Have I stated this yet?

Yes, I know that the Heat winning the championship last year was, in many ways, bad:

*it was a stolen championship by the refs
*it was a coughed-up championship by the more deserving and more root-for-able Mavs
*it put a self-satisfied ring on the Glove
*it put a self-satisfied ring on Alonsowhat's hand and spare kidney
*and Jason Williams
*and Antoine
*etc.

Yes, I know all that. But when we look back on that championship, I'll still have a good degree of pleasure because, legitimate or no, the insinuation wil be that those Lakers titles in the last decade were much more about O'Neal than Bryant.

At that thought, I lean back, cross my legs, and throw my thatched hands behind my head. And I smile.

Yes, that's schadenfreude you're smelling, but it's honest.

I haven't the will to fight

Okay, readers, I'm sorry:

My friend Cardinalzen just posted about the new Thom Yorke album, and you can click on the title of his post if you want to read his thoughts. I have a reply, but the Blogger machine is acting up and I just can't be bothered so I'm posting my comment here. That's a weird way to go, maybe, but it's the world we live in.

70 RUN

Jess, you amaze me with your patience.

First of all, I agree with you and completely applaud Mr. Yorke in the way he approaches his work. This is terrific and I wish musicians that don't think like that were wiped from the map. I'd like to qualify that statement with something, but that's actually how I feel.


I'd disagree with you, of course, regarding Mr. Dylan, who probably thinks he's a gumdrop corn cob in a Red Rider wagon world. The guy's story is relevant, and he at one point had something to say, but he's completely unaware of his place in music history or anywhere else. Completely unaware.

Bullet point: I don't care to hear anyone's nightmares.


I love your TWO. point. This is meaningful and is certainly what keeps the yous and Peepees going through all the musical squalor this man has produced (I watched the video. As a short film it's effective but morbid, like much of Chris Cunningham's work. The music is, natch, unintelligible nonsense: sound effects and blurred rhythms. Great for a soundtrack, but I can't imagine listening to that in my car.) and I aspire to holding up that same contrast. Your invoking religion in all this stuff is absolutely a 1:1 ratio. I've just been ranting around here lately that we build a structure around the church and then call the structure the church, and that is JUST like hooking a kid up to some de-childing machine and calling what oozes out KID. Not acceptable.

So hooray for Mr. Yorke's musical ethics!

And best of luck for those of you who listen to his music!


This is Cardzen and Peepee about to go wading together.


PS- boy do I take the crap for liking John Mayer's music. He is the photonegative to Mr. Yorke. John's music comes across as thoughful, honest, and good-hearted, but this boy's heart and life are a degenerating mess. Sad to see. One day his life will catch up to his music and he'll go the way of George Michael and Michael Jackson. Ugh. Where's my Rich Mullins album again?

Product Reviews

I failed to report a few weeks back (I've been rather busy as of late) that Jiff and I had the pleausure of being together for a long weekend, with our wives, in the joy of a snowy Colorado winter. With all the wonder of nature and possibility around us, we took the opportunity to jettison all that and play video games. Well, I say video gameS: really, we gave ourselves to One Game. This game embarrassingly records the amount of time you spend playing it, and it told us that over three days, with our (occasionally) patient wives standing by, we invested over 15 HOURS to this game.

That's good livin'.

The game was the Lego version of Star Wars.


It's called Star Wars II because they also released a game to memorialize the awful later trilogy, for which neither Jiff nor myself hold any loyalty or compassion. But those first three films, well, come on. Sure, sure, we were all shaped by those films early on, feeling like maybe WE were destined for greatness like Luke, but felt like we were moisture farmers. So what could be more fun than to actually make your way through the plot of the stories and actually PLAY THEM OUT? Ha HA! What if you get to BE R2-D2 and give the whole team access through the bowels of that Imperial ship? What if you get to BE Obi-Wan when it's time to get rough with the Tusken Raiders? What if you can BE Jedi Luke against Darth and then against the Emperor? WooOOooo. Neato.


How the Lego people got involved in this maniacal marketing opportunity is beyond me, but I tell ya that it's pretty fun to build stuff with all the lego bits strewn across the little landscape. You can make all manner of funness: turret guns and landspeeders and trampolines for jumping to higher levels, etc. Boy it was good times, and you find that you have so much emotion sitting waiting there in reserve while you play this game. We have GOT to get C3PO out of the Jawa's possesion. You really want to stick it to Boba and Jabba and those darned pig-faced guards of his.

