Not everything about over consumerization is bad. For one thing, it makes a fertile ground for the imagination of one of my all time favorite authors, Richard Scary. For those of you with children, Richard Scary is probably a current favorite, but for those of you without children, you may have to think back to your childhood to remember his books. He created a whole series of books that showed a series of small animal figures in various scenes from real life helping to illustrate the hundreds of thousands of things we use every day that a young child might not know by name. For instance, an incredibly detailed picture of an airport that would take up two whole pages and would show, and label, everything from the control tower to the baggage handlers. Somewhere in the picture, you could always find the inch worm and the little fox and some pigs. It was a great way to learn the words for things (I even have a German version for learning the German words for things like Banhoff).
I was thinking about that today as I stood waiting in front of my work building waiting for an insurance inspector to arrive. I work in an industrial area and there are tons of trucks that pass our office every day. So as I stood there and waited, I watched a dump truck go by, and a plumbing van, and a cable truck, and an SUV, and a small fire truck, and a train rolled down the tracks nearby, and a helicopter buzzed through the air, and an inch worm rolled across the sidewalk nearby on a skateboard - and suddenly I was viewing the world through a Richard Scary lens. All of this variety, all of this wonderful variety, and everyone here with a purpose and a means of transport. I wasn't looking at traffic congestion. I wasn't looking at global warming. I was looking at this idealized and wonderfully diverse world, and it made me smile.
I spent the weekend playing youth group games at church and then hanging out with friends and then spending time on the ground with my nephew playing cars - what a wonderful weekend. God doesn't just want us to view His world through the lens of a child, he wants us to become truly childlike. He wants us to play Sardines. And he wants us to dodge balls. And he wants us to pretend that cars are getting in line for Pirates of the Carribean at Disneyland - because that's what cars really want to do. They don't want to break down and guzzle gas. Cars want to ride rides. Because when cars ride rides, we are not hurting each other, we are not hurting God - we are spending time with one another in community and happiness.
Nobody said life had to be hard... we just make it that way.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Awakenings
Remember that movie a while back with Robert DeNiro as a mental patient that suffers from a debilitating brain disease that causes him to be a virtual vegetable for most of his life until a doctor discovers a "cure" that wakens him up - only to have some complications along the way (I don't want to give away the ending if you haven't seen it yet). Well, I kind of feel like that right now. My synapses are firing sideways again, or diagonal, or whatever... and I'm feeling especially bizarre.
This is what I like to call... NORMAL.
For those of you who haven't known me for a long time, then you might know the NORMAL me. He has been hiding out for a while (I think he feared extradition to the Hague for Pun Warfare crimes against humanity) biding his time for a return to his evil and wicked ways. Small e evil and small w wicked. This is the NORMAL me who wrote a story, with a certain partner in beachware whose name I won't mention, that ended on an exact replica of Captain Crunch's island from the back of a cereal box. In the same story, I posited a former youth leader of mine piloting the space shuttle. This is the Normal Me who wrote about a wrestling match between a couple of pro-wrestlers and a rock musician on top of a stretch-RV while being pursued through the streets of San Francisco by an entire army (well, it sounded unlikely when I wrote it... now I'm not so sure ;) These are the kinds of ideas NORMAL ME has. These are the kind of mental waves I normally give off. And now, look out... I'm in charge of teaching your children about GOD! BWAH HA HA HA HA HA!
Okay, so admitedly, the idea that I just had about using Fish Dogs to teach kids about God's refining process was a little bizarre - even for me. Fish Dogs are hot dog buns filled with three or so long fish sticks, covered with tartar sauce, and cheese (think of a Filetofish Sandwich in a hot dog bun). I was going to ask for volunteers from the "studio" audience and have them try various things on the old Fish Dog to see if I could "refine" them to make them better. Then I was going to read some of the passages about refining in the Bible and make the comparison that we, and all our sins, are like fish sticks in hot dog buns covered with tartar sauce and cheese. Cause, you know, that's just what it says in the Bible... somewhere... And then God refines us and makes us into something Der Wienerschnitzel can't even imagine ever selling - something that even Pink's or Nathan's would drool over - something so spectacular that that Kobiyashi dude could only eat three or four of, tops!
Do you see where this is going? Cause if you do, let me know. I'm lost. My brain took a left turn somewhere around Topeka and I kept going straight. So, uh, I'm going to Refine my Youth Group plans for this weekend, and maybe go make a Fish Dog while I'm at it. Suddenly I have a craving for one.
This is what I like to call... NORMAL.
For those of you who haven't known me for a long time, then you might know the NORMAL me. He has been hiding out for a while (I think he feared extradition to the Hague for Pun Warfare crimes against humanity) biding his time for a return to his evil and wicked ways. Small e evil and small w wicked. This is the NORMAL me who wrote a story, with a certain partner in beachware whose name I won't mention, that ended on an exact replica of Captain Crunch's island from the back of a cereal box. In the same story, I posited a former youth leader of mine piloting the space shuttle. This is the Normal Me who wrote about a wrestling match between a couple of pro-wrestlers and a rock musician on top of a stretch-RV while being pursued through the streets of San Francisco by an entire army (well, it sounded unlikely when I wrote it... now I'm not so sure ;) These are the kinds of ideas NORMAL ME has. These are the kind of mental waves I normally give off. And now, look out... I'm in charge of teaching your children about GOD! BWAH HA HA HA HA HA!
Okay, so admitedly, the idea that I just had about using Fish Dogs to teach kids about God's refining process was a little bizarre - even for me. Fish Dogs are hot dog buns filled with three or so long fish sticks, covered with tartar sauce, and cheese (think of a Filetofish Sandwich in a hot dog bun). I was going to ask for volunteers from the "studio" audience and have them try various things on the old Fish Dog to see if I could "refine" them to make them better. Then I was going to read some of the passages about refining in the Bible and make the comparison that we, and all our sins, are like fish sticks in hot dog buns covered with tartar sauce and cheese. Cause, you know, that's just what it says in the Bible... somewhere... And then God refines us and makes us into something Der Wienerschnitzel can't even imagine ever selling - something that even Pink's or Nathan's would drool over - something so spectacular that that Kobiyashi dude could only eat three or four of, tops!
Do you see where this is going? Cause if you do, let me know. I'm lost. My brain took a left turn somewhere around Topeka and I kept going straight. So, uh, I'm going to Refine my Youth Group plans for this weekend, and maybe go make a Fish Dog while I'm at it. Suddenly I have a craving for one.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
What does it mean to live a life?
Lately my thoughts have dwelt increasingly amongst the dead. Perhaps I am getting old and facing thoughts of my own mortality for the first time. Perhaps I am reading Revelations and the thoughts of the end game have given rise to thoughts of my part in it. Perhaps its just the fact that death is a part of life and though we like to forget it, there are people dying all around us every single day of the year. I'm not sure which it is, but my thoughts have been jarred loose and have floated that direction.
I'm not sure what I want to say about it. The idea, the thought of being dead, immediately leads one to the next idea - what's next? But that's a non-starter. Despite my faith, I can't answer that question. I believe that AFTER I die, I will see a bright golden tunnel of warmth and light and emerge in a new place with my Grandfather and Grandmother and all those others who have gone before me. But its what will happen before that that has gripped my imagination.
I read a story yesterday about a bunch of scientists who are traveling through the Singapore area looking for geological evidence of an upcoming mammoth quake to rival the one that killed tens of thousands of people a couple of years ago. The interview was taking place on a beach in Phuket - one of the places hard hit by the previous Tsunami. As the geologist is giving the interview, they are watching the sand on the beach shake from an aftershock (foreshock) and the guy is basically acknowledging that at any moment, a giant tsunami wave could be coming on the horizon to blot out his existence. Then he goes on to say how he and his team will be traveling to other islands for the next several weeks and months looking for more information - with full knowledge of the likelihood of his own death.
When I was young and dumb, I joined the Navy and didn't really think through the ramifications of that decision. We like to all think that we'll have some say about our lives and that nobody would needlessly throw our lives away on some dubious cause. I knew people that were killed. I knew people who killed others. I could never imagine that thought that I might be shot or blown up or maimed on any given day merely because of the uniform I wore. Worst was the knowledge that to prevent intelligence from falling into our enemies hands - the marines would be given orders to kill me rather than let me be captured. I decided to simply ignore such thoughts. Facing mortality at such a young age is almost an impossible thing. I was still trying to figure out how to live. I certainly didn't want to figure out how to die.
But now, I am looking forward down the road to my 70's, 80's, 90's... and I am asking myself, what do I want to accomplish before that day that I die? What do I want to look back upon and say, "That was the proudest day of my life"? What sort of legacy do I want to leave?
And, at the same time, I am wondering - will it hurt? How much pain can I bear? What are the limits of my endurance? What would I do if faced with a decision between life in a diminished capacity or a gruesome death?
I've never had to ask these questions before. Death has always been a part of life, but not an experience that I've sought out nor ever tried to understand. We all joke about the sort of death we want, but we're usually thinking along the lines of what would give us and our loved ones the least amount of pain. Nobody ever answers that question with, "I'd like to have a massive heart attack in my home and not be found for three days." But that might be a reality for some of us. And its something to consider - even if its only in the fleeting dark spots of our mind. As Spock once told Saavik, "How we face death is at least as important as how we face life." I think that statement not only shows wisdom, but its also something that we don't truly consider until we've grown a little in our shoes and suddenly realize that the summit of our lives is approaching, and the long downhill is to follow soon after.
Of course, my Dad did tell me when he reached 65 that he was finally content to reach middle age... so maybe I've got a long time to think about this. But, just in case, its always nice to be prepared.
I'm not sure what I want to say about it. The idea, the thought of being dead, immediately leads one to the next idea - what's next? But that's a non-starter. Despite my faith, I can't answer that question. I believe that AFTER I die, I will see a bright golden tunnel of warmth and light and emerge in a new place with my Grandfather and Grandmother and all those others who have gone before me. But its what will happen before that that has gripped my imagination.
I read a story yesterday about a bunch of scientists who are traveling through the Singapore area looking for geological evidence of an upcoming mammoth quake to rival the one that killed tens of thousands of people a couple of years ago. The interview was taking place on a beach in Phuket - one of the places hard hit by the previous Tsunami. As the geologist is giving the interview, they are watching the sand on the beach shake from an aftershock (foreshock) and the guy is basically acknowledging that at any moment, a giant tsunami wave could be coming on the horizon to blot out his existence. Then he goes on to say how he and his team will be traveling to other islands for the next several weeks and months looking for more information - with full knowledge of the likelihood of his own death.
When I was young and dumb, I joined the Navy and didn't really think through the ramifications of that decision. We like to all think that we'll have some say about our lives and that nobody would needlessly throw our lives away on some dubious cause. I knew people that were killed. I knew people who killed others. I could never imagine that thought that I might be shot or blown up or maimed on any given day merely because of the uniform I wore. Worst was the knowledge that to prevent intelligence from falling into our enemies hands - the marines would be given orders to kill me rather than let me be captured. I decided to simply ignore such thoughts. Facing mortality at such a young age is almost an impossible thing. I was still trying to figure out how to live. I certainly didn't want to figure out how to die.
But now, I am looking forward down the road to my 70's, 80's, 90's... and I am asking myself, what do I want to accomplish before that day that I die? What do I want to look back upon and say, "That was the proudest day of my life"? What sort of legacy do I want to leave?
And, at the same time, I am wondering - will it hurt? How much pain can I bear? What are the limits of my endurance? What would I do if faced with a decision between life in a diminished capacity or a gruesome death?
