Tonight I met up with a professor of mine from college who was in town for a conference. Dick wasn't just a professor to me though, he was a mentor, and most importantly: a friend.

At one particular point in my life, when I was at a cross road on who I was to become, I looked around at all the people I respected and came to the conclusion that 20 years down the road my life would be the most fruitful and fulfilled if it looked like Dick Pritchard's. Needless to say I have an extreme respect for the man.

So amidst Shrimp Purloo, Peacan Pie, and a waiter that probably wished we hadn't taken a seat in a small, Midtown restaurant for 2.5 hours: tonight we discussed everything under the sun.

As the meal was wrapping up - but still an hour before we would leave - we began to discuss communication and relationships.

When I was in Dick's class, he assigned a book called "The Contemplative Pastor" by Eugene Peterson.

I didn't read it.

Dick knew I didn't read it (as with pretty much most of my assigned reading).

But I very much remember it's content and the discussion that came from it.

In the book, Peterson makes the point that we learn three languages in order:
intimacy, naming, and persuasion.

From our first moments in life we learn words of love - which in reality have little to do with actual words. We then proceed on to "naming" - it is here we get an understanding of possession. With possession understood, we finally complete our verbal development with "persuasion" - or the language needed to persuade in order to attain that which we want to posses.

It should be noted that this isn't just in romantic relationships. It translates to all relationships: parents, friends, co-workers, mentors, mentees, customer service agents, the homeless man on the street. Everyone.

The irony I pointed out is that I have essentially fallen into a profession that is hyper-focused on persuasion, opinions, belief systems, and world-views. And I think it is precisely because of this that for a while now I have felt a heightened struggle with most of human language in contemporary society being focused on persuasion. Something that if I would have read Peterson's book, I would have probably dealt with 4 years ago.

Unfortunately though, the causality of this sad state of affairs is intimacy.

I blogged about this before, but it bears repeating. I think one of the most powerful movie trailers I have ever seen was for the movie Crash. The line that hit me was, "...nobody touches you...I think we miss that touch so much that we crash into each other just so we can feel something."

When we remain stuck with persuasion in our relatinoships, intimacy gets thrown aside. But our desire to fulfill our lives with persuasion and attaining that which we have named, unfortunately only leaves us emptier for it.

My 2009 Atlanta Braves season tickets came on Friday!!! And to say I was excited would be a huge understatement. And the best part about it, they are baseball card themed! Every ticket looks like a baseball card from a past or current baseball player. They...are...AWE-some!

This is my first year with a full season ticket package. But getting my first season ticket package got me thinking about the first baseball ticket I ever held.

I was in 2nd grade. My dad took me up to Chicago for the day. I remember the excitement of just the two of us, riding in his little 3-series BMW for 3 hours or so.

StubHub wasn't around at the time so purchasing tickets to a sold out game meant finding a scalper. "Teddy the Ticket" was infamous around Wrigleyville, so we found the bar he hung out in before games and dad bought two tickets. This was also my first time in a bar (it was legal).

I don't remember where we sat, I don't remember who we played, and I don't remember if we won. I guess through the years all those details have proved to be relatively pointless. I remember feeling loved though. And I remember how special and important it made me feel to go to Wrigley for the day with dad.

After the game, dad bought me a my first Cubs hat. It was bright pink - and even though I know I am going to get laughed at hardcore for this, I freely admit I liked the color pink as a boy.

But to leave out this detail of the day would leave out the beauty of the day, and the beauty of who Dad was and is. He always gave me the freedom and independence to make my own decision. I am sure internally he rolled his eyes when his oldest boy picked a pink Cubs hat. But he bought it for me anyways and I wore that for years until it was lost while riding a horse on a Dude Ranch trip.

Now I am 26 years old and wearing more gender appropriate hats. I am old enough to take myself to baseball games and pay for my own tickets. And just like at that first baseball game, I still rarely care where I sit or who we are playing. And even though it is Turner Field and not Wrigley, and it is the Braves not the Cubs, there is still something special about stepping through the turnstiles and watching America's pastime.

I look forward to the day when I can take my own boy to the park - just the two of us. But for now, I just appreciate the company of a good friend and a couple of hours at the park.

I had a diversion this past week due to the Colgan air disaster, but my loyal readers were expecting an Andy beat down on Allen for his position on Bobby Knight and his position on Obama and Iran. I figured I would start with Bobby Knight - as the Iran one is infinitely more complicated and may in fact involve more than one post.

