No More Cheesy, Churchy Videos

Our drama team - BADD (Bel Air Drama Department) is now featured in a CHRISTIANITY TODAY article. Check it out!!

No More Cheesy, Churchy Videos
Bel Air Presbyterian's drama department has mastered the art of making short films that are funny without being cheesy, and effective without being overwrought. Story by Brett McCracken | posted 09/23/08

Go to the full story HERE.

Sean & I have had the privilege of being a part of this group for 6 years now. It's truly amazing.
Enjoy these photos from "On The List"! (That's me sitting down in the center as script supervisor! I'm working - really!!)


To view some of our past work - go to www.belairdrama.com and click on VIDEOS.

Comedy at Bel Air!

Our church drama group is presenting another comedy night. If you are in the LA area, come check it out this Sunday night.

Cath and I have seen most of the acts - including the hamburger juggler (which we saw at the Magic Castle) and the magician (which we saw at McDonalds. Okay, it wasn't at McDonalds, but wouldn't that just be perfect?)

Oh, the juggler is considering balancing a running vacuum cleaner on his face. I haven't seen that before...

Join us for some real laughs!

Snow Fall

My brother Mark, resident of the snow thumped Upstate New York, recently sent an e-mail I thought worth mentioning.

His 82 year old neighbor got up on his barn, trying to get the snow off the roof to relieve the building of some weight.

Well, his neighbor fell off the roof.

Oh, don’t get this wrong, I’m not writing this as a prayer request. The neighbor wasn’t hurt in the least.

And this isn’t really a praise report either, as there wasn’t much miraculous in an 82 year old falling off a barn and suffering no injuries. Well, at least not this winter.

You see, he fell a total of two feet into the snow drift that had engulfed his barn.

Two feet up.

If you’re gonna fall off a barn, that is the way to do it.

Below is a picture taken on my brother’s property.

Now, don’t go all feeling sorry for my relatives (they’ve been competing, what with Mark’s drifts, Matt and Mike’s windy Colorado snow, Mary’s iced roads, and… well, I have ten siblings with rivaling winter stories).

You see, we’ve had it rough here in Southern California ourselves. As Cath pointed out, it is nearly impossible to shovel snow in eighty degree weather.

You try it some time.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

More Sick Thoughts

I can hear my face.

And I don’t like it very much.

It sounds like my cartilage is constantly crinkling, like one of Matt’s boys squirming to get comfortable on a new leather couch.

(Matt’s boys are each over six feet tall. And the couch isn’t very cozy, as the darned kid won’t stop moving. I bet it’s Josh. Yeah, Josh is squirmy.)

Cath says the noise isn’t cartilage at all, but rather it is mucus. The sound is caused by sections of mucus breaking off, like ice calving from a glacier. She also says that it is good, a sign that I am healing.

She says other things, but I’m not listening. I’m too taken with the mucus as glacier image.

I wonder if there are native mucus people – let’s call them Mucamos – and I wonder if they put their elderly Mucamos onto mucus floes, and watch them as they float off into the Sinus Sea.

And I’m glad that this is a sign that I’m healing, because I can’t wait to stop hearing my face.

And to start thinking and writing of things other than little snot populations and booger bergs.

And maybe you can start reading about other things as well.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

In Typos Past

I thought of Janet as I looked at the screen.

I was lost in worship, so it required a double then triple take to register the mistake. But sure enough, up there in bold letters were the lyrics to the hymn we were singing – “our shelter from the stormy blast.”

Only “stormy” was missing an “m.”

I thought immediately of Janet – who lists worship related typos among her pet peeves.

And Janet is a story teller, so I wondered if she would’ve taken this one personally, had she been in Kansas with me.

My guess is she would have let out a laugh before even realizing it.

I mean, seriously, when was the last time anyone in church needed “shelter from a story blast?”

Although, come to think of it, such a blast would be welcome from time to time.

And I imagine G-d, in His love, would choose to not shelter us from it.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

A Thought Flu Across My Mind...

On day three of bed rest from a bug picked up in Kansas. Going a little stir crazy, but too loopy to focus for extended periods of time.

I wouldn’t want this period of rest and relaxation to go to waste, so I’ve collected the bits of wisdom one can learn in such a setting:

-My cat, River, is fascinated by Kevin Kline as Hamlet, but doesn’t care much for the ghost. I'm sure this information will come in handy in the future.

-Being loaded with drugs still doesn’t help make The Hulk a good movie. But it does make me giggle thinking that I wouldn't want to see him Ang Lee.

-Charlotte Bronte is a decent enough companion for the bed-laden; although Rochester is so dense, the exasperation thus inflamed may not bide goodly for the patient.