I've never had to ask these questions before. Death has always been a part of life, but not an experience that I've sought out nor ever tried to understand. We all joke about the sort of death we want, but we're usually thinking along the lines of what would give us and our loved ones the least amount of pain. Nobody ever answers that question with, "I'd like to have a massive heart attack in my home and not be found for three days." But that might be a reality for some of us. And its something to consider - even if its only in the fleeting dark spots of our mind. As Spock once told Saavik, "How we face death is at least as important as how we face life." I think that statement not only shows wisdom, but its also something that we don't truly consider until we've grown a little in our shoes and suddenly realize that the summit of our lives is approaching, and the long downhill is to follow soon after.
Of course, my Dad did tell me when he reached 65 that he was finally content to reach middle age... so maybe I've got a long time to think about this. But, just in case, its always nice to be prepared.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Even Perry Mason Could Figure This One Out...
Was O.J. set up? Duh...
I have in the past been supportive of the idea that O.J. was rightfully acquitted in Los Angeles some years ago. Rightfully because the prosecution never proved that O.J. did it. Face it, folks, they were just beat up by O.J.'s defense team - a legal equivalent of the American Dream Team. That having been said, I can't say that I've ever really believed he was completely innocent either. Whereas I don't think its been proven that he killed his ex-wife, there are too many issues surrounding the original case to say that he didn't have some involvement whether before, during, or after the fact.
One thing I can say, however, with certainty is that O.J. always seemed to me to be not the swiftest thing on two feet. I've felt embarrassed for him and almost insulted by him since his acquittal and his vow to bring the real killers to justice. He has fumbled through many attempts to explain his actions on those nights and how he couldn't possibly be the killer - as if rehashing the subject was going to change people's minds. It always provided for me two scenarios, neither of which was very good for O.J. - First, that he was the killer and that his attempts to prove otherwise were manifestations of his own desire to be redeemed, or second, that he was innocent and too stupid to make an honest attempt to prove it to everyone else.
That brings us to Vegas and the events leading up to it. In a very simple timeline, O.J. writes a book called, "If I Did It," which clearly fits into either of my two pathetic theories. Then his publisher comes to his senses and says, "Um, no, I guess we're not going to print it." Then the Goldman's (who are either utterly convinced that O.J. did it and are doing everything in their power to make his life a living hell, or their just money-grubbing bastards) get the publisher to publish the book after all so that they can split the profits with O.J.'s kids.
And so, TA DUM, on the day O.J.'s book goes on sale, his "friend" tells O.J. that there's a bunch of guys in Las Vegas trying to sell his "stolen memorabilia". He not only knows who the people are, but where their located, and how to contact them. O.J. gets angry (O.J. smash puny humans!) and asks his "friend" to set up a meeting with the guys. Then O.J. gets together a posse and they ride into the hotel room to retrieve the stolen goods. And within hours, O.J. is being accused of armed robbery, and, lo and behold, an audio tape emerges that clearly nails O.J.'s behind to the wall. The audio tape has been recorded by O.J.'s "friend" - the one who set up the entire affair.
Here's the thing though... I think O.J.'s guilty as hell in this case. Unfortunately so, perhaps, but still guilty. Nobody that stupid should be allowed to walk around. You are O.J., one of the most recognized guys on the planet, and you're going to walk into a room and commit a robbery to retrieve your stolen goods - AND YOU DON'T SEE ANY PROBLEM WITH THAT?! Has the thought of calling the cops or lawyers or anything ever occurred to you?
O.J. was set up. No doubt in my mind. I knew it long before the tape emerged. But that doesn't change the fact that he walked into the set up willingly and willingly committed the crime. O.J. will go to jail because no prosecution, jury, or defense is going to let him walk this time. In the world of criminal justice, you only get one get out of jail free card.
We will still never know whether O.J. was guilty or not of killing his ex-wife. But, perhaps, justice will finally be served. Only O.J. knows for sure.
I have in the past been supportive of the idea that O.J. was rightfully acquitted in Los Angeles some years ago. Rightfully because the prosecution never proved that O.J. did it. Face it, folks, they were just beat up by O.J.'s defense team - a legal equivalent of the American Dream Team. That having been said, I can't say that I've ever really believed he was completely innocent either. Whereas I don't think its been proven that he killed his ex-wife, there are too many issues surrounding the original case to say that he didn't have some involvement whether before, during, or after the fact.
One thing I can say, however, with certainty is that O.J. always seemed to me to be not the swiftest thing on two feet. I've felt embarrassed for him and almost insulted by him since his acquittal and his vow to bring the real killers to justice. He has fumbled through many attempts to explain his actions on those nights and how he couldn't possibly be the killer - as if rehashing the subject was going to change people's minds. It always provided for me two scenarios, neither of which was very good for O.J. - First, that he was the killer and that his attempts to prove otherwise were manifestations of his own desire to be redeemed, or second, that he was innocent and too stupid to make an honest attempt to prove it to everyone else.
That brings us to Vegas and the events leading up to it. In a very simple timeline, O.J. writes a book called, "If I Did It," which clearly fits into either of my two pathetic theories. Then his publisher comes to his senses and says, "Um, no, I guess we're not going to print it." Then the Goldman's (who are either utterly convinced that O.J. did it and are doing everything in their power to make his life a living hell, or their just money-grubbing bastards) get the publisher to publish the book after all so that they can split the profits with O.J.'s kids.
And so, TA DUM, on the day O.J.'s book goes on sale, his "friend" tells O.J. that there's a bunch of guys in Las Vegas trying to sell his "stolen memorabilia". He not only knows who the people are, but where their located, and how to contact them. O.J. gets angry (O.J. smash puny humans!) and asks his "friend" to set up a meeting with the guys. Then O.J. gets together a posse and they ride into the hotel room to retrieve the stolen goods. And within hours, O.J. is being accused of armed robbery, and, lo and behold, an audio tape emerges that clearly nails O.J.'s behind to the wall. The audio tape has been recorded by O.J.'s "friend" - the one who set up the entire affair.
Here's the thing though... I think O.J.'s guilty as hell in this case. Unfortunately so, perhaps, but still guilty. Nobody that stupid should be allowed to walk around. You are O.J., one of the most recognized guys on the planet, and you're going to walk into a room and commit a robbery to retrieve your stolen goods - AND YOU DON'T SEE ANY PROBLEM WITH THAT?! Has the thought of calling the cops or lawyers or anything ever occurred to you?
O.J. was set up. No doubt in my mind. I knew it long before the tape emerged. But that doesn't change the fact that he walked into the set up willingly and willingly committed the crime. O.J. will go to jail because no prosecution, jury, or defense is going to let him walk this time. In the world of criminal justice, you only get one get out of jail free card.
We will still never know whether O.J. was guilty or not of killing his ex-wife. But, perhaps, justice will finally be served. Only O.J. knows for sure.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Still Doing Things...
I'm like on a doing kick right now. This weekend I managed to finish the movie that I had intended for Help Will Train and managed to get my webmaster to install the film online for me. You can now see this film that is at once self-pitying, hopeful, and... I don't know... I just really like it. Its a great mix of sillyness and great music. The marriage of image and sound and text is a menage a trois of pathetic proportions. So, if you can turn your sound down low, I recommend you watch it - but don't take it too seriously. It's a bit too artistic to be taken seriously.
I also started filming an idea I have for a short film which I hope to finish next week - right now you only get to know the working title, "An athiest walks into a bank..." I spent the afternoon today working with two young actors who were recording the dialogue of an angel and devil. It feels good to just be out there doing something that's not work related, nor school related, nor church related. Its been a long time since I reconnected with ME and did something just for myself. The film should debut on Youtube some time next week, assuming I can convince the actors to come back for some blue screen work (we never do anything easy around here).
I'm sorry if I messed with anyone's mind over the TAC website front page (see last post). I just had this silly idea for a front page and I wanted it to come across as a surprise. I think its more impressive if you're not expecting it.
Its funny that in all this creative development, I have not lost track that God is there in my life. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that this is all part of that little dance that leads me on to a new path. Somehow, all this bizarre creative energy is His doing. I am just grateful to be having fun for a change.
Okay, now back to work... have a good week everyone!
Da Wig
I also started filming an idea I have for a short film which I hope to finish next week - right now you only get to know the working title, "An athiest walks into a bank..." I spent the afternoon today working with two young actors who were recording the dialogue of an angel and devil. It feels good to just be out there doing something that's not work related, nor school related, nor church related. Its been a long time since I reconnected with ME and did something just for myself. The film should debut on Youtube some time next week, assuming I can convince the actors to come back for some blue screen work (we never do anything easy around here).
I'm sorry if I messed with anyone's mind over the TAC website front page (see last post). I just had this silly idea for a front page and I wanted it to come across as a surprise. I think its more impressive if you're not expecting it.
Its funny that in all this creative development, I have not lost track that God is there in my life. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that this is all part of that little dance that leads me on to a new path. Somehow, all this bizarre creative energy is His doing. I am just grateful to be having fun for a change.
Okay, now back to work... have a good week everyone!
Da Wig
Friday, September 14, 2007
Website Help Needed
Hi all,
I'm trying to test my new front page of my website - www.theadventurechronicles.com - and I seem to be having some problems on certain platforms. Its like the buttons don't want to work. And there seems to be a lag time in loading. Can some of you check out my front page and tell me what you think? I'm worried that the web inspectors might do something drastic if I don't get it fixed soon.
Thanks.
I'm trying to test my new front page of my website - www.theadventurechronicles.com - and I seem to be having some problems on certain platforms. Its like the buttons don't want to work. And there seems to be a lag time in loading. Can some of you check out my front page and tell me what you think? I'm worried that the web inspectors might do something drastic if I don't get it fixed soon.
Thanks.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Doing
It may seem that I've been quiet lately. Its not for a lack of thought. But sometimes thought becomes its own thing and sometimes thought is harnessed into action. Sometimes you reflect and sometimes you do. Right now, I'm doing.
But I can't help read things that others have written and I just can't quite find the words to respond. In A River Runs Through It, the main character remarks that if you listen closely to the river, you can hear God's words underneath the rocks. Well, there are times when I think my words go diving to look for them, because when I look around, my words are nowhere to be found. Its the written equivalent of being struck dumb.
And so, when I reach that situation where my words seem to be on vacation even as I'm stuck here left to fend for myself, I do two things - first, I become very quiet. Its easy to look intelligent if you never open your mouth, which is something the President's advisors might want to remind him from time to time. And second, I start doing. Doing up a storm. All the things I didn't do when I was too busy reflecting on the things I ought to be doing.
To be fair, scheduling seems to be a large part of it. I'm hardly around enough to reflect anymore. I've got class two nights a week, youth group one night a week, and church choirs on one night as well. Throw in all those pesky other meetings and planned outings and such and I've pretty much got things planned 8 or 9 nights a week. If I stopped doing, I'd have to reflect on how much I wasn't getting things done, and that's no fun. Far better to just do, and reflect later.
But not having the words means that when someone asks me, "What have you been doing lately?" my mind immediately clogs with images of all the stuff I've been doing. And because I can't unscramble all those thoughts with a tool as valuable as the English language, I just get this pained Neanderthal look on my face and reply with a very vague, "Things." Which isn't a lie. But its not very descriptive either.
You know, maybe I should add to my list of things to do - FIND WORDS. They must be around here somewhere. Of course, I do have a hole in one of my pockets, so perhaps they fell out and got lost. I should mend that hole while I'm doing things.
