. I have only been able to attend once the past six years, so I teamed up with a girl from my small group, Kimberly (don't call her Kim) and we single handedly tackled this orgy of fried foods and stuffed animal trophies.

We got our faces painted, ate a funnel cake (represent Super Dave), had a lemonade shake up, petted the llamas and camels, got bit by a goat, saw a 80 lbs pumpkin, rode the tilt-a-whiril and the visited the KKK sheep. For those of you city folk, when they shear the sheep they give them "sheep hoodies" to keep them warm. This looks awkwardly similar to Klan outfits... especially next to the burning crosses.

But my favorite fair activity has got to be the "mouse game." Don't tell PETA, but this has got to be the funniest thing I have ever seen. There is a game with a giant "wheel-of-fortune" style wheel that has different colors on it. On each slice of color there is a hole. Contestants bet on a color and the wheel is spun... fast. Then the carne smoothes his moustache and pulls out a little box. He drops the contents of this box into the middle of the wheel. The little white mouse hits the giant merry-go-round and instantly becomes dizzy. I'm honestly surprised every time that it doesn't just puke or go into little mouse seizures. After it works up the courage to move, it then stumbles to the nearest hole. If you bet on that hole, on that color, you win. But sometimes the wheel is going so fast the the little mouse is pretty much just flung to the outer edge by the centripetal force. Maybe it's cruel, but its funny every time.

(By the way, if you can name the movie that the title is from, I'll give you bonus points.)

No Grandma... Not the Scissors!

I'm still actually just shocked. I can't believe this actually happened but here it goes...

I just got my hair cut by Grandmother Time! I went to go get my hair cut and since the lady that normally cuts my hair wasn't around, I should have taken a hint and recognized a bad omen. So I causually just ask the reseptionist, "Have you got time for a walk-in?" She goes to check. She askes three different ladies if they would cut my hair. Most were leaving for the day and didn't have time. The receptionist seems a little flustered and a little hesitant. I don't really understand why, but I do now. She aproaches this little old lady sitting on a chair in the corner. I didn't even think this woman was a beautian. Being that she is "Wal-Mart greeter old" I figured she was there to get a weekly perm or something. When the girl from the counter askes her to cut my hair, you would have thought her grandchildren finally came to see her or something. She lights up like a Christmas Tree and tells me to come sit down. I'm pretty sure she is excited because she has been sitting there all day and I'm the first haircut she has given all week, if not all century. And as I pass the receptionist, out of the corner of my eye I imagined I saw her cringe.

I very patiently explain to Grandma that I just wanted to trim the sides and take about a half of an inch off the top. She seems to understand after I "speak up" and tell the whole salon. So, as she looks for all the tools she will need (rifling through drawers for five minutes) she emerges with the clippers. I'm instanly scared, because her hands are shaking. I'm not sure if it is just the excitement, the clippers, or the arthritis. She then proceeds to use the clippers to cut the sides of my hair... for twenty minutes. She spends ten minutes alone just trying to do the neck line. She just keeps cutting and cutting, then step back and take a look, and then cutting and cutting. So after what seemed like 6 years, she breaks out the scissors. I'm thinking, okay, this will be quicker, she only has to cut half an inch off. An inch and a half later, I'm pissed. I would be furious if I wasn't so scared.

Have you ever dropped a pen or something and instantly caught it with your wrist by slamming your arm up against the wall or desk, wedging the dropping item till you can recover it with your other hand? Of course you have. Would you ever do that with scissors? ON SOME ONE'S HEAD? Grandma drops the scissors TWICE and catches them with between her wrist and my head!!! I was in such a state of shock I didn't realize she cut my hair way too short. I was to busy trying to stay alive. I actually heard other people in the salon gasp when she dropped the scissors the first time.

Finally, she was done an hour after it started. I'm NOT exagerating. And what did it cost to have my life threatened and my hair butchered? $30. At least, if she was a Wal-Mart greeter she wouldn't have sharp objects.