Hey everyone,
I know we haven't talked in awhile, but I have been crazy busy lately. I do have a few stories to share, but that will have to come later. In the meantime, check out my new myspace page and listen to my music from my upcoming EP that I am tediously working one. Hope you enjoy. www.myspace.com/chriscampbellrocks
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Communion
Homework Assignment:
Several weeks ago, I had one of the most holy church experiences that I have been meaning to share with everyone. For the past year, I have had much difficulty in finding a worship service where I feel comfortable. I really set high standards for what I was looking for and found myself distracted with hardened-heart at the least little deviation from my "ideal church."
Over the past few months, I felt someone or something calling me to go back to this episcopal church I had been visiting previously. I left because I was still looking and found myself getting lost in all of the liturgy of the service. Though I felt called to give it another try, my pride would not let me. Before leaving this church, I told the priest my reservations about liturgical worship and that I would continue looking for a church home elsewhere. He told me that it sounded like I was shopping for religion, and that I would never find what I was looking for. He meant this for my own good, but it still hurt my feelings and my pride. Therefore, my pride would not let me go back for foolish fear that he would get some satisfaction out of being right. Utter foolishness.
After several Sundays of driving to this sanctuary only to turn away at the last minute, I finally broke down and gave in. I was welcomed like a prodigal son back into the arms of this beautiful family. I felt this warm fuzzy peace that consumed me from the inside out that I know it must have shown through the smile on my face as we sang hymns and recited prayers that are centuries old.
I was already in a very holy place that day, but God wasn't done with me yet. As I approached the altar for communion, a notion popped into my head that I should try to picture Jesus himself serving me communion. So I did my best and pictured the first artist rendition of Jesus that came into my head. He had the most reverent and loving look to his face, and though he wasn't really smiling, there was something about his eyes that was comforting and extinguished all fear and doubt in that still small moment. He gently placed the bread into my cupped hands while saying, "Take and eat. This is my body that is broken for you." I held in my hand for what seemed to be hours thinking of what this really meant and how it felt for Jesus to speak these words to me. Then he slowly lifted the chalice up to my lips and with closed eyes I drank. He said, "Take and drink. This is my blood which was poured out for you." After this, the priest who had hurt my feelings so many months back blessed me right then and there and made the sign of the cross on my forehead. My spirit was broken, and I began to cry softly as I made my way back to my seat.
So that's your homework assignment. I want you all to try this experiment the next time you take communion, and let me know the outcome. I hope you all find a new appreciation for the Lord's Supper like I have this year. I love you all, and God bless.
Several weeks ago, I had one of the most holy church experiences that I have been meaning to share with everyone. For the past year, I have had much difficulty in finding a worship service where I feel comfortable. I really set high standards for what I was looking for and found myself distracted with hardened-heart at the least little deviation from my "ideal church."
Over the past few months, I felt someone or something calling me to go back to this episcopal church I had been visiting previously. I left because I was still looking and found myself getting lost in all of the liturgy of the service. Though I felt called to give it another try, my pride would not let me. Before leaving this church, I told the priest my reservations about liturgical worship and that I would continue looking for a church home elsewhere. He told me that it sounded like I was shopping for religion, and that I would never find what I was looking for. He meant this for my own good, but it still hurt my feelings and my pride. Therefore, my pride would not let me go back for foolish fear that he would get some satisfaction out of being right. Utter foolishness.
After several Sundays of driving to this sanctuary only to turn away at the last minute, I finally broke down and gave in. I was welcomed like a prodigal son back into the arms of this beautiful family. I felt this warm fuzzy peace that consumed me from the inside out that I know it must have shown through the smile on my face as we sang hymns and recited prayers that are centuries old.
I was already in a very holy place that day, but God wasn't done with me yet. As I approached the altar for communion, a notion popped into my head that I should try to picture Jesus himself serving me communion. So I did my best and pictured the first artist rendition of Jesus that came into my head. He had the most reverent and loving look to his face, and though he wasn't really smiling, there was something about his eyes that was comforting and extinguished all fear and doubt in that still small moment. He gently placed the bread into my cupped hands while saying, "Take and eat. This is my body that is broken for you." I held in my hand for what seemed to be hours thinking of what this really meant and how it felt for Jesus to speak these words to me. Then he slowly lifted the chalice up to my lips and with closed eyes I drank. He said, "Take and drink. This is my blood which was poured out for you." After this, the priest who had hurt my feelings so many months back blessed me right then and there and made the sign of the cross on my forehead. My spirit was broken, and I began to cry softly as I made my way back to my seat.