I'm just here to say, boy oh boy is it fun. I may even venture into the dreaded Episode One territory just to get more fun Lego gaming action. So there. If you get the chance, follow me and Jiff and play some Lego.


ALSO



I've been listening again the last few days to Switchfoot's latest album, which has been out maybe a year now. I tell ya, it's a good 'un. It's good rock music, well produced in a pop vein. Good songs, good messages, just fun-sounding. Good records, to me, take good songs (meaning: you'd enjoy it if the band just played it straight ahead, and you'd be piqued by the thoughts therein, or you'd spark to the truth in them) then futz with them. They splice them up, introduce odd instruments, time signatures, interludes, breakdowns, harmonies, etc. etc. I like that. Give me not only music that's well-written, but it's well-produced and well-engineered (Hello, Joshua Tree?). EVERYBODY is giving creative excellence to the project. Every step of the way (even in the packaging. Hello, Coldplay?), somebody's giving their best, wildest, most imaginative stuff. And, dare I say it? I like this album in that vein.

ALSO

I've been wondering how many calories you burn by making a poo. I don't know how to find out this kind of information.

I Make Clothes

And this is how I do it:

Step One, and this is a really important one: have a friend like Ben who has friends like Chris and Mike who have a big warehouse full of professional t-shirt making equipment and paint and screens and photographic chemicals and all that stuff.



Step Two: Go out to their place and use all their stuff at no charge.

Step Three: Have a friend like Dval who will design you something kickassy like my t-shirt design for my album.

Step Four: Take Dval's design and have Ben's friends be interested in teaching you all about t-shirt screening and let you screw around on muti-thousand dollar screeners, dryers, light machines, and cleaners.

Step Five: Presto! You made a shirt ALL BY YOURSELF!

Das-HINEY!

I have never liked the Coca-Company. They're one of those monoliths that profits even in third world countries, giving Eskimos and Russians and Cambodians alike the same cavities without nutrition. I'm the kind of guy that wants the big boys to fall, I guess, so whaddaya gonna do.

I'm here today, though, to blast that Dasani, the vaguely foreign-named brand that purveys tap water in packaging that almost promises that this will be a spiritual experience. It has that strange S on its logo as well... didn't Safeway claim that S years ago? Anyhow, my beefs with Dasani are many:


*It doesn't taste good. I'm not usually one of those people who ABHOR tap water in some places (say, College Station, Texas), and simply RAVE about it in others (Colorado). These people are Water Snobs. Drink the damn tap water and smile. But I'm here to tell you, behind that smug label of theirs, Dasani tastes like PlasticMan's urine. Like drinking rocks. It tastes like cyborg blood. Their new age label touts "enhanced with minerals"- do kidney stones count as minerals? And why did you MAKE it taste this way? Why not just leave it tasting like WATER?


*According to my research (= a quick skim over Wikipedia), Dasani throws salt into my water. STOP PUTTING SALT IN MY WATER. I DIDN'T LIKE THE SYRUPY CONCOCTION THEY GAVE ME DURING TWO-A-DAYS IN NINTH GRADE, AND I DON'T LIKE DRINKING SALTY LIQUIDS.

*You could also find out that last factoid on the label of the bottle.

*My research also suggests that carcinogens (bromate. For non-chemist readers, this is a compound that will eventually make your pancreas melt into wax and your spleen glow) were discovered in the UK supply of Dasani, thus ending its run in that part of the world. Western Europe and Ireland will also not touch this product with a ten-foot cattle prod.

*the website is makeyourmouthwater.com. I find this tagline confusing since they're presumably advertising WATER, not jambalaya. So drinking this water will make my mouth water? If I produce enough saliva, I won't NEED your product. Or are you somehow suggesting that you bottle saliva? I don't much like the sound of that. How does it make my mouth water again?

*In the description on the package, it reads, "...enhanced with minerals [we've heard this before] for a pure [besides magnesium sulfate, potassium chloride, and SALT], clean [like saliva!] taste that can't be beat" CAN'T BE BEAT? Are we still using that slogan? Really? Can't be beat? I'd have thought that went out about the time you guys taught the world to sing, prior to your teaching the world to drink corn syrup out of plastic bags.


Lickety split! This succotash can't be beat, by cracky!


