Please Pass the Cheese

It's been a little while since I've posted something to my blog, and I know all 7 of you who read it have been disappointed as the days have gone by without something new to sink your teeth into. I'm not sure why I dropped out of site (get it? site?!) for a while. Maybe I was tired? Too busy? Didn't have anything very interesting to say? A good episode of Friends was on? Or maybe I was too busy making dinner! When I talk of joining the slow food revolution , I use the word "joining" loosely. It's more like I'm reluctantly trailing along, occasionally taking a skip or a sprint to try to catch up before falling flat on my face. "So what is this slow food revolution, of which you speak," you may be asking. Well my friends, slow food is not just about avoiding McDonalds and Taco Bell--although I'm happy to say that I've broken the fast food joint habit completely and now do not even crave a Wendy's hamburger from time to time like I u

I took the plunge and got my hair cut a couple days ago. I wanted it short for summer. So, here I am. . . ta da!

Alright, I've been tagged by two people to be the IT in a round-robin game of "tell us eight things about yourself." And being tagged twice is tantamount to being double dared, so how can I not respond??? Here are the rules: * Post the rules of the game. * Tell us about eight random facts/habits about you. * At the end of the post, choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. * People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things. * Leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog. So, here goes. 1) Following in the footsteps of Dave's first post, I will share that I was in an elevator once with Smokey Robinson. He is much shorter than you think he is. I also met John Tesh at CBA, and the same year I met Kirk Cameron (be still my beating heart!). You can see the photos to prove it, although I'm not in the picture with Kirk because we ran out of film or something, but I DID take the picture you see here

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm a big fan of the show Ugly Betty . And even though some elements of the plot line strike me at times as perhaps not completely the kind of thing I should allow into my brain ("think on these things. . . ," you know the verse), I still allow myself this guilty pleasure because I believe that in addition to being entertaining, the show has redeeming value. Recently I was checking out ABC's Ugly Betty fan site Be Ugly 07.com and noticed an interesting trend in the rhetoric they use to promote the show. Be real. Be kind. Be smart. And finally, be true to yourself. Ahh, yes. The old-as-the-hills American ideal of being true to ourselves. It seems in our country and era that authenticity, beyond any other trait, has become our highest virtue. When I thought a little more about the character of Betty, though, I asked myself, what is so beautiful about Betty? Why is she so darned likeable? She's quirky, yes. She dresses kind of crazy and dos

A few weeks ago I heard on NPR that geneticists and actuaries have joined forces and are now fairly close to being able to predict with surprising accuracy the very year during which a person will die. That's right. By calculating all the "factors" and looking very closely at your genes, science has finally figured out how to predict the future—at least when it comes to death—and for some this is exciting news. The scientist being interviewed seemed to think that this knowledge, if it is possible to truly predict with any accuracy, is somehow information that should not be withheld from the public. Yes, we all have the right to know exactly when we will die so we can plan our lives accordingly. "Perhaps," he commented, "if you found out in your 20s that you were going to die of cancer in your 40s, you might not go to law school or spend ten years getting that Ph.D. Instead you might become a crewman on a carribean cruise ship for the rest of your days.&qu

As some of you know, I am a huge fan of the Madlibs. My friend (and now co-worker at IVP), Katy, is also a madlib afficionado, and has encouraged her coworkers to participate in a madlib several times a week. Thanks to Jonny Bogg's madlib desk calendar and the pleasingly nimble minds of the members of the design room, this wonderful madlib below was born. I wish I could say I was there to take part in it myself, but alas, I can only enjoy its afterglow. Class Trip For our final class trip our teacher, Mr. Dyed-In-the-Wool-Faith-Head announced that we're going to a particular node of the brain! I'm so excited, I can hardly lash out uncritically at religion! I'm bringing my new slick hell fire collection of organs, my fancy discarded 19th century assumptions and of course my turbocharged rhetoric. I'm sure we'll see lots of ivory-tower athiests.