Anyway, I'm off to do some more. I'll check in as soon as I have something to reflect. In the meantime, expect some more announcements soon as all this doing seems to be paying off on getting things done.
But I can't help read things that others have written and I just can't quite find the words to respond. In A River Runs Through It, the main character remarks that if you listen closely to the river, you can hear God's words underneath the rocks. Well, there are times when I think my words go diving to look for them, because when I look around, my words are nowhere to be found. Its the written equivalent of being struck dumb.
And so, when I reach that situation where my words seem to be on vacation even as I'm stuck here left to fend for myself, I do two things - first, I become very quiet. Its easy to look intelligent if you never open your mouth, which is something the President's advisors might want to remind him from time to time. And second, I start doing. Doing up a storm. All the things I didn't do when I was too busy reflecting on the things I ought to be doing.
To be fair, scheduling seems to be a large part of it. I'm hardly around enough to reflect anymore. I've got class two nights a week, youth group one night a week, and church choirs on one night as well. Throw in all those pesky other meetings and planned outings and such and I've pretty much got things planned 8 or 9 nights a week. If I stopped doing, I'd have to reflect on how much I wasn't getting things done, and that's no fun. Far better to just do, and reflect later.
But not having the words means that when someone asks me, "What have you been doing lately?" my mind immediately clogs with images of all the stuff I've been doing. And because I can't unscramble all those thoughts with a tool as valuable as the English language, I just get this pained Neanderthal look on my face and reply with a very vague, "Things." Which isn't a lie. But its not very descriptive either.
You know, maybe I should add to my list of things to do - FIND WORDS. They must be around here somewhere. Of course, I do have a hole in one of my pockets, so perhaps they fell out and got lost. I should mend that hole while I'm doing things.
Anyway, I'm off to do some more. I'll check in as soon as I have something to reflect. In the meantime, expect some more announcements soon as all this doing seems to be paying off on getting things done.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Watchdog Group Says "High School Musical" Turning Kids Gay
Watchdog Group Says "High School Musical" Turning Kids Gay
COLORADO SPRINGS (CAP) - A conservative watchdog group has come down on the Disney Channel sensation High School Musical, saying that the TV movies are "minting the next generation of America's homosexuals" by introducing them to musical comedy at a young age.
"Parents may think it's very innocent," said James Dobson of Focus on the Family. "But just watch: one minute they're watching High School Musical, the next they're in the front row at Mamma Mia, their hand resting suggestively on a kneecap that's the same sex as theirs."
Though the main characters of Troy and Gabriella, played by teen idols Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens, are ostensibly boyfriend and girlfriend in the films, Dobson insists that their relationship is just a cover.
"You'll notice they don't even kiss until almost the end of the second movie," he said. "And even then, their mouths are closed - no tongues."
Dobson compared musical comedy to a "gateway drug," saying it's often the first step on the path to same-sex debauchery. "The studies are clear," he said, citing in particular a 2004 report by the Kenneth Mehlman Center for Public Affairs showing a clear progression from musical comedy to interior design, and from there to meticulously coiffed hair and a love of colored knit vests (perhaps olive green or burnt orange).
"Within a very short amount of time, even your casual musical comedy viewer is likely to become a flamboyant, family-values-eschewing homosexual," the report read.
Meanwhile, Disney CEO Robert A. "Bob" Iger released a statement yesterday disputing the claims. "There are absolutely, positively no homosexual undertones in either of our High School Musical movies, nor in any of the CDs, DVDs, posters, clothing or thousands of other related items available at Disney.com," said Iger.
"Unless you think maybe that there might be a market for it," he added.
Dobson, however, said that not only do the movies have a homosexual agenda, but that it's patently obvious. "Just look at that Zac Efron, with his skinny round tush and his tight pants, and those deep, sea blue eyes and the way he pouts with those full, red lips," he said.
Dobson then cut the interview short, noting he had to go use the bathroom at the Minneapolis-Saint Paul Airport.
(Now, that's some good satire!)
COLORADO SPRINGS (CAP) - A conservative watchdog group has come down on the Disney Channel sensation High School Musical, saying that the TV movies are "minting the next generation of America's homosexuals" by introducing them to musical comedy at a young age.
"Parents may think it's very innocent," said James Dobson of Focus on the Family. "But just watch: one minute they're watching High School Musical, the next they're in the front row at Mamma Mia, their hand resting suggestively on a kneecap that's the same sex as theirs."
Though the main characters of Troy and Gabriella, played by teen idols Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens, are ostensibly boyfriend and girlfriend in the films, Dobson insists that their relationship is just a cover.
"You'll notice they don't even kiss until almost the end of the second movie," he said. "And even then, their mouths are closed - no tongues."
Dobson compared musical comedy to a "gateway drug," saying it's often the first step on the path to same-sex debauchery. "The studies are clear," he said, citing in particular a 2004 report by the Kenneth Mehlman Center for Public Affairs showing a clear progression from musical comedy to interior design, and from there to meticulously coiffed hair and a love of colored knit vests (perhaps olive green or burnt orange).
"Within a very short amount of time, even your casual musical comedy viewer is likely to become a flamboyant, family-values-eschewing homosexual," the report read.
Meanwhile, Disney CEO Robert A. "Bob" Iger released a statement yesterday disputing the claims. "There are absolutely, positively no homosexual undertones in either of our High School Musical movies, nor in any of the CDs, DVDs, posters, clothing or thousands of other related items available at Disney.com," said Iger.
"Unless you think maybe that there might be a market for it," he added.
Dobson, however, said that not only do the movies have a homosexual agenda, but that it's patently obvious. "Just look at that Zac Efron, with his skinny round tush and his tight pants, and those deep, sea blue eyes and the way he pouts with those full, red lips," he said.
Dobson then cut the interview short, noting he had to go use the bathroom at the Minneapolis-Saint Paul Airport.
(Now, that's some good satire!)
Monday, September 10, 2007
The Secret of My Celeste
File this one under typical writer insanity...
A year ago, I was supposed to be in Florida meeting my dream woman - Celeste - the golf instructor. For those of you who remember, Celeste was a creation of mine from a series of blogs where I tried to imagine those ten days that I would spend in Florida last year. According to my imagination, I met Celeste at a golf lesson and we ended up going out for a few nights while I was in Florida. Of course, she wasn't real - in the sense that she didn't really exist, couldn't be actually touched, and certainly didn't have real lips to kiss me. But the imagination is a powerful thing according to Mickey Mouse and his trip Fantasmic.
For a writer to imagine a new character is nothing new. We do it so often and so routinely that it just becomes something rather boring - ordinary - commonplace. We are not really breathing life into a character, we are merely forming the outline, the structure, the accepted parameters of a pretend individual (like a forger might provide the documents for an alias). It is YOUR imagination that breathes life into a character. Without someone reading about the character, there can be no life given to this character. Its your imagination that gives a character its voice, its shape, its look, its spark of vitality. So the secret to the success of a writer's characters is mostly based on the writer's ability to stimulate that part of your brain that makes you breathe life into the writer's creation. Its a symbiotic relationship, and writers are often surprised what direction their characters take once life has been breathed into them by readers.
But Celeste is different. Celeste follows in a long line of different characters for me. To me, Celeste was alive. Is alive. Will be alive again. She is a tapping into a subconscious for me. She is a character that I found breathing and described to you and not the other way around.
Its a subtle psychological difference and its something that I've only noticed when I try to imagine female characters in love stories. To me, Celeste is closer akin to a fantasy than a character. She is what I'd Like To Have Happen To Me, and not some randomly generated plot driving floozy. The difference is quite stunning in terms of writing. Characters I control. They do what I tell them to do. They say their lines. And they die on cue. Girls like Celeste tell me what they're doing, even when it complicates the story line. They make me realize that I am lucky to have them. And that if it weren't for some trick of writing fate, I'd probably never even know them.
Let's be realistic - most great literary women are Celeste's. There's no way that Romeo meets Juliet and they immediately fall in love. There's no way that Juliet defies her parents and secretly marries Romeo. There's no way that Juliet agrees to fake her death because she loves Romeo so much that she's willing to do anything to be with him. And there's no way that Juliet kills herself when fate intervenes. These things don't happen to real people. These things don't happen to normal characters. They only happen to women of Celeste's ilk - creations of pure love - who show us not what the world actually presents, but what we'd LIKE TO HAVE HAPPEN TO US. Secretly, we'd all like to have a love that strong that we'd be willing to die for each other. Celeste, Juliet, Henriette, all of these women speak to our inner souls, our innermost desires, our Christian selfs. They remind us of the divine part of our nature. They remind us of what is true and noble and wonderful about life and love.
The secret of my Celeste is that she is that part of me that longs for the ultimate love of God. And she will not allow me to take any cheap substitutes.
A year ago, I was supposed to be in Florida meeting my dream woman - Celeste - the golf instructor. For those of you who remember, Celeste was a creation of mine from a series of blogs where I tried to imagine those ten days that I would spend in Florida last year. According to my imagination, I met Celeste at a golf lesson and we ended up going out for a few nights while I was in Florida. Of course, she wasn't real - in the sense that she didn't really exist, couldn't be actually touched, and certainly didn't have real lips to kiss me. But the imagination is a powerful thing according to Mickey Mouse and his trip Fantasmic.
For a writer to imagine a new character is nothing new. We do it so often and so routinely that it just becomes something rather boring - ordinary - commonplace. We are not really breathing life into a character, we are merely forming the outline, the structure, the accepted parameters of a pretend individual (like a forger might provide the documents for an alias). It is YOUR imagination that breathes life into a character. Without someone reading about the character, there can be no life given to this character. Its your imagination that gives a character its voice, its shape, its look, its spark of vitality. So the secret to the success of a writer's characters is mostly based on the writer's ability to stimulate that part of your brain that makes you breathe life into the writer's creation. Its a symbiotic relationship, and writers are often surprised what direction their characters take once life has been breathed into them by readers.
But Celeste is different. Celeste follows in a long line of different characters for me. To me, Celeste was alive. Is alive. Will be alive again. She is a tapping into a subconscious for me. She is a character that I found breathing and described to you and not the other way around.
Its a subtle psychological difference and its something that I've only noticed when I try to imagine female characters in love stories. To me, Celeste is closer akin to a fantasy than a character. She is what I'd Like To Have Happen To Me, and not some randomly generated plot driving floozy. The difference is quite stunning in terms of writing. Characters I control. They do what I tell them to do. They say their lines. And they die on cue. Girls like Celeste tell me what they're doing, even when it complicates the story line. They make me realize that I am lucky to have them. And that if it weren't for some trick of writing fate, I'd probably never even know them.
Let's be realistic - most great literary women are Celeste's. There's no way that Romeo meets Juliet and they immediately fall in love. There's no way that Juliet defies her parents and secretly marries Romeo. There's no way that Juliet agrees to fake her death because she loves Romeo so much that she's willing to do anything to be with him. And there's no way that Juliet kills herself when fate intervenes. These things don't happen to real people. These things don't happen to normal characters. They only happen to women of Celeste's ilk - creations of pure love - who show us not what the world actually presents, but what we'd LIKE TO HAVE HAPPEN TO US. Secretly, we'd all like to have a love that strong that we'd be willing to die for each other. Celeste, Juliet, Henriette, all of these women speak to our inner souls, our innermost desires, our Christian selfs. They remind us of the divine part of our nature. They remind us of what is true and noble and wonderful about life and love.