So that's your homework assignment. I want you all to try this experiment the next time you take communion, and let me know the outcome. I hope you all find a new appreciation for the Lord's Supper like I have this year. I love you all, and God bless.
Voicemail
I left your voice on my machine
just to have you close to me.
Was that a foolish thing to do?
You didn't have a lot to say,
but what's the difference anyway?
It's not what you say but when you do
those stupid little things you do.
I went to church on Saturday
to catch a holy matinee,
but Jesus isn't working here today.
For sanctuary I'm a whore.
I found myself at your front door
just hoping to hear you say
"I miss you; won't you stay...
With me, and hold me close till I can no longer breath
until you let me go.
And you, you can break my heart in two
if that's what you need to do.
I ran my fingers through your hair,
I should've kissed you then and there;
but my heart, the mind betrays.
God, it breaks me when she smiles
and leaves me strung out like this for miles
if just to say,
"I love you. Is that O.K....
With you, and we might be the two
that make the movies jealous.
But me, you might break my heart in three,
but we'll just have to wait and see.
just to have you close to me.
Was that a foolish thing to do?
You didn't have a lot to say,
but what's the difference anyway?
It's not what you say but when you do
those stupid little things you do.
I went to church on Saturday
to catch a holy matinee,
but Jesus isn't working here today.
For sanctuary I'm a whore.
I found myself at your front door
just hoping to hear you say
"I miss you; won't you stay...
With me, and hold me close till I can no longer breath
until you let me go.
And you, you can break my heart in two
if that's what you need to do.
I ran my fingers through your hair,
I should've kissed you then and there;
but my heart, the mind betrays.
God, it breaks me when she smiles
and leaves me strung out like this for miles
if just to say,
"I love you. Is that O.K....
With you, and we might be the two
that make the movies jealous.
But me, you might break my heart in three,
but we'll just have to wait and see.
Public Service Annoncement
Due to some recent comments from one of my newest fans, I will now be screening comments from all readers. Any comments that contain offensive language/material will be deleted from posting. I will try to not be hypocritical and will hold all my future posts to the same standard. I apologize to all my readers for this inconvenient precaution. I hope this does not deter my loyal fans from commenting. I love your thoughts and that you seem to genuinely enjoy mine. Please keep reading. Thanks again.
The Management
The Management
Groundhog Day
Happy Belated Groundhog Day, Bloggers!
It has been a very interesting week full of many interesting creatures in the wonderful world of veterinary medicine. Wednesday, I unfortunately had the duty of euthanizing a 19 year old captive mountain lion named Sheela. Although extremely sad, the procedure went very smoothly and humanely. The old girl purred like a small engine as we approached her cage. Though she seemed sweet through the chain-link fence, I had to sedate her with a blowdart so that I could get venous access to finish the procedure. Some of her primary caregivers were there to help me and be with her in her last minutes. It was a very emotional and sobering scene, but the caregivers were very appreciative as to how smoothly the procedure went.
Friday provided a more pleasant and humorous story. If you were not aware, last Friday was Groundhog Day. Friday at lunch, I recieved a call about a sick groundhog. I thought surely this was a joke from one of our receptionists who likes to play on my habit of being gullible (or extremely trustworthy as I like to think). But to my surprise, this was for reals, ya'll. Around 1pm, "Smith Lake Jake", the channel 6 groundhog, waddled into my clinic with a huge abscess under her chin. Now, I have never seen or treated a groundhog, but I have treated tons of abscesses none of which are very pleasant to the senses. I took Jake into my arms, and she made the funniest high-pitched chirping sound. The owner informed me that if only I support her bottom, she would desist this vocal protest. We had a time getting Jake to go to sleep for the procedure. Take home point for all of you who may have to treat an abscess in a groundhog: apparently, they are highly resistant to gas anesthesia. Long story short, we successfully drained the abscess, and Jake is doing well. I just found it very funny to see my first groundhog on groundhog day.
It has been a very interesting week full of many interesting creatures in the wonderful world of veterinary medicine. Wednesday, I unfortunately had the duty of euthanizing a 19 year old captive mountain lion named Sheela. Although extremely sad, the procedure went very smoothly and humanely. The old girl purred like a small engine as we approached her cage. Though she seemed sweet through the chain-link fence, I had to sedate her with a blowdart so that I could get venous access to finish the procedure. Some of her primary caregivers were there to help me and be with her in her last minutes. It was a very emotional and sobering scene, but the caregivers were very appreciative as to how smoothly the procedure went.