So pucker up Dasani. You can make bajillions off the world's uninformed, but the VertChew Patrol is hip to your jive. You can MySpace up your advertising, you can position yourself right there in the checkout aisle, but you ain't gonna have my fitty cent. No sir.



I would also like to throw in here that, much to my own surprise, I rather like Aquafina's grape flavored water. I know it's not real grapes.

Defection? Perfection!

I've had to defend this position with several people in my life up to this point, so I will repeat my rock-hard logic here:

I have decided to forego the Cincinnati Bengals' 2006 season.

Yes, just like that, I have swapped interest, which was once with my 'home team' (more on this concept later), and is now on the still local Indianapolis Colts. That means I'm not concerned with the Bengals performance for the rest of this season. I wish them well, but I will not be 'rooting' for them. I will be rooting for Peyton Manning to pass his way clear of the surprisingly porous defense that Tony Dungy has constructed. I will be rooting for no more hiccups like this past weekend against Dallas. I will be rooting for non-felon receivers like Mr. Wayne and Mr. Harrison, the likes of which the Cincinnati team is unable or unwilling to attract.

The Bengals (the Trailblazers of the NFL) shot themselves in the foot with a terrible performance against the Steelers early in the season (a game which, even in a win, severely hampered my optimism for the season), then put a stake through my allegiance in an ugly, ugly loss to the Patriots that I attended.

At first, I had some internal anxiety about shucking a team that wears my home town's name on their jersey, but then I started thinking.

Why should this corporation (and, let's be frank, that's what it is: a business that exists to make money. This is true of your favorite pro sports team, college, and in some cases, church-type corporation) assume my patronage simply because they're the only game in my city? That's a limited monopoly! And if that works, why doesn't P&G just re-brand its toothpaste as Cincinnati Crest? Then would I feel bad about not buying it? This is a terrific marketing move, but I'm hereby free of this constraint. The Bengals are a product for entertainment, just like Crest is a product for cleaning your teeth, and if I want NFL-style entertainment, I'll choose from all my options, thank you.

I just happen to think that this iteration of the Cincinnati-style NFL product is an inferior one, so I don't care to support it, financially or emotionally. Improve your product next year, Bengals, and I may return to your fold. And all you people who would call me turncoat or fair weather or a bandwagoner, I say this: pshaw. You are in a prison of sporting illusion, not living in the modern marketplace of television revenues and promo savvy. Wake up, grandpa.

I've felt fine supporting the little Dallas Mavs for years (largely because, without a team here in town, nobody cares who you're interested in bball-wise, and most people are disinterested in the NBA, period), but now I'll feel just fine following my little Colts, which is a name for an immature horse. That's endearing, somehow.

The Summer of the Back Yard

I can't believe I've neglected this post for so long.

It's crazy, because I'm SO PROUD of the work my team (read: me) did on the back 40 this past summer. Our stated goal was to revolutionize THIS.



It was a massive undertaking and sure, I wouldn't think many guys would be up for the challenge. But with my crack squad (read: me), nothing is too big a job (well that's not true at all, but this JUST made it). We began by getting one of those huge roll-away dumpsters (having one of those parked in your driveway is a sure way to get testosterone flowing, I tell ye), filling it with most of the backyard, including that terrible shed, and then setting about rebuilding that which had been destroyed, including the never-finished fence line (the genius who threw this stuff up just said "Why do I need a fence going all the way around the yard? I've got this crappy metal shed that covers over it!" Beautiful). Then we (me, with a professional gardener guy) expanded the beds, brought in new plants, threw up an all NEW! shed, then power washed the deck and stained the whole sucker by hand (oh good gravy this was more than I bargained for), and topped it off with two Adirondack chairs I built and painted. And you get this...





So gents, that was the summer of the backyard. As one of the photos shows, I started killing the grass, and it is now completely dead. All the clover, all the dandelions--dead. And I replant in the spring, and by next summer, you got yourself a REVOLUTIONIZED back 40. Yeeeeaaaaah.

Next summer's project will have to do with popsicle sticks and the Eiffel tower.

And Speaking of Weddings

Didi, as some of you will know (and all of you SHALL know), is in the wedding-making biz (see her website by clicking on the title above). I will now tell you a story from her world which is strange and unusual. She seems to have gotten into the well-heeled world of high dollar weddings, and had an encounter last night worth repeating. She'd been talking with a young woman who seemed interested in her services but uncertain of her budget. Didi didn't know if this was because funds were tight, or her parents were considering helping her out, or if the girl was just unsure that she wanted a wedding planner at all. She had another meeting with the girl last night, along with her father. It went like this:

Girl's Father: What we want to make sure of is that little Kendra (or whatever) has a wedding that will be the most impressive event that any of my friends have ever attended.

