For the last couple of years, my great friend (and Renaissance man extraordinaire) Rob Simpson has organized a Bastille Day cross-crit bike race. That's "crit" as in "criterium," you know (are you impressed by my armchair bike knowledge?). Essentially, this means you ride on the road and off the road and by some gravelly railroad tracks and other parts where you can't ride at all, and you have to dismount and carry your bike over the obstacle. Rob races a lot of cycle-cross during the year, so he's pretty awesome at it. He also knows how to put together a ridiculous (and ridiculously fun) event. And by that I mean costumes are encouraged.

This is a photo of the trophy I won this year. And if you're not familiar with the acronym, "DFL" refers to being dead last (complete with expletive!), a position I held mightily this year despite doing my best to kick it "Bastille-strong". I reckon DFL is better than a DNF, though.

Coincidentally, this last weekend I cleaned out my garage and threw away all my old tee-ball trophies. You know, the kind that your mama paid for at the beginning of the rec ball season. I used to display them proudly on a shelf in my room, and it was actually a traumatic shock to the me the day I realized those trophies didn't mean anything other than the fact that I had played tee-ball in 1986. It was like realizing someone had been letting you win all those years and that you weren't as good as you thought.

Of course, on a bike I'm well aware of my limitations. For example, last year's Bastille Day cross-crit course was a little easier, but I didn't finish. I quit with one lap to go. By that point, I'd thrown myself off my bike a few times, I was hurting a little and tired, and I just gave up. I kind of blame it on the fact Rob made me eat a baguette before I could begin the race, but that's probably not really it. But this year, on a more difficult course, I managed to stay on my bike, and I finished. Dead last, but nonetheless.

So while I just threw out a whole box of old trophies that were supposed to make me feel like a winner, it's kind of funny that I'm actually a little proud of a homemade one I got for being the loser.

I'd forgotten all about these ads we did for our live FlavorCast back in 2006:

Good times.

1. Go to http://jasonharwell.bandcamp.com

2. Choose an album.

3. Click "download" and choose your preferred file type (mp3, FLAC, etc.)

4. Drag downloaded file folder into your iTunes library (or whatever you use to keep a music library)

5. Enjoy!

That's all there is to it. Now, if you've got your heart set on buying some music, you can always get these recordings online at any digital service. You're also incredibly awesome. That will help me pay off some new studio equipment that is currently helping the Warm Fuzzies make new recordings (as well as finishing some of my own as-yet-unfinished recordings).

But since I'm giving you this for free, you're supposed to be guilt-free.

Thanks for listening!

jason

Two great posts on the goodness of doing the boring, repetitious, and tedious work we have before us:

Oswald Chambers' My Utmost For His Highest (June 15 entry):

In the matter of drudgery. Peter said in this passage that we have become “partakers of the divine nature” and that we should now be “giving all diligence,” concentrating on forming godly habits (2 Peter 1:4-5 ). We are to “add” to our lives all that character means. No one is born either naturally or supernaturally with character; it must be developed. Nor are we born with habits— we have to form godly habits on the basis of the new life God has placed within us. We are not meant to be seen as God’s perfect, bright-shining examples, but to be seen as the everyday essence of ordinary life exhibiting the miracle of His grace. Drudgery is the test of genuine character. The greatest hindrance in our spiritual life is that we will only look for big things to do. Yet, “Jesus . . . took a towel and . . . began to wash the disciples’ feet . . .” ( John 13:3-5  ).

We all have those times when there are no flashes of light and no apparent thrill to life, where we experience nothing but the daily routine with its common everyday tasks. The routine of life is actually God’s way of saving us between our times of great inspiration which come from Him. Don’t always expect God to give you His thrilling moments, but learn to live in those common times of the drudgery of life by the power of God.

It is difficult for us to do the “adding” that Peter mentioned here. We say we do not expect God to take us to heaven on flowery beds of ease, and yet we act as if we do! I must realize that my obedience even in the smallest detail of life has all of the omnipotent power of the grace of God behind it. If I will do my duty, not for duty’s sake but because I believe God is engineering my circumstances, then at the very point of my obedience all of the magnificent grace of God is mine through the glorious atonement by the Cross of Christ.

