Stock Values: Down.

Today I took a look at my stock positions on E*Trade. This is what I saw:

What I want you to notice here (if you can read it) is that, altogether, I paid $938.19 for stocks that are, together, worth $1.10 today.

That means, if I were to "cash out" of my 2,210 shares of stock held by E*Trade, I could not afford to purchase a carbonated beverage at the local convenience store. I would need to add a quarter to my stocks' aggregate value for that soda pop. Or, considered another way, I would need another 578 shares of stock to buy the refreshing fizzy drink.

In this, I have been 'unlucky' with the stocks.

Allen Stickney, 1940-2008

I was first told about Allen Stickney by my friend Karl Nyquist. I was hunting for a shepherd/mentor in Dallas, and Karl told me there was a "hard core anti-institution" guy that I should look up. When I first called Allen to see if he had some time for a guy like me, he inquired about me and I said I discipled men as a matter of course. There was a pause on the other line.

"Well where do you come from?" he said in his severe southern drawl. "Because guys like YOU don't run in herds..."

I soon learned that, to Allen, "ministry" was all about making disciples. One life breathing into another. He had no time or patience for any religious effort that didn't translate into mature disciples of Jesus. Needless to say, he wasn't a church fan. One of Allen's famous lines was "the greatest enemy of the gospel is the red brick church house on the corner." He used to berate his old pal Bud for only spending his time around churchmen, instead of the bars that Allen liked to frequent to fish for men. "I tell him, I say 'WHEN, in the name of GOD'..." (This is an exact quote, because once I started hanging around Allen, I took a tape recorder with me to capture his pithy greatness) "...WHEN are you gonna make something that looks like YOU? ...Instead of these phony-balonius, sanctimonius CRAPHEADS..." The guy was, understand, 58 at the time. Aren't you supposed to be a little more... REFINED by that point?

Allen's experience with the Christian Religious Complex was extensive: he was the "head pastor" of the First Baptist Church of Augusta, Georgia ("Oh, sure, there I was preaching on television every week, thinking everybody NEEDED to hear what I had to say...") until the racism of his governing board forced him to leave in disgust. His wife Alice (who Allen never referred to but called her "Alice Faye, Baby"- which, pronounced by Allen, sounded like BAY-buh) complimented his passion for taking the good news about Jesus to the very least, so they relocated to Kenshasa, Kenya, and had a career as missionaries, until family problems brought them back home to Dallas.

Scores of men, and the hundreds they impacted, are glad God brought Sticko back to Texas for a while. My life was certainly changed. Allen was one in just a small handful of men who've seen the LORD's purposes in me, called it out, and befriended me while watching over my soul. I learned from Allen that the church can meet over fried catfish or in a living room easier than in an auditorium over a Sunday bulletin. I saw a middle-aged man who was still frank about his struggles with the flesh, and who was still ravenous toward the Father, the scriptures, and humbling himself in prayer and worship.

In 2002, Dora and I were honored to have Allen officiate our wedding. He and Alice were the single most encouraging couple with regards to our relationship. They saw God's plan long before we did, as Alice and Dora had started to spend time together too. Alice is, like Allen, a person who is completely aware and open about her shortcomings, and simply trusts in the LORD to see her through in spite of them. She pays no attention to Alice, trying to get herself perfect. Her attention is given over to the Perfect God. She and Allen always playfully called me a knucklehead, saying that I was so in love with Dora that I couldn't even see straight enough to know it. But they were for us through all of our romantic bumps, and told us so repeatedly.

Allen and Alice Faye Baby dreamed of returning to Kenya, where their hearts were, but they received the terrible news that Allen had developed prostate cancer. Undergoing the painful humiliation of chemo, the troops rallied around Allen and did what we could to serve him and Alice. One of my most precious memories of Allen is when I visited him in his bedroom, catheter and all, and sang songs to Jesus with him. He said I was like David with my guitar, giving comfort to the afflicted Saul through the peace of music. Nobody knew how long he was for the earth, but we knew he was hurting and struggling. That pain laid him open to God like never before. He became desperate, cried out to God (and how!) and he was healed of that cancer. Really. It was gone.

Once the doctors were satisfied, Allen and Alice headed back to Kenya, full of youth and energy and great plans for the kingdom of heaven on earth. But they could only stay a couple of years, as Alice had some eye problems, and they returned to Texas once again. Didi and I had dinner with them last year, and we were amazed at the openness and faith of Allen especially, and the ebullient peace that Alice always seems to exude. He was talking with God in terms of a deeper intimacy than he'd ever had. It was astounding. Ever heard of a 67-year-old, who grew up steeped in the Baptist religion, turning to the LORD anew, changing his theology, and being baptized in the Holy Spirit? Yeah, me neither--until Allen. He's one of the very few Christian lifers I've ever met who became MORE malleable, MORE humble and simple in his faith, and MORE open as time went on. Most of us become crusty in our theological certainty, aloof in our self-righteous satisfaction, and arrogant of our knowledge. Not Allen.

Then the cancer sprang back to life, more aggressive than before. In no time, Allen was gone. He crossed the finish line on July 6 from a nondescript hospital room in Dallas. But to me and Didi (who he lovingly called Dora BAY-buh), Allen Stickney was a shining star of a man, rough-hewn and beautiful, ornery and gentle. I will love him as long as I live, until the day I see him again.

The words he spoke over our marriage have become an anthem ringing over our lives. Allen took to the Message, all raw and common-sounding, and this is how he liked to say I Corinthians 2:9:

"What no man ever saw or heard, what no man ever thought could happen... is the very thing God has planned for those who love him."

You Crazy Galatians!

Last weekend I did something I rarely ever do.

