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.

A loss.

While waiting in the horrible, horrible waiting room of your local Oil Change Pit, I picked up a snot-smeared ESPN Magazine. In it, there was a coupon from Nike for their new contacts. Seems the boys up in Oregon have come up with a new product, where a shoe company makes this thing you put in your eye. They're supposed to cut down on glare, increase contrast--make your sporting experience much better, basically. This intrigues me because I've never put anything in my eye before, and because I'm interested in a product making those kinds of promises. Anyhow, the coupon said they're giving away free trials of these contacts, and I'm always up for a weird experience, especially one of the Free Variety.

After checking with my HR person, I went to a Humana-approved eye doctor, and plunked down $15 (co-pay, you understand) for an eye exam. This alone could be a good post: I haven't had this sort of thing done to me since 5th grade, and I was AMAZED at the technology involved. I sat through several rigors that seemed more like intelligence tests than eye exams. (Even if I CAN remember the capital of New Hampshire, how does that help you know which glasses I should wear?) After all this, including photos of my retinas (?!), dialated pupils (which caused me to see worse than I EVER HAVE in my life, so that the doctor could LOOK AT THE BACK OF MY EYEBALL!!!), and a peripheral vision test, I strutted to the counter, pleased that I'd passed with flying colors and ready to get my Complimentary Sports Contacts by Nike, only to have the lady tell me that there'd be an $80 "Contact Consulatation Fee" tacked onto my $15 bill. Never mind that, from the outset, I told them ALL that my eyes were FINE and the ONLY reason I was here was to get the Nike contacts. Never mind that nobody mentioned ANY fees outside the $15, or that I could see the Nike contacts RIGHT OVER THERE JUST HAND THEM TO ME AND I'LL LEAVE. It was, well, frustrating. I made some magnanimous statement and walked out.

My Friend David's dad is an eye doctor. We're hoping he can score us some on the sly. Friggin' Optical RACKET.

A win!

Word on the street was that Key Bank was handing out free ipods to any sucker who'd walk into the store, open a checking account and credit card, and act like they weren't just there to get a free ipod. I sauntered in, acted like "gosh, I just have money dribbling out everywhere--can I put the extra HERE?", and got fat and sassy off the transaction. To top it off, I told My Friend David about it, and he went and did same, which netted me a $25 Friend Referral Award.

Banking has never made more sense.

Ale-8 1!

This is a delicious local concoction of ginger ale-y fruity fizz. Made right here in Kentucky! Enjoy some when you're in the eastern midwest! I just have!

Mocha-likka-hiney-ho!

Yes, yes, yes. Seeing the system, knowing the system, underSTANDing the system, then KICKING the system in the gronads. That's me, sports fans.

Last night I think to myself, "Sammy old boy, what would you most like to ingest right now, more than any any thing else in the whole world?" I was a little disappointed to hear that the answer was one of those frappucinos from Starbucks, which makes me a sellout and not cool. But that's okay. Anyhow, I thought of the calories, and the expense--my God, the expense!


THEN I THOUGHT OF HOW I'D KICK THE SYSTEM IN THE GRONADS.

And I now have it, and it's so good that, in my joy, I freely give it unto thee. Here it is friends, don't treat it like it's not valuable. It IS valuable, so be diligent in doing it, and giving it away.

-----

Mocha Steveuccino

1c milk
2/3c strong coffee
1/4c chocolate syrup
3T sugar

blend these guys up until the granulation goes away.

2c ice cubes

drink down, praising God in the highest, and Stevie here below.

Ode to Reel-to-Reels

I was cleaning out a drawer today, and came across a handful of high-quality, brand new, still-in-the-wrapper cassette tapes. Now, what in the FUDGE am I supposed to do with THAT? Prophesying is like the only place in my life where cassettes are still used. Maybe there's a wobbly table out there somewhere that needs my tape.

When I consider how much these little babies were used in my life, and how much $20 (which is probably what they cost) meant to me at that time in my life (like 10 years ago), it makes me a little melancholy.

Fire up the Maxells, and clean out the tape heads one last time for ol Stevie Manuel.

DO see this.

Just finished this last night. It's a documentary-style film about the Flaming Lips. Learned about Wayne's family's troubles with the drugs, Steven's heroin habit, Michael's histrory of strange hair and clothing, and the fact that these guys are MUCH MUCH better now than they were 20 years ago. In seeing more of their humanity and ethic (Wayne's still at work on a film he started in 2001 about Santa in space, and something about a baby born on Mars), I became a BIG fan of these boys. I'm re-applying myself to At War With the Mystics as a result. Bless em!

And then Monday happened.

I didn't know until their set was over that I had been listening to Sonic Youth. As I sat through songs that should've been called "Disintegration", "Come On, Audience", and "7-minute Feedback", I thought of how this must be a new band and I felt sorry for them just figuring out what to do on stage. They didn't play together, the girl singer was absolutely terrible, and the highlight of the show was when the two main guitarists (there were, at times, four people playing guitar) made their guitars "high five" in a noteless celebration of nonsense noise. I was glad when they said unto me, "Sonic Youth is now done."


Then the circus started.