Friday provided a more pleasant and humorous story. If you were not aware, last Friday was Groundhog Day. Friday at lunch, I recieved a call about a sick groundhog. I thought surely this was a joke from one of our receptionists who likes to play on my habit of being gullible (or extremely trustworthy as I like to think). But to my surprise, this was for reals, ya'll. Around 1pm, "Smith Lake Jake", the channel 6 groundhog, waddled into my clinic with a huge abscess under her chin. Now, I have never seen or treated a groundhog, but I have treated tons of abscesses none of which are very pleasant to the senses. I took Jake into my arms, and she made the funniest high-pitched chirping sound. The owner informed me that if only I support her bottom, she would desist this vocal protest. We had a time getting Jake to go to sleep for the procedure. Take home point for all of you who may have to treat an abscess in a groundhog: apparently, they are highly resistant to gas anesthesia. Long story short, we successfully drained the abscess, and Jake is doing well. I just found it very funny to see my first groundhog on groundhog day.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
China Doll
Ran down to the ocean to find my love the sea,
and she ran out to meet me and splashed around my feet.
I am just a sailor without a port of call,
and she is my ocean, my little China doll.
No sooner I am swimming in her eyes so blue,
and she pulls me under slowly where breaths are far and few.
She crashes all around me as I sink in awe
of my deep blue ocean, my little China doll.
Now we're slowly dancing as she rocks me to sleep.
For I am just a puppet of the ocean deep.
And just before my last breath, up through the surface I saw
sunlight dancing on the water and my little China doll.
and she ran out to meet me and splashed around my feet.
I am just a sailor without a port of call,
and she is my ocean, my little China doll.
No sooner I am swimming in her eyes so blue,
and she pulls me under slowly where breaths are far and few.
She crashes all around me as I sink in awe
of my deep blue ocean, my little China doll.
Now we're slowly dancing as she rocks me to sleep.
For I am just a puppet of the ocean deep.
And just before my last breath, up through the surface I saw
sunlight dancing on the water and my little China doll.
Achtung Baby: Public Service Announcement
Hey Bloggers,
I hope I don't dissapoint or lose my faithful readers, but I feel my blog is about to branch out in new directions. I'm for reals, ya'll (that one's for JD, one of my underground blogfans). My life isn't funny or interesting enough to blog as much as I would like; therefore, my blog will henceforth become more of a journal. The unavoidable result is that some future blogs may be serious, boring, annoying, inflammatory, offensive, gassy, etc. I apologize to my readers if this is a turn off, but I love to write and this freedom should enable me to write more frequently. The beautiful thing is that you don't have to read it.
Also, thanks to the infamous JD, I have graciously acquired some recording software to begin working on my freshman album "Spaded" or "Songs from a Drivethru Window." I also hope to colaborate with his band Murky Forest for some instrumental tracks on their sophomore album. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, I will continue posting lyrics from the songs so that you can begin committing them to memory for future campfire sing-a-longs.
Thanks to everyone for you patronage.
I hope I don't dissapoint or lose my faithful readers, but I feel my blog is about to branch out in new directions. I'm for reals, ya'll (that one's for JD, one of my underground blogfans). My life isn't funny or interesting enough to blog as much as I would like; therefore, my blog will henceforth become more of a journal. The unavoidable result is that some future blogs may be serious, boring, annoying, inflammatory, offensive, gassy, etc. I apologize to my readers if this is a turn off, but I love to write and this freedom should enable me to write more frequently. The beautiful thing is that you don't have to read it.
Also, thanks to the infamous JD, I have graciously acquired some recording software to begin working on my freshman album "Spaded" or "Songs from a Drivethru Window." I also hope to colaborate with his band Murky Forest for some instrumental tracks on their sophomore album. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, I will continue posting lyrics from the songs so that you can begin committing them to memory for future campfire sing-a-longs.
Thanks to everyone for you patronage.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Could it get any hooter, I mean hotter in here?
Dearest Bloggers,
It has been a fortnight since my last post, for I have been hard-pressed of late to find the quality of blogging material that my fine young readers expect and demand with a tyrannical appetite. And no, I don't talk like this in real life. I just prefer my blogs to come off like an episode of "Dawson's Creek" (props to Lynne for whom that reference would have been impossible to make without). The story that follows is an emotional rollercoaster for me and is the fantastic conclusion of one of my lifelong ambitions. On the other hand, it is an embarassing and incriminating story that is intended for mature audiences for sexual humor and partial nudity. The following happened between the hours of 12pm and 3pm on January 09, 2007.