I went to a good old-fashioned churchhouse sunday-go-to-meeting. I could say a lot about this experience (I certainly thought many things), but I'll limit myself to two main ideas. First, this:

You know how obese people deal with self-hatred, so they hate themselves somewhat and give up on their bodies so hate themselves a little more so give up on themselves a little more so hate themselves a little more? That's called a Downward Cycle.

You know how people who work at StressMoney, Inc. deal with performance so they work a little harder (producing a little more success, as they've been trained to define it) so they snuggle up to performance a little more so they work a little harder and do 'better' so they snuggle up to performance a little more? That is, also, a Downward Cycle.

You know how people who have a history of bad-ending relationships often deal with rejection so they act in ways that inevitably lead to their being rejected again so they engage in more feelings of rejection, then project that rejection on the NEXT person they meet so that feelings of rejection become automatic, and they deal with more rejection? Again, an ugly cycle. These are all also called ADDICTIONS.

There's another cycle out there which also gets a lot of play. It goes like this here. Ready go:

*I feel that I am a not-all-I-can-be kind of person. I should try harder. I should be better. I should clean up.
*I would feel less loserly if I got me some of that Old Time Religion. That churchhouse makes people betterer, I hear tell.
*I go to church and yep, they affirm my suspicions. I AM a loser. They don't say that outright, but they do identify all my shortcomings with expertise. They are good at this. I am... not.
*They indicate (in accordance with the belief that made me come in here in the first place) that regularly attending their performances and giving them my money will help abate the loserism I deal with.
*I continue to attend, having more shortcomings identified, being told more ways to outwit the loserism which is in my very fabric (I'm really not good at implementing their tips, which is... a bummer), but feel that if I come here more, this will somehow help me out of the quicksand.

Sound familiar? Might we call this sort of thing a Downward Cycle? Or addiction? I will. And here's the bonus round:

*I am actually a TRY-er, and over the years, have generated such buy-in that I attend the Varsity Prayer Meeting at 6:30am (or I'm on the Special Set-Up/Take-Down Team, or I find myself in a Leader/Staff position, or I get Bible Colleged, or I'm on the Donut Brigade). More of this is better, right?
*I soon learn that the stakes, here, are even HIGHER. Whatever I started doing before (I AM, now, reading some Bible once a month. Okay, God?) isn't as good as it MIGHT be. If I pray 10 minutes, I might should bump it to 15--you know, to show my 'commitment'. If I feed a homeless guy, I'm "challenged" to feed 10 and make sure they get into a local trade school. If I WAS giving them X% of my money, X+4% would be even more "humble", "godly", "mature", "self-sacrificing", or whatever the carrot is. There should always be Just.. A... Little... Bit... More out of me.
*I try. Boy do I try.
*I return to the top of this list, realizing that self-hatred, performance, and rejection are ALL there! Wow! This IS the bonus round!

[Caveat: I'm not saying there's anything wrong with helping homeless people get into trade school.]

So I recognized that cycle while I was there last week. I hadn't seen that before.

The second thing I'd like to relate was an actual poem that was dramatized for us all. I'll help you know what was going on so that you don't miss the theatrical aspect of this performance piece or, more importantly, what I thought about everything (wink!). [And yes, I did ask for a copy of this thing specifically to pass along.]

--------------

PAINT ON THE WALL

There was a church upon a hill [by this, they mean a churchhouse building: bricks-and-mortar. Not, you know, the church.]
Where everything was fine until
The paint inside was getting old
And peeling in some spots, I'm told
[Do you like it so far? I do.]

The pastor called a business meeting [now see, this is a blatant bastardization of the term pastor. Pastors don't CALL F-ING BUSINESS MEETINGS, THEY WATCH OVER THE SOULS OF HUMAN BEINGS, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GOD WHO SHINES IN HEAVEN. Ahem.]
And after the preliminary greeting
The deacon cried, "Come one, come all!
What color shall we paint each wall?"

They gathered in the sanctuary [don't get me started on what is a candidate for sanctification and what is a superstitious article of witchcraft, based on the powers we ascribe to it]
Each determined, and contrary [Oo!]
Sister Gayle said, "What do you think
About a very chartreuse pink?"

Brother Dave said to the crowd
"Isn't that a bit too loud?
I prefer a subtle blue-
It makes the walls look clean and new!"

A woman rebuked, "I wanted gold
It seems much warmer-blue's too cold."
A man in the back began to bellow
"Yellow! Yellow! Yellow! Yellow!" [repetition for comedic effect]

From that point on, all their voices grew stronger
Each selfish plea whined longer and longer
Then strongly and sternly, a voice of great love
Silenced the church as It spoke from above:

[Here, 'church' is used as a general location, as in 'the auditorium erupted with applause'. Just so you know. Also, know that at this point, the performers slowly began to bow their heads as an unseen performer using a microphone spoke these words as deeply as possible. Also remember that this is a Voice of Great Love.]

"You wonder why you can't hear my call
When your greatest struggle is paint on the wall [good grief! the rhythm of this thing!]
Paint your church the color of skin [Here, God also refers to drywall as a church. Whoops, God!]
For you let no other races come in.
Paint your church a wealthy green
For you ignore the starvation you've seen
Paint it white and clean as uncalloused feet
For you refuse to share my joy in the street.
I agree that your church could be painted in blue
For your hearts, so cold, are given to so few.
You're experts at church as a highly skilled game [I think God is now referring to the workings of the entire outfit, which isn't really any closer...]
But reality demands you serve men in MY name
You pray using eloquent "thee"s and "thou"s
And yet forget about here's and now's [I'm not sure what God's saying here but I'm certain we've been bad.]
You struggle to be an earthly saint
But my love must not be covered in paint [Again, God may be misusing a metaphor here]

----------

I'm tempted to just end there, but I just can't. I don't think anything on this page has ever embarrassed me more than that piece. It made me angry to retype it. Somehow, this piece went from being about people who bicker about color preferences to a long list of our shortcomings. That God really rubs your nose in it, huh? When this thing was done, and my mouth was AGAPE, the performers silently took their seats and people in the crowd raised their eyebrows and looked at one another as if to say "boy, something to think about, there. Mm-hm..." And then everything moved right along, as if this was totally understandable and normal. I was looking for Alan Funt. Nobody presented a plan for helping the hungry, we just all sat soaking in the guilt and shame juice which had just been poured all over us. I wanted to scream and cry and vomit and kick those freaking V-Drums to hell. How dare they so blithely screw with the God's kids' perception of his attitude, you know?

