Pizza = Hope, Unity & World Peace… sort of.
The Good Stuff Eatery folks are at it again. The best burger people on Capitol Hill are about to become the best burger and pizza people in the world. Spike Mendelsohn and his wonderful family asked us come up with the brand (name, logo, brand position, interior, et al) for their new venture, stating, “We want to bring together the best of great, Italian soul food and the best of American ‘fine’ dining and create the best pizza joint on the planet…”
THE PROTAGONIST THEORY* IS PROUD TO ANNOUNCE DC’S BRAND NEW “WE, THE PIZZA” opening winter, 2010 on Capitol Hill.
WE.
“We” is powerful. “We” is strong. “We” is where “I” meets “you” and “us” meets “them” and change happens. “We” means togetherness, unity, peace and good will. “We” will never be alone. “We” is selfless, because there is no “self” in “we.”
“We” is community and family. “We” is belonging. “We” is no one place or thing or idea. “We” is an ideal.
“We” is the promise of better days and brighter futures and the opportunity to finally be ourselves because together, “we” are one. “We” are all. There is no separation or exclusion with “we.”
Smells are richer. Sights are more beautiful. Sounds are clearer and Tastes more glorious with “we.” “We” brings meaning to the mundane. When “we” joins together and puts another before “I” and “me,” the world becomes a better place.
And “we” are all in this together. Welcome to “We.”
We, the pizza.
*Bryan Martin of Good Egg Studio is the brilliant art director who caught the vision here, but I am only giving him credit way down here at the bottom in very light, gray type so your focus will remain on me… Billy Ivey.
New “stuff”
Nesbitt Research is an opposition research firm in Washington DC. They needed a makeover and a way to let would-be clients know that they… know stuff. Lots of stuff. Make sure you check out the new Nesbitt Research website and follow @nesbittresearch on Twitter. See below for some of the end products:
Clothes do not make the man. Or girl. Whatever.
My beautiful, sweet, bull-headed nine-year-old little girl has started dressing like a boy. I don’t know how this happened, but suddenly dresses and skirts and pretty, little hair bows have been replaced with high-top basketball shoes, sweatpants and old t-shirts from Vacation Bible Schools and Spring Breaks she never even attended (I have no idea where the “PCB Playa – Spring Break 2001” lime green tank top came from, but if I see it again, I am going to light it on fire and then put it back in her drawer).
Yesterday morning, a battle occurred in my living room. It’s OK, though, because Anna Beth appeared dressed for the occasion. At 6:37 AM, my baby girl walked into the room wearing camouflage pants, a black turtleneck and dirty, brown running shoes that looked like they’d been dragged behind the car for a month. After a double-take and an instinctive “what the crap?” I asked Anna to please go change into some girl clothes.
She went ballistic. Then I went ballistic…
“I like dressing this way!” she screamed.
“You’re dressed like G-I Joe!” I retorted.
“I don’t care. I’m not changing!” she cried.
“That’s fine! You’re grounded!” I yelled.
“I’m grounded, because you don’t like my clothes?!” She wailed.
“Those aren’t your clothes! We bought those pants in the BOYS section at Wal-Mart for a Halloween costume… YOU’RE WEARING A HALLOWEEN COSTUME!”
Anyway, we went back and forth and back and forth… the crying got worse and the yelling got louder. It was insane. I couldn’t believe she was this dedicated to her fatigues. I couldn’t believe I cared. But I did.
“Clothes don’t matter, Dad! Who cares if these are girl pants or boy pants? I like them, and I am NOT CHANGING!”
You know what? She was right. Clothes don’t matter. It’s what’s on the inside that counts. That’s why I took her to school wearing a dress:
I win.
The blog entry that my friend wouldn’t post:
I got an email from a friend this morning. The subject line read: THIS IS A BLOG ENTRY THAT I WILL NEVER POST. I read the would-be post and then encouraged my friend to reconsider his reluctance. He wouldn’t budge, so I am posting it for him. Because it’s good… and because maybe some of you reading this will forget that I didn’t write it.