It was a slow day at work, so I was already planning on taking longer than my usual hour at lunch. Because of my previous holiday travels, it was time to get the oil changed. Hooters restaurant is the only eating establishment within walking distance of the Big 10 Tires, so this is where I usually eat when I get my oil changed. It just gives me another lame excuse for going there beside all the other lies that justify it like "They have great wings" or "The prices are reasonable." When everyone knows the real reason I or any other XY chromosome darkens the door of said establishment . . . the sweet tea.
I am always leary of oil changes because I feel like I am being taken advantage of. There is always something wrong. This time, it was my drive axle. And being the "turn the other cheek/take my cloak too" kind of guy, I always give in to the recommended repairs. Lucky for me, Hooters had plenty of sweet tea to quench my thirst for my lunch date would be much longer than expected.
So that you can truly visualize and appreciate this little scenario, I will go into Tolkienish detail(I know Jules will appreciate this, sorry to all others).
Upon opening the door to the diner, I raised my sunglasses and propped them on top of my temple. I was casually attired in khaki Dockers slacks with an green plaid Ivy Crew long-sleeved button up shirt, untucked of course (spared no expense). I carried two textbooks under my left arm to study during lunch. I often carry things with my left arm as a form of exercise so that it can keep up with the exponential growth of my dominant right arm. The smaller of the two textbooks was an exotic animal drug formulary. The much thicker and more impressive of the textbooks was that of avian medicine and surgery, 3rd edition.
The fragrance of chicken wings and draft beer flooded my olfactory. I looked around for a hostess only to spy a long legged Asian beauty on roller skates and the custom issue orange and white coming my way from across the restaurant. I watched as she gracefully threaded the traffic and tables in a serpentine pattern and listened to the sound of her wheels on the hardwood floor. She asked me what I was studying, and I humbly told her. Her eyes grew to twice their size when she heard the word "medicine." I could only foolishly think to myself, "Maybe, this doctor thing does work after all."
Throughout my meal of wings, fried pickles, and delicious sweet tea, my waitress kept sitting down with me, flipping through my textbooks and asking me questions about my job, telling me about her chinchilla, and making other small talk. It was honestly nice to have someone to talk to, but I figured she was just working on a big tip. After I finished my meal, I recieved the call from Big 10 to find that my stay at Hooters would be much longer. I could have left, but 3 hours in Hooters is far more entertaining than 3 hours at Big 10 watching one of the three TV channels they pick up with the antenna.
After eating and about 30 minutes of post-prandial studying, my ADD was kickin' in, yeah. I soon found my section of the restaurant was quickly accumulating waitresses. Apparently, I had been seated in the section where Hooters' girls hang out when business is slow. In short time, I was surrounded by scantily clad women with unnatural proportions and even more unnatural pseudo-tan legs. There is suprisingly a lot to be learned from these wing-slinging wenches. They are really a carefree, funloving bunch. For one whose everyday work can be quite stressful, this was a most welcome relief.
Most of the tables around me were bubbling over with bittersweet excitement over a mandatory meeting that occurred previously that day. The guest speaker at said meeting was a local plastic surgeon who was offering payment plans for any Hooter girl who wanted discount breast augmentation. It turns out that Hooters corporation strongly encourages female employees to have work done to help the overall industry and boost third quarter earnings. (I wonder if the male employees feel left out.) Most of the girls were giddy with excitement and were shamelessly handling their business right in front of me trying to imagine what they would look like when the metamorphisis is complete. When I finally quit staring, my waitress asked me my opinion. I honestly said that I was a little disgusted by it, which was obviously the correct answer for her. She said she was never getting any work done, and we continued to discuss how unfortunate it is that some women resort to such lengths to either feel good about themselves, impress someone, or even make more money. I earned some definite brownie points for my staunch opinion on this matter.
I was suprised at how persistent my waitress was at working on that tip. She ended up staying at my table for 1.5 hours talking to me, only to get up a few times to check on her other tables. I actually had quite a nice time hanging out. We watched scrabble on ESPN (that could be a whole blog in itself). We talked about our lives and what we do when we are not working. She told me some stories about some guys she had punched out, you know, the basic ice breaker small talk.
Overall, the experience was interesting. With that many beautiful women around me touching themselves, I finally felt like the rock star that I have always aspired to be. Now, I can just go back to being a humble public servant. But maybe one day in 3,000 miles, I will see my Asian angel again and give her that tip she worked so very hard for.
It has been a fortnight since my last post, for I have been hard-pressed of late to find the quality of blogging material that my fine young readers expect and demand with a tyrannical appetite. And no, I don't talk like this in real life. I just prefer my blogs to come off like an episode of "Dawson's Creek" (props to Lynne for whom that reference would have been impossible to make without). The story that follows is an emotional rollercoaster for me and is the fantastic conclusion of one of my lifelong ambitions. On the other hand, it is an embarassing and incriminating story that is intended for mature audiences for sexual humor and partial nudity. The following happened between the hours of 12pm and 3pm on January 09, 2007.