Editor’s note: In conjunction with the two-part series we’re doing on vocation and calling, we will be publishing excerpts from Self-Culture Through the Vocation by Edward Howard Griggs (1914).

Dead Work

There is no honest vocation that cannot be made to some extent a fine art. That is, in every honest vocation, each day, growth is possible, if the work is loyally done; and that, we have seen, is the meaning of art. Indeed, the one supreme fine art is the art of living, and the particular vocation gets its meaning as a phase of that highest art.

In most vocations, it is true, there is so much dull routine work that we can discover little growth in the action of the single day. To go to the shop and sell a spool of thread and a paper of pins, to make the physician’s daily round, prescribing for those who are ill and the larger number who think they are, to work over the lawyer’s brief for some petty quarrel, to write sermons for congregations that will not listen and that demand the sermon shorter every week—it all seems such a blind mill-wheel grind that one sees little progress in the day……

It is, nevertheless, just such work, done cheerfully and loyally, to a high purpose, through the succession of days, that builds into the human spirit the noblest elements of culture. What then do we mean by “culture”— some esoteric knowledge or remote adornment of life? Surely not. Its foundation elements are: loyalty to the task in hand, the trained will that does not yield to obstacles, cheerful courage in meeting the exigencies that come, serenity maintained amid the petty distractions of life, holding the vision of the ideal across the sand wastes and through the valley of the shadows: these are the basic elements of culture, and they are built into the spirit of a man or a woman by the loyal doing of dead work through the succession of days….

Then, too, there is an almost universal optical illusion with reference to work: each of us is fully conscious of the dead work in his own calling, because he must fulfill it; with the tasks of others, he sees only the finished product. Thus each is inclined to exaggerate the dead work in his own vocation and to envy the apparently easier and happier tasks of others. You sit down in an audience room, and some master at the piano sweeps you out on to the bosom of the sea of emotion, playing with you at his will. The evening of melody is over; there is the moment of awed silence and then the storm of applause; you go home exclaiming, “What genius!” O yes, it is genius: someone has defined genius as the capacity for hard work. Genius is more than that — much more; but no exaggerated talent would take a man far, without the capacity for hard work; and what you forget, as you listen to the finished art of the master genius, is the days and nights of consecrated toil, foregoing, not only dissipation, but even innocent pleasures others take as their natural right, that the artist might master and keep the mastery of the technique of his art.

The thing that seems to be done most easily, costs most in the doing and has been paid for, invariably, out of the life. It is when men work with most exhausting intensity, on the basis of a life-time of training, that they work with most apparent ease. This world is no lottery, where you take a chance ticket and run your risk of winning or losing a prize, but serious business, where nothing worthwhile comes any other way than through dead, hard work carried through the days and years. One never truly possesses anything one has not earned by hard effort. To possess money, you must have earned money, or you do not know its worth, nor how to spend it aright. To possess knowledge, you must have earned knowledge; and the brilliant student who slides through college on his wits, coaching up just before examination and winning fairly good grades, loses in the slower race of life beside even the ungifted plodder, who has taken faithfully every hard step of the road.

It is said of Euclid, formulator of the earliest of the sciences, geometry, that on one occasion he was called in to teach a certain king of Egypt his new science. He began as we begin, with definition, axiom and proposition — we have not improved appreciably upon his text-book; and the king grew restless and indignant: “Must a Pharaoh learn like a common slave?” Euclid, with that pride in knowing one thing well, that everyone ought to have who knows one science thoroughly to the end, responded: “There is no royal road to geometry!” We can universalize the statement: there is no royal road to anything on earth — perhaps in heaven either — worth having, except the one broad, open highway, with no toll-gates upon it, of dead, hard, consistent work through the days and years. Spinoza said — it is the last word in his Ethic: “All noble things are as difficult as they are rare; ” and we may add, they are rare because they are difficult.