I asked myself this: do people walk out of here today feeling endorsed by God, or under suspicion? Do they think God is excited about them, or generally disappointed with them? Do they want to aggressively seek out love because they've been given so much by a good Father, or are just hoping to appease the Great Frown--I mean, uh--Voice of Love? God help us. Please.

Movie Pitch: Behind Closed Doors

Okay, got a crazy idea for a movie.

I’m open, shoot.

A beat-up, rusty robot is all alone.

What’s his goal?

Well, uh... he has no goal, per se. He crushes and stacks trash.

And this is the star? The beat-up trash compactor?

Yeah, but.. but he does things that enDEAR us to him.

He tells us his hopes and dreams? He fantasizes about becoming a real boy?

Well, no, like I said he doesn’t really have any goals. Maybe he’s lonely?

And he conveys this how?

Beeps and mechanical purrs. ... You know, R2D2 has ALWAYS been loved…

Son, even loon-ball Lucas wouldn’t hope that R2D2 could carry a movie though! He has to communicate SOMETHING to us… what does he do that’s endearing?

He… gathers odd bits. That he finds. An old Rubic’s Cube, for instance. People LOVE that thing, am I right? And, uh… he has an old video tape... ready?... of My Fair Lady. Classic, huh? Do kids love My Fair Lady? Yeah they do!

I… don’t… ...Tell me about his world. It’s beautiful, he makes friends with people?

Well, no. It’s a sort of Mad Max world—completely desolate, destroyed planet. Not a stitch of greenery. No humans left on the planet. At all. Just totally barren. Ever read the Road? Maybe we see a… cockroach?

A cockroach? What are you, stupid? So it’s a movie with just this depressing robot on this depressing planet and maybe a cockroach?

Oh, no. I’m not STUPID, sir. There’s a love interest! Yesir!

A love interest! I’m listening…

Well, she’s also a robot…

Talking? They start talking?

No, no… no talking between them. Boops and bleeps. You know, boops and bleeps.

Uh, huh. Two robots that don’t speak on a godforsaken planet, collecting trash with a sidekick cockroach. This sounds great. And action-packed, I might add.

Wait! There is action! About halfway through, they make it up to a spaceship full of people…

People! Finally! Somebody we like? A Dick Van Dyke sort of guy up there who takes them in, gives us an emotional figure we can sink our teeth into? Gives them a family and shows them how to love? Tell me yes.

Well, that’s a negative, too, I’m afraid. See, all the humans are overfed, underexercised, and spend their days in sort of hovercraft La-Z-Boys plugged into video monitors. I mean, ha, just TOTALLY fat and gross--completely pathetic. The humans are deplorable. They don’t really interact with each other, or with the robots. It's crazy on this ship.

Geez, man, you’re... kind of depressing me, here. Are you aiming this movie at Goth college students, or what? Is a killer going to be let loose on this ship, or are they going to be sucked into a black hole? I mean, who do you hope will watch this?

Uh, children and families, actually.

…

There are some really nifty chase scenes around the space ship. Oh, boy, it’s fun. And one human decides he wants to STAND, which humans haven’t done for like 500 years. It's kind of campy/inspirational, because these LOSER humans are FINALLY going to MAYBE start to STAND, for cripes' sake, and we think MAYBE...

…you know WE’RE humans, right? This is like making a Christian album full of songs criticizing church. Is there even any HUMOR? Do you have ANYTHING?

Oh sure! In several places! In one instance, the robot accidentally runs over his cockroach buddy! Ha! Maybe he runs him over a couple of times! Snort!

…?

..and, uh, the girl robots BLASTS a huge boulder, and there’s a reveal of the guy robot just COWERING behind the remaining rock—I mean, he’s absolutely scared for his life! He thinks she’s going to kill him! He's TERRIFIED back there!

Oh... I just… I’m feeling sorry for you right now. ...So... how, in your mind, is this film supposed to be fun or attractive for children? I mean, in ANY way whatsoever.

Robots open and shut, like Transformers and Iron Man…

…yessss…

Did I mention the chase scenes? There are two different ones, for sure.

You did. Listen, friend, I really appreciate you coming to me FIRST with this idea, but unless there’s something AMAZING you’re not telling me about this non-talking, future-despairing, humans-are-simps, plotless funfest of yours, I think we’re going to have to pass. I do hope that… SOMEone will give it a good, hard look, and…

Oh, and did I mention that Pixar’s going to do it, and we’re going to use really cool computer imaging and early test group results suggest that 20% of all moviegoers will buy a tie-in product of some kind?

Is $200 million enough to get you started?

VChew Exclusive Interview!

Steve Manuel: Kobe Bryant, my goodness, it's really you. So... you didn't play great in this series, huh?

Kobe Bryant: I tell you who didn't play good was Brian Scalabrine. Did he even get in a game? That's a [censored] joke, there.

SM: I think he might be injured... but that's not what I'm talking about. Tell me about how YOU played.

KB: Kobe knows what he has to do in any given situation. There are other people around this... vicinity... who might not be doing all THEY can do to insure... it's just not championship-caliber, around here.