A few weeks ago I noticed an announcement in our church bulletin for the annual women's tea. We women were heartily encouraged to attend to enjoy some fellowship and a testimony from a woman who had adopted a child from oversees. Strangely, my response to this announcement was decidedly negative. In fact, inside my head it sounded somthing like "blech-no way do I want to go to that." I began to wonder why my ire was raised by this church sponsored tea party. After all, I have been to high tea before several times and enjoyed it very much. In fact, I was going to be having "tea" at a friend's house the following weekend. So why the distain for this particular tea? After some contemplation, I realized that I was feeling frustrated because many churches I've been to only offer this type of event for women. It's like they think when women get together with each other all we want to do (and should want to do) is talk about tea cups and knitting and our

I've been asked, actually tagged, by my friend and colleague David A. Zimmerman to share two tidbits of information about myself with the wide world: a) what does my home office look like? and b) what music am I into now? So, let's start with part *a*. Here are a few photos of my office space. Since I work at home, this is where I spend ohhh, probably about 10 hours of every day (work and home messing around combined). Sick, isn't it? No wonder I have to go to the chiropractor. A person shouldn't be this sedentary. Pic #1 = my desk Pic #2 = Jeff's desk Pic #3 = the wall that connects us So that's that. Frankly, I'm scared to imagine what these photos reveal about me and my work habits. I guess those are best left unsaid. Yes, there are two imacs on my desk. No, I don't work for NASA. Okay, on to the second part: Music I've been dabbling in. 1) On the only cool radio station in the entire Metro Detroit area (Ann Arbor's 107.1 should you come to v

This Thursday we attended a lovely Maundy Thursday service at our church. As a part of the remembrance of the last supper, we participated in communion together. This time, however, instead of passing the elements around to the seated congregation as they usually do, we were invited to come forward and partake of the Lord's supper while standing in small groups at the front of the sanctuary. Jeff and I were used to this form of communion because our church in Illinois had practiced it regularly, and we had grown to love the personal, symbolic encounter of sitting together at table with 11 other members of the church family and being personally served the elements by an elder who actually knows your name. I find it so powerful to have someone look me in the face as I take the bread and say "Becky, this is the body of Christ, broken for you." After such a penetrating yet communal experience with the elements, something is lost for me when I receive communion from an usher w

I have always admired the actress Diane Keaton. Not because I've been so impressed with her acting as much as the fact that she seems so okay with herself. It seems like she has been successful in avoiding the Hollywood trappings of self-upgrade. She is in her early 60s now, and shockingly enough, she has wrinkles! Her hair is grey! She looks like a woman of her age, and in my opinion she is one of the most beautiful, authentic people in Tinsel Town. That's why when my friends started talking about aging recently, I casually blew it off. If Diane Keaton can age gracefully, I thought, so can I. I mean, I'm only 30 for cryin our loud! Yet my friends continued to talk about how their "youth and beauty" were fleeing them. What? Where? I don't see it, I said. Microscopic lines were appearing around their eyes, they claimed. Ever-so-miniscule creases were developing on their foreheads—and white hairs were more prevalent. Hadn't I noticed a change too? Not really

"Vanity of vanities! Vanity of vanities," cries the writer of Ecclesiasties. Life is nothing but a vapor, a puff of air floating through the cosmos for a few seconds before it vanishes, hardly noticed, definitely unremembered. And Time continues it's relentless march forward, rolling over everything and everyone in its path. In the words of Gerard Manley Hopkins, "Generations have trod, have trod, have trod/ And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil/ And bears man's smudge, and shares man's smell; the soil/ Is bare now, nor can foot feel being shod." Annie Dillard puts it this way: "'Your fathers did eat manna and are dead,'" Jesus told people . . . . Trafficking directly with the divine, as the manna-eating wilderness generation did, and as Jesus did, confers no immunity to death or hazard. You can live as a particle crashing about and colliding in a welter of materials with God, or you can live as a particle crashing a