I'm always excited when bands I love release new records, especially the band I love the most: Wilco. The fact that the line-up, as it currently exists, is barely the same as it was in 1994, matters little. Jeff Tweedy is still standing behind his guitar and microphone, and bassist John Stirratt is nowhere near a microphone. As it should be. My expectations for this release were mixed. On one hand, Sky Blue Sky was such a departure from what the band did on its two previous records (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and A Ghost is Born), that I wanted to temper my enthusiasm. As a whole, Sky Blue Sky grew on me, but it took some time. On the other, who the hell knew what Tweedy had up his sleeve? This could be magic. As it turns out, we got Wilco (The Album).

"I mean...I can see puttin' on a dress...you know...just to see what it'd look like." - spoken by a 40-something man to one of his buddies as they sat in beach chairs and recounted their glory days

Big thanks to my sister for turning me on to the hip-hop stylings of Sammy Stephens and the Montgomery Flea Market. That said, it's a sad day in post-9/11 America when anything is favorably compared to being "just like a mini-mall." Saints preserve us. Anyway...if this doesn't make you want to buy a sectional sleeper sofa, I don't know what will.

Dear Facebook,

You remind me of a girl I once dated in that you waste all my free time with the promise of something fun or interesting, but in reality you deliver very little. Sure, I can't imagine life without you. Your hooks are in me now, and there's no way I'm breaking up with you. I mean, I could handle it, but what about all the innocent bystanders. You've connected me to a lot of my other friends, and they would no doubt suffer more than either of us were we to call it quits. Besides, there's a lot I'd miss about you: putting cryptic rap lyrics in my status updates, the high school/college reunion that happens daily, and the ability to tell my friends that I've written this letter to you. However, you're no more perfect than I am, so the time has come for a little heart-to-heart:

...the savings on brake shoes were nothing compared to the deal on sandals.

"It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers." - James Thurber

There's a lot to be said for being intentional. We all have the ability to drop into autopilot from time to time, and if we're not careful, it's equally easy to snap out of it one day only to realize that a whole year has passed us by. What a kick in the pants that is; waking up from our own self-absorption, or apathy, or self-induced hecticness and grappling with missed opportunities and adventures (including, but not limited to, photographs in which we may have looked particularly attractive, and delicious home-cooked meals).

With that in mind, here's a short list of things I'm trying to be more intentional about:

Have you ever tried talking to your heathen friends (you know, the democrats, the drinkers, the NPR listeners) about Christianity? It can be sort of frustrating sometimes. The biggest obstacle is often convincing them that Christians aren't a bunch of losers. "Look at C.S. Lewis," you'll say, "that guy was a genius! And what about Henri Nouwen, or Kierkegaard? Brilliant, both of them." But in the back of your mind, you know that all your hell-bound friend can think about is these guys:

First of all, to be clear, I am writing to those of you who call Alabama home all twelve months of the year, whose license plate indicates in-state residency, and/or were born and raised in Alabama, and still live there. The rest of you (namely the college students, the transients, the gypsies) are graciously excluded. However, to those of you who meet the aforementioned native description, this letter is for you (assuming you are literate, which is just a fancy word that means you're able to read).

"You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do." - Anne Lamott