SM: Do you feel that YOU were championship-caliber?

KB: Kobe wears several rings. So you tell me.

SM: Well, I mean, I'm interviewing you in hopes that YOU will tell ME things. Let's talk about your shooting percentage for this series... you had some clunker games?

KB: Boston Celtics prevent Kobe from playing the kind of ball Kobe likes to play. Kobe likes to inbound the ball to Kobe, dribble down with some crazyass spin move right around Red Auerbach's signature, make a bounce pass inside to Kobe, then have Kobe dribble-drive, sucking in like 4 defenders, and uncorking a mad no-look pass to a slashing Kobe who throws it down with AUTHORITY over Paul Garnett or whatever that man is.

SM: Those are different... What you're describing is impossible, Kobe.

KB: Not finished. Kobe inquires of Kobe as to what our cap space looks like and maybe WE should get one o those PJ Allens for THIS squad up in here. But Kobe says we got all we gon' NEED right there on the court. Kobe's diagramming some sweet plays, Kobe's got that ankle injury behind him, and Kobe hits that fadeaway 3 off the rebounds Kobe snatches up inside.

SM: ...

SM: What's the player's name on your team that wears the women's athletic headband?

KB: Only one name you need to know on this crew. Kobe.

SM: Is that the name of that player, the European who plays with his hair and makes an occasional 3?

KB: Yeah, that's what I'm saying... Does he score? Then his name's Kobe.

SM: So... do you believe that you are EVERY person in this organization?

KB: You don't get it. Kobe flies the plane, Kobe makes the team meals, Kobe tapes up ankles, Kobe gets ready for photo opportunities after games with Kobe and takes care of those two sweet little Kobes, and Kobe sweeps up after games, man.

SM: Oh... so... you think that you're every person you SEE. You're every person you come in contact with. ...who won the NBA Finals this year?

KB: Yeah, NBA Finals. That's it, right there. One magic moment, you know what I'm talking about? I'm talking about one chance to shut them all up, so them who's really great. I'm talking about beatin up the bully. Man, ANYTHING is possible.

SM: You're starting to sound a lot like Kevin Garnett. Um... what IS the name of the tall guy that plays for Boston? He's got a crazy long neck, wears a baseball hat REALLY low, howls at the moon... do you know his name?

KB: Whoo! It's an amazing thing, to silence all the critics. People say Kobe's selfish, Kobe's insensitive, Kobe's ding-a-ling not under control, or whatever. But one day, when they ARE Kobe, we'll see what's going on then. Kobe plays basketball.

SM: Wait, Kobe... are you in the process of absorbing people into your persona on a regular basis?

KB: Tel you who resists Kobe: Eddie House's kid. Dude's got a demon in him or something. Freaky dude. Won't become Kobe.

SM: Um... how long does it usually take for you to meet someone then incorporate them into your ego?

KB: You listen to me, Kobe. On the next play, I will give you a look, and THAT means that you set a pick for Kobe... Kobe...?

[interviewer slips through security and jogs away]

Anybody got $1,000?

This game looks absolutely unbelievable. I LOVE the way it moves and is put together. Just.... love... this. It comes out in the fall and it's called Big Little Planet. It's Mario reborn. I hope it's as funny/clever as it is cute.


The realism captured here reminds me of an innovative game created by one of my artistic heroes, Doug Tennapel, which was called the Neverhood, which was made with claymation (why aren't there more video games shot frame-by-frame like this? Oh, I guess because it takes 5 years to make...

In the Eyre Tonight

As you may have guessed, heard about, or read on the internet, I love my wife. And as my normal sabbath rest-day was eaten by a 4 1/2 hour home church meeting and resultant encounters with drag queens (I'm telling you- watch out for true community! You don't know where that stuff will lead! If you're a fan of the tame and predictable, I encourage a rock-hewn Church Membership and a play for Sunday School Attendance lapel pins.), me and the missus were due for a night of rest. So last night I laid down my life in the greatest gesture of love any man can give to a woman: we forewent any REAL hope of entertainment and watched an Emily Bronte movie.

I don't want to overstate this, but I may be the single greatest husband ever to march across God's midwestern grass.

So we watched the BBC's Jane Eyre from 2006, a massive, sprawling piece weighing in at 4 hours, splayed out over 2 discs. It featured cold, stony portraits of England (when your story is set in the 1840s, there isn't much of an alternate), LOTS of kissing (my God! The kissing! I honestly don't know that I've ever seen so much kissing in one evening. It's extremely off-putting and made me surprisingly uncomfortable to watch. It was rough), and a never ending, but-then-there's-this-OOTTHHEERRR-guy kind of plot that rambled and expanded and wouldn't leave well enough alone.

Having said all that, I had to confess to myself at the end of it all that I quite enjoyed it.

This was originally a miniseries on BBC but, at last, all the loose ends were tied up (will you match it, LOST?) and the relationships were resolved out of question and tension. They did a nice job of jarring us into a new setting (several times) then catching us up and effectively answering the questions the plot had planted. And it ended right, which was nice.

This girl has the kind of fishy top lip that only Angelina Jolie could love.

This is all well and good, but I write today because I made a comment to Didi that found resolution for me this morning. When being exposed to the rigid class structure in the story, and the bondage accompanying it (for instance, travel is an impossibility, as is being social with any but your same-tier colleagues, exploration of the marketplace, exposure to the arts, etc. etc.), I was struck with the unusual time and place we (you and me) live in. For most places in most of human history, you were bound, by where you were born, to a very specific strata, in a very specific place. People find themselves in a context and that's it. You live with what you're given, and most die with no greater knowledge or freedom than that of their contemporaries, or maybe even that of their parents. The strictures presented are lived between and died under.