The secret of my Celeste is that she is that part of me that longs for the ultimate love of God. And she will not allow me to take any cheap substitutes.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Emptying The Clutter Part One - Chinese Products
Being a product manager for an import/export company that does business with several Asian manufacturers, you might expect that I have a very strong opinion about the availability of cheap manufactured goods from China. I do. They suck. Not only do they suck, but they are the single greatest threat to the United States of America, both in terms of its security and its hegemony in the rest of the world. Now, if we don't really care where we stand in the scheme of things, if we have no problem with going the way of Britain, Spain, and Rome and becoming a second rate world power, then we can simply ignore this blog. But if we've grown accustomed to being a leader in the world, then we simply can't ignore the danger such cheap products create.
So, why do we buy cheap products from China? Well, really, its a matter of supply and demand - more importantly, the Demand part. Let's start with WalMart.
While WalMart was by no means the first company to import products from China, they are certainly the best at it. Supplying the world's largest chain of stores requires extra ordinary effort on the behalf of WalMart. Most American companies can't keep up with the demand of the voracious Walmart shoppers - certainly not without wanting to realize a tidy profit as a result. In China, where profits can be measured in cents, not dollars, a product sold that realizes a few cents profit can be a huge boon to its manufacturers. So in China Walmart has a steady supply of products to fill its stores. It buys these products at incredibly cheap prices and passes on those savings to its shoppers. We buy things from Walmart because they are cheap. As a result, Walmart claims more and more of our business and gets larger and larger and needs more and more product and more and more of our money goes overseas to China. Demand fuels supply everytime.
This, of course, is not lost on those chains that are not called Walmart, nor on the manufacturers that supply those stores. In order to remain competitive with Walmart pricing, these manufacturers also have to start importing products from China. It doesn't matter that these products might be inferior to the products they already have. What matters is the price. As long as they are cheap, everyone can remain competitive. The second Walmart lowers their price to something less than we can offer, we lose that products sales to Walmart. Walmart keeps getting richer, and everyone else keeps getting poorer.
Soon you end up with a situation where 80% of all toys are produced in China, where 75% of all our food is produced in China, and where well over half of all our consumer goods are produced in China. Our manufacturers are laying off employees, suffering through hard times, and feeing the problem just to stay in business. Our money increasingly goes overseas. Our jobs increasingly go overseas.
In short, the purchasing of so many cheap products has turned the entire nation into a bunch of cheap whores - selling out to the lowest bidder every time.
So, one part of me is saddened that all this scrutiny is now being foist upon the Chinese market. I need those sales to keep my job and if there is too much of a backlash, business will surely suffer. Walmart will coast through such a downturn, but the rest of the companies who were forced to turn to China to save their necks, will be crushed under the weight of consumer indifference. On the other hand, any blow to the Chinese economy is good for the U.S.A. If you look at how quickly China has grown in the last ten years, it is primarily because we have been feeding it. China now has the world's fastest growing economy. Tie that to a nation of over 1 Billion consumers and look out. Demand for oil has caused the price to skyrocket. Imagine what demand for other products is going to do to the prices of other things. Five years ago, my very prescient friend told me that the one thing that scared him the most is the potential of China going capitalistic and democratic. If that happens, you can kiss our number one status in the world goodbye.
We made this happen. We demanded cheaper and cheaper products. We took the short term gain over the long term security. Its us that is to blame - not Mattel, not Walmart, and not the Bush/Clinton/Bush/Reagan governments. We drive the economy. If we want to get quality products back on the shelves and correct the imbalance in our economies, then we have to start putting our money where our mouths are - here in America.
There. Got that off my chest. Its now out of my mind. Some of the clutter is gone.
So, why do we buy cheap products from China? Well, really, its a matter of supply and demand - more importantly, the Demand part. Let's start with WalMart.
While WalMart was by no means the first company to import products from China, they are certainly the best at it. Supplying the world's largest chain of stores requires extra ordinary effort on the behalf of WalMart. Most American companies can't keep up with the demand of the voracious Walmart shoppers - certainly not without wanting to realize a tidy profit as a result. In China, where profits can be measured in cents, not dollars, a product sold that realizes a few cents profit can be a huge boon to its manufacturers. So in China Walmart has a steady supply of products to fill its stores. It buys these products at incredibly cheap prices and passes on those savings to its shoppers. We buy things from Walmart because they are cheap. As a result, Walmart claims more and more of our business and gets larger and larger and needs more and more product and more and more of our money goes overseas to China. Demand fuels supply everytime.
This, of course, is not lost on those chains that are not called Walmart, nor on the manufacturers that supply those stores. In order to remain competitive with Walmart pricing, these manufacturers also have to start importing products from China. It doesn't matter that these products might be inferior to the products they already have. What matters is the price. As long as they are cheap, everyone can remain competitive. The second Walmart lowers their price to something less than we can offer, we lose that products sales to Walmart. Walmart keeps getting richer, and everyone else keeps getting poorer.
Soon you end up with a situation where 80% of all toys are produced in China, where 75% of all our food is produced in China, and where well over half of all our consumer goods are produced in China. Our manufacturers are laying off employees, suffering through hard times, and feeing the problem just to stay in business. Our money increasingly goes overseas. Our jobs increasingly go overseas.
In short, the purchasing of so many cheap products has turned the entire nation into a bunch of cheap whores - selling out to the lowest bidder every time.
So, one part of me is saddened that all this scrutiny is now being foist upon the Chinese market. I need those sales to keep my job and if there is too much of a backlash, business will surely suffer. Walmart will coast through such a downturn, but the rest of the companies who were forced to turn to China to save their necks, will be crushed under the weight of consumer indifference. On the other hand, any blow to the Chinese economy is good for the U.S.A. If you look at how quickly China has grown in the last ten years, it is primarily because we have been feeding it. China now has the world's fastest growing economy. Tie that to a nation of over 1 Billion consumers and look out. Demand for oil has caused the price to skyrocket. Imagine what demand for other products is going to do to the prices of other things. Five years ago, my very prescient friend told me that the one thing that scared him the most is the potential of China going capitalistic and democratic. If that happens, you can kiss our number one status in the world goodbye.
We made this happen. We demanded cheaper and cheaper products. We took the short term gain over the long term security. Its us that is to blame - not Mattel, not Walmart, and not the Bush/Clinton/Bush/Reagan governments. We drive the economy. If we want to get quality products back on the shelves and correct the imbalance in our economies, then we have to start putting our money where our mouths are - here in America.
There. Got that off my chest. Its now out of my mind. Some of the clutter is gone.
Friday, August 31, 2007
We're Only Human
Sometimes being a Christian sucks. It just does. We are called by Jesus to a higher standard that requires us to humble ourselves before our enemies - to not hate them, to not wish them harm, to not want to run as far away from them as possible, to not fear them. But there are so many of them, so many people that wish us ill, or hate us, or chase us, or make us afraid. Its hard not to want to lash out, to strike back, to say derogatory things, to hide and run away. It is in our nature to do so. And to do the opposite is almost more difficult than dealing with the enemy in the first place.
We are only human. Our entire knowledge of the world is shaped by the things we perceive using our senses - things we see, things we hear, things we touch, things we smell, and things we taste. While we can KNOW people by seeing them regularly or hearing from them on the phone, or, unfortunately, smelling them, or more fortunately touching them or tasting them - we can never really KNOW KNOW them. We can't see inside their heads and we can't envision the world the way they envision it. We can't know what they see, or hear, or touch, etc... This can make us feel quite lonely even when we are in amongst a large group of people. Sometimes, we just can't communicate the way we feel, and we can't understand the way people feel about us. We are left to guess what those feelings are and to act on those guesses. At times, this can create an agony in us far greater than anything we are actually experiencing because we imagine that our guesses are our perceptions. We imagine being slighted. We imagine people whispering about us behind our backs. We imagine conversations that never take place. We FEAR for ourselves and our situations from imaginary foes. And we act on those fears. It is, perhaps, the most human thing that we do.
Those fears can lead to us to suspect that some people have bad feelings towards us. They can make us "realize" that we are not well liked or well received. They can exacerbate a situation that was minor and turn it into a major battle. We begin to be ANGRY with our friends, family and brothers and sisters. We begin to try and pick fights with them, just to confirm that which we already know. We can begin to HATE our enemies. And we can begin to act on that hate by drawing inside ourselves, by returning slights - real or imagined, by actively trying to give back the hatred that we've received. We can become perpetrators when we thought we were victims. We can try to destroy people over the mere perception that they are trying to destroy us.
And when we give in to these hatreds, we only bring SUFFERING. Suffering for ourselves and for our enemies and for everyone else caught up in the middle. When there is a breakdown in the safe and normal social order, everyone suffers. If one person suffers, a ripple effect will spread that suffering to everyone connected with that one person. And when two people are fighting, the number of people suffering doubles.
There is only one known way to circumvent the entire process - FORGIVENESS. And no, not in the way that we are naturally inclined to think as humans. No, we are not to seek forgiveness from others, we are to offer it. And offer it again. And again and again and again. We are to ask forgiveness of our friends, and family and brothers and sisters for thinking ill of them and for taking offense to minor things and for not being able to better communicate our feelings and our fears, to constantly feel the need for reassurance, to not trust their motivations, to not embrace them no matter what deficiences we perceive them to have. We are to offer forgiveness, to humble ourselves before them, and to seek reconciliation.
Its not easy being a Christian. It goes against everything we've ever felt deep down inside. And yet, it is so important for us to follow these precepts. It is important for us to love one another as God loves us.
Fear leads to anger and anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering. But forgiveness leads to love and to God. We can't choose to be human. But we can choose to be forgiven.
We are only human. Our entire knowledge of the world is shaped by the things we perceive using our senses - things we see, things we hear, things we touch, things we smell, and things we taste. While we can KNOW people by seeing them regularly or hearing from them on the phone, or, unfortunately, smelling them, or more fortunately touching them or tasting them - we can never really KNOW KNOW them. We can't see inside their heads and we can't envision the world the way they envision it. We can't know what they see, or hear, or touch, etc... This can make us feel quite lonely even when we are in amongst a large group of people. Sometimes, we just can't communicate the way we feel, and we can't understand the way people feel about us. We are left to guess what those feelings are and to act on those guesses. At times, this can create an agony in us far greater than anything we are actually experiencing because we imagine that our guesses are our perceptions. We imagine being slighted. We imagine people whispering about us behind our backs. We imagine conversations that never take place. We FEAR for ourselves and our situations from imaginary foes. And we act on those fears. It is, perhaps, the most human thing that we do.
Those fears can lead to us to suspect that some people have bad feelings towards us. They can make us "realize" that we are not well liked or well received. They can exacerbate a situation that was minor and turn it into a major battle. We begin to be ANGRY with our friends, family and brothers and sisters. We begin to try and pick fights with them, just to confirm that which we already know. We can begin to HATE our enemies. And we can begin to act on that hate by drawing inside ourselves, by returning slights - real or imagined, by actively trying to give back the hatred that we've received. We can become perpetrators when we thought we were victims. We can try to destroy people over the mere perception that they are trying to destroy us.
And when we give in to these hatreds, we only bring SUFFERING. Suffering for ourselves and for our enemies and for everyone else caught up in the middle. When there is a breakdown in the safe and normal social order, everyone suffers. If one person suffers, a ripple effect will spread that suffering to everyone connected with that one person. And when two people are fighting, the number of people suffering doubles.
