L.R. Burt

A little more than a month ago, I posted about a church sign featuring a chess metaphor that just. didn’t. work.  Since then I’ve kept a watchful eye on Trinity Valley Church during my weekly drives home from Wal Mart should they provide any more such gems.

Two weeks ago, this sermon title caught my attention:  “The Tragedy of a Long Marriage.”

Obviously, that struck me as being a bit weird.  I mean, long marriages are generally thought of as the antithesis of tragedy, aren’t they?  I suppose it depends on who you’re married to, but from a churchy perspective, divorce is typically frowned upon.  But I thought maybe they were trying to be clever, and didn’t mean it literally, so I drove on by and didn’t give it much more thought.

Until last week, when I drove by and saw this sermon title:  “The Tragedy of Financial Security.”

Okay…This also seemed a off, considering how many churches promote things like the Crown and Dave Ramsey financial studies courses to help members get out of debt (and, presumably, be more inclined to tithe and give money to their churches and ministers) but this made slightly more sense than “The Tragedy of a Long Marriage,” because there are those verses in the Bible about not storing up treasures on earth, where thief can steal and moth can destroy.  And, from that the previous week’s sermon seemed more reasonable, if they were going for something about life on earth distracting people from eternity in heaven. Or, in the case of a long marriage, becoming so familiar with your spouse that you grow cold towards them.

But this week’s sermon title kind of blew those theories out of the water:  “The Tragedy of Too Much Pain.”  Pain, too much or otherwise, is a tragedy!  This is definitely a literal sermon title.  There’s nothing clever there.

So what the heck were the previous two week’s sermons about?  What kind of church is this?

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silliness, the church

*Probably only Alyssa Keysor will get that subject line.  Possibly my brother.

Yesterday I got four fillings in the lower-right quadrant of my mouth. That makes nine with the five I had two weeks ago in the upper-right quadrant, and completes the work on that side of my mouth. I think I’ve got seven to go, on the left side, which will bring me to sixteen.  And you thought I couldn’t do math.

(I’m having extensive dental work done, if you haven’t gotten the idea by now.  Went to the dentist just one year after my last checkup and cleaning, at which nothing was wrong, only to learn that somehow, even though I’m meticulous in the area of personal dental hygiene (e.g., I brush multiple times daily, only drink occasional sodas and eat occasional candy, and floss so well before check-ups that my hygienist believes I do it religiously) I’ve managed to develop gingivitis and significant tooth decay at the gum line.  The culprit?  My saliva’s too acidic. I was born that way, it’s not my diet.  Explains why I got my first cavity when I was about three. The solution?  Besides getting sixteen fillings, the dentist tried to sell me a $100 two-month supply of mouthwash.  Which I didn’t buy, because our insurance is only paying for about half of these fillings, and you can get mouthwash with the same active ingredients at any supermarket.  Also, I’ve been reading about diet and PH, and I can hopefully neutralize the acidity of my saliva somewhat by implementing more high-alkaline fruits and veggies into my diet.  Which I probably ought to be doing anyway.)

Anyway…

Yesterday I got four fillings.  This required two shots of Novocaine, which numbed my teeth, my tongue, my bottom lip, part of my neck, and even my right ear.  So there I was, with a numb face, incapable of making a facial expression that didn’t look like Quasimodo, walking out of the dentist’s office building quickly, with my head down, in case I encountered any people who might look at me and think, “Oh, that poor girl.  She is deformed, and she is ugly,” when a good-looking (I’m not going to lie) twenty-something guy approached the building carrying two small boxes.

Flashing a grin, he pointed at the sidewalk just behind me.  “Excuse me,” he said, “but you just dropped your smile.”

I stopped walking and, stupidly, turned and looked where he was pointing. “What?”

The grin widened. “You just dropped your smile.”

Did he just tell me I dropped my smile? I wondered, still looking at the sidewalk. He must mean my dental appointment card. (Apparently the Novocaine had numbed a bit of my brain, as well.)  Or is he making fun of my numb face?

As if I hadn’t come across like a big enough idiot the first time, I looked up and repeated, “What?”