But England, my friends, is bigger than Thornfield Hall. Much bigger.

This morning, while praying against religion, I had the same thought. A child will be born in Africa today, and that child will live her whole life under the searing heat of exported Anglicanism. Her conception of love, law, freedom, truth, God, man, meaning, and power will be defined by the tight-knit doctrine foisted upon her in that religious context. And unless God Himself intervenes, she will die with no greater a canvas than is ready-made for her. Again, a boy will be born into a Baptist environment in Louisiana, and unless God (or man moving in God's heart) inserts Himself, that boy will not know God's Spirit, will live under the oppression of the law, and die without ever having really tasted that which Jesus died to give him. My friends, I give you the power of religion.

And God is bigger than that. Much bigger.

The examples are broader than what I'm presenting, and the stakes are certainly higher than in the Bronte story, but it was a reminder this morning, and I was grateful. Grateful for the ways God's inserted (and will be inserting) himself into the prisons I was born into, and motivated to go walking around my life with a big set of keys, looking for hearts to unlock. I hope I meet a guy in Kroger today. I hope I meet a girl on the train in England in August. I hope I have a meaningful email correspondence with a teen today. I hope God gives me an entrance into the soul of one of my friends later this week. Everybody's been born into a prison, and everybody needs to be busted out of it.

Remember when Jean Jacque Rousseau said "Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains"? Yeah, that guy was an idiot.

I Had Dinner With This Man

And what I mean is, we ate 5 tables away from one another.

But I think I ate more than he did, and I think he was kind of impressed. He acted like he wasn't, and I acted like I was unaware that he was acting.

Then the drag queen began to prophesy to me.

My friend Christine had this idea to go set up a tent at the Tr-State Pride Festival, simply praying for people. Christine likes people who're hurting, desperate, and outcast--she is like Jesus in this way. I joined her today. Here are three vignettes:

1- I prayed with Frank, who just left the board at a large local Christian Church. I asked him if they knew he was gay, and he assured me they did. He left because it was religious, phony, and political. When I prayed that all bitterness and religious filth would be removed from him, he was grateful and in agreement, saying that he'd been on the receiving end of plenty of condemnation in the name of Jesus.

2- I met Joseph, who'd been part of a mass marriage under Sun Myung Moon and produced a son, Elijah.  His marriage dissolved, and as I prayed for him to be freed and clean, and that nothing would hinder him from receiving the pure love of Jesus, he jerked/convulsed a couple of times, which I took to be a good sign.  His hands were in the air, and he repeatedly said things like "thank you Jesus.  We need you, Jesus."  When I met with 15-year-old Elijah, I found him to be incredibly perceptive and sincere in his search for truth.  So I shared the gospel with him, and he gladly received that Jesus said he was the only way to the Father in Heaven.  Then he joined me in laying hands on his father, Joseph, and we prayed for him again.

3- I sat down with Miss Viagra Falls, the 2008 Entertainer of the Year in Cincinnati.  When I mentioned being condemned in the name of Jesus, he said "whatever you're thinking when you say that--gossip, evil looks, insults, etc.--I've been on the receiving end of.  I grew up Pentecostal and they don't mess around..."  So I prayed for MVF, and when I was done, his eyes were rolled back in his head and he was feeling around for my head.  Then the drag queen began to prophesy to me, speaking a lot of accurate, God-honoring words over me.  "The law of the LORD is righteous and true, and is love," he said.  "Religion will try to form you into its image, but God says you mustn't ever leave the purity of what you have right now, because THIS is the battle-ground, and THIS is the pure gospel of God.  THESE are the hurting and lonely..."  I talked with MVF about his gift, and he said in tears that he hasn't exercised it since 1993.  Christine and I prayed with him again, and he prophesied to her as well (so accurately that Christine immediately began to bawl at his dead-on words).  I thought of Romans 11:29- "God's gifts... are without repentance."  He gives gifts and simply doesn't rescend them.

Some other observations from my day:

*These people immediately know that I'm straight.  There's a level of spiritual awareness/acuity among this set that's striking.

*Among the more than 20 people I ministered to, not ONE said anything like, "this is all hogwash.  Why are you wasting my time?"  Even the Wiccan priestess I talked to was sweet to me and heard me out.  A LARGE majority of my folks said they'd been burned by religion and rejection, and DEEPLY appreciated the prayer.

* When I told these folks that I didn't do any organization (when they inquired about my church experience), and that I met in homes with people, they immediately asked if they could join in.  Amazing.  I hope to hear from 3 different people this week.

* This community is well aware of its depravity, and its need.  I felt like I was surrounded by people whose souls were open wounds, flapping in the breeze, instead of the buttoned-up, "we've got it together, we're doing fine" people in the yuppie parts of town.  Pretty easy pickings.

* I loved how one person, who's in my circle of believer relationships, moved because of something she wanted to do to spread Jesus' love.  Then others of us simply agreed with her and supported her, and we saw God too because of it.  Gee, that was easy.

I Completely Believe This Man

The high-fastening pants, to me, scream VERACITY!

Summertime Bubble Gum Review!

It's warming up in the midwest. The grass (and weeds. MY GOD the WEEDS!) is making its annual comeback, people are working in their yards like it's their job, and the hopeful are even considering shimmying into swimsuits. Well, if you're walking barefoot down to the swimming hole, and all you've got is a straw hat and some icy Grape Nehi in your satchel, I suggest bubble gum as a companion for the journey. Bubble gum is a classic minor indulgence, to me. It's truly one of life's teeny-tiny pleasures. So rifle through those baseball cards (see product #6), set your garden hose to Stun, and let's start VC’s Summertime Bubble Gum Review!