It was a slow day at work, so I was already planning on taking longer than my usual hour at lunch. Because of my previous holiday travels, it was time to get the oil changed. Hooters restaurant is the only eating establishment within walking distance of the Big 10 Tires, so this is where I usually eat when I get my oil changed. It just gives me another lame excuse for going there beside all the other lies that justify it like "They have great wings" or "The prices are reasonable." When everyone knows the real reason I or any other XY chromosome darkens the door of said establishment . . . the sweet tea.
I am always leary of oil changes because I feel like I am being taken advantage of. There is always something wrong. This time, it was my drive axle. And being the "turn the other cheek/take my cloak too" kind of guy, I always give in to the recommended repairs. Lucky for me, Hooters had plenty of sweet tea to quench my thirst for my lunch date would be much longer than expected.
So that you can truly visualize and appreciate this little scenario, I will go into Tolkienish detail(I know Jules will appreciate this, sorry to all others).
Upon opening the door to the diner, I raised my sunglasses and propped them on top of my temple. I was casually attired in khaki Dockers slacks with an green plaid Ivy Crew long-sleeved button up shirt, untucked of course (spared no expense). I carried two textbooks under my left arm to study during lunch. I often carry things with my left arm as a form of exercise so that it can keep up with the exponential growth of my dominant right arm. The smaller of the two textbooks was an exotic animal drug formulary. The much thicker and more impressive of the textbooks was that of avian medicine and surgery, 3rd edition.
The fragrance of chicken wings and draft beer flooded my olfactory. I looked around for a hostess only to spy a long legged Asian beauty on roller skates and the custom issue orange and white coming my way from across the restaurant. I watched as she gracefully threaded the traffic and tables in a serpentine pattern and listened to the sound of her wheels on the hardwood floor. She asked me what I was studying, and I humbly told her. Her eyes grew to twice their size when she heard the word "medicine." I could only foolishly think to myself, "Maybe, this doctor thing does work after all."
Throughout my meal of wings, fried pickles, and delicious sweet tea, my waitress kept sitting down with me, flipping through my textbooks and asking me questions about my job, telling me about her chinchilla, and making other small talk. It was honestly nice to have someone to talk to, but I figured she was just working on a big tip. After I finished my meal, I recieved the call from Big 10 to find that my stay at Hooters would be much longer. I could have left, but 3 hours in Hooters is far more entertaining than 3 hours at Big 10 watching one of the three TV channels they pick up with the antenna.
After eating and about 30 minutes of post-prandial studying, my ADD was kickin' in, yeah. I soon found my section of the restaurant was quickly accumulating waitresses. Apparently, I had been seated in the section where Hooters' girls hang out when business is slow. In short time, I was surrounded by scantily clad women with unnatural proportions and even more unnatural pseudo-tan legs. There is suprisingly a lot to be learned from these wing-slinging wenches. They are really a carefree, funloving bunch. For one whose everyday work can be quite stressful, this was a most welcome relief.
Most of the tables around me were bubbling over with bittersweet excitement over a mandatory meeting that occurred previously that day. The guest speaker at said meeting was a local plastic surgeon who was offering payment plans for any Hooter girl who wanted discount breast augmentation. It turns out that Hooters corporation strongly encourages female employees to have work done to help the overall industry and boost third quarter earnings. (I wonder if the male employees feel left out.) Most of the girls were giddy with excitement and were shamelessly handling their business right in front of me trying to imagine what they would look like when the metamorphisis is complete. When I finally quit staring, my waitress asked me my opinion. I honestly said that I was a little disgusted by it, which was obviously the correct answer for her. She said she was never getting any work done, and we continued to discuss how unfortunate it is that some women resort to such lengths to either feel good about themselves, impress someone, or even make more money. I earned some definite brownie points for my staunch opinion on this matter.
I was suprised at how persistent my waitress was at working on that tip. She ended up staying at my table for 1.5 hours talking to me, only to get up a few times to check on her other tables. I actually had quite a nice time hanging out. We watched scrabble on ESPN (that could be a whole blog in itself). We talked about our lives and what we do when we are not working. She told me some stories about some guys she had punched out, you know, the basic ice breaker small talk.
Overall, the experience was interesting. With that many beautiful women around me touching themselves, I finally felt like the rock star that I have always aspired to be. Now, I can just go back to being a humble public servant. But maybe one day in 3,000 miles, I will see my Asian angel again and give her that tip she worked so very hard for.
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