Didi: That sounds like it may be a tall order. What kind of budget did you have in mind?

Girl: Well, I went to a friend's wedding recently, and I wasn't very impressed. Her budget was 80 grand, so I'm thinking we need to think somewhere in the 150K area [she meant by this, dear reader, ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR A WEDDING.]

Girl's Father: [Smiles smugly]

D: Well, we can get you the most expensive of everything in town and spend even more money than that, if that's the goal. But if the goal is having the best of everything, I can tell you we don't need to spend that kind of money. You can unquestionably have the event of your dreams for $100,000.00. [So many zeros!]

GF: [Knows he should be pleased, but somewhat crestfallen]

G: Okay, I guess we can start there and bump up the budget if we need to.

D: That's fine. Now, as I told you early on, I charge 10% of the budget for my services. [Starting to shake because of giddiness] In this case, that would be $10K. [She meant by this, dear reader, THEN THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR PLANNING A WEDDING.]

GF: No problem. Let's move ahead.

And that's how my wife pulled the wool over the eyes of the Foolishly Wealthy, and got us partway into a re-finished basement with one fell swoop. She says that this man kept asking questions about what *I* do, and Didi ably steered the questions away from her directionless musician husband, whose latest album's sales are nearing the 10 mark.

I find it all bemusing, what people will do to try to be impressive. I was stunned that this man articulated that that would be the goal of the event--impressing people. Well God bless them. Maybe Didi will deliver some stuff to this girl through their relationship so that she can be free of so much posturing. In any case, "hey rich guy! Be nice to my wife for the next 9 months, and thanks for getting rid of the unsightly puddles we have to deal with downstairs!"

On Pigeonholing

I was in the Colorado ("The Sqarest State") last weekend and picked up a little pamphlet of a sermon by a guy named Peter Heitt. I would like to take this opportunity to pimp the Heitt to you, as he's one of my favorite God-talkers. You can link to his sermons and whatnot by clicking on the title of this post. (I did that. For you.) I recommend that you listen to the streaming sermons for free, since he and his organization are still in the dark ages and charge $5 for a CD, which is insane.

Anyhow, this pamphlet was tremendous and talked about how, for many of us, God has become objectified. He is seen as the best way to get answers, or the one who'll tell us how to Live Right, or the One Who would give us life. But really He IS the truth, the way, the life. He IS those things. Jesus doesn't give you wisdom, he IS wisdom to you. One is transactional, one is relational. Heitt talks about how, in that old sitcom "I Dream of Jeanie", nobody watching the show can imagine how Major Nelson (teevee's "J.R.") goes on dates with these meaningless women while cute, perky Jeanie is RIGHT THERE, OBVIOUSLY LOVING YOU (Heitt called the message "I Dream of Jesus", which is cute too). Nelson saw Jeanie as a means to a clean house and great meals, but never appreciated her for her! She was an object to him. Grr. I used to feel this way reading Archie Comics (these were allowable in Christian homes because Archie was a believer for a while, too. It might have been a little bit of a hippy thing he was going for, but he was a believer. The Punisher, for instance, was NOT a believer.)--WHY is Archie so smitten with that catty Veronica when beautiful, available, loving Betty is RIGHT THERE? Always frustrating.


Well, objectification became more of a theme to me as I finished reading Capote's In Cold Blood. What you saw in these murderers he tried so hard to understand and report on was that these guys spend zero mental energy trying to understand their victims--they were totally detached from them. They felt nothing. The people they killed were objects to them, not persons. When you're dealing with objects, you don't have to sweat uncertainties like changing moods, vast histories and a lifetime of experiences that come together in complex and unpredictable ways. Basically, you can EXCISE MYSTERY. You can make judgments. Jump to conclusions. Or kill them if it suits your purposes. This is what we want from God: not a relationship, but some cold hard facts (or cash). Transaction. Objectification.

I spent two full days this past weekend in travel. That means I was in some form of People Holding Tanks with a gaggle of strangers. I felt the same thing, this subject of objectification, as I was wont to categorize the myriad people that crossed my monitor.

"She's overweight, hates herself. Shops at Wal-Mart. Her mom is controlling. She coddles that boy instead of leading him and setting him up for freedom and manhood."