*****
This morning, I was listening to a fairly famous talk-radio show here in Birmingham. It should be noted that I can’t stand the show, and I disagree with its approach to issues: talk-radio, the church, politics and just about everything else they spew. I think they are bullies with a platform. They shroud themselves in the flag of the Church and the flag of our country and do not allow or encourage opinions that might fall outside of their personal views.
This morning the hosts were discussing a gay rights group (and they joked about the group’s disappointment with President Obama’s lackluster support for their cause: gay-marriage). The hosts made mention several times that “the people of this country don’t want to redefine marriage,” and they went on and on and on suggesting that the President was flip-flopping on the issue because he doesn’t want to alienate anyone in the Democratic Party. That may be the case – but it’s far from the issue.
I started thinking.
The show’s hosts implied that our country wanted to ensure that marriage would not be redefined. “We want to keep marriage based on God’s laws,” they said. Yeah, but what would happen to the political scene in this country if the church was involved in the truth, and the government was involved in building highways?
The conservative right is so quick to say: Marriage is between a man and a woman. Period. That’s the way God intended. But then they turn around and condone common-law marriage and divorce (for unbiblical reasons).
I started thinking.
If we’re gonna stick with God’s laws – and I think that’s a pretty good idea – let’s do it across the board. Jesus said the only reasons for divorce are adultery or the desertion of a non-believer, but the same conservatives who want to alienate a homosexual couple for desiring marriage benefits are not also in uproar that a heterosexual couple can get an uncontested divorce claiming “irreconcilable differences” for around 500 bucks!
Let’s compare apples to apples. Why wouldn’t we want two gay men or women to receive the same benefits as a “normal” married couple? Do we really care that much about insurance and taxes? You know, if Jim and George want to get married, I don’t see that as an attack on what the STATE calls marriage. The STATE allows couples to divorce because they “just don’t like each other anymore.” Seems like a double-standard to me.
The fact is, as a country, we don’t hold marriage in high regard at all, and by spending all this energy talking about it all we’re really doing is further pushing away a group of people. A group of people, by the way, that Christ loves and cherishes and died for a couple of thousand years ago.
I started thinking.
What would happen if early morning DJ’s and loud-mouthed “advocates” for the Church pulled out of the political process, and started simply loving people?
How about starting with the person in front of you. Right now. Share your brokenness. Share how you are fallen, and then share how Christ has redeemed you. Spend your money and time and energy influencing the person right in front of you, instead of trying to create laws out of your anger and YOUR sense of righteousness.
How is it that the Church has failed so monumentally? And how is it that we feel somehow entitled to legislate morality on our terms? We’re all for individual freedoms and responsibility as long as we can mandate behaviors in the bedroom.
WAKE UP, Church! Wake up early morning DJ’s. Start loving people. Start trying to influence people with the love of Christ, instead of trying to write more laws by putting your own personal spin on the only Law that really matters.
*****
Friend’s disclaimer: I don’t agree with homosexual lifestyles. I think that acting on tendencies, like any other sin, is sin. But, nothing is beyond the realm of redemption by Christ. If He can redeem me from my greed and lust and for being a drunkard and a glutton, He can certainly save someone in sexual sin – hetero, homo… whatever.
Noodles, redux… again.
Given the goings on of the past three days at the Ivey house, I thought I’d re-post an oldie, but goodie. Sweet Merrie Cannon was the focus of this first posting. This time, it’s Ben, Abe, Quinn and… well… me.
*****
SHE LOST HER NOODLES
Merrie Cannon is my daughter. She’s 2. She’s the reason I smile most of the time. She’s perfectly “2,” and I couldn’t be more proud… even if she were a boy.
I kid.
Merrie is special. She’s so smart and brave and inquisitive and bright. But she’s just 2, and that means she has a long way to go. A lot to learn. A lot left to do in her life and many more things to endure… like the thing that happened last night.
She got sick.
She had been complaining of a stomach ache for a few hours, but her mother and I kept saying things like: Baby, you’re just hungry. After you eat dinner, you’ll be fine. And, Honey, hush… I know your tummy hurts, but there’s nothing we can do about it right now. Just watch TV.