-A cat sitting on one’s head in health is cute; a cat sitting on one’s head whilst one attempts to breathe through a fog of phlegm tips towards irritating.

-While a half hour of Jon Stewart allowing our government to mock itself is very funny, catching up on hours of back programming (and realizing that Mr. Stewart doesn’t have to work hard to find this stuff) is distressing.

-Chicken soup aids in healing by creating an overwhelming desire to get away from any more chicken soup!

-A cracker in hot soup: 4 seconds – barely wet enough to hold flavor; eight seconds – nicely softened with soupy goodness; twelve seconds – dissolved, need the spoon to retrieve.

-Good rule of thumb: if one falls asleep in the same spot in the same book three times or more, it is time that one moved on to a different book.

-One blessing of a head bug is the opportunity to convince one’s brother via the phone that Sean isn’t here right now, but has somehow managed to lure Bea Arthur away from show business long enough to act as his personal assistant.

I’m sure my wisdom will only increase as I sit here.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill...

My legs are probably the most in shape part of my body, but they are also the ones that gripe the most.

They complain when I jog.

They moan in disbelief when I move past the car, choosing instead to walk the two blocks to the grocery store (“we’re in LA, nobody walks to the store!” they cry out).

They even whine when I get up from watching tv to go to bed. (“Hey, what’s wrong with the floor? Some of the greatest leaders in history slept on the floor.”)

So of course it was the legs that complained the most when I foolishly agreed to take a hike up the hill with my comrades.

First off, don’t agree to go on a hike with Elizabeth and Miguel. They don’t get what hikes are supposed to be about – they are supposed to be leisurely strolls until the ground starts arcing upwards. Then they are supposed to be about turning around and conferring on how far we are going to tell everyone we hiked.

But these two think that going to the top of a hill means going to the top of a hill. Who ever heard of such a thing?

And as we were in Eden, Utah, the hill was really a ridge on a mountain.

My legs started complaining fairly early on. They simple didn’t like the looks of this – they had been in situations like this before. They knew what was coming.

When we hit the picturesque cabin – a perfectly good stopping point – my companions merely paused long enough to look up. See that ridge? We can make that ridge.

And my legs started “I told you so”ing as my pride moved my mouth to say, “Sure, we can make that ridge.”

Making the ridge wasn’t as hard as other hikes I’ve been on. And I recounted those hikes to my legs as they started getting shaky further up the mount.

“Remember Hawaii?” Hawaii was bad, because Cath and I hiked farther than we should have, and had to choose between struggling back or offering ourselves as sacrifices to the volcano gods.

The volcano gods rejected us – something about wedding nights, Madonna, and Virgin Airlines. I didn’t quite understand, as I was mostly thinking about how this wasn’t nearly as bad as Mount St. Helens.

I did St. Helens before it erupted. The part near the top, where it is all ash? Yeah, that part I took one step at a time. Literally.

Step. Pause. Breath. Okay. Step. Pause. Breath. Okay. Step…

“See?” I told my legs in Eden. “We survived much worse – and there are no volcanoes in Utah, so how bad can it be?”

My legs grumbled, but knew that they weren’t nearly as influential as those two guys closer to the brain – pride and ego.

Elizabeth and Miguel could do it. And not only that, they were chit-chatting about marathons, and mountain runs, wrassling bears and crocodiles while winning triatholons. Those two were making it look easy.

Besides, said Pride, if you quit now, not only will you have to admit that you didn’t make it as far as the others, but these two are going to have to carry you back down. Is that worth avoiding a few aches in the morning?

So I kept on, until we reached the top – or at least as far as the brambles would let us go.

Not so bad. Spectacular view. The good feelings of pushing oneself past the limits. The soaring belief in the limitless potential of man.

The realization that I still had to get down.

“Not so bad,” says the brain. “The return trip is always easier.”

My brain is not so bright, as you all have figured out by now.

So my legs gripe, “Remember the return in Hawaii? Or Oregon? Why is control always given to the idiot in the head? Why not let the knees decide where we go next?”

And onward I go.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

An Ad Even A Cat Can Smell

Every once in a while, I run across an ad that makes me want to buy a different product.

For example, there is a kitty litter ad out there with a picture of a cat on two feet, front paws over the privates, back legs crossed.

The idea (and slogan) is that the kitty litter is so fresh smelling, that even the cat can’t find it, and hence is running about with a severe case of the "I gotta goes."

That’s great in terms of not smelling kitty litter in one’s home.

But imagine how a house will smell if the cats can’t find the kitty litter box.