"Those college kids don't know what they want. They just want a good time, and are probably unsure, even, of what that is. They live according to no rules. They're casual and toned and are interested in their hair. Probably watching music videos on the ipod instead of reading something enriching."

"Why must you bop your head like that, black man? Do you think that the people around you will be impressed because you have a laptop computer and you're using it as a walkman? You look terrible. You're uneducated and, I assume, socially awkward..."

"You snobby woman and your little lap dog. Why bring that to an airport? Okay, you're rich. Hooray for you, lady. Your well-appointed husband will walk off the plane and you'll get in your '05 SUV and you'll be back in temperature-controlled comfort in no time, just like you like it. I bet you hate mixing with the proletariat here in Mass Transit World."

I'm not proud of any of that stuff, but I'll tell you it didn't take very long for me to type it out. Those judgments are there, at the ready. In each of these cases, and a thousand more, the statement YOU DON'T KNOW ANY OF THESE PEOPLE would be apropos, but judgment would keep any of us from thinking such things. Pigeonholing is convenient, by golly, whether it's with the guy in front of us at the Taco Bell Express line or God Himself. If I can make you into an object, and I don't have to sweat with the confusion of relating, I can try to milk you for spiritual protection, or I can deem you irrelevant and worthless, or I can even rape and murder you. Either way you go, it's a sad substitute for life.


So let's not be this kind of man! Let's walk up to every child, woman, man, cashier, and Omniscient Being (even ourselves!) and say "you are a wonder! You are, in some mysterious way, unknowable! There are depths to you that I cannot plumb, but that only the God of All can fathom! Let me treat you with kid gloves, knowing that I'm interacting with something infinite and God-marked, never thinking I can encapsulate you or summarize you."

And me? Well, I am FEARFULLY and WONDERFULLY made! That means that treating me with some degree of FEAR and WONDER is appropriate! (Not that you must. I'm just saying... I'm a real wonder!) I am a fascinating compendium, an unusual and inexplicable assortment, a magical formula! If this sounds up-with-peopleish, forgive me, but I'm just reading my Bible aloud, here. And I'll not be hog-tied with a Systematic Steveology, or reduced to a sound bite based on what I did last time.

Boy I want to be done with the categories and the judgments. And I want to be done with the objectification of God. Welcome to my weekend.

Boy oh boy

Stop telling me to love God with all my heart.

If I could love God with all my heart, I wouldn't need Jesus. I, however, fail. What I need isn't exhortation toward better effort: I need a Savior.

Romans 3:20 ...no one will be declared righteous in his sight by observing the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of sin.

Hallows

Here's the simple question: why do poor people like Halloween so much? Seriously. That's the question. Lots of people get into lots of holidays, but poor people (waaaaay more than your suburban types) just go nuts for Halloween. I'm just saying.


Now, let's do all the damage control right up front. If you're really into Halloween, I'm not saying you're poor, and I'm certainly not saying that if you're poor you're somehow less than. Please. Let's not do all that. I'm just saying that if I drive around my city at Christmas, there seems to be an equal number of people going gung ho for it downtown or in the hoity toity land. If anything, the SUV set seems to be MORE extravagant about the Yule Tide season (I have no idea what Yule Tide means, but I'm sure it has some pagan origin. I am nonplused about this and don't care). But look around at the Halloween decor in YOUR local burb. Really. Now, call me names, call me what you will, but those with less money like this holiday more.

I would also like to say at this point that *I* am very into Halloween. I like it. I like the mirth, the madness, and the random frivolity of the day. I dress up. I carve pumpkins. Okay? I'm all over it. This is NOT about downing Halloween. Perish the thought.

So--why? I do not have the answers, although I'm endlessly interested in all issues social. Got any guesses? How about because they feel condemned somehow, and closer to the whole death iconography? How about because it's an expression of some kind of rebellion that's socially acceptable? Maybe it has something to do with compassion, and the less-monied feel closer to the down-and-out, as if there's a visual language they speak more easily than the well-heeled. I really don't know. And I'm not the guy to research the issues. I have other things to do.

But I'm just saying--it's notable, it's weird, and I'm putting it out there. Alright kids? It's just an observation. Do with it what you will.

There are cookies to be eaten. I'm out

Unequal Grace

Now HERE's a weird one. In Matthew 25 God says, " 'Take the talent from [the guy who buried his] and give it to the one who has the ten talents. For everyone who has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. And throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.'