I think I even muttered, Quit whining, you got to hang out at the park all day, and I had to go to meetings with men in suits and shiny shoes and gelled-back hair and teeth whiter than even the good Lord intended… so, get over it!
Well, she showed us.
After a yelp and a pitiful little cough, Merrie let loose of just about everything she’d consumed over the past week:
Hot dogs, gummy worms, Kool-Aid, green bean casserole, corn chips, vegetable soup, cheese puffs, popcorn, barbecue chicken salad, spaghetti, Lucky Charms, milk, hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, Hamburger Helper, strawberry ice cream and little bits of an almost-digested granola bar.
It was among the most amazing things I have ever seen… and I once saw a one-armed man kayak down the Colorado River at the Grand Canyon! I’m not kidding.
Anyway, Merrie hasn’t had too many vomit-experiences – thank God – so she was almost as stunned as the rest of us. She stood there, hovering over her bile, making “uuuhhh” sounds and motioning for her mother and I to “come here.”
After cleaning the mess, I sat with my sweet child on the couch and she began to complain about her nose…
“It burns, Daddy.”
I knew exactly what she was feeling. I’d been there before. I knew that what my angel was referring to was the acidic remnants that had lodged themselves between the roof of her mouth and her nasal passage. I went to college. I am… “familiar.”
What happened next was all my fault. I know that, and I accept it. But I’m still brought to uncontrollable gagging even now – 27 hours later – just thinking about it.
Me: Baby, you’re gonna have to blow your nose.
Merrie: But I don’t want to… I’ll taste it.
Me: You won’t taste it. It’ll come right out into the Kleenex. Here, just blow… one, two… three!
She blew her nose and immediately started to heave. Her stomach was empty, so she commenced to the ever-miserable “dry heave.” Or so I thought. With a look of fear, disgust and surprise – all at the same time – Merrie stood up straight, took a deep breath and then spit a noodle out of her mouth with such velocity that it stuck right in the middle of my forehead.
I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. It was like a scene from The Matrix, gone wrong. I saw it coming in slow motion. It made 3 full revolutions before slapping me right between the eyes.
She immediately started to laugh, and I fell backwards as if she’d just hit me with a 4×4. The noodle went flying into the air, and – after rolling around on the floor like a man on fire – I was able to regain my composure and “laugh it off” with my little girl.
Merrie Cannon was fine when she woke up this morning. She has been her normal, sweet, smart, brave and inquisitive self all day.
Now, if I could just get her to help me find that noodle…
Collaboration.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, and I know that all 7 of you have been wondering where I’ve been. Truth is, I’ve been “all over.” I haven’t traveled to exotic places or even been very far from my kitchen table, really, but I have been a bit aloof with respect to my thinking and my doing and my writing.
I just haven’t had very much to say. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it is that I do and what it is I am doing and what I should be doing and where I’ll be doing it 6 months from now. I still don’t know the answer to that last one, but I was reminded tonight about the answers to the others.
I am a writer, by trade, and whether a good one or a hack… I have often thought that being a writer is about introspection and figuring out how what you have to say will effect the folks who read your words or cling to your ideas… and how what you are scribbling out will resonate with “the others.”
I just haven’t had a lot to say…
Tonight, I have been talking with a designer about an idea. Just talking. Just an idea. We’ve gone back and forth on stuff and – after about two hours of just talking – we created something. This “something” might not change the world or make anyone lots of money, but it has already made me a better writer.
The collaboration that took place and the exchange of ideas and information that went in to the “something” that might or might not be the “it” that I’ve been searching for was a priceless reminder that I need more than what’s inside my own head and heart to have something to say.
I need collaboration. We all do.
There’s a spiritual lesson in here… I just know it. Something about how we have a Creator with Whom we can converse and – even better – Who has bigger and better ideas to throw around than we or anyone else we come in contact with can even begin to fathom. We have a Father and a Friend and an Inspiration that we forget to lean on for the “it” more often than not… and what a waste that is!
But that’s not really what I’m getting at here. I just wanted you (all 7 of you) to know that I had an idea tonight that became a something… and I’m back.
Stop being so good.
A friend sent me this link to a Sunday morning message by a guy named Steve Brown. Mr. Brown was speaking at Perimeter Church in Atlanta.
I listened to it this morning and felt compelled to share it with all (seven) of you. This is a powerful reminder that we are not qualified, nor are we called to “be good.” As believer’s in and followers of Jesus… we are just supposed to “be.”
Give it a listen if you have 30 minutes to spare. Give it a listen even if you don’t. You know, Martin Luther once said that he committed himself to three hours of prayer every single day… unless he was very busy. Then, he prayed for four hours.
Hmmm.
If nothing else, this guy’s voice will move you. It’s a good thing he talks about Jesus, though… otherwise he would be terrifying. Even when he suggests – at the beginning – “Let’s go to the throne,” I fell almost immediately. Not out of reverence, really… I was just afraid not to.
Willie and the Woof Doctor
My dad was a better writer than he thought he was. He blamed his writing on “boredom,” but he was actually very talented. I blame whatever talent I may have on trying to be more like him. Ah, the circle of life!
Anyway, I came across this poem a little bit ago and I thought I’d share it. He would probably hate the fact that you’re about to read this, but I absolutely love it. I’m not sure why he wrote this story about a dog that lost his “woof.”
I guess he was just bored. Enjoy…
WILLIE AND THE WOOF DOCTOR
Once upon some time from now
In a land where dogs could talk
And walk around on two hind legs
Like normal people walk—
There lived a Mama and Papa dog
Named Mr. and Mrs. Spaniel
And God gave them some puppy dogs
Called Willie and Wally and Waniel.
Now Wally and Waniel Cocker Spaniel
Could “woof” and play and joke
But all that Willie could ever say
When he opened his jaws was, “croak”!
He’d croak and croak and croak some more
Until he’d start to cry
‘Cause all the other dogs would “woof”
And laugh as they passed by.
When Willie’s mama asked his dad
About what was wrong with Willie—
“Give him time, my dear, he’s just a pup…
He’ll ‘woof’ like others… really.”
But weeks went by and still no “woof”
And all they’d try would fail
And then the day they’d feared the most—
Willie couldn’t wag his tail.
“Oh woe are we and Willie, too,”
Cried Mama, hopes still sagging
“As if no ‘woof’ was not enough,
Now Willie’s tail stopped wagging.
So Mama called Mrs. Collie Dog
To stay with Wally and Waniel
And off to see the Doctor Dog
Went “woofless,” wagless Willie Spaniel.
“It’s not so bad,” said Doctor Dog
“And though I hate to brag…
Once I fix his ‘woof’ for him…
I think his tail will wag.”
So the doctor looked in Willie’s mouth
While Mama held his paws
And sure enough, there was no “woof”
Down deep in Willie’s jaws.
But what the doctor found instead
Almost gave him a stroke—
Instead of a “woof” in Willie’s throat,
The doctor found a “croak”.
So, he reached inside and got that croak
To save it for a frog—
‘Cause frogs say “croak,” and dogs say “woof,”
And Willie was a dog.
And then the doc reached way, way down
Into his doctor’s bag
And when he found a brand new “woof,”
Willie’s tail began to wag.
So now all the dogs in Doggy Land—
Including Wally and Waniel—
Love that happy puppy dog,
Woofin’, Waggin’ Willie Spaniel.
I will punch your “sun butter” in the face.
A kid in my daughter’s 4th grade class is allergic to peanuts, so now my nine year old cannot take peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to school. I do not want to seem unfeeling or cold hearted towards the afflicted, but ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!? Grade school without peanut butter is like NASCAR without wheels. Or worse… beer! It’s just part of it.
1 out of 830,000 school-age children will die from peanut allergies this year. That is one more than is acceptable, for sure, but according to the New York State Department of Health, “at least one child dies every five days from choking on food.”
Hmmm. Milk shakes for everyone!
Oh, wait… I know a girl in kindergarten who is lactose intolerant. “Sorry, sweetheart… But would you care for a nice glass of refreshing water? We’ll dissolve an iron pill in it…”
While we’re at it…
I am allergic to pet dander. I think you should kill your puppy.
*****
(repost from Burnside Writer’s Blog)