The guy chuckled. He wasn’t looking at me like he thought I was an idiot. “Your smile. You dropped it.”

Realization began to dawn.  Is he…hitting on me?

“Oh,” I said, and laughed, then walked on to my car. Did I just get hit on while my face is numb?

By the time I’d turned on the ignition and pulled out of my parking spot, the guy, who apparently had been making a delivery, was coming out of the building. He grinned hugely at me, and I laughed again, though I was still asking myself, Was he flirting with me?

I called Mr. Burt to tell him the amusing story, and he concluded that the guy must have been either A) an incredibly awkward flirt, or B) an überdork.  He seemed to be leaning toward überdork, in what I can only describe as a Neanderthallishly endearingly possessive way.  Which leads me to conclude that the guy was, indeed, hitting on me.

I feel badly for him.  He seemed like a nice guy, but he wasted his line on the one woman who was physically incapable of giving him the smile he wanted to see.  I hope he tried it later and got his desired result.

Although I really wish I’d been with it enough to realize sooner that I was being hit on, so I could have said something cleverer than, “What?”  Like, “Dude, I’ve got a face full of Novocaine.  This is the best I can do.”  But as a sage friend pointed out to me:  “I’ve always wondered if at some point, we all just become too old and too married to realize when we’re being hit on.”

Too true, too true.

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überdorks, dental work, getting hit on, novocaine, obscure hunchback of notra dame references, pick-up lines, quasimodo, silliness

The Dallas Morning News must be hurting for subscriptions, if they’re resorting to reminding their readers they’re paying $4 a gallon at the pumps as a marketing hook.  Today I received an email sporting the following subject line: “Save gas, have news delivered to you!”

Since when has saving gas been the straw that broke the camel’s back when it comes to making a decision about whether to subscribe to a paper or not?  Who drives to go get a newspaper?  Haven’t paperboys been around for, like, ever?  Aren’t there newsstands within walking distance of anywhere you might get a hankering to do the daily commuter crossword?  If I’m not mistaken, most newspapers nowadays aren’t delivered by bike-riding schoolboys, but but people driving cars — which run on gas.  Not that most people are terribly concerned about how much money The Dallas Morning News loses to gas.  But you’d think that if they’re concerned that the rising cost of gas might be responsible for their lower subscription rates and thus their lower profits, they’d want to cut their own gas costs by making fewer deliveries.  They might suggest reading their news online…

Of course, I imagine internet news is a lot of the circulation problem.

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advertising, silliness, the dallas morning news, the price of gas

So I saw this church sign the other day.

That is all.

…

…

…

Just kidding!  Although the words “church sign” have probably already made you chuckle, groan, or shake your head and go, “Wow,” in your most sarcastic of tones, you still want to know what this sign I saw as I drove home from Wal Mart last Sunday said, don’t you?

“The King moves last.”

Hm.

One can only assume this is meant to be a chess metaphor.  One can also assume that whoever came up with this slogan has clearly never played chess.

FYI, slogan-maker and/or whoever chose to post it in front of Trinity Valley Church, in the unlikely chance you are reading this blog:

A - The king typically does not have the last move in a game of chess.  In fact, the game ends when the king can’t move.  It’s called checkmate.

B - It’s not a great idea to try and communicate God’s power by comparing Him to the weakest piece on a chessboard.  God is probably more like the queen, in that there are no restrictions as to what direction and how far he can move, but the analogy pretty much stops there.  There’s probably more of a spiritual lesson to be found in the pawns, since they get to become queens if they make it all the way across the board, but you’re better off leaving it off of your sign.

I must thank TVC and its dumb sign for one thing, however.  Well — two things.

One, it gave me something to blog about, which is good, as I’m trying to blog more.  (It would encourage me if you people would actually comment every once in a while.  This is supposed to be interactive!  Or am I just not that interesting?)

Two, I have a new place to waste time instead of working n m novel favorite blog:  Crummy Church Signs.  I Googled “tacky church signs” intending to share a few in this post, found this, and then decided to just link it because it’s funnier to actually see the signs with the very clever commentary.   I might just have to take a picture of TVC’s sign tomorrow when I go grocery shopping and submit it to the site.

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silliness, the church