What's weird about this is how this can lead us into a weird place of performance (like interpretations of lots of scriptures can do). We think "So God wants me to take the talents he's given me and use them, because if I don't I'm going into this darkness place which sounds like it TOTALLY SUCKS!" Yeah. But that talent stuff is the issue. If talents are money, then you sure better start giving it to the poor. If talents are actual talents, then you sure better find a way to only do Accounting for Jesus or Electrical Engineering for Jesus. I don't know where these particular jobs might be, but somewhere in Atlanta or Dallas I'm sure you could find them. Anyway, that's not what I believe the 'talents' are.

I understand the talents to be portions of God's grace. This is at first glance problematic, because we tend to think there's "saving grace all-the-way-with-no-stopping" or no grace at all, But the scriptures indicate that there are various amounts (and maybe even qualities) of grace. Ephesians 4:7 says, "but to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it." So there are different sizes of grace packets for each of us. That helps me not judge you, because how do I know how much God's given you? This is in line with "to whom much is given much will be required." The obvious insinuation is that there are people to whom "not much" has been given as well. Joyner tells the story of the begger in heaven who's seated on a throne simply because it took all the love and grace God had given him to avoid kicking a kitten while he was alive on earth. So there are different responsibilities and different amounts (or types) of God's grace. No matter how much of this grace we've been given, though, we WILL be judged based on how we received it. If you let God's grace lay fallow, hiding it away or simply denying it, you WILL be cast away. That's a flat rejection of the cross. God offers grace and you take a pass--you choose instead to rely on your efforts or put God off so that you can live for yourself. Darkeness awaits you. BUT! if you USED God's grace-- exercised it, applied it, maximized it--you will be applauded by God and more grace will be given to you. God LOVES it when people continually call on Him to be their Savior, their Healer, their Delieverer, their Rock, their Strong Tower, their Defence, their Father, their Friend, their Counsellor, etc. etc. etc. He delights in it so much, this attitude of people who say "you have good things for me God? Then BACK UP THE TRUCK because I'm a perfect object for your forgiveness and your redemption and your love!" that he will lavish them with more and more and more of himself.

This is a wonderful thing I'm talking about here. And the stunning thing about religion is that it gets you to work so hard that you simply no longer need God. That's actually one of the goals of "being a good Christian", a phrase that makes no sense to me whatsoever. It's that we get so good and cleaned up that we have no need of a Savior. Darkness, anyone?

Oh hell no! Literally. Instead, dear friends, we will THROTTLE as much of God's grace as we've been given, and we will EXPECT to recieve more and more of it, as we enjoy it and apply it and give it away and send it back to him.

Spread it around. There's plenty more where that came from.

Same Guy!

Carson Daly and Robbie Williams.

Don't ask me where these come from. They pop into my head.

Hot Tunes!

1) Comic Book Hero just appeared on iTunes! Alrighty then!

2) Borat is hyping a soundtrack. Click the title above for goodness.

SLOTM LIVES!

Many of you are freakin IGNORANT that, in my efforts to slowly take over the Inner Net, I have partnered with 3 locals to create yet another write-and-be-read site. I am going to deal with that ignorance now.

The dream is called the Scary Lunch Of The Month club, or SLOTM. It is an important adventure. It works thusly: we four take turns in monthy directing the team toward the shadiest eating establishments we can find, go and eat whatever they have on offer, then review it. That's it! Simple!


Well, sure, you can come stop by www.slotm.blogspot.com monthly if you WANT to, and that will be fun and nice, and I hope you have a good five minutes there, but what this is really about is the DREAM. I encourage EACH of you to develop a SLOTM in your own home town, so that SLOTM2.blogspot.com and SLOTM3.blogspot.com will exist someday soon. Then we will be keeping terrible eating establishments afloat all over the world! Is that exciting or what?

Cardinal Zen, this is an optional activity for you, as creating a SLOTM club in your neck of the woods could conceivably lead to death or paralysis.

Poop Guide

So what if this was actually a forwarded email from Wunder. So what? It's great!

We've all been there but don't like to admit it. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK POOP is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.

CROP DUSTING: When farting, you walk briskly around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.

FLY BY:
This is the act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

ESCAPEE:
This is a fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

JAILBREAK:
When forcing a poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

COURTESY FLUSH:
The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poop hits the water. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

WALK OF SHAME:
Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. This very uncomfortable walk can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.

OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER:
This is a colleague who poops at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.

THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N):
A group of co-workers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the hereabouts of Out Of The Closet Poopers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.

SAFE HAVENS:
A Safe Haven is a seldom-used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.

TURD BURGLAR:
This is someone who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poop at work If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.

CAMO-COUGH:
A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall is called a Camo-Cough. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. The Camo-Cough is very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

ASTAIRE:
A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.

WATERMELON:
A watermelon is a big poop that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

HAVANA OMELET:
A case of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using a Camo-Cough with an Astaire.

UNCLE TODD:
An Uncle Todd is a bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. This person could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Todd makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to poop when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as other bathroom attendees.

Unfortunately, I don't qualify.

More of that Prosperity Gospel!

Let me say this once and for all:

I strenuously believe in the Prosperity Gospel. There, I've said it. Take your potshots gentlemen, lob your theological grenades at me, or merely relegate me to the dung heap of the Redeemed Yet Ill-Informed. Do your worst. (That's always a fun thing to say. Even type!)

Today I fly my colors high: I DO believe that those who give themselves fully to God, who seek him with all their hearts, who dare to approach him based on the terms he's laid out WILL, indeed, prosper. I believe those people who will talk to him frankly and without guise will see him and experience him. And they will have the Life that is truly life. They will prosper the very most. Yes, it's God's intention to prosper EVERY SINGLE PERSON that comes to him and believes on his son Jesus. Mmm hmm!

This man is a preacher.

The thing is, my friends, I take GREAT ISSUE with that which we define as prosperity. I understand what your values are when, to you, prosperity=cash. Time Magazine had a big article some time in the last month regarding preachers of money, figuring Creflo Dollar (he of the Rolls-Royce and private helicopter evangelism) and our very own Joel Osteen as drivers in this ideological economy. In my Bible, I see experiencing God, and the resultant fullness, pictured as angels in jail cells, public lashings, and communities that are so devoted to one another that they sell all their stuff and hold property in common. Weird. Challenging. Partially attractive. PROSPERITY. This is the life which is TRULY life, NOT the phony life that the world pawns on us. Sound somewhat fearsome to you? Yeah, me too. Sound like a very different kind of life? Sound like a whole other Kingdom? Yeah.

This man is reading Time Magazine

I was thinking today about that creepy passage in Deuteronomy 5 where the freakin' ELDERS of the Israelites get together and tell Moses, "even though we've seen God and heard his voice, we don't think we could take much more or we'll die. Everybody knows you can't hear God's voice and keep living. We would much rather YOU hear God's voice, and just tell us what he says. That way, WE KEEP SURVIVING." Nice, jackasses. Save that hide.

And I'm thinking, wouldn't you rather see God and die, than miss him and keep surviving? Wouldn't you rather have this wild, consuming LIFE for maybe a few years then just go on home to eternity, than just fritter away on the back porch for 78 years? That's not even a debate for me. I'm sure that sounds arrogant, and I'm sorry if it does, but it seems that this should be a settled issue for anybody who'd ever represent themselves as a disciple of a man who willingly died on a cross at the age I am now, hanging up the ambitions around career, family, reputation, and all possessions.

I mean, this is an off-beat fellow.

I've always been haunted by Hebrews 10:31, which says it's a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. I take that to mean that it's heavy; it's a life-changer. It's grave. I DON'T see that as something to be avoided. I read that as a sign over the gateway to intimacy with God, and the sign says, "abandon EVERYTHING, all ye who enter here." That reads, to me, exactly like all Jesus's language in Luke 14 about what being a disciple entails. This is not news to me. It used to be, back when my whole grid of the God picture came out of preacher's mouths, but we have Time Magazine to show us the folly of THAT tack.

So onward and upward, Prosperity Gospel! Go from strength to strength! May you have converts here and abroad, both now and in the days to come! And may all who dare to come near the God-Man of Ravishing Grace be snatched out of the half-life and into Joy Eternal! Hallelujah and come on back, Lord Jesus!

Woe to us all.

So, Church Leaders Out There in TeeVee Land, I have to agree: Jesus DID talk about money quite a bit. Yes. He did. He DID say that people loved their dough so much they'd go to hell for it. He DID seem to back up Paul's line that the love of cash blooms into a whole world of sin. Yes, yes yes. But here's the thing, you split-tongued deceiver:

Jesus had nothing to gain from what he said. Jesus is what you call a Shepherd, and good shepherds never personally profit from what the sheep produce. Their satisfaction comes from knowing they were faithful to the Owner of the sheep, and from the self-fulfilling reward which is love, in that they love the sheep well. Jesus's teaching on money profited the poor, as well as the giver who came to see God via generosity. YOUR teachings, you televangelist you, profit YOU. Kinda makes the whole thing suspect, don't it?