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We’ve decided that there are really four major categories by which any bubble gum can (and should) be judged:

*Presentation. This includes packaging, color, and how the gum is delivered. This matters. If you don’t agree, then you think au gratin is mashed potatoes is French fries.

*Initial Experience. That first 30 seconds, what happens inside my mouth? Is it bitter because of packaging powder? Is it grainy? How chewy is it up front?

*Bubble-Blowing Capability. It’s called, after all, BUBBLE gum. I’m a believer in the bubble blowing. Get Juicy Fruit if you just want to chew (seriously. Get it. I don’t know what that flavor is they’ve come up with over at Wrigley, but it’s delicious). Also, you should know that we’ve limited the review to “original” bubble gum flavor. The neon or mouth-staining tones preferred by 11-year-olds are not represented here. Purists only.

*Duration of Quality. Simple stopwatch method, here. How long does the goodness last? Probably not very long, but I’d rather invest my bubble dollars on something that will last over 3 minutes.

Those are the criteria by which the gums shall be judged. Let’s hop to:


1) Super Bubble- This and Dubble Bubble were the most common bubble gums of my youth. These were found in generous supply at barber shops, youth events, and in Halloween bags. I’m going to let Super Bubble stand in for them both. Its blue-and-yellow swirl packaging is iconic and a standard in the bubblegum world.

1) Presentation- I remember this being more of a cube of gum, whereas Super Bubble has moved on and now gives us a suppository-shaped tube. I could’ve said ‘hot dog’, I guess, but you only get honesty here at VC, and I’m not a fan of candy in this shape (never really been a Mike and Ike/Red Hots guy for that reason).
2) Initial Experience- Wow. This flavor really does take me back. I think, for some reason, of going to the general store in Iola, Texas, and putting this gum on my uncle Kennth’s tab, which was about the most amazing thing in the world to me. I’m surprised that, in about two minutes, it turns bitter. Disappointing. BITTERLY disappointing, if you will. I think you probably will. I should also add that SB was the only bubblegum that actually stuck to my teeth, which is extremely off-putting. This immediately reminds you that you should NOT be chewing bubble gum. This may be true, but it’s very unpleasant to consider.
3) Bubble-Blowing Capability- Just terrible. I’m really surprised: in my memory this was a terrific bubblegum. SB has an interesting quality in its consistency, and it’s something that you see in many bubble gums, but it’s going to be tough to describe: this gum has a taffy-like makeup, but when a bubble is blown, suddenly it’s the thinnest material around. It’s like when frogs blow out their chests while they’re croaking (I’m sure there’s a term for that. I won’t bother to look it up)- one second they’re frog-thickness, the next they’re the thickness of a page from the Bible. I’m calling this quality Gum Surface Tension, and SB’s is the pits. No good.
4) Duration of Quality- Well, ‘quality’ is a strong term with Super Bubble, but let’s just say that the experience you have with this gum is absolutely gone in 8 minutes. It’s a stringy mess in there. Get it out of my mouth.

2) Bubble Yum- I remember loving this gum in jr. high. It was just fun and soft. I mean, the title says YUM, right?

1) Presentation- The package is bigger than ever, with the gum loaded in an unwieldy rectangle instead of the Rolo-style shaft. Also, the packaging now features a duck wearing a nose ring (their mascot?), which is a really disturbing image. Does this cartoon help move gum?
2) Initial Experience- Bubble Yum really surprised me, as it has an amazingly gritty texture at the outset, as if all the sugar in this gum is still granulated. I don’t prefer this uneven sensation; I find it off-putting like an overripe apple. I will say, though, that for a good 30 seconds, this gum is delicious.
3) Bubble-Blowing Capability- All you’d want in this department, at least for the first five minutes (It goes without saying, for the remainder of this review, that all these gums are going to be really good for about five minutes, then they’re going to sigNIFicantly drop off in taste and performance. This is bubble gum we’re talking about, not chiraz.) I also have to mention, here, that blowing bubbles with gum that still contains sugar bits throughout is a little weird.
4) Duration of Quality- Bubble Yum loses its steam quickly. In about the time it takes you to work the sugar down, the thrill is gone. Give it 8 minutes and move on.

3) Bubble Tape, by Hubba Bubba- Hubba Bubba has a long history associating itself with the old west, dating back to its “Gumfighters” ad campaign, which I thought was prêt-ty cool back in the day. I would’ve watched that MOVIE! That cowboy reference point has stuck with me, somehow (maybe in part because ‘Bubba’ is a very country/Texas word), and Hubba Bubba has added to its lore in recent years when it introduced us to gum-from-a-holster:

1) Presentation- CRAZY about this presentation. In this wonderful gum-as-tape format, I can choose how much of this junk I want in my head. The case is hard plastic (the only bubble gum with this packaging) so they have the freedom to make nice, soft gum without it doing the mash-together. A gum holster!
2) Initial experience- The Bubble Tape packaging system necessitates a powder for separation, since it’s coiled up inside the holster. So, you have to work through that flour-y intro for maybe 10 seconds. The gum itself, though, is instantly soft and smooth. There is nothing grainy about this gum. Niiiiiice.
3) Bubble-Blowing Capability- This is a bubble blower’s gum, all the way down the line. Once you give the gum maybe a minute to congeal into it’s terrific consistency, it’s full steam ahead on bubbles. And the ability to blow bubbles lasts quite a while.
4) Duration of Quality- Bubble Tape gives us a strong 25 minutes of sweet chaw. That’s pretty much when the flavor has gone from the gum, but it’s still ready to blow bubbles—it simply doesn’t turn to rubber, which is an engineering marvel, if you ask me.

4) Trident- Their whole deal was that doctors just freakin LOVED it, so I grew up thinking that there was a medicinal aspect to Trident (I still have that in the back of my mind), which made me not want to chew it for fun. For fresh breath, sure: we’re talking about germs and bacteria and cleanliness. But for bike riding and driveway basketball and blowing bubbles? Trident doesn’t really spring to mind, for me. I include it in this review just for fairness’ sake.

