Old Dog...New Tricks

Six months ago I didn’t know what a “blog” was. I happened to pick up a copy of our school paper and it had an article that explained it simply enough for an antiquated old fart like me to understand it. I’m only twenty four years old! But I didn’t know. That’s how out of touch I am with technological reality.
Yesterday at lunch with my sixty year old pastor he was telling me about how he was so confused by a local automotive repair dealership that was offering a free blackberry with your purchase of four new tires. He said, “I would have expected at least a pint of blackberries! What can you do with just one?” After sharing the mystery with his wife they decided to go on-line and find out what a blackberry was. I could relate.
Supposedly I’m on the line between the MTV generation and the postmodern/mosaic/Gen X, whatever you want to call it. I was born in 1981 and I’m supposed to instinctively know how to use computers, love Star Wars, skateboard, smoke weed, be irresponsible, and know what LOTR stands for. But I don’t (well, thanks to my brother-in-law I know what LOTR stand for). My problem is that I think, act, talk, and live like a baby boomer, not a Gen-Xer. My best friends are either twice or three times my age, because I identify with them. That’s why I was a little nervous when a “Media in Ministry” class at my seminary required me to start a blog a few days ago.
I posted a couple blogs that I thought were funny/interesting/thought provoking and waited to see if someone would respond. After a few hours I got restless and called a friend to tell him that I had a blog and he should check it out. He gave me a few sympathy comments and moved on. I had posted about philosophy, pregnancy, and the sexiness of minivans, but no one cared. I even created a self-awareness masterpiece on the implications of blogging that was supposed to toe the line between sarcastic and sincere. No one cared. Then I broke my initial commitment and followed the crowd by weighing in on Katrina. Within hours I had my first real response. I was initiated. I was a bonafide blogger, whose blog mattered enough to someone to make them take time to respond.
This is perplexing to me. Why respond to Katrina, but not to the other stuff? This question bounces around in my head, along with a question about blogging. What is the point of the blog? I guess if I fit in with my generation, I wouldn’t be looking for a point. I’d just enjoy the experience itself. But you know what they say, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

Minivans Are Sexy

The car in the picture is mine. A ’96 Mustang, dual exhaust, rear spoiler, glass packs, super-charger gauges…a man’s car. It’s sleek, strong, loud, intimidating, inviting. Supposedly, it’s even sexy. I’m desperately trying to sell it so I can buy a minivan.
Now there is a man’s car. A car that can hold two car seats, a double stroller, a playpen, luggage to visit the in-laws, groceries, and even has a place to change diapers and make sandwiches. A man’s car. It exudes confidence, security, strength, practicality, and a lot of other things that drive women crazy with desire. Women like my wife who couldn’t keep her hands off me if I drove a minivan, but could care less that I own a two door fuel consumption machine. Yes, minivans are very, very sexy. I used to own one, back in the day, when I was just a young, newly married, carefree ball of testosterone. Then I got rid of it and a friend gave me this Mustang. I’ve had it for about a year and every time I pass a minivan I get envious. Just this morning on my way to class I roared past a minivan in an intersection and almost got whiplash looking out the window and thinking to myself, “Now that is one sexy car.”