Disclaimer to start: I am from in Indiana - but I was never really a Indiana University fan. I agreed earlier this year to root for Indiana if a friend would root for Notre Dame at the Hawaii Bowl. She did, Notre Dame won, thus I am rooting for IU basketball this year for the first time ever. But beyond that, I am a Duke University fan, and have no dog in the IU fight.

With that said, Bobby Knight would be a fantastic addition to the University of Georgia Athletic Department.

What set me over the top with Allen's ridiculous stance on Bobby Knight was when he called Bobby Knight the anti-Christ (that and he had his stats wrong regarding Bobby Knight's career). Let's examine this ridiculous logic through picture form.




Now, this might be news to people outside of Georgia, but Mark Richt is a godly man who loves Jesus. This cannot be questioned! In fact, God loves Mark Richt so much, he predestinedly named the Gospel of Mark after him. I bet you didn't know that.



Now, Mark Richt is also a very mild manner, even tempered man, thus Mark Richt is the opposite of Bobby Knight.



Using simple and obvious logic, one then can deduce that Bobby Knight ≠ Jesus



Now we all know that I am a big fan of logic, so one would think I must bow down to the obviously correct stance that Allen holds.

But does Mark Richt in fact equal Jesus for the University of Georgia.

The way I see it, a major university coach has three responsibilities: 1.) Graduate his students, 2.) Produce competitively successful sports teams, and 3.) Set an example of good character.

When said coach achieves these three with perfection, they can then be defined the "Jesus" of their sports program.

The problem of course is that Mark Richt is (arguably) only good at one of these three things, where as Bobby Knight is (arguably) good at two of these things.

In 2008, the University of Georgia came in 63rd out of 65 in graduating their football players. 52% of their players fail to graduate college.

Worse yet, in basketball, 77% of their players fail to graduate college. Bobby Knight has a stellar record in graduating his players.

Beyond that, Mark Richt hasn't won jack squat yet as head coach of UGA. UGA fans are still riding the coat tails of Vince Dooley from the 80s. Where as Bobby Knight is the winningest NCAA Basketball coach ever (women's basketball doesn't count as basketball).

Sure, neither Mark or Bobby are Jesus, but is not Bobby closer than Mark?

Allen of course made the statement on air that he doesn't need his "kid's" coach to help him graduate because "his kid will graduate." But then I ask you, why do you need your "kid's" coach to develop his moral character?

UGA should hire Bobby Knight. If he is hired, I'll be at the first game with a special throwing chair with Allen's name on it.

I know I have been awful at blogging recently, but I took a break. I have had a wonderful time up in Indiana and still have another 5 days or so.

Hanging out with CJ & Andrea is always a blast. I am the only person I know who wakes up at 11 am for work most days, but on vacation gets up at 9 and is generally exhausted all day. But I love it. Nothing like being woken up by a beautiful girl, even if she is only three.

Some of the cutest things Jadyn has said this trip:

• Uncle Andy, can you wear your hat? You look cool.
• Can we play hide and go seek? ... (1 minute later before she counts to 10) ... ok you go hide in the closet ... (don't think she quite gets the concept of hide and go seek)
• Can you not check your email and just watch me play?

And not to leave the Ash-man out of things. I figured I'd post of video of Asher and I. He can't rollover yet, but I swear I am going to see him walking before I leave on Saturday. His legs are crazy strong - as you can tell by the video. Be sure to wait for the end.


Between being spit up on all week and the fumes from the midget racing inside the Memorial Coliseum, I pretty much have smelled this entire week.

Well that's some fun stuff for now. I am going to blog later on this week about four of my favorite women of the trip - which include one of the Stolen girls, an exgirlfriend I haven't talked to since senior year of high school, and of course, Andrea and Jadyn. Think of it my own version of Esquire's "Women We Love."

I was the Editor-in-Chief of my high school yearbook. I know, über-nerdy right? I wasn't very good at it to be honest. The yearbook was a finalist for a prestigous national award, so it was designed well and the final product was nice (and late), but my overall ability to lead the staff was an utter failure. I made many, many mistakes.

But one thing we were good at: debating. Didn't matter the topic. I had a staff full of women - including one exgirlfriend and a few other very close friends of another exgirlfriend - and one very quiet man. Needless to say, many times it was me versus them all (with the man abstaining).

As Christmas approached, one day the topic of Santa Claus came up. I made the statement that I was not going to tell my kids there was a Santa Claus.

Ohhh....my....gosh! You would have thought I said I will let my kids spend the night with Michael Jackson and Christopher Walken.

I got accused of not fostering a creative environment for my kids.

I got accused of ruining Christmas for all my friends kids.

