One common bit of advice I’ve been given is that “you’ll never get anywhere in life if you aren’t willing to take advice from other people.” This is usually said by an irate individual whose advice I have just chosen to ignore, because a) it didn’t benefit me, or b) I had a better idea.

Another one that I like is the one when “they” say, “You’ve got to learn to submit to what others want. You can’t always demand to have things your own way all the time.” Which really means that they want you to quit being stubborn and let them have their own way, instead of insisting on having yours. 

They’d never say that they want you to let them have their way. That would sound impious. Rather, they say, “you should submit to what others want.” They cleverly neglect to mention the fact that they are the others to whom they are referring.

And another thing, have you ever noticed that we say “they” say, but never say exactly who “they” are? Why do we do this? My guess is that if we were forced to give our sources, those to whom we were speaking would realize that they (the sources) are nonexistent or untrustworthy.

For instance, if I say “‘They’ say that we are going to have six feet of snow this week,” it carries a ring of authority. Whereas if I say, “The neighbors kids said that there would be six feet of snow, you would know immediately that we weren’t getting snow,because we all know what liars the neighbor’s kids are.

In fact, if you are Mennonite, the neighbor’s kids are probably the worst people you know. Who teaches you kids the bad words? Who tells them those dirty jokes? Who is it that makes them want to wear immodest clothes and go to the fair or the other worldly places of amusement? It’s those wicked neighbor’s kids, that’s who.

But I digress. I was talking about who the @#%!! “they” are. (Oops! It’s that bad influence I got from the neighbor kids.)

If I were to say the weather man said we’d have six feet of snow, you wouldn’t believe me either, because everyone knows that the Doppler Weather Radar is just a fancy name for Magic Eight Ball.

My point is this.

If you are trying to get someone to do something, try to convince them that they have to listen to you or they’re selfish.

If you are trying to convince them that something is true, don’t tell them who said it. Say that “they” said it. This will increase the apparent validity of your statement.

And above all, stay away from those wicked neighbor kids. You know what ‘they’ say about them!

Sincerely,

David

 One of the ingenious means by which Dave Barry collected his material was through the help of his Alert Readers. His fans would clip out strange or humorous news articles and mail them to him. If one struck his fancy, Dave would write a column on this article.

While I have aspirations to write humorous posts on this blog from time to time, I do not have the stunning network of alert readers providing me with humorous fodder.

However, since I aspire to write humor for my audience, such as it is, I shall use the World Wide Web as my ally. Many are the websites that carry interesting or odd news stories. I hope to find lots of articles that will get my creative juices flowing.

I extend an invitation to my readers. If you come across a strange or unusual story, would you send a link to me? Your action may result in another post for my blog.

If I ever get to the point that I can regularly turn out gut-bustingly hilarious writing, I’m going to give a lot of credit to Dave Barry. His plays on words, running jokes and strained cultural references, as well as his way of bringing in amusing tangents which he somehow ties into the main subject of the column make his writing unique and delightful. There will never be another Dave Barry. It was a sad day when Dave retired from his job at the Miami Tribune. Fortunately, he still writes columns from time to time, and continues to write his annual Year in Review.

I doubt Dave will ever have occasion to visit this humble little blog, unless he’s one of those people who gets bored and types his name into search engines to see what pops up. (Even then, the chances are minimal, inasmuch as the first seventy-two pages of search results would likely be websites selling his books.) But, Dave, if you are reading this. Thanks! Your humor has shaped my sense of humor. I owe some of my literary style to you. And I am not making this us.

Sincerely,

David

Perhaps one of the scout bees had returned to the hive and informed the swarm that a famous bee celebrity was in the area. At any rate, this massive swarm of bees descended on the Game Stop in one of the busiest shopping districts in New York City.

How do you get a swarm of bees to leave an area? This was the question that officials struggled with. Making a swarm of several thousand armed and small-minded creatures unhappy is a move you may live to regret. What’s the proper course to take? Do you make an announcement on the loudspeaker stating that the Queen has left the building? Do you inform them that there’s a store across town selling nectar for unbelievably low prices? Apparently, either no one tried any of these tactics, or they didn’t work, because the employees remained stuck inside the building, on the clock, with no customers and a store full of video games. (And that’s supposed to be a problem? Why doesn’t that ever happen to me?)

At one point, a local hero did want he could to help. With no protective gear of any kind, he lured a number of bees into a box. The article does not say exactly how he did this. Somehow, I doubt that you call bees the same way you call cows. (“Co-boss! Co-boss!”) Why do we call cows that way? Wouldn’t “Here cattle, cattle cattle” work just as well? Someone should try it and report on the results.

As we were saying, a local man did his best to lure some bees away, and it worked. He lured “many” bees into a box without being stung. I am not sure how many bees the article means when it says “many” but if I had a box with bees in it, I’d say that a dozen constitutes a whole lot of bees, especially if it was a flimsy box.