There is only one known way to circumvent the entire process - FORGIVENESS. And no, not in the way that we are naturally inclined to think as humans. No, we are not to seek forgiveness from others, we are to offer it. And offer it again. And again and again and again. We are to ask forgiveness of our friends, and family and brothers and sisters for thinking ill of them and for taking offense to minor things and for not being able to better communicate our feelings and our fears, to constantly feel the need for reassurance, to not trust their motivations, to not embrace them no matter what deficiences we perceive them to have. We are to offer forgiveness, to humble ourselves before them, and to seek reconciliation.
Its not easy being a Christian. It goes against everything we've ever felt deep down inside. And yet, it is so important for us to follow these precepts. It is important for us to love one another as God loves us.
Fear leads to anger and anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering. But forgiveness leads to love and to God. We can't choose to be human. But we can choose to be forgiven.
Monday, August 27, 2007
The abuse goes on...
Now I know what it is like to be in an abusive relationship. And I also understand how difficult it is to get out of one, whether you want to or not.
Many have accused my church of being disfunctional in the past. I have, for the most part, disagreed with their final assessments. I wouldn't say that I couldn't understand their disapproval - because I'd seen it happen to others and, indeed, had felt its impact myself. The people of my church have a tendency to take and take and take and to never give back. Your value to them is often based on the idea of what have you done for me lately. People who do not contribute, or who are no longer able to contribute, quickly find themselves forgotten and discarded. But worse than that, contributions are never appreciated, merely assessed and scored on some giant tally sheet with the suspicion that if you are willing to contribute this much, you must be hiding a great deal more somewhere else that you have yet to contribute. So even those who contribute don't escape the scrutiny of a church that continues to want more of whatever you have to offer. I am not coming to this conclusion after a particular incident, but a particular incident has finally prompted me to come forward with this conclusion.
I thought I could change the church. I thought I could, in some way, prove myself worthy of it, could earn its love and admiration. I realize now that I will never achieve that goal and that such an achievement is impossible. If I continue to remain in this relationship, the church will do its best to bleed me dry and then discard me.
However, when I have tried to write my resignation, I have discovered that I can not leave this church or this disfunctional relationship. The good times and the good people are becoming more and more infrequent, but I still can not abandon them entirely - nor do I feel that the time is yet right for that move.
Instead, I will fight back. I will no longer take the abuse that is heaped upon me. And I will no longer give and give and give until I have nothing more. The next time someone questions my dedication to any portion of the church, I will merely reply, "You can try to replace me if you want. I have no more to give to you." I don't want to become an uncooperative a$$, but the truth is, my church needs to see that they can not continue down this path and still claim to be a church of Jesus Christ.
I'd better shut up now before I start into another rant. Please pray for me and for my church.
Many have accused my church of being disfunctional in the past. I have, for the most part, disagreed with their final assessments. I wouldn't say that I couldn't understand their disapproval - because I'd seen it happen to others and, indeed, had felt its impact myself. The people of my church have a tendency to take and take and take and to never give back. Your value to them is often based on the idea of what have you done for me lately. People who do not contribute, or who are no longer able to contribute, quickly find themselves forgotten and discarded. But worse than that, contributions are never appreciated, merely assessed and scored on some giant tally sheet with the suspicion that if you are willing to contribute this much, you must be hiding a great deal more somewhere else that you have yet to contribute. So even those who contribute don't escape the scrutiny of a church that continues to want more of whatever you have to offer. I am not coming to this conclusion after a particular incident, but a particular incident has finally prompted me to come forward with this conclusion.
I thought I could change the church. I thought I could, in some way, prove myself worthy of it, could earn its love and admiration. I realize now that I will never achieve that goal and that such an achievement is impossible. If I continue to remain in this relationship, the church will do its best to bleed me dry and then discard me.
However, when I have tried to write my resignation, I have discovered that I can not leave this church or this disfunctional relationship. The good times and the good people are becoming more and more infrequent, but I still can not abandon them entirely - nor do I feel that the time is yet right for that move.
Instead, I will fight back. I will no longer take the abuse that is heaped upon me. And I will no longer give and give and give until I have nothing more. The next time someone questions my dedication to any portion of the church, I will merely reply, "You can try to replace me if you want. I have no more to give to you." I don't want to become an uncooperative a$$, but the truth is, my church needs to see that they can not continue down this path and still claim to be a church of Jesus Christ.
I'd better shut up now before I start into another rant. Please pray for me and for my church.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
A Perfect Storm
Standing at the bottom of a very large wave of incoming projects, I can't help but be awed by the perfect storm of events that have led me to this moment. Every single project that I have undertaken to perform is a logical extention of me, my interests, and my beliefs. So, how did I end up here? How did I get to the point where I'm about to be flattened by the sheer enormity of work I'm about to face?
First, the obvious... I have to work to make a living. Money doesn't grow on trees in California ever since they were all cut down to make way for freeways. So, working is a constant 9 to 5 interupption in the rest of my normal routine. Sometimes, I hardly notice it. And sometimes... Massive Sales Meeting, New products arriving, China Lead Tests everywhere, preparing for next year's big show and even more new products, inventory incredibly out of whack, two major orders in the same week depleting all of my stock... sometimes work can almost be a perfect storm in and of itself.
Second, the committments... Being a youth group leader can be fun, but getting a program restarted can feel a little bit like one of those intensely dramatic moments of E.R. - where the patient is not only lying on the operating table, dying right in front of you, but the city has been plunged in a huge black out, the back up generators don't work, terrorists have seized the hospital, and a large semi-helicopter just crashed through one of the walls, and, of course, the patient has a bomb strapped to their chest. Nevertheless, God shrugs His shoulders and says, "That's your problem." So, I have an Ice Cream Social this week, and the launch of a youth group program in two weeks, several youth events to plan, and meetings to attend, and people already questioning my committment to the program because I have to miss two weeks for basketball (see below). Yet, I wouldn't give it up, nor singing in the choir, nor playing the handbells, nor serving on the website committee, because a) I'm committed to the church and to my fellow Christians and to following the way of Jesus Christ. Between church and work, I've already committed over 50 hours a week.
Third, the education... So, what was I thinking then, when I decided to go back to school? What could have possibly lead me down this path? Yet, for the past two decades I've always had an outside project that was a means to furthering my education or enriching my knowledge in some way. Whether I was learning how to build websites, or Flash, or writing a Novel, or exploring the city and state, I have always been active in doing things that don't let me sit on my a$$ and watch TV. Going back to college, something I have been planning since I left the darn place, was just a logical next step in my educational plans. Two classes, plus an online class, and all the homework, reading, and projects that those classes entail, and suddenly my committment is well over 60 hours a week.
Fourth, the family... I'm including basketball here because as much as I love watching the college game, I wouldn't be doing the stats for USF if it weren't for family ties. An average of two games a week means an additional 6 hours of committment from November through March, and often at times when I really can least afford it. Yet, I dare not abandon this job because of its connection to my family. But there are other family committments as well. I really learned this lesson while working on the Novel, that as much as it helped get the story written, abandoning my family and friends for weeks and months on end while I wrote put a severe strain on my relationships and on my health. It seems that the more time you commit to other things, the more you have to make room for family and friends (which might be contradictory, but is certainly born out by life.) So, if I was doing 60 plus hours before, after I add family and friends to my list, that number grows to over 80 hours a week.
Fifth, the incidentals... And this is the Katrina like fear of anyone with 80 plus hours of committment already guaranteed - the incidentals, the surprises, and the things beyond our control. Illness, fatigue, lost hours, road blocks, detours... all of these things that seem to come out of nowhere and take what little time we already had and leave us with almost nothing for ourselves. We become shells of people, shadows, barely able to concentrate on one project while already planning the next one. If something should even go minorly wrong, the whole perfect schedule should collapse. It only takes one hole in a levee before flooding can occur, and sometimes only one more inch of rain will swamp an entire county. All I can do with the incidentals is hope that they aren't severe and see what I can do to minimize them.
So, what's left of me? What's left for time to watch TV? What's left for time to excersise? What's left for prayer and prayerful consideration? Am I a product of this fast paced world we live in? Or am I merely taking advantage of all this free time I've been granted? I don't know and I don't have time to contemplate the answers. Instead, I'll just keep plunging forward until I hit a wall and have to stop.
I apologize in advance if I'm absent a great deal these next few months. I'll be somewhere amongst the large waves of my life - trying to stay afloat and happy for a chance to swim.
First, the obvious... I have to work to make a living. Money doesn't grow on trees in California ever since they were all cut down to make way for freeways. So, working is a constant 9 to 5 interupption in the rest of my normal routine. Sometimes, I hardly notice it. And sometimes... Massive Sales Meeting, New products arriving, China Lead Tests everywhere, preparing for next year's big show and even more new products, inventory incredibly out of whack, two major orders in the same week depleting all of my stock... sometimes work can almost be a perfect storm in and of itself.
Second, the committments... Being a youth group leader can be fun, but getting a program restarted can feel a little bit like one of those intensely dramatic moments of E.R. - where the patient is not only lying on the operating table, dying right in front of you, but the city has been plunged in a huge black out, the back up generators don't work, terrorists have seized the hospital, and a large semi-helicopter just crashed through one of the walls, and, of course, the patient has a bomb strapped to their chest. Nevertheless, God shrugs His shoulders and says, "That's your problem." So, I have an Ice Cream Social this week, and the launch of a youth group program in two weeks, several youth events to plan, and meetings to attend, and people already questioning my committment to the program because I have to miss two weeks for basketball (see below). Yet, I wouldn't give it up, nor singing in the choir, nor playing the handbells, nor serving on the website committee, because a) I'm committed to the church and to my fellow Christians and to following the way of Jesus Christ. Between church and work, I've already committed over 50 hours a week.
Third, the education... So, what was I thinking then, when I decided to go back to school? What could have possibly lead me down this path? Yet, for the past two decades I've always had an outside project that was a means to furthering my education or enriching my knowledge in some way. Whether I was learning how to build websites, or Flash, or writing a Novel, or exploring the city and state, I have always been active in doing things that don't let me sit on my a$$ and watch TV. Going back to college, something I have been planning since I left the darn place, was just a logical next step in my educational plans. Two classes, plus an online class, and all the homework, reading, and projects that those classes entail, and suddenly my committment is well over 60 hours a week.
Fourth, the family... I'm including basketball here because as much as I love watching the college game, I wouldn't be doing the stats for USF if it weren't for family ties. An average of two games a week means an additional 6 hours of committment from November through March, and often at times when I really can least afford it. Yet, I dare not abandon this job because of its connection to my family. But there are other family committments as well. I really learned this lesson while working on the Novel, that as much as it helped get the story written, abandoning my family and friends for weeks and months on end while I wrote put a severe strain on my relationships and on my health. It seems that the more time you commit to other things, the more you have to make room for family and friends (which might be contradictory, but is certainly born out by life.) So, if I was doing 60 plus hours before, after I add family and friends to my list, that number grows to over 80 hours a week.
Fifth, the incidentals... And this is the Katrina like fear of anyone with 80 plus hours of committment already guaranteed - the incidentals, the surprises, and the things beyond our control. Illness, fatigue, lost hours, road blocks, detours... all of these things that seem to come out of nowhere and take what little time we already had and leave us with almost nothing for ourselves. We become shells of people, shadows, barely able to concentrate on one project while already planning the next one. If something should even go minorly wrong, the whole perfect schedule should collapse. It only takes one hole in a levee before flooding can occur, and sometimes only one more inch of rain will swamp an entire county. All I can do with the incidentals is hope that they aren't severe and see what I can do to minimize them.