1) Presentation- Everybody knows this, but I’ll say it anyway: for bubble gum, the portions are JUST TOO SMALL. It’s a joke. Two pieces are REQUIRED, three are optimal. Also, Trident has moved to the side-opening package these days (something increasingly popular among minty gums), so that pulling out a stick of gum reminds one of grabbing a crayon or choosing a pastel. It’s fairly convenient, but always seems out of place, to me.
2) Initial Experience- For about five seconds, Trident is smooth and tasty. But here it comes… that overwhelming chemical taste. That doesn’t help my perceptions of Trident being somehow antiseptic. Less enjoyable than you’d hope. That chemical patina never ebbs, unfortunately.
3) Bubble-Blowing Capability- Trident scores very low on GST, as it completely loses itself when a bubble is blown. The wad itself is thick to the point of being tough, but the bubble is super thin and fragile. Unacceptable. Terrible wad-to-bubble thickness ratio.
4) Duration of Quality- If you like medicine so much that you want to incorporate it into your recreation, then you should a) look into professional baseball, and b) chew as much Trident Bubble Gum as possible. This taste and tough consistency is rather resilient, lasting upwards of 20 minutes. Knock yourself out, there, champ.

5) Big League Chew- Now see, this stuff is what I would ride my bike to the Circle K to purchase with lifeguard money. I have a long history with this product, and have held it in high esteem for decades, now. This was a special treat growing up, and still feels like one, now. (I remember the song from this ad EXACTLY.)

1) Presentation- What can you say? A bald-faced reference to tobacco and baseball? How much more perfect can its branding be? Well, actually, I do have an opinion, there: the animated characters have always seemed too jokey and far-fetched, to me. If you want to go throwback with the baseball/tobacco thing, give me a little dignity in the artwork (pinstripes?). It just seems incongruous to me, but I know that’s strange to say. The real magic, here, is the thin strips of gum, all thrown into a pouch, so that, like Bubble Tape, the consumer decides how much he’ll enjoy at any given time. The only problem with this presentation is that, like loose-leaf tobacco (my uncle always takes a pouch hunting and fishing), time can create a melding of the strands, leaving you with a huge lump of gum, which is uncool. But taking a wad of these thin strips then bringing them under control into a chaw is a wonderful sensation.
2) Initial Experience- I’m surprised, not having had it in a while (you can typically only get BLC at sporting goods stores and the occasional Bed Bath & Beyond), that there is an unmistakably chemical tone to this gum as well. It almost comes across as too liquid, also. This is not something you battle with a bouncier gum, a la Bubble Tape. But it is incredibly smooth.
3) Bubble-Blowing Capability- Of course, out of the ‘ballpark’ (HA! Get it?), but I will say that the bubbles are a mite thin and sticky. I could see how a youngster could get this stuck on his face, hair, and clothes no problem.
4) Duration of Quality- I want to throw in here that, like Bubble Tape, BLC congeals into a nice boucy consistency in about 2 minutes. And for a solid half hour, you’re blowing strong bubbles without jaw pain. Nice work, BLC.

6) Bazooka Bubble Gum- We might as well throw in every stick of dirt that accompanies baseball cards, and basketball cards, here. It’s all the same. And holy Moses, it ain’t pretty. This was the joke gum of my youth. We all liked the character they created with Bazooka Joe (he’s a funny rebel! Who can’t get behind that?), but land sakes, what are they using him to peddle? By the way, they have a nice website for such a crap product.

1) Presentation- The Bazooka I found for this review was in a little loaf, Bit-O-Honey style, with the wrapper twisted up on both sides (like the photo above). Neat new logo. Unbelievably hard. I could’ve used it to re-hammer some nails on my fence that’ve come loose.
2) Initial Experience- The only gum to actually induce self-loathing immediately upon consumption. This stuff is hard, hard, HARD, and tastes like cherry cough syrup. It’s also grainy, which I didn’t expect.
3) Bubble-Blowing Capability- Don’t kid yourself. This stuff has a Gum Surface Tension of -5. It breaks when you try to establish a tongue groove in it, much less blow a bubble. A ridiculous bubblegum insult.
4) Duration of Quality- To my amazement, Bazooka’s taste and bounce hung in for all of 6 minutes. I was expecting 4.

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The gum I recommend for you this summer is: Bubble Tape, by Hubba Bubba. So good, I gave it the title link.

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Afterthought 1: Bubblicious.
I remember kind of shying away from this gum as a youngster, which was probably deeply intertwined with their colorful, futuristic advertising campaign: “The Ultimate Bubble has the ultimate flavors.” It seemed like they were going for too much, to me, and I had no interest in being sucked into outer space by blowing a bubble. Other than that, I can only say that it seems, based on its name, vaguely feminine, which is a turn-off. I rarely ever purchased this brand. But I was surprised, in preparing for this post, to find that, if there's a regular-flavored Bubblicious out there, I can't locate it. All their flavors are outrageous and WILD! ...and turn your mouth blue. Too bad.

Afterthought 2: Fruit Stripe Gum.
This was called ‘bubble gum’, but I’m not sure why. They never had ‘bubble gum’ flavor (it’s weird stuff: grape, cherry, “cotton candy”?, and ‘mixed fruit’ which I guess means “trust us, kids. It’s sweet, okay?”), and trying to blow a bubble out of this hard, grainy gum is a fool’s errand. Ain’t happening. I will say that printing stripes on a stick of gum is brilliant, and I also like the kind-looking zebra on the package, although 1) As a kid, I confused him with the Toys R Us mascot, Geoffrey (who was the only non-brit I ever came across who spelled his name that way), and 2) I heard he was run up on pedophilia charges in the late 80s, which was a shocking disappointment.