I got accused of not letting my kids enjoy being kids.

I know how the pictured Santa felt a bit.

But no, just a simple desire not to ever set a precedent of lying to my kids was my motive.

Now I will freely admit that this was right at the height of my extreme "conservative" stage - one many of my current friends won't believe I ever went through. But even with the loosening of my perspective on many things, I still feel I won't tell them there is a Santa.

I think there is already so much pressure from culture to redefine what Christmas is all about. It becomes about the presents, or about family, or about giving, or about joyfulness. And while none of those are per se bad, it isn't really what the season is about at its core.

But it goes beyond this. I know one of my greatest strengths, but also greatest weakness, is that I try to live be a mantra of honesty above all. And while that sometimes means I am not as compassionate and caring as I should be, I do believe that you can rarely go wrong with telling the truth.

I think this becomes all the more important with children. There is already such an innate skepticism with kids as they grow up towards their parents. Why feed into that? Not just with Santa, but in all areas of life.

Apparently I am not the only one. Carl Honoré wrote an article titled "Well, Virginia, It's a Longer Story..." about the "Great-Santa Debate" in a recent article in the Washington Post. But then of course, you have all those wonderful Macy's commercials with the comforting confirmation of Santa's existence from the likes of Martha Stewart and Donald Trump.

So what do you think? How were you raised? How are you raising (or planning on raising) your kids?

I often feel like the least forgiving place in this world is the place that should be the most. As the saying goes, "the church seems to shoot their wounded."

This saddens me how few people recognize how imperfect we all are, and how all sin is equal in the eyes of God. When will we try to be as forgiving as God.

I know I can't post them all, but if you follow Post Secret, you will be astonished how many of them are about carrying around guilt and shame years - sometimes even decades - after something happened.

...Women who are vegans because egg yolks remind them of their abortions

...Men who feel bad about the way they treated people in high school

...First time sexual experiences that were not what they expected

...Mothers missing their daughters because they don't speak after and event

...Fathers knowing they should never have left their kids

...Business deals that fell through

...Friends mistreating and taking advantage of other friends

Stop carrying the guilt around with you. God forgives - even if we don't.

Be sure to visit Post Secret for more interesting looks into the human condition.

I came across an article on Newsvine where Russian President Dmitri Medvedev was blaming the US for the global economic crisis. My first thought was, "ok, so let me get this straight international community: when the economy is good around the world, the US is a greedy, selfish nation, but when the economy is bad, it is America's fault?" We just can't win, huh? I'll leave that at that for now. My second thought was, "being a father is a lot like being America," sometimes, you just can't win.

This drew my thoughts to a conversation we had during production planning a couple of weeks ago. We were talking about doing a show around Father's day, and it instantly turned negative. I piped in and said, "why is it when we do a show on Mother's day, it is about how great moms are. But when we do shows about dads, it's always about their short comings." Let's just do a positive show about dads for once.

It reminds me of this Jeff Foxworthy bit:



I gotta admit, I am a little guilty of that. I might not have been on Oprah (yet), but it doesn't change that I have been disrespectful in the past. This is all the more damning after reading a book by Shaunti Feldhan called For Women Only, where she details that 74% of all men would rather feel alone and unloved than disrespected and inadequate. As a man, it is a sentiment that I would agree with, and a sentiment I realized that many times I have failed to show towards my dad.

I was touched by something Tim Russert said about his dad that I came across this week. Take a listen:



My dad (and mom) have sacrificed a lot for me to have the life I have. But that isn't what I respect him the most for. So at the risk of getting too long (I know I am over my self-imposed 500-word limit), I am going to list the seven things I respect my dad for the most:

1. Work Hard, Play Hard
   Since before I can remember, and more than I can count, the words, "you work hard, you play hard" have come from the lips of my dad. And frankly, I love it. That simple motto and work ethic has transcended my life more than just about anything else. Combine that with my heavenly Father's instruction to live life to the fullest, completely explains the zeal I have for my job and the zeal I have for life in general.
2. You Will Never Be the Best
   Ok...Ok...to be fair, he never told me that exactly. But when I played Little League, my dad would always say that I would never be the best at baseball, and that nobody I know would be the best. You know what is wonderful about it (besides being right): he never told me I should stop playing. Translate that 10 to 15 years later. Just because I might not be the best at something, doesn't mean that it isn't worth doing or that I don't have value in doing it. Not worrying about being the best, frees one up to just worry about doing their best.
3. I Could Fail and He Always Had My Back
   Let's be honest, I don't ever want to have to move back in with my parents. And they probably don't want me to move back in with them. But I have always known that in the event that I needed to, I always had a place to stay and someone to feed me. Mixed with the work hard / play hard mindset, and the mindset that I don't have to be the best, this security blanket has given me the freedom to risk in all areas of my life, knowing that if I failed, it would be alright. That confidence has effected everything from me buying a home to sticking with a job in uncharted territory, and everything in between.
4. My Own Haircut
   Dad would always lament about how when he was a child his dad always chose his haircuts and how he vowed he would never tell us how to cut our hair. To his credit, we had some pretty crazy hair styles through the years, and I am sure we looked ridiculous, but he never told us we couldn't do it. It was a weird sense of independence and creativity that I think set the foundation for other areas in life. He wasn't happy about my choice in college or major, but he let me make that decision. He wasn't happy about me going and studying in Israel, but he let me make my own decision (and stayed in touch while I was there better than anybody). It wasn't that he just sat idly by and didn't interject his opinion. I had to put up a fight. I had to defend myself. And in the end, I respect him more for that. He wanted me to think about why I was doing things, make sure I understood the potential consequences of my actions, but in the end, left it up to me.
5. The Evil Janitor
   I can still remember it. We were walking into the Memorial Coliseum in Fort Wayne, IN and there he was: our elementary school janitor. He was a mean janitor. We didn't like him very much. So my brother and I started making fun of him for having a second job. I remember the words, "ohh do they not pay you enough at the school" coming out of my mouth. And my dad looked at my brother and I and said, "listen to me, you never make fun of someone for something like that. He's doing what he needs to do to provide for his family and that's respectable." Years later, after mission trips and the like, I realized how important that lesson was. That everyone has value regardless of their class in life.
6. Living in America
   I remember driving home from my first Chicago Cubs game with dad. I think I was in 1st grade (maybe 2nd grade). And we got caught up in a conversation about how fortunate we were to live in the United States of America. We have the freedoms that billions of people would die for and that thousands of people had died for. And while it wasn't said in these exact words, this fortune was something we didn't earn. We were were fortunate to have that blessing.
7. Law Firm Situation
   In the last 10 years, there is probably nothing I respect my dad more for than the situation he went through this last year with his law firm. I am not going to get into all the details. But I saw a man that put his own well-being below that of others in his office. I saw a man who could have taken the easy way out, but chose to stay and do the right thing. I saw a man who took a risk, managed a situation that wasn't his fault, but ultimately did the right thing. It's that kind of integrity that gets missed in all the lawyer jokes and stereotypes (which we all enjoy), but that makes me very proud of him. It inspires me to do the right thing in my work life, and more importantly, it inspires me to realize that sometimes life deals you a crappy hand, but it is up to us to make the best of it.

Thank you dad. I love and respect you very much. I hope you have a great Father's day.

I had to wake up at the ungodly hour of 7:45 am to take a friend to meet another friend to drive to a wedding in South Carolina. Of course, at that hour, I didn't want to talk, I just wanted to listen to the radio. So I turned to News/Talk 750 WSB and sure enough, Boortz was just starting his day.

What did he decide to open his rant about? The catcher who ducked and allowed the pitch to jack the ump in the facemask. Take a look.



Now, what you might not know is that this catcher lost his scholarship to the college he was planning on attending and his high school was fined $1,000 for the incident - which I don't particularly have a problem with. Scholarships are like the free-market: schools don't have any obligation to give them out.

But, of course, old-man Boortz¹ was going on and on about how he agreed with this and how people need to understand there are consequences for their actions. But it is precisely this reason why I think what this catcher did was brilliant.

The motivation for the incident was because they were unhappy with poor calls from the homeplate umpire. Now I was not at the game, so I do not know if this were true or not. But nevertheless, the pitcher & catcher perceived it to be the case, so they took the perceived poor actions of the ump and put some physical consequences to it: they jacked him in the face. Message received.

Now I know I am not the norm. I actually have no problem with Tony Stewart or Danica Patrick getting into a fight with a fellow auto racer who just put them into a wall. Or a bench clearing brawl when some pitcher jacked a batter in the head. Or two hockey players going at it because one hockey player told another hockey player his toothless smile was ugly. But this goes beyond sports...

We are a wussified country (yes I know I just made up a word). The same mentality that doesn't understand the importance of the Iraq War, or why the coddled generation is now in the workforce but thinks they are lazy, or that allows the seatbelt law to be in effect, is the same mentality that says "safety at all costs." We are trying to remove all consequence from actions. We want to be a white, vanilla, bland culture that's greatest virtue is safety and cordiality. We are a nations of pansies.

