IVP - Strangely Dim

Limerick-ick-ick-ick-ick-ick

Lisa's birthday generated a melee of limericks, if you can imagine such a thing. Here's what our precocious intern Tait offered with a corresponding "Boo yah!"

There once was a woman named Lisa
Who just like the Tower of Pisa
despite all her faults
such as half-tilted vaults
was loved just like Mother Theresa

There once was a poem about "Rieck"
whose poetry some thought did reek
But the rest they knew better
He'd been forced to a fetter
for the rhymings were awe-ful-ly bleak

***

Then there were my two weak entries:

There once was a woman named Lisa
whose bank card was branded with Visa.
She enjoys when she thinks just as much as hot drinks
Her Secretary of State's name is Condaleeza.

There once was a last name of "Rieck"
Whose pronunciation was quite a trick.
Pick one vowel or the other, but if I had my druthers,
With the family's first names I would stick.

***

And then Lisa counterattacked:

There once was a guy folks called Chamberlain
Who interned until others came for him
They needed his skills;
They paid him in bills
And their workplace was never the same again.

You may have heard of our friend Zimmerman

Once a year he'd take pretzels and simmer them

In chocolate so sweet,

And then offer the treat

To his friends--whose waists weren't any trimmer then.

I knew of a fellow named Tait.

New macros he liked to create.

When he set a decree

British us would all flee,

Leaving books in a much cleaner state.

IVP has an editor, Dave,

Who works hard in an effort to save

An author's good name.

Dave will increase their fame

As each day on their book he does slave

 

***

Any other takers? It's like the name game, only different. Keep it clean; that's all we ask.

 

There once was a genre called "limerick"

That plagued the strange-witted and dimly quick.

To rhyme stringy surnames--

Both his-names and her-names--

Proved not to be everyone's bailywick.

 

Le Jour de Gloire Est Arrivé

I don't remember much from French class, but I remember this: On July 14, 1789, French populists stormed the Bastille prison, a warehouse for military arms and penal institution for political dissidents, as an act of protest against the authoritarian rule of the French monarchy. Bastille Day thus set the French Revolution in motion and became a symbolic equivalent of the Boston Tea Party for the American Revolution.

Contemporary democracy is many things, but one such thing is a thumbing of the nose when the powers that be fail those they govern. So happy Bastille Day, everybody! Fight the power responsibly.

Safety First

Congratulate me. I'm sure I've earned it. Not just because I actually renewed my license early enough to do it by mail and therefore didn't have to drive through a torrential storm to the Secretary of State's Office the day before my license expired and arrive to find the power out at the Office (which is what happened when I renewed my license plate sticker). While I know that's impressive, there's an even bigger reason for you to send your cheers my way. Upon opening the envelope containing my license renewal sticker from the Secretary of State's Office, I found they had sent me an award as well! Imagine that! So friendly. Allow me to recount it for you:

[Seal of the State of Illinois goes here]




However it came about, now that I have the award I'm thinking of hanging it in my car window, or maybe getting it framed. Though it might be hard to find a 4 1/4" x 3 1/2" frame. Those are kind of specialized numbers.

To all of you other safe drivers, my congratulations to you. Some days, especially here in the Chicago suburbs, it feels like there aren't very many of us. Our numbers may be shrinking. But don't lose heart! Someone has noticed! Press on! Keep wearing your seatbelt! And for Pete's sake, honk if you love SAFETY CITATIONS!!

Choose Your Weird

First, for a topic that has nothing to do with the title: Congrats to Dave, whose latest book, Deliver Us from Me-Ville, has arrived, hot off the presses! I know I need to read it--and I know, because of who my fellow blogger is, it will be honest, challenging, well-written and very funny. Order your copy; then we can dialogue about it here at Strangely Dim.

On an entirely different note, I've been reflecting on the near-perfect weirdness I experienced in our office last Friday afternoon.

You know the kind of afternoon I'm talking about. Colleagues are out of the office. It's a perfect day outside. You're sitting at the cusp of a new weekend in which you're free to sleep, read, be with friends and family, organize your spice rack--whatever you enjoy.

That was last Friday in the editorial department here at IVP. My fellow ETF member (that's Editorial Task Force) Jeff, who happens to have impeccable taste in Friday-afternoon outings, suggested a Starbucks run with the following e-mail:

"ETF unite: We shall gather at 2:00, leave for Starbucks shortly thereafter, consume highly caffeinated beverages, and then come back to work! I'm feeling so adventuresome and rebellious! The exclamation points! The serial comma! Lord help us all!" [The way proofreaders rebel, if you didn't know, is by using capitalization and exclamation points with abandon.]

which was greeted with such e-mail responses as:

"Yaaaayyyyyyyy Starbucks! And Caffeine! (I'm Feeling REBELLIOUS Too.)"

"Mid-afternoon legal addictive stimulants . . . I could climb mountains, swim oceans, run through the desert . . ."

which was followed up by an e-mail from another ETF member (who shall remain nameless):

"You're all a little weird, I think. But I'm in!"

