RyanHarne.com

It snowed. In fact, about seven inches of it now harshly blankets the area outside of my house (I’m guessing a few more inches are at work, it just seemed like more in that direction). Thus, I woke up not looking forward to a day of delays, chilly precip that sneaks its way down your back, and sloooow traffic.

The traffic was slow, as to be expected. The drive to work certainly was not rushed on my part, I have no problem driving like a beady-eyed grandma when the circumstances impress me so. But (oh, I knew it would catch up with me), that case of road luck last week certainly came back to haunt me.

I knew that, somehow, any granted instance of road luck must also have its reciprocating fate. My fate nearly left me wetting my pants… nearly.

Background: one of the streets I live off of, that is necessary to take to get anywhere in town, has an enormous, curved hill. This hill is enough to slow down older cars as they ascend to its peak. Thus, with the right amount of icy precipitation, is very dangerous while descending.

My tank-like Jetta was grumbling up the hill this morning when I noticed a car coming from the opposite direction, we were approaching each other on the curved part. The Nissan was struggling its way down the hill; no, it was entirely out-of-control and sliding down the hill… into my lane. I had no choice but to continue moving because any braking on my part would mean I would never get out of the valley I was leaving (that hill is STEEP, please understand). So I kept chugging away in 4th gear. And the Nissan kept sliding into my lane, and into my lane, and…

At this point I believe every muscle around my groin was working at full strength to keep me from an “accident”, as tots call it. And THE WORST PART, was that this all happened at only about 40 m.p.h.; so, it was taking forever to become a part of history.

I kept moving up the hill, the approaching vehicle contuining its intersection with my path. I hugged the shoulder just a bit more than would be recommended and.. FLASH! BANG! It was over. I made it ever-so-gently by that Nissan. I must have been inches (nay! a fraction of an inch!) from the other car. It got me all shook up.

But I made it to work, where it continued to snow all day. Frankly, I don’t enjoy snow anymore.

Since I am auditioning for an instrumental position at Blue Ridge Community Church, I was encouraged to attend Intro to Blue Ridge tonight to better understand the innerworkings of this local church. You could likely equate this class as an “ice-breaker” to nearly every aspect of why BRCC functions as it does.

Jeremiah first invited me to Blue Ridge when we were both in high school. I don’t recall what that Sunday morning service was about (although, I can remember precisely the location of the seats we chose) but I can remember clearly how friendly and pleasant everyone was. And it didn’t seem like a facade. Now, after attending regularly, when I’m in town, for almost three years, I know it’s no facade. Not only am I able to be surrounded by a bunch of volunteers who appreciate my attending at a service, but the quality and presentation of the service is fantastic. That’s a huge factor for me, especially.

“Excellence” is something that is mentioned over and over again in the Blue Ridge mantra. The classic argument against quality production in many churches (the argument that says, “well, it’s good enough”) often promotes the once-mentioned verse of the Bible that says “make a joyful noise”. And I suppose you can’t argue that, everyone has the right to make their noises; however, to entice people into a community so welcoming and inviting as BRCC, it isn’t likely that people will be drawn by “joyful noises”. Animals make joyful noises; I’ve never cosied up with an elephant though. My car even makes joyful noises; but you won’t see me staking a marriage claim out to the catalytic converter though. One aspect entirely missing in many, most even, churches of this era is the level of excellence that draws people inside the doors.

Still, once someone is inside the doors all possibilities to individual reactions to a church are capable. Yet, BRCC has taken step after step to assure and reassure visitors that they are not wanted for their money, that they are not looking for dirt to pull up on them, and that they are ever welcome and loved. One of the most-mentioned turn-offs to churches today is that the establishments just want to ring out their wallets and pocketbooks. That is a sad thing to have to approach; even having to defend a large corporation from extortion is pitiful, let alone a church.

Anyways, the point is that I’ve been constantly impressed by the quality of people and production that I see at BRCC. Thus I am wanting to get involved in some realm. Thus I am writing about it. Anyways…

Side note: Bryan is the godfather and maximum royalty of forums and his birthday is tomorrow. Send love his way.

Sometimes the overwhelming Trading Spaces fan kicks in inside of me and I become that pseudo-designer that I am. Not that I am a big fan of Trading Spaces, but rather enjoy the show once every couple of months (I really don’t watch t.v., you see). Today was one of those creative days.

It also happens to be my parents anniversary. Thus, since I am home, I thought I would do something exciting. Or something different - likely more so different than exciting, per se. I bought several small bouquets of flowers and then arranged them amply in a vase. Then I took pictures, lots of pictures. These pictures were then Photoshopped and printed out, many pictures being printed, the sad and unfortunately blurry ones were tossed asunder.

Then these printed photos were cut so that all page borders were gone, vamooooose. Next was to arrange the pictures in a radial pattern around the vase, making sure they were arrayed as if the vase was moving out in all directions (thus, the shots of the vase being closer in than the shots of the upper flowers). One of the printed pictures has a glimpse of me in it (not my webcam shot, actually) and has a simply anniversary wish on it.

After a day spent away from Lynchburg (good for them), hopefully this welcome will be pleasant and surprising. But the excitement is building…

All of you romancers can keep this idea in mind for future occasions with the sig-nif-i-cant other (pronounced with an emphasized syllabic nature). And then you can thank me later.