Random Thoughts on Freedom

Galatians 5:1- "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free."

The goal of freedom is freedom.
The end of freedom is FREEDOM.
The glory of freedom is the Glory of Freedom.
Freedom is open-ended. It is not intended to produce anything. It is not a tool or a method or a means. It is not open to evaluation or judgment. It wants application but not interpretation. Freedom is like a good set of lungs.

Freedom has a thousand million enemies, the worship of freedom among them.

Is there anything more inspiring, more nerve-igniting and more exultant than the John 9 dance of the recently freed?

Freedom CAN be had. But, far too often, it is conceded. It's volunteered to the guillotines of personal politics, reputation, feeling understood, or being thought wise. Sadly, it can also be traded in for money.

Freedom is knowing who is telling you what to do. Or knowing who you'll listen to.

I have the freedom to rebel, to sin, to reject, and to tear down. I demand those, or I am not free. And if I'm any less rejoiced in and accepted in those moments when I am counter-productive, like the 2-year-old at the restaurant, I am not free. Freedom is bad politics.

The only reason we have the word freedom is because that concept and state is threatened. When it was all there was, it didn't exist. When it was challenged and defied, though, the ideal sprang up as central. So will we use the concept of God in Heaven, or will He be so present that he is part of our unnamed assumption? So the fact that we use this word is an indicator that we are in a struggle to get back somewhere; we want to lay hold of a formless promise we feel to have heard about but can scarce remember. Freedom is the country from which we were captured into slavery, and indeed we will return there. We will endure anything but to return there. It is our ancestral home.


I don't have to follow your rules. I don't have to struggle under your guilt.
He opens chambers in me I didn't know were there.
Membership is a burden I wasn't meant to bear.
There is no direction in freedom.
I find no protection in boundaries.
I am open to your hating me.
This longing toward freedom is a sign that I was made.

Attack of the Albino Monkey Man!

My Friend David has this dad who's an eye doctor. He scored me the free trial Nike sports contacts that the Butthole Doc wouldn't cough up. Big Daddy finds a way.

Me:1 The System:1

South Africa, Part 2

A few months ago, I wrote about the redemptive power of sin, and how it’s possible for us to do what Jesus did: namely, to absorb the sins of other people.

Interestingly enough, I got a deeper lesson on that very subject while overseas.

Like I said before leaving, Didi was on a team that visited and prayed for AIDS patients in their homes and in the hospice we’ve built. This is one of her experiences:

She walks into a dim, dingy shack with two other prayer beast women, who look all lovely and bathed on the outside, but inside are carrying enough spiritual ammunition to detonate a continent. Anyhow, they meet an African woman who's full of peace and joy, though also full up with hepatitis. She's also wracked with fear; she’d been too intimidated by the possible results to ever go for testing or medication. She badly wants prayer, though. As Didi begins to pray for this woman, she takes a page out of Peter and Paul’s playbook. Remember when they said, “we don’t have any money to give you, but what we do have, we freely give you…” then healed the guy? Well, Didi starts in with a similar impartation. She imparts her peace and fearlessness to the lady, then says, “your own body is unable to fight off this sickness, but mine is able. I impart to you MY health, and my body’s strength. Have it, in Jesus’ name.” Didi later said that she’d never prayed anything like this before, and hadn’t considered it beforehand; the Spirit of God simply told her to lay it out there.

The woman says she feels some relief, but my Didi immediately feels a painful burning in her chest. She's concerned about taking care and attention away from these African women, so says nothing at the time, but once out of the shack, she tells her colleagues about this increasingly debilitating pain she's experiencing. She was knocked sideways for about two hours, and finally relieved of what she believed was a physical manifestation of the spirit of infirmity that had sucked onto her when she freely gave away her health and strength.

So did Didi carry hepatitis out of an African shack, like John Coffee in The Green Mile? Well, you tell me. I do know this, though: we can siphon sins and even the effects of sin off people just like that Jesus did way back in Isaiah 53 when he bore up our infirmities. And my Didi’s IN, full bore. So am I.