Now in case you're tempted to canonize this last ETF member as the voice of reason in our cacophony of weirdness, you should know that she has decorated her cubicle in Alias action figures and photos and frequently mentions her desire to be Sydney Bristow.

Which brings me to my point: Everyone's weird. You're weird. I'm weird. Might as well accept it.

Here at IVP, aside from the Alias action figures, we all have our own weird that we exhibit. I like to name plants and cars (as you know). Dave has been spotted in superhero tights. We say "rabbit" on the first day of the month. And some of us get a little excited about outings to select caffeinated-beverage locations.

So, on the cusp of this Memorial Day Weekend, I offer three small words for your three-day weekend: Choose your weird.

As for me on this Friday, the office is quiet again, our department head is out, my car Luci is calling my name, and Dave's book coming in is cause for celebration . . .

STARBUCKS, ANYONE????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What I Dithcovered in Theattle, Day One

I recently traveled to Seattle for the New Conspirators conference, sponsored by Mustard Seed Associates and inspired by the new Likewise book The New Conspirators by Tom Sine. Here are some of the observations and insights I gained over the course of my first twenty-four hours there.

* A person's anxiety level can be determined by a complex equation involving (a) the size of the vehicle he is driving in comparison to his normal vehicle, and (b) the narrowness of traffic lanes he is driving on in comparison to his normal lane sizes.
* Said anxiety level is increased exponentially by the number of one-way streets along the route to the driver's destination.
* Seattle has a lot of one-way streets.
* Seattle drivers park in ways that make one-way streets look like two-way streets, and vice versa.
* There are places in the world where green, not white, is the color of late February.
* Rock and roll music and science fiction are two great tastes that go great together.
* There are major cities in the United States that have managed to build up and out without paving over every green space and chopping down every tall tree.
* Split pea soup is best enjoyed with gluten-free bread and new friends.
* Thpeaking with a lithp, while juvenile, ith alwayth funny. Ethpecially in Theattle.
* Every man over the age of thirty in Seattle (and perhaps even some of the women), regardless of race, ethnicity, country of origin or habits of exercise and diet, looks almost exactly like IVP Academic senior reference editor Dan Reid.
* I could live here, I think.

You Shall Know Us by the Trail of Comments

Christine A. Scheller posted the following comment on an earlier post about six-word memoirs:

"How does a writer express laughter in words?"

I of course started typing, "Ha ha ha" but stopped myself. This is a much more intriguing question than can be answered in three iterations of the same word.

The biblical Sarah and Abraham recorded their laughter by naming their son Isaac, which translates roughly to "he laughs" or more generally "laughter." That's one way of doing it, I suppose, but then again it creates its own problems.

Something I keep meaning to write about but keep blowing off is a phrase used by biblical patriarch Jacob to describe God: "the Fear of Isaac," which then translates roughly to "the fear of laughter." I like the tension of that phrase--that God somehow brings such disparate experiences as fear and mirth together. Generally, however, I try to avoid tension. I'm uncomfortable associating the word fear with God, and I still get just a wee bit nervous picturing the gathered-together people of God laughing before the Lord of Hosts. So I'm left, I don't know, a little tense trying to imagine two such nerve-wracking emotions coalescing in a coherent description of God. I don't know whether to laugh or cry, and now, thanks to Christine, I don't know how to write what I'm feeling in either case.

So I open it to you, the countless dozens of Strangely Dim readers: How do you record your laughter?

The Most Sexiest Time of the Year

This time of year all thoughts turn toward an annual tradition that inspires as much controversy as joy. That tradition, of course, is the naming of People magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive." This year we send our congratulations to Matt Damon, although the crown is tarnished somewhat by the reception Damon and some of his formerly sexy friends are giving it. From Ben Affleck to Tom Brady to Jimmy Kimmel to George Clooney to Matt Damon himself, this year's announcement has been acknowledged with an ironic wink and a sarcastic salutation. Ladies and gentlemen, the day may have come when sexy is finally subverted.

Four years ago I reflected on the social construction of sexy here at Strangely Dim. It remains one of my favorite posts of all time. So I reprint it here for your amusement. Merry Christmas early, everybody.

The Social Construction of Sexy
Originally posted November 21, 2003.
Brad Pitt, Richard Gere, George Clooney and Benjamin Bratt should, by all rights, be dead.

I do not draw this conclusion because my wife nearly loses consciousness when the camera settles on their faces. I’m not so petty. Nevertheless, they should be dead. After all, they were each (at least once) voted “sexiest man alive” by People magazine. And since being voted “sexiest man alive,” each has been tossed to the curb to make way for another “sexy” man’s ascendancy. And with the possible exception of Brad Pitt, these guys don’t look much different now from how they looked the day before the “sexiest ballots alive” were cast.