Have you ever been told that a particular song reminds someone of you? Was it a song you knew (assuming you answered “yes” to the first question)? Did you think that the person truly was insightful in this association? Was it a rap song? If you answered “yes”to the last song, then you may want to reconsider a few aspects of your life, perhaps those facets involving vehicular transporation, fascinations with bling, and your sexual prowess. And I wish your efforts well.

However, I answered “yes” to the first question and “no” to that last one. I won’t mention what song it is nor who told me (oh, the secrecy just kills you, doesn’t it?) but it threw me when I first heard it. “Why hadn’t I heard this before?” I asked myself. I can’t say that the lyrics were anything profound or life-altering, but they were very good and very relevant. After my first listening of it, I kind of just sat there absorbing what I heard, absorbing truth. Absorbing many things that were once strained out from the mix.

Some people in my life have particular songs that I associate with them. Some friends of mine have animals that I, somehow, correlate to their personality (and it’s strange, really, because some of the animals I’ve never seen myself, so I’m not sure where the association developed). Anyways, now there is a song that means me. When it is sung; when the notes are played; when it breaks down to beats, rhythm and time, all together, the song means me.

And that means a lot.

Another question worth considering: how many “Chinese donuts” can one man consume? The answer to that lies within the innerworkings of the human intestinal track, and that is not an area I’d like to discuss at the moment, nor would I like to contemplate it. uggghhh ::too many Chinese donuts::

Something wonderful happened on the ever routine drive to work: I crested the last hill on Waterlick Road and saw in the distance that the Timberlake Road light had just turned green, better yet there were an unusually low number of cars in the lane that I would be taking. So I continued at my speed, not trying to beat the light, nor expecting to get through without a wait (generally, I sit through two cycles in the mornings, three or four in the afternoons). But miracles were about to take place, cherubim dusted off their harps, I was about to throw Lucky Seven.

The light stayed green, and stayed green, and, finally, stayed green. I went straight. through. the light. Being my first experience with traffic-related epiphanies, I was instantly weary; what happens to all of the people who get this type of road luck? Do they end up getting rear ended? Are those “Warning: Falling Rocks” signs the government’s response to people who had prior road luck? Locust plagues? WHAT happens to road luck people?

Unfortunately, I’ll never know, because I ended up making it to work almost 10 minutes early. TEN MINUTES. With ten minutes I… I could.. call collect to anywhere in the United States AND Canada for 10 cents a minute; I could… use up the majority of my fifteen minutes of fame; or.. or… I could sit and turn on my computer and silently wish I was still in that warm bed… undisturbed.

Anyways, I experienced a wonderful case of road luck today and didn’t have to pay for it in some other unfortunate way. Brilliant!

There wasn’t a date set in stone that I made the decision, but some time last year, likely early on, I decided to forever halt my consumption of fast food. This stance was based on a few, light reasons that I just felt held their weight better than I would with fast food in me - particularly the health standpoint (high cholesterol, high starches, lots of fats) and also the food preparation generally wasn’t that appealing (or left me praying with every bite). So gone were the days of Wendy’s Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers and McDonald’s Quarter Pounders.

My current read is Fast Food Nation. The cover stood out during a trip to Barnes & Noble once, and I put it on the list. Suddenly, I am thankful, grateful and everything in between for deciding to cease the fast food. Allow me to include some excerpts:

“A nationwide study published by the USDA … found that 7.5 percent of ground beef samples taken at processing plants were contaminated with Salmonella, 11.7 percent were contaminated with Listeria monocytogenes, 30 percent were contaminated with Staphylococcus aureus, and 53.3 percent were contaminated with Clostridium perfringens …. In the USDA study 78.6 percent of the ground beef contained microbes that are spread … by fecal material.”

“”Rarely do chronic conditions such as obesity,” the CDC [Center for Disease Control and Prevention] scientists observed, “spread with the speed and dispersion characteristics of a communicable disease epidemic.” Although the current rise in obesity has a number of complex causes, genetics is not one of them. The American gene pool has not changed radically in the past few decades. What has changed is the nation’s way of eating and living. In simple terms, when people eat more and move less, they get fat.”

My own reasons for disregarding fast food as a consuming option are even more reinforced. The book also told of what fast food animals (cows, pigs, chicken) are fed: since cattle are now fed primarily protein enhancers to stimulate growth hormones, the meat-producing industry has found clever ways to make up for the rest of the solid feed that cattle require; instead of adding cheap grasses or food scraps, they add… you got it… a bunch of crap. That crap has ranged from dead animals (unused chicken parts, including bones and feathers, typically go to cows, and vise versa) to fecal material (you’d be surprised how they cover those stenches: think bleach) to anything else that these businessmen can get their hands on (it’s no joke that rat parts go into hotdogs).

Mmmm mmm good. If you haven’t begun to give a second thought to that Monster Burger you’re holding in your hands then… well… I’ll let you chomp away.

Eat what you want. But remember that your health doesn’t just belong to you; having to one day rely on family and friends for your hospital visits and operations is a despicable way to treat loved ones. I urge you, and me, to eat health consciously. Can’t go wrong with those greens!