So, what's left of me? What's left for time to watch TV? What's left for time to excersise? What's left for prayer and prayerful consideration? Am I a product of this fast paced world we live in? Or am I merely taking advantage of all this free time I've been granted? I don't know and I don't have time to contemplate the answers. Instead, I'll just keep plunging forward until I hit a wall and have to stop.
I apologize in advance if I'm absent a great deal these next few months. I'll be somewhere amongst the large waves of my life - trying to stay afloat and happy for a chance to swim.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Sports and the Law - Several Case Studies
We can probably start the blame with OJ - a charismatic former sports star and Hall of Famer who allegedly killed his ex-wife and her "friend" one evening in Los Angeles. We all think we know what happened, but truth be told, we don't have a clue. We have some facts. They have some other facts. And there are a whole lot of facts missing. The case, interestingly, divided the populace in half largely on racial lines. White people tended to overwhelmingly believe the man guilty, black people believed him innocent. What we can say with a certain amount of conviction (pun intended) is that a jury of his peers after sitting through the trial of the century, found him Not Guilty of all charges. Whether through courtroom dramatics or lack of evidence or a sincere disbelief in the prosecution's case, OJ walked free. And has been relatively vilified ever since.
So in the case of the People vs. OJ, we have to say OJ 1, the People 2. People win. OJ loses.
About five years later, we started hearing rumors of steroid use in baseball. The funny thing is that these rumors were just rumors until the federal government decided to arrest the owners and operators of the BALCO lab that was allegedly supplying athletes with the performance enhancing drugs. This led to a Grand Jury and to testimony and to leaked testimony and to all sorts of accusations flying everywhere. But as to actual justice? So far, the only people tried and convicted were those first arrested - the BALCO Lab people.
Of course, you know, this is where I go off on Barry Bonds. I have defended Barry Bonds again and again not because of my belief in whether he used steroids or not, but in my belief that he has not been afforded an opportunity to actually defend himself. He has never been on trial. He has never been accused of anything. And after more than five years of accusations and recriminations, nobody has ever actually filed any charges against him. Nevertheless, Barry Bonds has been accused and found guilty by the general public without ever letting the slugger explain his side of the story. Clearly a text book case of mob justice.
In this case, Barry 0, Mob 1. The Mob wins. Barry loses.
In Duke, the same Mob was ready to tar and feather the members of the Duke LaCrosse team after an overzealous prosecutor used the case against them to get reelected despite the fact that there was little evidence to support the charges. The Duke LaCrosse team had to forfeit the rest of the season, the coach lost his job, and four players were arrested and spent years in jail and under suspicion before being cleared of all charges.
In this case, LaCrosse Team 0, Mob 1. The Mob won. Justice lost.
But this post is actually not about OJ, Barry, or the Duke LaCrosse team. It's about Michael Vick. Here is a man who has been accused of creating, and operating, a dog fighting ring. Being a dog owner, I found the charges to be the sort of thing that made me sick and I was incredibly upset about the whole concept. However, I held out hope that the entire thing had been some sort of misunderstanding. I hoped for the man's innocence. Not because I like Michael Vick - I don't, and I think he's a lousy football QB as well - but because its what we're supposed to do as Americans, believe in each other's innocence, until we can prove guilt.
In Vick's case, the NFL acted as they needed to, taking the position of innocent until proven guilty. They did not allow mob justice to ruin a man on the basis of incredible accusations. And they let the system play out the way it was supposed to. That Vick justified everyone's hatred by agreeing to plead guilty yesterday does not mean that the NFL didn't act swiftly enough to punish Vick. What it means is that the NFL has respect not only for the letter of the law, but for its intent as well.
I am glad Vick is going to jail. And I hope they lock him away for a very long time. And if it should ever be proven that OJ killed his ex-wife, I will be happy to see him behind bars. And if Barry should ever be convicted of using steroids, he should go there as well. And the same thing with the members of the Duke LaCrosse Team. But we have a system of laws in the country that are founded on a basic principle of innocent until proven guilty. It is a system of law that we need to protect and preserve especially in light of situations like these. I don't care if you are the biggest scumbag on the planet, you ought to be proven guilty every time. I know that its something I'd want people to take seriously if I were ever accused of doing something that I'd not done, and I bet you'd want the same if it were to ever happen to you. If you are guilty, then you should do jail time... but only after we prove it.
So in the case of the People vs. OJ, we have to say OJ 1, the People 2. People win. OJ loses.
About five years later, we started hearing rumors of steroid use in baseball. The funny thing is that these rumors were just rumors until the federal government decided to arrest the owners and operators of the BALCO lab that was allegedly supplying athletes with the performance enhancing drugs. This led to a Grand Jury and to testimony and to leaked testimony and to all sorts of accusations flying everywhere. But as to actual justice? So far, the only people tried and convicted were those first arrested - the BALCO Lab people.
Of course, you know, this is where I go off on Barry Bonds. I have defended Barry Bonds again and again not because of my belief in whether he used steroids or not, but in my belief that he has not been afforded an opportunity to actually defend himself. He has never been on trial. He has never been accused of anything. And after more than five years of accusations and recriminations, nobody has ever actually filed any charges against him. Nevertheless, Barry Bonds has been accused and found guilty by the general public without ever letting the slugger explain his side of the story. Clearly a text book case of mob justice.
In this case, Barry 0, Mob 1. The Mob wins. Barry loses.
In Duke, the same Mob was ready to tar and feather the members of the Duke LaCrosse team after an overzealous prosecutor used the case against them to get reelected despite the fact that there was little evidence to support the charges. The Duke LaCrosse team had to forfeit the rest of the season, the coach lost his job, and four players were arrested and spent years in jail and under suspicion before being cleared of all charges.
In this case, LaCrosse Team 0, Mob 1. The Mob won. Justice lost.
But this post is actually not about OJ, Barry, or the Duke LaCrosse team. It's about Michael Vick. Here is a man who has been accused of creating, and operating, a dog fighting ring. Being a dog owner, I found the charges to be the sort of thing that made me sick and I was incredibly upset about the whole concept. However, I held out hope that the entire thing had been some sort of misunderstanding. I hoped for the man's innocence. Not because I like Michael Vick - I don't, and I think he's a lousy football QB as well - but because its what we're supposed to do as Americans, believe in each other's innocence, until we can prove guilt.
In Vick's case, the NFL acted as they needed to, taking the position of innocent until proven guilty. They did not allow mob justice to ruin a man on the basis of incredible accusations. And they let the system play out the way it was supposed to. That Vick justified everyone's hatred by agreeing to plead guilty yesterday does not mean that the NFL didn't act swiftly enough to punish Vick. What it means is that the NFL has respect not only for the letter of the law, but for its intent as well.
I am glad Vick is going to jail. And I hope they lock him away for a very long time. And if it should ever be proven that OJ killed his ex-wife, I will be happy to see him behind bars. And if Barry should ever be convicted of using steroids, he should go there as well. And the same thing with the members of the Duke LaCrosse Team. But we have a system of laws in the country that are founded on a basic principle of innocent until proven guilty. It is a system of law that we need to protect and preserve especially in light of situations like these. I don't care if you are the biggest scumbag on the planet, you ought to be proven guilty every time. I know that its something I'd want people to take seriously if I were ever accused of doing something that I'd not done, and I bet you'd want the same if it were to ever happen to you. If you are guilty, then you should do jail time... but only after we prove it.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Agony
It was cold there in the church pew as my hand hovered over my hip pocket. Up at the pulpit, I could see the Pastor doing the same. Our eyes locked. Somewhere in the distance, a clock ticked, a dog howled. A tumbleweed rolled between us. I used my tongue to move the cheroot from one side of my mouth to the other. I squinted. We stared. And then, in a blinding flash, I drew.
It was sweet agony.
I am not a rich person - not by any stretch of the imagination. I am owned more by giant money grubbing corporations than most people. I have never in my whole life owned anything close to even $10,000 (except debt... I've owned a LOT of debt) and that includes properties (though maybe at one time if I had sold my entire X-Men collection when the going was good... but even then I doubt it). As a result I know the value of every cent I have and can usually stretch it to go as far as I possibly can. I've lived on the edge of poverty for so long, I've forgotten that there is a rich center out there somewhere. If I were to ever win the lottery, I wouldn't know what to do with the money.
I had $40 in my wallet. Two $20's and nothing smaller. I needed that money. There were plenty of people in the congregation who had infinitely more than I did - let them put money in the collection plate. If I put a $20 bill in the collection plate, I might not eat this week.
Wave after wave of convictions hit me in the face. The sermon was about having faith. The anthem was about keeping a lamp lit for God. Again and again, I kept thinking about that old woman who only had one copper coin and she had more faith than all the fat cats of Jerusalem because it was her only coin. Surely that didn't apply to me? Surely the old woman had food back in her apartment? Wasn't the one copper coin the only money the old woman had left AFTER a day out at the hair dresser and the florist and a nice meal with her grandchildren? Yes. No. And No. Quit changing the subject.
It was Jesus who saw the woman's sacrifice. Nobody else even paid any attention to her. Yet, I imagined the look on the priest's faces when they collected that offering and saw the single copper coin. "Who threw that in there? They might as well not have even bothered! What are we going to do with one copper coin? We can't pay our electricity bill. We can't feed our priests. We can't even run a website with this coin. Some people have no respect for the Lord." It was Jesus who saw this woman's suffering, who knew what one measly copper coin meant to her, who could see that she would go hungry that night for lack of food, who could see that tomorrow she would be out working and hustling for more coins and that she would make the same sacrifice again and again and again because while she didn't have much, she loved God and she honored God and she returned to God what He had given her so that it might be used to help those even less fortunate than herself. Jesus saw this and He had to point it out to the disciples. Her sacrifice became one of His greatest lessons. And her faith was counted as righteousness.
I pictured the miners trapped in that mine. And I pictured those monsoon victims in India and Bangladesh. And I pictured homeless people on the streets without food or shelter. I could chance it. I could have faith that my sacrifice would not go in vain and that even if I suffered a little, my $20 might go a long way to helping those who suffered a lot.
In the end, though I agonized for half an hour, drawing the $20 from my wallet was easy. Placing it in the collection plate was almost a relief. And I quickly forgot about it.
Except...
I started agonizing about whether I should have put all $40 in the collection plate. I still have so long to go.
It was sweet agony.
I am not a rich person - not by any stretch of the imagination. I am owned more by giant money grubbing corporations than most people. I have never in my whole life owned anything close to even $10,000 (except debt... I've owned a LOT of debt) and that includes properties (though maybe at one time if I had sold my entire X-Men collection when the going was good... but even then I doubt it). As a result I know the value of every cent I have and can usually stretch it to go as far as I possibly can. I've lived on the edge of poverty for so long, I've forgotten that there is a rich center out there somewhere. If I were to ever win the lottery, I wouldn't know what to do with the money.
I had $40 in my wallet. Two $20's and nothing smaller. I needed that money. There were plenty of people in the congregation who had infinitely more than I did - let them put money in the collection plate. If I put a $20 bill in the collection plate, I might not eat this week.
Wave after wave of convictions hit me in the face. The sermon was about having faith. The anthem was about keeping a lamp lit for God. Again and again, I kept thinking about that old woman who only had one copper coin and she had more faith than all the fat cats of Jerusalem because it was her only coin. Surely that didn't apply to me? Surely the old woman had food back in her apartment? Wasn't the one copper coin the only money the old woman had left AFTER a day out at the hair dresser and the florist and a nice meal with her grandchildren? Yes. No. And No. Quit changing the subject.
It was Jesus who saw the woman's sacrifice. Nobody else even paid any attention to her. Yet, I imagined the look on the priest's faces when they collected that offering and saw the single copper coin. "Who threw that in there? They might as well not have even bothered! What are we going to do with one copper coin? We can't pay our electricity bill. We can't feed our priests. We can't even run a website with this coin. Some people have no respect for the Lord." It was Jesus who saw this woman's suffering, who knew what one measly copper coin meant to her, who could see that she would go hungry that night for lack of food, who could see that tomorrow she would be out working and hustling for more coins and that she would make the same sacrifice again and again and again because while she didn't have much, she loved God and she honored God and she returned to God what He had given her so that it might be used to help those even less fortunate than herself. Jesus saw this and He had to point it out to the disciples. Her sacrifice became one of His greatest lessons. And her faith was counted as righteousness.
I pictured the miners trapped in that mine. And I pictured those monsoon victims in India and Bangladesh. And I pictured homeless people on the streets without food or shelter. I could chance it. I could have faith that my sacrifice would not go in vain and that even if I suffered a little, my $20 might go a long way to helping those who suffered a lot.
In the end, though I agonized for half an hour, drawing the $20 from my wallet was easy. Placing it in the collection plate was almost a relief. And I quickly forgot about it.
Except...
I started agonizing about whether I should have put all $40 in the collection plate. I still have so long to go.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
A N N O U N C E M E N T ! ! !
I'm
(Scroll Down)
Pregnant
Pause...
(Scroll Down)
Expecting
You All
To visit my new website: WWW.HELPWILLTRAIN.ORG
(whenever it is finally finished... ;)
Over the next 12 months I have an ambitious plan to transform myself from overweight wallflower (to wallflowers what the ivy at Wrigley Field is to hanging plants) into studmuffin extraordinaire, Will T. Thrill (the last of the red hot louvers ;)
In order to accomplish this amazing feat - a task so monumental that tunneling under the English Channel looks easy by comparison - I will need a dedicated group of volunteers to help me train for this task. I will need physical trainers and weight training coaches and people to hike with me and people to kick me when I'm down and people to pray for me and people to not tempt me with ooozy thick pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, mushrooms, some of those spicy flakes that you pour on top with the parmesan cheese and... uh, where was I?
Anyway, that's where I need all of your help. You see, it occurred to me the other day that its more fun to be in agony with friends, family, and other assorted oddballs and so I thought it might be an interesting experiment to spread the wealth, so to speak. If I could, then, find a way to arrange it so that when I decide to go for a jog on a Friday evening, someone could join me and tell me I run like a girl (or guy, depending on the gender of this jogging companion), I thought I might actually tone up, tune in, and avoid take out a lot faster.
So, my trusty HELP WILL TRAIN webmaster and computer guru, Carl Tanner and I have been secretly developing the latest technology over the past, oh, six days or so, to create just such a website. This was all going to be explained to you in a fantastic film that I've been creating for the site, but, alas, I have run out of time. You'll just have to wait to see the film when the site goes active sometime tomorrow evening.
Anti-climactic, right? Would it help if I said I can prove that Global Warming is true? No, probably not, huh... I've dashed your expectations that I was a)Winning the lottery and would treat you all to a trip to Disney World, b)Meeting a man in Paris whose kind and wonderful and I'm getting married (Father of the Bride, in case you were wondering), or c)Discovered my long lost twin while at summer camp this year. Well, get over it. Compared to your deflated expectations, my problems are colossal!
And now... on with your lives...
(Scroll Down)
Pregnant
Pause...
(Scroll Down)
Expecting
You All
To visit my new website: WWW.HELPWILLTRAIN.ORG
(whenever it is finally finished... ;)
Over the next 12 months I have an ambitious plan to transform myself from overweight wallflower (to wallflowers what the ivy at Wrigley Field is to hanging plants) into studmuffin extraordinaire, Will T. Thrill (the last of the red hot louvers ;)
In order to accomplish this amazing feat - a task so monumental that tunneling under the English Channel looks easy by comparison - I will need a dedicated group of volunteers to help me train for this task. I will need physical trainers and weight training coaches and people to hike with me and people to kick me when I'm down and people to pray for me and people to not tempt me with ooozy thick pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, mushrooms, some of those spicy flakes that you pour on top with the parmesan cheese and... uh, where was I?
Anyway, that's where I need all of your help. You see, it occurred to me the other day that its more fun to be in agony with friends, family, and other assorted oddballs and so I thought it might be an interesting experiment to spread the wealth, so to speak. If I could, then, find a way to arrange it so that when I decide to go for a jog on a Friday evening, someone could join me and tell me I run like a girl (or guy, depending on the gender of this jogging companion), I thought I might actually tone up, tune in, and avoid take out a lot faster.
So, my trusty HELP WILL TRAIN webmaster and computer guru, Carl Tanner and I have been secretly developing the latest technology over the past, oh, six days or so, to create just such a website. This was all going to be explained to you in a fantastic film that I've been creating for the site, but, alas, I have run out of time. You'll just have to wait to see the film when the site goes active sometime tomorrow evening.
Anti-climactic, right? Would it help if I said I can prove that Global Warming is true? No, probably not, huh... I've dashed your expectations that I was a)Winning the lottery and would treat you all to a trip to Disney World, b)Meeting a man in Paris whose kind and wonderful and I'm getting married (Father of the Bride, in case you were wondering), or c)Discovered my long lost twin while at summer camp this year. Well, get over it. Compared to your deflated expectations, my problems are colossal!
And now... on with your lives...
Is there room for a Hallelujah in your IPOD?
So before the announcement, a little update news:
I've been having computer problems here at work and as a result, some of the elements of the announcement have not yet materialized (despite working until 1am each of the last two nights). So some elements may be delayed. I had actually thought about delaying the announcement until tomorrow, but even more recent events made me realize that tomorrow might be optimistic as well.
You see, its my birthday today. And while I was dealing with computer problems, my cell phone suddenly burst into life chirping out an electronic muzac version of the Hallelujah Chorus. Just the sheer insanity of this little electronic Hallelujah already had me laughing, but then I saw who the phone call was from - my co-youth group leader at church (hence the Hallelujah chorus), Katie. I answered the phone.
Every year at this time, when I actually get around to start thinking about my birthday (38 is sooo bland!), a little tiny thought pops into my head - what would I really want for my birthday? These are the sorts of questions that usually don't get much play in my world. I just don't think about them all that often. But once a year, I entertain the thought out of a mere formality. Well, this year I had a ready answer. For several years now, I've been dying to see the Broadway Musical Avenue Q - the one with the muppets. Well, its finally arriving in San Francisco this week for a short stay and I was thinking that it'd be cool to go. But tickets are really expensive and well, quite frankly, I'm not worth it. Its only my 38th birthday - nothing special about that. And so, I let the thought die inside my mind - never aired, never mentioned, never even reconsidered.
So, Hallelujah Chorus, friend from church, my birthday... yes, you guessed it. "Hey Will, my co-worker has two tickets to tonight's Avenue Q at the Orpheum. Can you go?" God has a wicked sense of humor and timing. For the record, Katie had no idea it was my birthday.
So, that, in addition to everything else, is what is causing this delay in things for the Announcement - which I will make shortly after lunch.
See you soon.
I've been having computer problems here at work and as a result, some of the elements of the announcement have not yet materialized (despite working until 1am each of the last two nights). So some elements may be delayed. I had actually thought about delaying the announcement until tomorrow, but even more recent events made me realize that tomorrow might be optimistic as well.
You see, its my birthday today. And while I was dealing with computer problems, my cell phone suddenly burst into life chirping out an electronic muzac version of the Hallelujah Chorus. Just the sheer insanity of this little electronic Hallelujah already had me laughing, but then I saw who the phone call was from - my co-youth group leader at church (hence the Hallelujah chorus), Katie. I answered the phone.
Every year at this time, when I actually get around to start thinking about my birthday (38 is sooo bland!), a little tiny thought pops into my head - what would I really want for my birthday? These are the sorts of questions that usually don't get much play in my world. I just don't think about them all that often. But once a year, I entertain the thought out of a mere formality. Well, this year I had a ready answer. For several years now, I've been dying to see the Broadway Musical Avenue Q - the one with the muppets. Well, its finally arriving in San Francisco this week for a short stay and I was thinking that it'd be cool to go. But tickets are really expensive and well, quite frankly, I'm not worth it. Its only my 38th birthday - nothing special about that. And so, I let the thought die inside my mind - never aired, never mentioned, never even reconsidered.
So, Hallelujah Chorus, friend from church, my birthday... yes, you guessed it. "Hey Will, my co-worker has two tickets to tonight's Avenue Q at the Orpheum. Can you go?" God has a wicked sense of humor and timing. For the record, Katie had no idea it was my birthday.
So, that, in addition to everything else, is what is causing this delay in things for the Announcement - which I will make shortly after lunch.
See you soon.
Monday, August 06, 2007
The 37 Year, 11 Month, 360 Day Revirgin
I have finally succeeded in reacquiring my virgin status. And let me tell you that it was not easy. They don't just let anyone become a virgin again - they have to prove a committment to being a renewed virgin, a sign, a test of loyalty, a sacrifice of one's sexual status. Well, I have now made that sacrifice and have attained the certificate that shall hang proudly in my bedroom like a diploma. I have been revirginated.
You see, yesterday, in honor of my birthday I received this ultimate gift in the form of two packages - birthday presents. One was an authentic, never before used, still in collector's packaging, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest Comforter. The other was an authentic, never before used, still in collector's packaging, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest Linen Package consisting of one fitted sheet, one regular sheet, and one pillow case.
Now, unlike you married men out there who are probably drooling over the possibilities of such fine linen knowing that you will never convince your significant others of allowing you to put such cool things on your marriage bed, I don't have that problem. And seeing as how a) My secondary comforter has been completely shredded by the dogs who find it a nice warm place to snuggle up during the afternoon with their long sharp claws and b) I actually liked Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest, and c) I don't plan on having sex any time in the near future; I have absolutely no problems stripping my plain old linens from my bed and replacing them with such fine, and comfortable might I add, bed dressings.
So now, as the centerpiece of my extreme bedroom makeover, I have a bed that looks like a giant pirate treasure map complete with doubloons, compass points, and Dead Men Tell No Tales skull. That this would normally have an adverse effect on my sex life is not in doubt. That I have no sex life to worry about affecting is also not in doubt. I can easily give up that which I no longer need in order to claim the title of Revirgin.
That being said... this is not the big announcement that is coming on Thursday.
Other things that are NOT the big announcement coming on Thursday include:
1) I am not announcing my bid for the 2008 Presidential election.
2) I am not reenlisting in the Navy (they wouldn't let me keep my cool sheets).
3) I am not revealing my true identity as the long lost half sister of Sheila who has been hiding out after escaping a terrible fire at the orphanage and fighting off the advances of Monica who thinks that I am mild mannered Will.
4) I have not discovered the cure for Cancer.
5) I was not on the grassy knoll.
6) I have not discovered a hidden map on the back of the Magna Carta.
7) I do not have any evidence of Bond's steroid use.
8) I have not discovered the Grand Unification Theory of Everything.
9) I did not win the Pillsbury Bake Off.
And
10) ICON was not nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature.
As to what the true announcement on Thursday will be... you will just have to wait until then to find out.
