July 4, 2010

I now have a Hooters ad popping up on my Facebook sidebar. I have never even been to Hooters (honest!)--the only way that would happen is that the Facebook ad generator found “Hooters” on this blog. I choose to take it as assurance that this blog is being read in some form or fashion.
9:47 a.m.
My roommate had an early breakfast meeting and I slept in--accidentaly missing the official GA Sunday Morning Worship. Which is OK, because I try not to make many smart ass comments about worship services (except to my wife, but even then its just whispered to her to make her laugh out loud in church).
10:09 a.m.
Drank coffee and spent the remainder of the morning playing video poker and watching Hogan’s Heroes reruns on YouTube. In my underwear.
1:01 p.m.
Called my mom to let her know that I wasn’t elected moderator. She said she still loved me, but I sensed the disappointment.
1:30 p.m.
Sitting in my first committee meeting. I am on the Theological Issues and Institutions Committee. I’m certain its because people often mistake me for Karl Barth. Or George Clooney. I get that a lot, too.
1:33 p.m.
Opening worship service for our commmittee. Prayer of confession is written so that I am asking forgiveness for destroying the earth and every living soul upon it, and laughing while it happens. Seemed a bit heavy handed.
1:44 p.m.
Moderator’s sermon included a reference to the Hmong people of Laos. I immediately flash to the movie “Gran Torino” and miss the point of her illustration,
1:55 p.m.
Mentally catalog all the other Clint Eastwood movies I love. Can’t decide where to put “Million Dollar Baby.”
1:58 p.m.
Make a mental note to do a better job concentrating in worship.
1:59 p.m.
The team building exercises begin, I smell the sulfurous fumes of hellfire.
2:11 p.m.
Discussion of covenant rules for discussion. All are invited to state suggestions as to how we should conduct our debates and ask questions. One woman speaks three times. I suggest that all who wish to speak should have to perform a liturgical dance first. That may stop her, since she doesn’t look like a dancer to me. Unfortunately, there is no support for this idea.
3:25 p.m.
Our first real vote! The committee approves Arthur “O” Canada as a board member of Montreat. I feel that Arthur at least owes us dinner. Or a beer.
3:26 p.m.
Our first real debate! A commissioner wants to know why Arthur’s Presbytery affiliation was not included in the item description. Other commissioners are now bringing up my liturgical dance idea again. I have now identified two people I’d like to whack with my souvenir Presbyterian GA ThunderStix.
4:15 p.m.
Committee is in recess and no blood has been shed.
4:47 p.m.
Return to the hotel to get ready for the Fourth of July celebration to be held at Nicollet Island on the Mississippi River. My previously unnamed roommate Tom has read this blog now and is OK with it, so he shall be named. Which is great because “Tom” is easier to type than roommate.
5:18 p.m.
Mike Fry, Tom, and I wait in line for the shuttle buses to take us to the picnic. The line forms in the suburbs of Duluth. For those planning large convention-like gatherings, note that one bus is not enough for 2287 participants. I pretend I am at Disney World, waiting to enter a dream like world of fantasy where all sense of reality is suspended. Slowly realize that I have been in that world since Saturday morning.
5:47 p.m.
In a sudden fit of fitness, or “green-ness”, hunger, or desperation, the three of us decide to rent bikes from the public bike rental stands that are scattered throughout Minneapolis. We pedal our way through the downtown streets and across the Mississippi, which is something I never thought I would ever do. It would have been helpful had there been a bridge. It only takes 10 or 11 minutes to slow my heart rate and catch my breath. Tom and Mike are not even sweating. I hate fit people.
6:17 p.m.
Join the hundreds of Presbyterians on picturesque Nicollet Island, named after one of Minneapolis’ founders, Olaf Island.
6:19 p.m.
The food line isn’t as bad, it only extends to downtown St. Paul. Fellow Presbyterian dismisses with malice a family who has wandered into the gathering. Because this is a very exclusive club and we don’t welcome any outsiders--especially if they have young people with them who would like to watch fireworks.
6:45 p.m.
After some good food, we decide that we don’t have an hour and half of small talk left in us before the fireworks are to begin, so we board a shuttle bus back to the hotel. Stood next to a woman obsessed with finding the Target Center Arena, which I believe she had confused with Target Field, the new baseball stadium. Either that or she was another one of those dozens of rabid fans obsessed with the WNBA’s Minnesota Lynx.
6:46 p.m.
Noted that the commissioner in front of me, dressed somewhat like a backwoods guide, also smelled somewhat like he had just caught the bus from the backwoods after several days in the Minnesota wilderness.
7:17 p.m.
Three of us wander into “The Local” a nice Irish pub around the corner from the hotel. Good selection of draft beers which enjoy at our sidewalk table. Diversity is again present in the other patrons. No Presbyterians seem to be engaging the locals in any way, Myself included. Thus the name of the blog. We cannot see fireworks from the bar, so we return to the hotel.

Other notes:
-Lift Bridge Farm Girl Saison is a very worthy brew.
-Enjoyed and agreed with our friend Ron Scates at Highland Park Presbyterian Church in Dallas:
http://pfrenewal.org/issues/372-reform-from-within
-Many people have referenced the sermon by outgoing moderator Bruce Reyes-Chow. I will watch online at some point. He seemed a very engaging speaker when I have heard him.
-Tomorrow may be darker, and not because of the impending rain.