Slap that thang!

Another year-long home improvement project bites the dust.  Eat it, chunky.

Here's them BEFORE-style photos:

If you could see better, you would note several colors of paint- this thing's been chipping since poodle skirts were in vogue. Also, please note the $7 keep-the-insurance-company-off-my-butt handrail. $7=Quality, in case you weren't paying attention.





























Now, a photo of all my assistants on this project:

I honestly cannot believe how good-looking we are. I can't believe it! I'm agnostic on this one.












Lastly, the AFTER-style photos. Read em and weep, porch! In your face, steps!





Think I'm being a little overzealous with the photos? A little too many, maybe? Not if it's taken me this long to do this dumb thing. I know this: I'm a much better tile-and-grout man than I was a year ago. And I've got Curb Appeal!

Rehearsed Sincerity, like a university girlfriend

I heard a blurb on NPR today of W. at his Memorial Day photo op.  He was saying, among other things, "I am humbled by those who have made the ultimate sacrifice that allow a free civilization to endure and flourish." He also threw in, "It only remains for us, the heirs of their legacy, to have the courage and the character to follow their lead and to preserve America as the greatest nation on Earth and the last, best hope for mankind." He mentioned the "stinging cold of Valley Forge" and of dead soldiers finding "peace beneath the whitehead stones..."

It's hilarious to think of quoting these words and attributing them to the President, because we all know they were created by someone else, reviewed by a team of political strategists, and finally presented to the press (="Amur-ka") like rhetorical cheese whiz, processed and inauthentic. I also decided that, what I don't like about this president (in comparison to others) is that he's just not a believable actor. He LOOKS like he's reading somebody else's words, and he really doesn't understand what they're trying to get at. Clinton, on the other hand: he could be reading the Kroger weekly mailer and totally convey that he UNDERSTANDS these great prices and WANTS YOU to agree with him that Kroger really is the Cost Cutter.

Politics is trashy.

Rock Solid

Based on this, very much looking forward to the album.

Post: Mortem

There's a terrible practice in Africa and the middle east where widows get saddled with all kinds of debt because they have to entertain family for like a week and have these elaborate functions when their husbands die. And if they don't come through, they're shamed by the family and village forever. And uncles and brothers routinely seize lands and properties from these newly-destitute women as well. It's something IJM works hard to combat, but it's rampant.

I was being reminded of this injustice by Mipone, our guest from South Africa, just before having another conversation with musrat (now in America) about the same thing. The death/mourning/remembrance topic is generally enigmatic for me. Here's a smattering of my issues:

* What's the deal with headstones and graveyards? Is that necessary? Do you have to go somewhere to remember your loved one? Or is it just easier to NOT buy another teeny tiny piece of property, pay to have it maintained ("Could you mow over my dad's carcass from now till kingdom come? Great. Here's ten thousand dollars."), and feel a weird guilt for not being more involved in this little tract? I'm open to education, but I just don't get it.

* What's the deal with visiting grave sites? Do you have a talk with dead people there, like in sentimental movie (or occult-type flicks)? We don't believe in that crossing over stuff, right? Is there anything you can say on that property, looking at those dates, that you couldn't say in your backyard to the same effect? I'm talking out of ignorance, here. I've visited grave sites of my relatives-passed-on, but all I feel is vaguely creepy.

* What's the deal with coffins and morticians and embalming and all that stuff, period? Is there some psychological value in letting people look at a human carcass at memorial services (these I'm for, bye the bye) that beats having a photograph or just a memory? Don't we believe that "the flesh counts for nothing" like that Jesus dude said?

As for me, I'm all for recycling any of my body parts that can be harvested, then you can feed my meaty bits to the jackals, which is a great word. Don't cremate my body- that's a much of a racket as the coffin biz. Just sneak my casings to your local open incinerator or (here's a neat experiment) I hear HCL will eat through everything and you could just flush it down the drain. I'd suggest the disposal in your sink but there'd be a LOT of cutting involved. How bout pigs, like in Snatch (a fun film, as I recall)?

So much pomp for the preservation and monumentalization of that which means the least in us- our bodies. Why?


ps- when I was younger, I wrote a lot of poetry about death, though I find myself to be a fairly optimistic guy. Why are the young so interested? I'll include one here...

Ten thousand days, now, I’ve been led
And one grim truth demands my head:
That my day comes
With fife and drums
And someday, I’ll be dead.

And what will my reaction be
When, barging, lumb’ring, death takes me?
Its fatal grist
None can resist
As we all soon shall see.

Will my life have been but a cloud
Which vanishes at sun’s pure shroud?
Will death attest
That my life’s best
Was small, and vain, and proud?

Perhaps my days will act as proof
Of GOD’s dominion, love, and truth
May it be said
When I lie dead
“He loved Him in his youth”

And both these fates before me stand
Awaiting praise or reprimand
And only I
Choose or deny
As I walk through life’s land

And at the great Final Review
I’ll first see me, and you’ll see you
We’ll see what lasts
From both our pasts
When our lives’ days are through

Crap song, interesting video

it's zeitgeist-tapping!

In other news, new look here at the chew. Unfortunately, in order to make the leap, every clever thing anybody's ever said has now dissolved into the internether. I've just coined that word, webster! Bite it!

Same Funny Foreigner

I'm not trying, people. These are just coming to me, now.

Same Guy(s)

Tay Zonday, like Thom, gives me great trouble. Spoilt by choice. You decide on the most apropos:

Same Lucky Dummy










Same Keyboard Nerd














Same Charismatic, Talented Personality, Victim of Ignorant Prejudice


























Bonus Footage: