On 3, say “Cheese!”

Here’s the truth. I’m not a good picture taker. Evidently, I’m a borderline TERRIBLE picture taker. Why do I keep saying “picture taker?” Maybe “photographer” implies a higher level of skill and a lower level of suckiness. So I’ll stick with “picture taker” for now to protect the reputation of all other photographers around the world.

Anyway, this wouldn’t be that devastating if I would have known I was bad all along. It would be a lot easier to swallow if someone said, “Hey buddy, how about you never touch a camera again?” a long time ago. But instead, I feel like the son or daughter whose parents constantly bragged on their singing voice. Never acknowledging it might actually be the worst sound ever heard in the history of sounds. Then they audition for American Idol. Then they get a reality check. Then they cry. Then we laugh. You know it’s true. It’s a lot funnier when they have a genuine belief that they’re gonna sell millions of records. Then it makes us a little angry at their parents, friends, and anybody else that’s ever had the privilege of hearing that voice. Why didn’t someone warn them? Suggest another career path? Something.

So, that’s where I am. Up until a few weeks ago, if there were auditions for “American Picture Taker” or “So You Think You Can Photograph?!” I might have been the first one in line. But thankfully, after a few attempts of taking pregnancy pics of Ashley, she filled me in. She kindly insinuated things like, “Were you going for the blurry effect on purpose?” “Why did you take 3 pictures of the floor?” “Can you take one without 6 feet of blank wall as the focus?”

She eventually stopped asking.

Obviously, with the new addition to our family, I want to capture as many memories as possible. What do I do? I can see it now. Trinity’s a senior in high school and needs to bring in a baby pic for a class video. Actually, I’m picturing it being a class hologram slideshow, by then. Anyway, she walks in the front door. A single tear falls down her cheek. Kind of like this. “Dad, everyone else’s baby photo was in focus. And brighter than midnight.” Crushed, I look over to Ashley. I look down to our dog, Bauer, who probably has Alzheimer’s by now. All I see is disappointment. Everywhere.

Maybe that was a little dramatic. Maybe not. But now I know to think twice before volunteering to snap a quick shot for newlyweds on their honeymoon or a church group at Six Flags. I’m just glad Ash can take good pictures. And we’ve got a few friends who are great, as well. Wink, wink, Amanda Lovelace, Mike Knapp, Brandon Cawood & Laura Franklin.

To close, here’s a pic of my guitar.

How ’bout you? Anything you thought you were decent at, but it turns out not so much?

with love
ben

Gin & Babies

See how I did that? Immediately, your curiosity is peaked with a title like that. Almost like when one of your friends’ Facebook gets hacked, and it shows a video post from them that in some way, shape, or form says, “I can’t believe what this girl did! Look!” or, “This baby is so funny. It’s reading a newspaper. On a toilet!” Then you’re like “Haha. I can’t believe they got hacked again. This link is OBVIOUSLY spam.” 3 seconds later, you click it to make sure.

In much the same way, you see the title of this blog, and you’re like, “O. M. Freakin’ G. Is he serious? He’s pro-alcoholic newborns?” (Click.) Or maybe, “This guy’s so controversial. I mean, there’s no way I’d let my machine that quickly and easily separates the cotton fibers from the seeds, (a job formerly performed by hand) be run by a tiny infant.” (Click.) And just like that, you’re hooked.

Thanks Eli Whitney for all you did for cotton. And thanks Wikipedia for letting me know exactly what a cotton gin is and who invented it.

On to the post.

To be honest, the only reason I put “gin” in the title is Ashley and I have recently become addicted to it…. The card game, silly.

And the reason I put “babies” in the title is I just had one. And by “I,” I mean my beautiful bride, Ashley did. A baby girl to be exact. A perfect baby girl to be exactly exact.

Trinity Jade Honeycutt was born on April 2nd, 2011 at 7:32 in the morning. A date that will be forever etched in my brain as one of my favorites.

I can’t wait to see her crawl. I can’t wait to hear her say “dada.” I can’t wait to hear her sing. I can’t wait to take her to kindergarten class. I can’t wait to watch her play softball. I CAN wait for her to have a boyfriend. I can’t wait to scare said boyfriend with my bow and arrow. Because I hunt deer so much. Yeah. I’ll most likely hunt deer with a bow and arrow.

In the more near future, I look forward to changing a lot of diapers. And getting poo on my hands. Then vomiting on her poo-covered bottom. I know it’ll happen. I look forward to the sound of her crying. I look forward to sleepless nights. I look forward to learning how to be a good dad everyday.

But for now, I’m content with just holding and staring at her for hours at a time. Thank you, Jesus.

with love
ben

Doctors, lasers, and sties…oh, my!

Today was a good day.

Woke up. Smashed the snooze. Went to sleep. Woke up. Smashed the snooze. Went to sleep. Woke up. Remembered that I actually needed to get up. Peed. Showered. Dressed. Brushed teeth. Took Bauer to pee. Left for our “find out what our baby is” doctor’s appointment. Found out what our baby is. It’s a girl. Left a little emotional. Not me. Ashley. Not so much about our daughter. More that our doctor misread her starting weight. Therefore, mis-stating her overall pregnancy weight gain. I offered to drive back so the doctor could correct this tragedy. Ashley refused. Went to Babies ‘R Us and Target to add girly things to our baby registry. I shot a gun. Well, didn’t actually “shoot” a gun. As in aiming a gun at a different gun and pulling the trigger. That would be weird. Also, it was not a real gun. It was the gun used to scan things at the store. Became quite skilled with said laser gun. Shot 1 item from a good 4 feet away. Shot a stranger in the eye with the laser. Accidentally. Just kidding. It wasn’t an accident. Or a stranger. It was Ashley. She said, “Don’t do that. Lasers kill babies.” I thought the statement was a little harsh. But probably true. So I stopped. Then I saw a woman with a brand new baby. So I thought we could relate. Then I saw that she had a very competent mustache. (See previous blog post on why I could no longer relate.) Ate at a Mexican restaurant. Left Mexican restaurant. Ashley later said, “That Mexican really messed with my belly.” I said, “Where’s he at? I’ll teach him a lesson.” She laughed. I laughed. Drove home. Touched my eye. Felt a sty. Almost cried. Wrote a blog with short, choppy thoughts.

Today was a good day.

with love
ben

High School and mustaches…

Earlier this week, I went (with about 25 other people) to Dahlonega, GA for a Rock Bridge Community Church staff retreat. Now, if you had asked me a few years ago if I wanted to go and spend a couple of days in the woods with several people I didn’t really know that well, my reply would’ve probably leaned more towards, “How abooouuut, no?” or, “I’m actually pretty booked those days. I’ve got ‘sleeping in my own bed’ from 11pm-11am and then after that, I’ve got ‘not getting bit by a snake’ until, well….forever. So sorry. Maybe next time.” But I must admit, I had a really good time.

It got me thinking about how much I’ve changed/grown from the days of high school to now.

You see, back in the day, I was the “guy that never talks unless he’s singing” and “that baseball pitcher guy.” Which was often translated or perceived by many who weren’t part of my ‘inner circle’ as “that stuck-up guy who thinks he’s better than everybody else.” And looking back on it, that statement probably held a little more weight than I wanted to admit. I mean, part of it was just an introverted personality, but there was definitely some of my own vanity mixed in, too.

That really didn’t start to change until a few years later, when I began traveling around the U.S. of A. playing music. I quickly learned that it was very difficult to connect with people without actually making an effort to connect with them. If that makes sense. Especially with those who might have been a little different than me. Which is something I still need to work on to this day. I think most of us, if we’re being honest, tend to flock to people who are like us. Similar interests. Similar habits. Similar personalities. Similar beliefs. It’s natural. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s just when we close that circle off and leave the ‘other ones’ out, that it becomes negative.

Moral of the Story: I want to be like Jesus. I mean, Jesus was pretty freakin’ good at connecting with and loving people that were different than he was. I’m still a far-cry from there, but walking crawling in that direction.

There’s definitely some things from the glory days of high school that I wish I could go back and change. I checked on it, and it seems that’s still not possible. In real life.

To close on a somewhat humorous note from those times, I was looking through some pics a few months ago and was reminded that not only did I sport about 11 diifferent hairstyles and colors….I apparently rocked the “virgin stache” until the age of 17. What’s that, you ask? Well, it’s a phenomenon that occurs in naïve young boys across the world when they don’t know how to or are scared to shave those inconspicuous little hairs above their lip. The result? A long, fine, oily, pubescent excuse for a mustache that screams, “You probably shouldn’t leave young children around me.” To this day, I don’t know why Ashley didn’t tell me that it was super sick and nasty.

And no. No pics are available at this time.

 

with love
ben

 

Death of the V…

Yesterday, Ashley suggested that I go through my closet to rid it of clothes I no longer wear to sell at a yardsale. And when I say “suggested,” “strongly advised” might be a little more accurate.

So I obliged.

As I gazed into my closet at my all of my attire, I got a little misty-eyed at the thought of discarding some things. Just kidding. I’m manly. Anyway, for those not aware, I started a strictly V-neck t-shirt diet a few years ago. Mainly because I’m British. So, with the exception a few long-sleeve button-ups (used primarily for weddings, funerals, and Easter), the V’s had my closet on lockdown. Granted, many were pretty old, faded, and worn out with the little cloth/fur balls on them. But still…….they were V-necks.

I started handing them to Ashley, one by one. It was kind of like a trip down memory lane. I mean everyone loved these tees. I would get awesome compliments all the time. Like, “Uhhh….why do you wear V-necks all the time? It’s kind of weird.” And, “Do you just buy your t-shirts in a 10-pack at Walmart?” And, “Hey buddy. I’ll buy you a whole shirt if you need me to.” And so on.

Bittersweet. That’s what it was. As well as a new chapter in my life. Am I going to discontinue sporting the V? Nope. Will I ever wear a normal crew-neck shirt, again? Unlikely. I’ve convinced myself that they choke me. But I have branched out into other forms of clothing. Such as Y-necks. Look them up. They’re WAY different than V’s.

“Out with the old. In with the new.” With the many dollars I make from selling the old ones, I’ll most definitely buy a new one to replace them. Or maybe I’ll get one of those cool shirts that have a million skulls, crosses, and eagle wings on the front and back. Decisions. Decisions.

Oh, and this guy is obviously awesome.

with love
ben

5 reasons…

So I decided that I needed to start a blog. And that’s actually the easy part. Continuing to write words in it will probably require a little more effort. Here’s to trying…

“Why?” I thought you’d never ask. But hoped you would. So I’ve compiled a non-comprehensive list for you (and me). Some of these reasons are better than others. And more factual. Just kidding. They’re all the same amount of factual…

5 reasons this blog exists:

1. WordPress.com called and asked me to start a blog. Not a staff member. The actual website called. So I obliged. Because everyone knows you can’t say no to a website.
2. It seems everyone else has a blog. To be accepted, I need to be like everyone else. Here’s the math:
everyone else + blog = good
me – blog = terrible
everyone else > me = no brainer
3. I have great information to share. I also have less than 100 peoples’ phone numbers. Which is not really fair to the other 6 billion people in the world. Until now. Tell them to just come here. Or give me their phone number. Thanks a million.
4. Some things, you just don’t want to forget. So I want to have a record of those certain events. I want to be able to look back and tell people what happened in my life. Kind of like, (ME) “Hey, man. Remember my blog?” (MAN) “Yeah.” (ME) “Thanks.”
5. I could only think of 4 reasons, so I asked Google for a little help. It pointed me to an article on About.com. Among many reasons, the best one they suggested was “To establish yourself as an expert.” So just get ready for that……to happen.

In reality, the plan for this blog is pretty simple. Whatever I feel like posting, I might just post it. Some might be pleasantly sarcastic (see above), some serious, some funny, some that I think are funny which I will delete later after realizing that it was just dumb, etc…, etc…, etc…

So maybe you’ll be entertained, enlightened, or annoyed. Whatever the case, don’t forget to tell your friends, enemies, and everyone else.

with love
ben