Troy Polamalu is a poser

via pacificpostnews.com

This is so cool that I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner.

Madame Tussauds is a world famous wax museum. Some folks say you know you've arrived when you have your likeness in wax placed there for any amount of time. Now, I truly wonder how some people make it there, but this does give me yet another opportunity to make an irrationally jealous dig at the Biebster, so let's move on.

I have thought that the seeing so many famous people eternally frozen must be disconcerting. Having one come to life, though, would be even creepier.

Now, if you know Troy Polamalu, you know that he is a scary guy. That are not too many people that walk around with his flowing locks in NFL and live to tell about it, but he is THAT good. It's as if the Steelers were named after him. So seeing one of the most feared defensive players in football scaring people is so worth it:

We have been talking about the concept of posing with my youth. Using Lifechurch.tv resources, we have been exploring why it is so hard to be ourselves in a world that does encourage what I call conformed uniqueness. We sometimes fall so in love with a projected image that we forget who we are, or worse, Who we are supposed to project.

We talked about the phenomenon on the social networks, and it sure ain't confined to teens.

Loving ourselves is a crucial component of realizing what God has in store, and appreciating what we bring to any table is part of that.

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No iPhone

I am almost certain that I won' be getting the iPhone. And my reason is fairly benign.

Join the discussion at ChurchMag...

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No tats, Cam.

Cam Newton is a polarizing figure.

I, for one, am fine with him. Why?

1) He sure knows how to smile.

2) He's QB for the Panthers, meaning there is an ever slight chance that I might get free tickets from him someday.

3) I think he is a victim of a college system that is extremely unethical.

You can judge me all you want. I am also a Tim Tebow fan, so bring on the rocks.

Anyhoo, an interesting blurb from the pre-season Cam-wire is that he was asked by his new boss to avoid ink. That's right... Panthers owner Jerry Richardson recently asked his top draft pick to avoid getting tattoos.

I am with you. I know exactly what you're thinking. What on earth was Cam doing when his counterparts at Ohio State were trading jerseys for tattoos? Oh yeah... actually winning a National Championship (zing!). But more importantly, how did Cam make it this far without getting tatted up?

Tattoos have become quite ubiquitous. One can actually walk in public and not be arrested while sporting them. In fact, with as many high school and college athletes that have them, I thought it was a requirement to have them to retain eligibility (don't judge me. Can you make sense of any of the "rules" that currently exist?). My youth recently estimated that 65% of their high schoolmates had tats, some clearly and sadly home-made.

In any case, Mr Richardson's request did seem weird on the surface. But is it overstepping his bounds?

The broader question is: can an employer make this request of an employee? What do you think?

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Love OR marriage, went together...

I was watching Steve Harvey ham it up on Family Feud the other day, and an interesting question caught my eye.

To summarize, Family Feud is a game show that it based around two competing families that try to match answers to the answers of 100 respondents to specific questions. Gems like " name a part of your body in your pants" and "name a word that rhymes with 'creeper'" are regularly used.

Answers are giving percentage points based on the number of people who give that answer in the previously recorded poll. High scores are generally in the 30s, so if a contestant answers a question that matches the top response, they would generally net about 30+ points.

On a recent show, one of the final questions was "name something people think will last forever." The wife and I thought the contestant answered with the best answer when she said "marriage."

Great answer, no?

She scored 18.

The top answer was "love." Interesting food for thought, if we are to assume the Family Feud 100-person polls are a true reflection of society. Love and marriage are not necessarily synonymous anymore. LMaybe love does not beget marriage.

Maybe I am reaching a bit. What do you think?

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Foray into Fitness

Courtesy of  Katja Giersig via Flickr CC

Enough is enough. And you are gonna help me keep it that way.

I can't tell you what has brought me to this point, but I surely got here. It could have been been when I caught myself wheezing after a gentle jog. Or was it when I was swarmed recently by old players, one of whom affectionately punched me in the stomach and told me I was "showing."

It might have been when I discovered my toddler daughter thought my midsection was a combo trampoline and pillow.

In any case, I recently decided that fitness will return to my neck of the woods.

It won't be easy. I like to eat. Ethnic, soul food, Qdoba burritos... I love them all. The thought of leaving the skin of chicken wounds my soul. I am also hearing that my 2 AM snack may have to go away, too. That alarms me.

It's not like I haven't tried before. Months ago, I decided that my fitness regimen would not just consist of Wii-based aerobics. I woke up before the sun, and told my groggy wife that I was off to recapture my youth. She rolled over.

I limped up about 45 minutes later. She glanced at me quizzically, but looked impressed.

"How did your run go?" then she noticed my injury. "What happened?"

"I hurt my hamstring" I dodgily replied.

"How?

"Stretching."

She wouldn't stop. "How far had you run?"

"Run? I never left the house. I pulled the muscle while stretching."

She rolled back over.

If I am gonna be completely honest, I can probably point out when sense of self-preservation overcame my built-in excuses. Over the summer, while escorting my youth group to a camp in West Virginia, I decided to go for a run. It was about time, too. Minus scrimmage time with my soccer teams, I hadn't run in like forever (well maybe not forever... just a decade. Or two). I strapped on my green and grey kicks, and was rocking my matching green shirt and grey shorts. Yes, yes... I was styling out in the mountains! You never know when Adidas might need a dark, svelte frontman. Or a dark frontman.

Had my music, Runkeeper software going, and I set off. I did a good pace, if I may say so myself. I pushed myself harder than I pushed myself physically in a long, long time. I ran till my eyes got blurry and I collapsed on the soccer field in exhaustion.

Mentally, I shocked myself. I instinctively knew I had ran something like a marathon, but I was humble enough to know I wasn't gonna be breaking any world or county records.

When I recovered enough to lift an arm, I checked my time. Without getting too much into it, something was wrong with Runkeeper. It claimed I had run 0.49 miles; I knew I had run at least 49.

You just can't trust this new-fangled technology anyway. Whatever. It was a near-death experience. And then the irritating piece of software asked if I wanted to share the results with my friends on Twitter and Facebook. Seriously? Where were these friends when I was in desperate need of oxygen?

That near-death experience help me decide that I am tired of hearing folks say that I carry my 190 lbs on my 5'9" frame "very well". I don't necessarily want my weight to be a situation, but I wouldn't mind getting some tone like The Situation (but please, please, hold the tan for the love of all that is decent and natural). Franky, I am tired of everyone else getting fit. I see Derek taunting me with Runkeeper stats on Facebook. Like every day, seemingly. I got Cass over there, running marathons, and now deliberately getting on my nerves by doing triathlons. I mean, come on. Pam, Heather, Jen... all y'all infuriate me.

Even my kid brother is all out, running and getting in shape. This truly provokes me, because I suspect he could probably beat my 0.49-mile time.

I am calling myself out. Why? Because I know y'all will call me out,. I know y'all hold me accountable in my quest to preemptively prepare for the inevitable "Fit-Bodied Baptist Church Workers" reality series.

I am gonna need some Bengay.

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