The public was not informed exactly what the man did with the bees after he had them in the box. I can only hope that he and his boss had a good working relationship.

The bee saga ended when a man arrived named Tony Planakis, who was a professional bee specialist, and whose name can be rearranged to spell “tank lips only.” Dress in protective gear and using scent from a queen bee, Tony collected the rest of the bees. Then Tony “tank lips” and the bees headed for hives in upstate New York.

Over the next several weeks, the Game Stop reported record sales of the recently released video game “Tank Lip Tony and the Bees of Doom.”

Look out for the bees!

Sincerely,

David

Boredom is likely one of the biggest causes of stupid activity known to mankind, second only to watching Youtube. Do you have any idea how many stupid things people have done after they saw someone do it on Youtube? I don’t either, but I bet it’s a lot. And if you’re bored, AND watching Youtube, you are headed for serious trouble and will likely end up either in the ER or in jail, possibly both.

But I digress. This post is not about Youtube, this post is about boredom. Specifically it is about the type of boredom that leads people to end up in jail. A news story about this recently came to my attention. A 25-year-old man in Hillsboro, OR was arrested for skipping out of jury duty.

It wasn’t that he failed to appear when he was ordered to, or moved to Canada like the draft-dodgers of the Vietnam era. Instead, this man, who we will call “Bill” because we don’t know his real name, and because he shares his name with a famous draft dodger, showed up at the court house and was placed on the jury. When, at some point during the course of the trial, the jury was given a recess, “Bill” decided that instead of playing on the swings with the other jurors, he would go home.

When police showed up at “Bill’s” house to ask him exactly why he was playing hooky from the trial, “Bill” replied that he had gotten bored and “just couldn’t take it.” Judge Gayle Nachtigal issued a warrant for his arrest and “Bill” was soon headed back to the courthouse, this time to face charges for contempt of court. “Bill” could face up to six months in jail for his offense.

Sources are unclear as to the nature of the trial over which bored “Bill” and the jilted jury were presiding, but having examined the facts, several conclusions become readily clear to the trained mind.

1) The trial didn’t involve anything racy; 2) Bill isn’t the type to watch Judge Judy; 3) “Bill” could end up being a lot more bored than he was in the jury; 4) Gayle Nachitgal can be rearranged to spell “change a lily tag;” and 5) “Bored Bill and the Jilted Jury” would make an excellent name for a rock band.

The lesson in this little anecdote is simple. If you are Mennonite, dealing with Bill’s problem will never be an issue, because you will be exempt from jury duty. My church is accepting applications for membership today. Also, if you don’t want to be Mennonite, and therefore end up on a jury, stick it out. Six months in the cooler is a long, long time to be bored. Sincerely, David

P.S. Don’t you think that ‘Dealing With Bill’s Problem’ sounds like the title of a movie involving a man with a secret habit and the caring woman who helps him overcome it?

P.P.S. If you are Mennonite, ‘Dealing With Bill’s Problem’ will not be an issue, because you’re not supposed to watch movies.

I didn’t have a great big graduating class. There were only three of us. Ray, Aaron, and David. We had worked for that degree for so long, and finally with all of our work completed (some at almost the last minute, as is common at college.)

On Friday evening, May 22, 2009, at 7:00, the procession began, to the strains of Pomp and Circumstance. First the Christian flag and the American flag were ceremoniously carried to the front of the auditorium and crossed to form an archway, under which our procession would pass. Next, the faculty of the college, dressed in their caps, gowns and colorful hoods, made their way up the aisles to pass under the arch of flags and take their places on the platform.

Finally, the graduates, three of us, along with our friend Ron, who would receive a Bible certificate, made our way slowly up the aisle in a careful timed march. After several songs and the commencement address, the President spoke the words that conferred upon us the degree of Bachelor of the Arts with all the privileges and rights pertaining thereto.

As I thought about the events leading up to my graduation, and of the commencement ceremony itself, I couldn’t help thinking about a larger, grander, more important graduation to which I am looking forward.

There is coming a day in which I will leave this life, graduate from this world, so to speak. In the weeks before my graduation, I thought that I understood a little bit about how an old person must feel. Most of the people that I had been close to had already graduated. All my college work was basically done. In previous semesters, I had looked forward to graduation with some excitement, but quite a bit of sadness too, because of what I was leaving behind. By the time I graduated, I was ready to go.

That’s probably how the older saints feel. All those people that they were close to are gone on, their work is complete. They are ready to move home.

I like to think that perhaps there will be some kind of heavenly commencement ceremony, with a great processional of heroes and worthies, the Faithful Witnesses of whom the writer of Hebrews spoke. 