Avoiding the plagues,
Will
You see, yesterday, in honor of my birthday I received this ultimate gift in the form of two packages - birthday presents. One was an authentic, never before used, still in collector's packaging, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest Comforter. The other was an authentic, never before used, still in collector's packaging, Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest Linen Package consisting of one fitted sheet, one regular sheet, and one pillow case.
Now, unlike you married men out there who are probably drooling over the possibilities of such fine linen knowing that you will never convince your significant others of allowing you to put such cool things on your marriage bed, I don't have that problem. And seeing as how a) My secondary comforter has been completely shredded by the dogs who find it a nice warm place to snuggle up during the afternoon with their long sharp claws and b) I actually liked Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest, and c) I don't plan on having sex any time in the near future; I have absolutely no problems stripping my plain old linens from my bed and replacing them with such fine, and comfortable might I add, bed dressings.
So now, as the centerpiece of my extreme bedroom makeover, I have a bed that looks like a giant pirate treasure map complete with doubloons, compass points, and Dead Men Tell No Tales skull. That this would normally have an adverse effect on my sex life is not in doubt. That I have no sex life to worry about affecting is also not in doubt. I can easily give up that which I no longer need in order to claim the title of Revirgin.
That being said... this is not the big announcement that is coming on Thursday.
Other things that are NOT the big announcement coming on Thursday include:
1) I am not announcing my bid for the 2008 Presidential election.
2) I am not reenlisting in the Navy (they wouldn't let me keep my cool sheets).
3) I am not revealing my true identity as the long lost half sister of Sheila who has been hiding out after escaping a terrible fire at the orphanage and fighting off the advances of Monica who thinks that I am mild mannered Will.
4) I have not discovered the cure for Cancer.
5) I was not on the grassy knoll.
6) I have not discovered a hidden map on the back of the Magna Carta.
7) I do not have any evidence of Bond's steroid use.
8) I have not discovered the Grand Unification Theory of Everything.
9) I did not win the Pillsbury Bake Off.
And
10) ICON was not nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature.
As to what the true announcement on Thursday will be... you will just have to wait until then to find out.
Avoiding the plagues,
Will
Thursday, August 02, 2007
The Cream and The Clear and The Coffee...
So, it wasn't hives, after all, but a simple case of Static Dermatitis (I.E. It still itches like hell!). Oh, and I'm morbidly obese... but then we knew that last one.
Anyway, in light of the fact that I still itch and that I'm not supposed to scratch (apparently shredding my legs with my finger nails is not a good thing... but nothing compared with being morbidly obese), my doctor prescribed a topical cream that looks something like flax seed oil to rub on my legs in order to make the itching go away, temporarily, and cure the dermatitis.
Apparently, this cream has steroids in it. Steroids!? The bane of modern existence! I am no longer a pure athlete just competing for the love of the sport (and the money) now I have been tainted by steroids! Oh, will the suffering ever stop! And how come they don't have steroids to help you lose weight?! Darn it! Did I mention that I was morbidly obese?!
So I had this weird but powerful dream last night and I woke up this morning feeling refreshed and empowered - like I could manhandle linedrives from my shoe tops over four hundred feet into McCovey Cove. It got me to thinking about things and about how I could fix certain things.
Did you know that you could define morbid as having an obsession with death. Wow. Way to keep your prejudice out of a scientific term there skinny science boys - apparently, I am so fat that I have become obsessed with death. Say that to my face and I'll kill you! (Dang... 'roid rage is already kicking in!)
The long and the short of it (not that anything's shriveled... yet) is that if you check back at this blog in one week, there will be a major announcement. I think. If I haven't already got a shoe contract by then. So, once again, Major Announcement, One Week From Today!
And now I shut up tighter than Scholastic Books! So don't ask. No hints given.
Anyway, in light of the fact that I still itch and that I'm not supposed to scratch (apparently shredding my legs with my finger nails is not a good thing... but nothing compared with being morbidly obese), my doctor prescribed a topical cream that looks something like flax seed oil to rub on my legs in order to make the itching go away, temporarily, and cure the dermatitis.
Apparently, this cream has steroids in it. Steroids!? The bane of modern existence! I am no longer a pure athlete just competing for the love of the sport (and the money) now I have been tainted by steroids! Oh, will the suffering ever stop! And how come they don't have steroids to help you lose weight?! Darn it! Did I mention that I was morbidly obese?!
So I had this weird but powerful dream last night and I woke up this morning feeling refreshed and empowered - like I could manhandle linedrives from my shoe tops over four hundred feet into McCovey Cove. It got me to thinking about things and about how I could fix certain things.
Did you know that you could define morbid as having an obsession with death. Wow. Way to keep your prejudice out of a scientific term there skinny science boys - apparently, I am so fat that I have become obsessed with death. Say that to my face and I'll kill you! (Dang... 'roid rage is already kicking in!)
The long and the short of it (not that anything's shriveled... yet) is that if you check back at this blog in one week, there will be a major announcement. I think. If I haven't already got a shoe contract by then. So, once again, Major Announcement, One Week From Today!
And now I shut up tighter than Scholastic Books! So don't ask. No hints given.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Help! I've Fallen and I can't get up!
So much of sin seems to be a failure that we don't recognize sin for what it really is - a lifestyle, a condition of human nature, something that we simply can't get over. We are sin. We wallow in it. We breathe it. We absorb it in our skin. Everything we say or do or touch or taste is tainted by it. We can try to ignore it. We can try to counter it. But ultimately we are flawed creatures by nature.
I love cheeseburgers. I love the taste of cheddar bursting in my mouth, mixed with the saltiness of the beef, the crispness of a fresh bun, the tang of pickles, the sharpness of fresh onions, and the sweet flavor of the catsup - all mixing together to form a sensation that my mind registers as pleasure. Pleasure - that feeling that all is right with the world, even for a split second - is what really drives me. I love the feeling of pleasure and I try to surround myself and do things that create that sensation. It is a moment of bliss, a feeling of being most alive. And ultimately, it is a dead end. Because I can't maintain that feeling. It is a high, a narcotic, an obsession. And this week, its a cheeseburger that helps me feel that pleasure. And next week, a single cheeseburger doesn't help me at all. It tastes like cardboard, so I add bacon to the mix. And the following week, I have two cheeseburgers. And then three. And then three with bacon. And then I change to chicken sandwiches, and that lasts a while. Then I mix them. Then I add a milkshake. But it is never enough. I am chasing something that I can never catch, that I can never predictably reproduce, and the efforts of pursuing pleasure are destroying me.
This is human nature.
In Le Jardin du Eden, Adam and Eve had everything they could possibly want - food, companionship, water, space, animals, the whole world at their fingertips. They walked hand in hand with God who would have given them anything they wanted... but one thing. And that was what Adam and Eve wanted the most. They weren't satisfied with what they already had. They were looking for that new high, that new pleasure, that thing that would be better than anything else they'd ever tried. They threw away all that they had to go after that next thing. And it left them with a mouth full of ashes and pain and death. They fell not from wanting more, but from being unable to control their urge to want more, their urge to want everything. They fell because they tried to make their obsession into their reality.
Right now I am suffering from Hives. I can't tell you how or why I have hives, but I am beginning to understand the suffering of Job. Hives itch like you wouldn't believe. And it takes all my self control to keep from scratching myself. One little scratch and I can't stop. I have to get at the itch. And I scratch and scratch and scratch until little rivers of blood are running down my legs - I scratch myself until I bleed, and still the itch does not go away. I keep scratching with the hope of finding the pleasure of itch relief and it don't even stop when I have blood pooling around my legs. I keep going because I know that sooner or later, the itch will give way to pain and pain is a far easier thing to handle than that crazy desire to itch. Pain may not be pleasure, but it is not obsession either. It is far better to be in pain than to be obsessed.
To choose sin is to choose pain. To give in to the itching until you are literally ripping the skin off your body is to give in to pain. Obsession always leaves to pain. Obsession always leads to sin. Sin leads to death.
But the good news is that even though we are born this way, and even though we can't help ourselves and give in to our obsessions to seek whatever pleasure it is that we can't live without, there is hope. Jesus died for our obsessions. Jesus died so that we might find relief from the pain of obsession. Jesus died to bring us into a place where there is no pain, and their is no suffering, and their is no obsession. Jesus died so that we might live - truly live.
Oh, to be without the desire for cheeseburgers or scratching or any of the hundreds of other obsessions I have; to be able to supplant all my wants and desires and replace them with a life of giving and caring and loving others - that is my fondest wish. But right now, I've fallen, and I can't get up.
Only Jesus can save me now.
I love cheeseburgers. I love the taste of cheddar bursting in my mouth, mixed with the saltiness of the beef, the crispness of a fresh bun, the tang of pickles, the sharpness of fresh onions, and the sweet flavor of the catsup - all mixing together to form a sensation that my mind registers as pleasure. Pleasure - that feeling that all is right with the world, even for a split second - is what really drives me. I love the feeling of pleasure and I try to surround myself and do things that create that sensation. It is a moment of bliss, a feeling of being most alive. And ultimately, it is a dead end. Because I can't maintain that feeling. It is a high, a narcotic, an obsession. And this week, its a cheeseburger that helps me feel that pleasure. And next week, a single cheeseburger doesn't help me at all. It tastes like cardboard, so I add bacon to the mix. And the following week, I have two cheeseburgers. And then three. And then three with bacon. And then I change to chicken sandwiches, and that lasts a while. Then I mix them. Then I add a milkshake. But it is never enough. I am chasing something that I can never catch, that I can never predictably reproduce, and the efforts of pursuing pleasure are destroying me.
This is human nature.
In Le Jardin du Eden, Adam and Eve had everything they could possibly want - food, companionship, water, space, animals, the whole world at their fingertips. They walked hand in hand with God who would have given them anything they wanted... but one thing. And that was what Adam and Eve wanted the most. They weren't satisfied with what they already had. They were looking for that new high, that new pleasure, that thing that would be better than anything else they'd ever tried. They threw away all that they had to go after that next thing. And it left them with a mouth full of ashes and pain and death. They fell not from wanting more, but from being unable to control their urge to want more, their urge to want everything. They fell because they tried to make their obsession into their reality.
Right now I am suffering from Hives. I can't tell you how or why I have hives, but I am beginning to understand the suffering of Job. Hives itch like you wouldn't believe. And it takes all my self control to keep from scratching myself. One little scratch and I can't stop. I have to get at the itch. And I scratch and scratch and scratch until little rivers of blood are running down my legs - I scratch myself until I bleed, and still the itch does not go away. I keep scratching with the hope of finding the pleasure of itch relief and it don't even stop when I have blood pooling around my legs. I keep going because I know that sooner or later, the itch will give way to pain and pain is a far easier thing to handle than that crazy desire to itch. Pain may not be pleasure, but it is not obsession either. It is far better to be in pain than to be obsessed.
To choose sin is to choose pain. To give in to the itching until you are literally ripping the skin off your body is to give in to pain. Obsession always leaves to pain. Obsession always leads to sin. Sin leads to death.
But the good news is that even though we are born this way, and even though we can't help ourselves and give in to our obsessions to seek whatever pleasure it is that we can't live without, there is hope. Jesus died for our obsessions. Jesus died so that we might find relief from the pain of obsession. Jesus died to bring us into a place where there is no pain, and their is no suffering, and their is no obsession. Jesus died so that we might live - truly live.
Oh, to be without the desire for cheeseburgers or scratching or any of the hundreds of other obsessions I have; to be able to supplant all my wants and desires and replace them with a life of giving and caring and loving others - that is my fondest wish. But right now, I've fallen, and I can't get up.
Only Jesus can save me now.
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