Not I though. I will take pride in the American history of sometimes saying, enough is enough, and because of your actions, there will now be physical consequences. Now, where's the nearest umpire...

I am so tired. I am not sure if I have ever been this tired. Today was just exhausting.

Today started around 9 am. I worked for a couple of hours to get last nights show up on the web. We then cleaned the condo. Filled, then waited a half hour, to pick up Andrea's meds. Then picked Andrea up. Then spent an hour in a McDonalds. Then spent two hours at Target. It wasn't until 3:30 that we were on the road from Hilton Head to Charleston.

It was at this point I almost freaked out. I don't mind being on the road. I don't mind change. What I hate is transition. It took us forever to get off the island, and that drives me nuts. But the journey continues...

Two hours of driving in caravan - which we all know I am lead footed and am awful at driving in caravan. I actually am convinced it takes more energy on my part and I am more dangerous driving in that situation.

All this time trying to organize a live, talk radio from an iPhone.

Then we got to Charleston. Got Andrea and CJ checked into the Ronald McDonald house. Then headed over to the hospital. Andrea and CJ went up to NICU and myself, Nancy (Andrea's mom), and Chuck (Andrea's Mom's Boyfriend) took care of Jadyn and got dinner. It is at this point I also try and figure out what lodging options I have for the evening.

CJ and Andrea came down and we ran to get Andrea dinner. We then got into a fight with the Wendy's guy through the intercom. We got back and Andrea took Nancy up to see Asher. Hour or so later they come down. It is like 9:00 pm at this point.

So why do I go into this much (too much?) detail. Because I am exhausted and I wanted you to feel the exhaustion? Sort of...

But here's the deal. At this point CJ and I go up to see Asher and seeing that tiny, 5 lb baby boy, on a bunch of machines, and stroking his hair, and rubbing his stomach, and talking to him, and telling him about teaching him to wakeboard in the future, and sharing that moment with CJ as his new little buddy was getting stronger...man...it was worth all exhaustion in a way I can't explain.

For those that want the update. The nurse said they are going to try and take him off of oxygen tonight. It's a big step, but they feel he's ready for it (only 48 hours after being born). We'll know more tomorrow - and I am really looking forward to seeing the little guy again.

I think I am a man! Yeah, I know, pretty weird statement huh? After all, shouldn't I have known I have been a man for 25 years now - or arguably at least 7 years. Sure, but...

One of my biggest concerns about buying a home was that I am like the least handy person in the history of all people. And because I wasn't the one who was lucky enough to marry a wife that was the handy-woman of the house, I have to admit, I was nervous about home ownership because of my lack of "construction" skills.

But that all changed this week and I think I can finally admit: I am a man. Why? Because I installed a new faucet in the downstairs bathroom and I installed finger print locks on my door all by myself¹.

I first saw the Price Pfister Ashfield faucet at my ex-girlfriend's lake house - and from the moment I saw it, I knew I wanted it. It has such style. Such creativity. Such, well, grace. I liked the lake house version better (it was Ventian Bronze), but I knew that wouldn't ever match anything in my bathroom, so I went with Polished Nickel. It looks awesome. It actually makes me want to wash my hands after going to the bathroom.

Also, if you know anything about me, you know that I hate having stuff on my body (No watch. No jewelry. I don't even want to wear a wedding ring it is that bad). Keys fall into this category. I hate carrying keys. So when I heard that Kwikset developed Fingerprint Locks, I knew I had to have them. Plus, I am always giving people keys to my house because I like the fact my home is a hangout for the 20-somethings of Alpharetta, GA (even when I am not there), and this makes it that much easier to do.

But this isn't about biometric security devices that show my OCD or an appreciation for artistic faucets that might imply that I am gay. This is about gender identity, and the little things in life that confirm we are the people we want to be.

I think about the time my dad moved me out to college when I was 19. It was just the two of us, and it was a really good weekend. I remember we didn't have anything to do one night in LA, so he went and found Dodger tickets. Sometime in the middle of the game we went to get hot dogs. He got a beer and asked me if I wanted one.² I politely declined (because I really am not a drinker), but in that moment I remember feeling like a man. I remember feeling like my dad approved of who I was growing up to be. I remember feeling that I could handle life on my own in Los Angeles because of that simple act.

It was such a little thing you know? Just like a faucet install. But the older I get, the more I realize how often we fail to recognize these simple life moments which are so important. Even right now, I am tearing up a bit thinking about it - which probably negates the manliness of the handiwork.