I like to imagine Paul and Peter and John dressed in splendorous caps, gowns and hoods marching in a splendid display as this year’s graduates from Earth make their way to the platform to be met by Jesus Christ Himself and told “Well done” and given a heavenly degree with all the privileges and rights pertaining thereto.

It makes me want to live this life right, stay focused, and see this thing through. One day the diploma that I earned at AWC is gonna burn up, and it won’t mean a thing. But the diploma that I earn in the courts of heaven will last for all eternity. I want to graduate from this world with honors.

Hope to see you there!

Sincerely,

David

I was sitting with my laptop at one of the study tables in the local library, using their free wi-fi, when suddenly a message popped up on my screen telling me that my computer was in the process of being scanned for malicious software. And of course, the message informed me that some very bad things had indeed infested.

For a second, I thought that perhaps the message was legitimate. Microsoft, after all, provide some protection from invaders of this kind. I began to get slightly suspicious and a little frustrated when I tried to open some new Internet browsing windows, and found them blocked by my alleged benefactor. And when I clicked for more details, I found that I was expected to pay good money, forty-odd dollars, to purchase a program that would help rid my computer of troublesome malware.

Fortunately for me, I applied the same logic that you should apply to those who contact you by phone. Never give out money or personal information to those who call you. If you want to buy something, you can contact the vendor yourself, and be sure that you are getting what you are paying for.

I discovered the clinching proof that this was a scam when I noticed the faulty grammar. I don’t have any direct quotes, but it looked something like this. “You have some viruses on you’re computer. Their bad news. You should buy our program and getting rid of them.”

I know Microsoft can be a little inane at times, but at least they have a clue about the English language. Can I give a little advice to all you virus writers out there? I don’t know what it is that gives you your kicks, but do you think the rest of us are a bunch of MORONS? (That’s my Cryin’ Bryan Dern impression, by the way.) If you’re gonna hope to hoodwink some people out of their hard-earned cash, the least you could do is learn how to write!!

I ran some searches on Spyware 2009 on Google and spent the next several hours doing my best to find a free solution to remove it. I ended up using two different programs, PC Tools Spyware Doctor and Malwarebyte’s Anti-Malware. Part of what made the removal so difficult was the fact that the virus hijacked the many of the new windows I opened, and blocked me from websites.

I was finally able to download and install Spyware Doctor, only to discover that it required the payment of a registration fee in order to remove the virus, something I wasn’t willing to do. However, the free version did provide a valuable service. It intercepted the hijackings of the new windows I opened, making it easier for me to complete the kill.

I next downloaded and installed Anti-Malware, a free program which at long last removed the virus from my system. So that’s my advice to anyone out there who has “a virus on they’re computer.”

And my advice to the low-lifes who program this trash is this: Get a life! And learn to speak English! Maybe then you can get a decent job that doesn’t involve ripping people off.

Sincerely,

David

Alcorn’s dedication to the cause of Christ is impressive. When he lost a legal battle against an abortion clinic and was ordered to pay a settlement to them, he declared that he would rather do anything than have his money given to a institution whose business was the murder of unborn children. Nevertheless, the judge ordered his paycheck to be garnished until the settlement was paid. The only way to escape this garnishment was to take a minimum wage job. Mr. Alcorn made the sacrifice. His book royalties, which are over a million dollars annually, are all donated to missions and Christian work. Anyone with this kind of loyalty to his principles deserves a listening ear.

I first encountered Randy Alcorn (not in person) several years ago in our local Salvation Army thrift shop, where I purchased his book Deadline for a small price. The book was absolutely fabulous. It gave me a view of life and especially of heaven that I had never had before. Alcorn’s deft defense of the Christian faith in light of current events and social issues was impressive. And the storyline, which superimposed events in the Heavenly Realms with events on the earth, was engaging. Deadline was a good novel in its own right, although I’m sure that many secular readers would object to its theological underpinnings.

My brother Ryan (the guitar player) went on to read Deadline‘s companion novel Domination, which he highly recommended, but it wasn’t until recently through the advice of a friend, that I rediscovered his charm. I started with Lord Foulgrin’s Letters and moved on to Ishbane Conspiracy, both of which deal with many of the same characters.

The basic premise of Lord Foulgrin’s Letters is the same as that of Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis. Lord Foulgrin is a demon who writes a series of letters detailing his orders to his underling Squaltaint, who is charged with the destruction and damnation of a human named Jordan Fletcher, a wealthy businessman with a failing marriage and splintering family. The book makes spiritual warfare a vivid reality, rather than the fuzzy figment of the imagination that we often believe it to be.

The Ishbane Conspiracy, co-authored by Alcorn’s daughters, serves as something of a sequel to this book, dealing with many of the issues that young people in our culture struggle with, such as relativism, occultism, alcoholism, drug use, sexual promiscuity, abortion, and suicide. Alcorn manages to portray sinners amid their sin realistically without coming across in judgmental and harsh manner. While many of the characters come to a saving knowledge of Christ throughout the book, it does not end with every main character as a Christian. Rather, the book spans exactly one year, from one New Year’s Eve to the next. This approach, which by its very nature leaves some loose ends hanging, is more satisfying then a cut-and-dried everyone-lived-happily-ever-after ending. It supports the realistic and Biblical view that life is one great story, the entirety of which can never be told until we have crossed over into eternity.

I am presently working on Safely Home, a novel about the persecution of the Chinese Church. I’ll give my take on that book in a later post.

If you haven’t read Randy Alcorn, you’re missing a real treat. I’d advise anyone and everyone to go pick up an Alcorn novel and allow yourself to be challenged, stirred and instructed.

Happy reading!

Sincerely,

David

Sometimes well-meaning people ask me why I don’t learn an how to play an instrument myself. Admittedly, this is a good question, and one that I’ve given some thought.

Please believe me when I say that there is nothing I would rather do than be able to crank out some serious tunes on a guitar or banjo or even a piano. It isn’t as though I’ve never tried to learn. I’ve even asked others on multiple occasions to show me how I might take this vaunted skill and make it my own.

Admittedly, I could probably have chosen a more capable instructor than I did. A person who considers his ability to play the Westminster Chimes on a guitar as something special is probably someone whose abilities could stand to be honed a bit more.

But, being at a lower level of maturity and having less discretion and judgment than I currently possess, I asked this individual to give me some lessons on his instrument of choice.

He proceeded to show me a number of ways in which I could contort my fingers, informing me that if I held my fingers and I quote ”here, here and here,”  I could make a G chord, whereas if I moved “this finger here” and bent the my “other finger” at a painful angle, I could make a C chord. Then, he said, if I could only move one finger up two strings while holding the other two in place and and strumming only the bottom three strings at a forty degree angle, I could make a F chord, assuming I was pressing the strings hard enough to keep them from buzzing while not so hard as to draw blood. (Engineers have estimated that the difference between these two extremes is about two ounces of pressure per square inch, so needless to say, I was subjected to buzzing strings.)

If this wasn’t bad enough, my astute instructor did not inform me exactly why in the world I would want to make the aforementioned chords. I am sure that there are musical gurus out there who are itching to tell me why I need to be playing those chords, but first I’d have to understand what key signature I am playing in, and have to learn whether the particular part of the song called for a I chord or a V chord. (By this time, I would be ready to put these individuals in a place where they’d need an IV cord. Not that I’m bitter.)

Needless to say, it’ll probably be a little while before I surrender my fingers to the ravages of guitar strings and my sanity to the babblings of my untoward instructors.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll just go get a how-to book from the library.

Sincerely,

David

(If you are part of the Eicher family, you will realize that the journey of a thousand miles begins about two hours later than the scheduled time of departure, due to the fact that no matter how much time you spend packing, it always takes longer than it was supposed to. Usually about two hours longer.) I have long suspected that part of the reason that we can’t take anything with us when we leave this world is because if we were allowed to pack for the trip to the next life, my mother would still be packing suitcases well into the first months of the Tribulation, long after the trumpet had sounded and the rest of the saints had made their joyous way homeward. (Assuming you believe in the premillenial interpretation of prophecy, which I personally don’t, but since everyone else does, it’s easiest to speak in terms that they understand.)

But I digress. You have probably forgotten by this time what my original premise was. I was simply stating the fact that the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, and applying this sagacious statement to the writing of this blog, which if it will ever contain one thousand posts, which you probably doubt, as do I, must begin with this one post.

On this blog you will be treated to the life and times of a young man named David Eicher, which I suspect is a fact which you were already aware of inasmuch as I can’t imagine someone reading these words, unless they were already interested in my life.

But who knows, some people are funny that way, so maybe I better tell you just to be sure.

In case you haven’t read my profile, I am 23 years old (a fact which doesn’t even appear in my profile, so that wouldn’t have helped you anyway) and I am a graduate from the Allegheny Wesleyan College, a fact of which I am rather proud, inasmuch as I expended almost 20% of my life in pursuit of those two letters. BA.

I have two parents, a novelty in some parts of the world, three brothers, two older and one younger, of which I am sure you will hear in the coming days, and several cousins whom I have adopted as little sisters, and will henceforth refer to as such. This fact causes confusion in some people’s minds, but you may as well get over it now.

So there you have it. My introduction to the world of Blogging. (Kind of.) I have written some posts on a modest little site known as the Beachy Complex. I am known there as the HBB.

I hope you’ll enjoy reading my life as much as I enjoy living it. Which sometimes isn’t so much.

Sincerely,

David

P.S. Note the warm ending, as opposed to the more impersonal Regards, used by my alter ego, HBB.