Yeah, I’ll go with another brand.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Spiderwife

My wife is more of a superhero than I am.

The universe is laughing.

Here are Catherine's results:

You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 75% Green Lantern 75% Superman 65% Supergirl 55% Hulk 55% Iron Man 45% Robin 40% Catwoman 35% Batman 25% Wonder Woman 20% The Flash 20% You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

A bit geeky? I have rubbed off on her!

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Somewhat Super

I’m not much for those “who are you” quizzes, but the geek inside couldn’t stay away from http://www.thesuperheroquiz.com/.

It ranks the percentage similar to various superheroes.

The closest for me is 60%; those around me taking the quiz are up in the high 80 and 90%. Maybe I’m not a superhero…

But if I was, here’s the breakdown:

60% Superman, tied with 60% Spiderman. I think it might be confusing the two with a whole lot of Clark and Petey.

Robin is close with a 58% likeness. Question for those that know me: Dick Grayson or Tim Drake? (No Jason Todd, please, as I have low enough self esteem as it is).

I am 38% akin to Supergirl, and both Wonder Woman and Catwoman make my numbers. So I guess I’m in touch with my feminine side.

Not sure I know anything more about myself than before the quiz.

Except that my feminine side can really kick some butt.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Awe Ha!

One of my students last week, in attempting to describe an “aha!” moment in a book, misspelled the word as “awe ha!”

Awe ha. Revelation by awe. I like it.

Maybe we should add that term to our arsenal.

When you stumble on a good twist in a novel, and the light bulb goes on, you have an “aha!” moment.

When you stumble into the cold winter night, thinking only of getting to your cabin before freezing, and catch a glimpse of the night sky – the myriad of stars dancing in patterns of divine choreography – you stand riveted in awe ha!

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Call Waiting

A blurb in a recent Reader’s Digest pointed out that I live in the most polite part of the country – only 35% of us West Coasters would answer and converse on our cell phone during a movie at a theater.

I’m dubious about the positive spin here – we are the most polite? Is it really worth bragging rights that every third seat at our local cinema holds a customer ready and willing to ruin the entertainment experience of their neighbors?

I suppose I am old-fashioned in carrying the notion that we should base our ethical development on seeking to be better people – as opposed to seeking out those that are worse behaved and resting in the achievement of moral superiority.

Of course I don’t have time to think about that now: the movie is about to start and my cell phone is ringing.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Today in History

In 1778, Captain James Cook came upon the Hawaiian Islands.

In 1836, Jim Bowie arrived at the Alamo.

Imagine how differently history would be if in 1778 Cook went to the Alamo, and in 1836 Bowie showed up in Maui.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Billion Dollar Baby

The ride up to Arrow Lake for our retreat included a list of questions for the carpoolers to answer in prep for the weekend.

Some questions were scarier than others. For example, as we zoomed around icy corners overlooking sheer cliff drops, we answered the one starting with, “if you were on a trip, and you knew it would be the last trip of your life…”

Others allowed for more introspection, such as, “If you had a billion dollars, how would you spend it.”

That question immediately split the group between Mike Myers/Dr. Evil impersonators (“one billion dollars, bwaa-haa-haa!”) and Bare Naked Ladies wannabes (“If I had a billion dollars, I’d buy you a fur coat, but not a real one that’d be cruel…”)

We quickly decided that a billion was too much for the question. After all, if you had a billion dollars, what wouldn’t you do with it? So we settled for a couple-a-three mill, and each plunked our cash down for some worthy or selfish cause.

I think a more interesting question might have been, would you want a billion dollars?

My Literature and Film class at Biola just read MILLIONS by Frank Cottrell Boyce. Damian, the kid in the book who finds a bag of money, at one point makes this comment:

“And that’s the thing. We thought the money was going to take care of everything but we ended up taking care of the money. We were always worried about it, tucking it in at night, checking up on it. It was like a big baby.”

Just my thoughts,

Sean

PS I still wouldn’t turn a billion down…

Battle of New Orleans

There are many things about my family that are difficult to explain.

For example, all the boys in my family think they can dance the Irish jig. None of us took lessons, or studied other dancers.

No, we were born with the name Gaffney, and with that birthright is the natural ability to move our feet in astoundingly beautiful patterns any time a tune with a fiddle is played.

All of us believe in our heart of hearts that we are able to perform the Irish jig.

Not a one of us can. We can’t even come close (there is video evidence of Chris and Mike proving my point to a hilariously embarrassing degree).

Of course the fact that we can’t dance the jig changes nothing; we still hear the music and our minds picture our feet doing amazing things.

