Tag Archives: Air Force One

Bump

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Bump: (n) a light blow or a jolting collision.

Adolescence.

It’s when the urge arrives long before the instinct. Bluntly, the passion to do something far outweighs the available knowledge on what might happen.

When I was in high school, we had a musical group which had two goals:

  1. To sing and impress people.
  2. To get girls because we were singing and impressing people.

So one night after we had done some sort of gig, we were driving in the van that one of our members had purchased–a big, black number that looked really sinister and cool. Each one of us had a girl with him.

Let’s put together the ingredients again:

  • Teenage boys.
  • New van.
  • Just got done singing.
  • Girls in the vehicle.

Of course we had to try something crazy.

So we attempted to find out how fast the van would go. In the process of doing that, we came to a crest in the road, not realizing there was a huge drop-off at the top. There had once been a sign warning of a “bump,” but it had been knocked down many years ago and lay in the ditch, rusting. So as we climbed the hill and got to the top, the road disappeared underneath the tires and we found ourselves airborne.

I’m sure it was not a long jump, but for a short time, our van did its best impression of Air Force One.

We landed with a huge thud, throwing everybody in the air bouncing heads on the ceiling, as the van tilted form side to side, threatening to tip over.

The driver intelligently pulled to the side of the road to make sure that nobody had been killed. Confident that our bumps were well on their way to becoming bruises, we proceeded down the road giggling a little less, partying sparingly.

So the lesson of this story is simple: beware of vans who meet bumps in the night.

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Accede

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Accede:  (n.): 1. assent or agree to a demand, request or treaty 2. assume an office or position

I think I’ve got it figured out.

If we ever want to have a good President of the United States, we must track down the best candidate, hunt him or her as they try to escape the responsibility, place this magical individual in a cage, throw him or her into the White House and refuse to feed the captive or allow him or her to bathe until they agree to govern us.

As long as we are VOTING for people who actually think they ARE worthy to be the leaders of the free world and the controllers of the most destructive forces ever conceived by mankind, we will end up with a cavalcade of clowns who are trying to climb out of the same car to race across the tarmac to Air Force One.

The only truly acceptable profile of anyone looking at the job of President of the United States–to accede to that office–would be to accede that this particular position should not be occupied by a mere mortal.

To me, it would be similar to discovering that Brad Pitt had left Angelina Jolie and that I was the logical candidate to replace him in her life by purchasing an air ticket to her city of residence, toting a dozen red roses and an engagement ring. You see, there are so many presumptions in that particular thought that it would be difficult to dissect it without it falling apart in your hands.

Maybe I am too humbled by everything.

  • Because I have not always owned brand new cars, every time I put my key in the ignition of my current vehicle, I am delighted nearly to the point of tears when it starts.
  • I am humbled to be a father–especially on those occasions when my children’s successes have certainly exceeded my efforts.
  • I am humbled when I stand in front of an audience and share my thoughts. Why should they care? Why should they listen?

Sometimes the best person for the job is the reluctant one, who’s trying to slip out the door before the voting begins.

But in this craziness of assumed democracy, how can we ever get the best man or woman for the job–when the sound of chest-thumping overwhelms the voice of reason?

Abba

by J. R. Practix

 

dictionary with letter AAbba: (n.) (in the New Testament) An intimate term for God as Father.

A friend of mine once said that if you think about God too much you go crazy. He also believed if you lick the back of a frog, it was like taking LSD. He had a lot of ideas. He didn’t mind sharing them. He felt it was his duty to inform the world of tiny pieces of information, even though many of them were yet unconfirmed.

I don’t think it’s how MUCH you think about God that makes you crazy–but some of the beliefs you can land on certainly alienate you from your fellow-humans.

Each one of those particular incarnations of the Almighty has its own personality, style and demeanor. I guess of all the choices available, thinking of Him or Her as a Father is pretty good–if you mean father as in the dad we all wish we had instead of the substitute-teacher-figure who ended up in our home classroom.

If God is a dad, who would he be?

My choice would be Harrison Ford as the President in Air Force One. If you don’t remember the movie, even though the plane is hijacked by Russian subversives with really bad accents, Harrison, as the President, decides to stay onboard, fight them and save his family. He does a whole bunch of brave stuff that you know he would not really be able to do, but disbelieving that he was willing would take a lot of the fun away from the story.

Yeah, God could be Harrison Ford.

I don’t know if it would be advantageous to me to think of God as my ACTUAL dad. I mean, I don’t have anything against him. He was a small, German man who normally didn’t say more than six things during the week and five of those were explanations on why he wasn’t talking. No, I couldn’t really tolerate a silent God. You’d always be wondering why He ceased to communicate.

But I kind of like the idea of God fighting for me. I kind of like the idea of God being that kind of Father.

Of course, according to my friend’s philosophy, I’ve already talked enough about God to earn a 72-hour hold at Bellevue.