Maybe I don’t have an eye for that sort of thing, but I still find it alarming that the world is, apparently, swarming with superlatively sexy men—one of which I, sadly, am not. These men don’t look much like one another, nor do they look much like the sexy interlopers who have taken their place—Sean Connery, for example, or Johnny Depp. What is sexy in America is a moving target, and no sooner have you received guidance on the “sexiest haircut alive” or the “sexiest use of chest hair alive” than some sexy-come-lately turns the national head, and you have to start over again.

No, sexiness is linked to newness in America; it’s difficult to be familiar and sexy at the same time. And our ability to come to widespread agreement about what is temporarily sexy on a consistent basis is testimony to the social construction of sexiness. It’s not so much that we become aware of, say, Ben Affleck’s sexiness; it’s more so that we agree to think of Ben Affleck and not, say, Ben Franklin as sexy.

Issues can be as sexy as humans, which is to say that our infatuation with issues can be as fickle and fleeting as our infatuation with Pierce Brosnan’s rock-hard abs. This poses a problem for book publishers, even magazine publishers, even increasingly Internet publishers, since the time it takes to fully address an issue from every angle often exceeds the time it takes to get distracted by some other, more flashy topic. It’s the same kind of group decision making as the knowing glances between women when, say, Freddie Prinze Jr. walks into a room, followed shortly thereafter by, say, Denzel Washington.

But maybe it’s good that our answer to the question “What is sexy?” is so fleeting and temporary. After all, it’s hardly all that important. My relationship with George Clooney didn’t change all that much once he was voted “sexiest man alive,” nor did it change when his reign as “sexiest man alive” ended just 365 sexy days later. If once a year we can settle the “Who is the sexiest man of all?” question, I will waste less time asking it of my magic mirror and get back to work making the world a better place for everyone, sexy or not.

Who Doesn't Love a Spoon?

In light of Dave's last entry lauding forks, I would like to speak for the spoons. It's true, you can't play games with other people's photos like you can with forks (a spoon, after all, makes a better door than a window), but Spoons as a game has, of course, provided hours of diving, arm-flailing entertainment at many a youth event, sleepover and small-group get-together through the years. And it's infinitely useful as a utensil. How else can you get the right amount sugar in your tea or coffee, or get your cereal (mmm . . . cereal) and milk out of the bowl, or get those last few grapes off your plate of fruit salad? A knife and fork, let's face it, just don't cut it.

Fond as I am of spoons, though, Dave's post and the Fun with Forks(TM) that inspired it came at a perfect time for me, as I'll be spending fourteen hours on a flight to Cambodia next week. (Did you know I'm going to Cambodia? I'm going to Cambodia next Thursday with a team from my church that includes IVP Likewise author and my cubicle-wall-sharer Elaina Whittenhall.) Fun with Forks(TM) strikes me as a better option for a plane game than, say, the aforementioned Spoons. I don't, after all, want to accidentally knock a few packages of peanuts out of passengers' hands and find myself having to spend the last eight hours sitting in the overhead luggage compartments for bad behavior.

Long flights aside, this trip--even before actually leaving--has been a gift to me. Elaina and I will be coleading editing seminars for Cambodians in publishing, so I get to use my love for words and books and the knowledge I've gained from my education and job to help others in their work of providing resources to help God's people grow. And in the months and weeks leading up to the trip, I've seen God's goodness in the clear, abundant ways he's provided what I need and more than I expected, not the least of which is his peace. In a year in which the spoons running low in the kitchen at work is enough to make me anxious and stressed out, I have felt excited about going instead of anxious about the details of the trip.

I'd love your prayers for my me and for my team--for God to have his way in us and through us and in Cambodia. And I'm sure I'll have stories to share when I return, so stay tuned and get ready to raise your cereal spoons in celebration of God's work. If you start to miss me too much while I'm gone, you can try out Fun with Forks(TM) to occupy yourself. (If you have a picture of me and a fork you can see what I look like in a Cambodian prison . . .)

Thumbnails in Jail

Some of the best discoveries are accidents. My best recent discovery happened just so, as I waited for my lunch to complete its microwave cycle. Who knew how much fun you could have with forks?

I had a fork in hand, dangling loosely over the counter, on which I had laid a magazine. (I guess you'd call that a working lunch.) I noticed that the tines of the fork were obscuring parts of the contributor's face, much like the bars of a prison cell obscure the face of a prisoner. So now I will spend the rest of my afternoon having Fun with Forks(TM), envisioning what various IVP authors and countless bloggers would look like in jail. You can try it yourself on J. I. Packer, author of the IVP classic Knowing God, or Karen Sloan, author of Flirting with Monasticism. Fork not provided.

Fun with Forks(TM) reminds me of another inane game I played in college. My friends and I would randomly append sentences with the phrase "In jail!" using an obnoxious, cartooney voice. For example: "Hey Dave, what are you doing this weekend?" "Oh, I'm going to visit my grandparents--in jail!" Hours of senseless entertainment. Try it; you'll hate yourself for loving it.

Doing my part to make InterVarsity Press the leading publisher of thoughtful Christian books that make a difference in the kingdom of God, I remain

your humble servant,

David A. Zimmerman