Us boys also have an unusual attraction to the song “The Battle of New Orleans” (fought on this day in 1814). It is a great song, created by a school teacher as a history lesson. This ditty actually won a Grammy for Johnny Horton. It goes, in part, a little like this:

Well, in eighteen and fourteen we took a little trip
along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip.
We took a little bacon and we took a little beans,
And we caught the bloody British near the town of New Orleans.

Well, we fired our cannon til the barrel melted down,
so we grabbed an alligator and we fought another round.
We filled his head with cannon balls and powdered his behind,
and when they tetched the powder off, the gator lost his mind.

We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin,
But there wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago.
We fired once more and they began to runnin'
down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico.

And lest you think this song was an odd segue, all the Gaffney boys are convinced that they have exquisite taste when it comes to the arts…

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Now Don't Think I'm a Nut...

I got me a “World Almanac Daily Calendar.” Not quite the Farmer’s Almanac, but folksy enough for me to think I can get away with starting my sentence with “I got me a …”

What that means for you is that sometimes the daily tidbits are going to translate into rambling, train-of-thought blogs. Like todays.

This day in 1924, Howard Carter discovered the sarcophagus of King Tut. And we all know what led to.

That’s right, it led directly to Steve Martin receiving the 2005 Kennedy Center Mark Twain Prize for American Humor. Cath and I watched the encore of the ceremony this past New Year’s Eve (apparently Neil Simon wasn’t funny enough for the ’06 event to be rebroadcast).

Oddly enough, Mr. Martin did not thank Howard Carter. Ingrate.

The prize always puts me in mind of Earl Palmer. Earl did an eye-opening series of sermons (now available as a book!) on The Humor of Jesus. Earl would often remark that Mark Twain was his favorite humorist – or at least makes the top twelve funniest writers pastor Palmer has read.

So in light of being light-hearted, here are some of my favorite quotes pertaining to humor:

“Humor is like a frog; if you dissect it, it dies.”

-Mark Twain

“Tragedy is when I cut my finger, comedy is when you fall into a hole and die.”

-Mel Brooks

“Comedy is tragedy plus time.”

-Howard Stein

“Humor is the prelude to faith and Laughter the beginning of prayer.”

-Reinhold Niebuhr, Discerning the Signs of the Times

And from Earl Palmer’s book (contrasting destructive humor to healthy humor):

“But there is good laughter and it has an altogether different result. The laughter that nourishes has the opposite result because at its motivational center the humorist has recognized a connectedness toward those who surround his or her story so that the goal is to connect us and not to disengage us from that human linkage. Nourishing humor intends to build up and not to tear apart the sense of well-being of the object of the humorous story.”

Let’s go out there and have a good laugh.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Do-Wacka-Do

You ever chug-a-lug, chug-lug?

Ever wish you had someone’s happiness, and they had a do-wacka-do-wacka-do-wacka-do?

Do you know the level of difficulty of rollerskating in a buffalo herd? (Or changing film with a kid on your back?)

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then you don’t know the music of Roger Miller as well as you should.

Miller was a country song writer, most famous for “King of the Road.” He also played the voice of Alan-a-Dale in the Disney ROBIN HOOD, and sang all those songs.

This truly American poet could be sentimental (“One dyin’ and a buryin’, one dyin’ and a buryin’, some cryin’ and six carryin’ me- I want to be free”), silly (“My uncle used to love me but she died, a chicken ain’t a chicken ‘til he’s lickin’ good fried…”), or sentimentally silly (“Atta boy, girl, atta way to break my heart…”)

When it came time to turn Twain’s all-American HUCKLEBERRY FINN into a Broadway musical, the producers knew they couldn’t just get any songwriter; they wanted the definitive voice of pure America to match Twain’s voice.

So they turned to Miller for BIG RIVER, one of my favorite musicals of all time.

Today marks Roger’s birthday, a man taken from us with too much music left in him.

So in his honor, listen to some Miller today.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Selection from “Where Have All the Average People Gone?”

Some pious people point and call me sinner,
Because to them I've never seen the lights.
Other folks think of me as a preacher.
I'm just doing what I think is right.

The wealthy people think that I am a hobo,
Lean and hungry, writing mournful songs.
And the poor, poor people think I am a rich man,
But really, I'm just trying to get along.

It's funny I don't fit.
Tell me where have all the average people gone?

Warning!

Catherine and I started watching a movie on television called "Gospel." Not a good movie; not even a movie that we could sit through.

But it did have a fun caution at the start.

It warned that The Gospel had adult content.

I think we should all keep that in mind.

Just my thoughts,

Sean