It was interesting to see that, because we all watched them set up every element of the show, including cannons, and the laborious focusing of the projector, by the time the show started, everyone in the crowd was rooting for these guys. Everybody WANTED it to work. The fact that the stage hands were all dressed as superheros didn't hurt, and when the curtains revealed a group of aliens on the left, santas on the right, 50+ oversized balloons for crowd fun, and confetti cannons, everybody felt the euphoria of being at a SHOW. We weren't just going to watch some guys play instruments, we were going to be part of a group EXPERIENCE. We'd seen Wayne on stage from the beginning, setting up his own mic, testing the cameras, etc., but he first spoke to us at length by saying:

I REALIZE THAT YOU CAN SEE A BIG PIECE OF PLASTIC AND A LEAFBLOWER OVER ON MY RIGHT. BUT WHEN THE SHOW STARTS, I DON'T WANT YOU TO THINK OF THAT. I WANT YOU TO IMAGINE THAT, WHEN THE SMOKE MACHINES OBSCURED THE STAGE, I FLOATED IN FROM ABOVE, AND DECSENDED ON YOU ALL. THEN, INSIDE THIS PLASTIC BUBBLE, I WILL WALK AMONG YOU. I ALSO WANT YOU TO TELL YOUR FRIENDS THAT THIS IS HOW THE SHOW ACTUALLY BEGAN.

The video screen lit up as Wayne entered the crowd as promised, and it said, through a series of slides, that THOUGH OUR LIVES ARE MERELY BLIPS IN THE UNIVERSE, SIMPLY A BREATH IN THE COSMIC DRAMA, THEY'RE THE ONLY LIVES WE'VE GOT. SO DECIDE TO BE PART OF SOMETHING EPIC TONIGHT, SOMETHING GLORIOUSLY WONDERFUL AND LIFE-GIVING AND POSITIVE. I looked around and literally everyone I could see had a massive smile on their face, many laughing hysterically. That's a pretty terrific thing, there.

They opened with Race for the Prize, and insisted (yes) that everyone sing during Free Radicals (which featured video of a Chinese game show in which girls scream in terror as a gila monster chases them) and Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. The W.A.N.D. was as awesome as I hoped. Call me crazy, but The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song seemed positively worshipful. I was so inspired I thought I might cry. They played all my faves (except for Buggin' from Soft Bulletin) and closed with Do You Realize? which was an excellent choice.

This is the nun puppet that led the a capella ending to Yoshimi. Her face is magnified many times over by the Microphone Stand Cam.


NO, they were not as impressive as U2, but I don't think that was their goal. They are a different sort of band. The show was a lot like if you gave 14-year olds a wad of cash and let them do whatever they wanted, and it all felt very homegrown. The bassist wore a skeleton costume and played sitting down. He is bald. Wayne's favorite move is to shoot a confetti gun at apropos moments during big songs.

Ultimately, the message of The Flaming Lips is BE POSITIVE. It's not that great of a rallying cry in that it turns out to get you nowhere, but it's certainly better than the message of, say, Aerosmith, who simply seem to say "get all you can as fast as possible." The hippie vibe of these boys is vapid but contageous. Better than church.

Day 4.

Day 4
In which Bobby becomes spurious.

Awoke in my hot tub suite, fairly early, and started down the road. I thought I’d have time for some old-fashioned touristing in Milwaukee as well as possibly stopping for some ROADFOOD, but I thought the best thing to do was get straight to the Harley-Davidson headquarters (the “House of Harley”, where I plan on renting a bike) to get my bearings, go back out into the city to look around.

I will interrupt myself here to relay an actual conversation I had in Fish Creek t’other day with an employee at a leather store (it looked weird. I went in). Now, they sold motorcycle helmets in this store, but there was nothing else motorcycle-y about the place. It was certainly not a motorcycle store. I asked about a helmet.

Employee: What kind of bike do you ride?

Me, hating this question whenever I get asked it because 1) I’m not going to impress you with my answer, and 2) I don’t understand the point of it AT ALL. If you were a scuba diver, I would be much more interested in talking to you about your experiences than what kind of wetsuit you use. Who cares? Bobby is silently with me in the store, by the way. Never says a word. I say: It’s just an old Honda Magna.

Employee (here it comes): Ever wanted a Harley?

Me, thinking of all the appropriate responses to this question, one of them being, “Have YOU ever wanted a HONDA?” I should’ve just said no and gone on, but I decided to actually share my thoughts with this nice-looking guy: You know, when I’m driving my two thousand dollar motorcycle down the road and really enjoying it, I always think to myself, “Why would I pay 40 grand for the same experience?” Just doesn’t make sense to me.

Employee (acting like I have just stumbled out of the Fish Creek Sanitarium): Oh, no! You don’t have to spend that kind of money! Why, I have a little Blah Blah Blah model, and I paid under ten thousand for it.

Me, knowing that 1) now we’re where we were inevitably headed, and that 2) this guy missed my point completely and, in such a short amount of time, am completely done with this conversation: okay.

Employee: And my brother in law does custom paint jobs so I take it to shows and win money for charity.

Me: Do you guys carry Lemonheads?

Anyhow, there’s a typical experience for me with Harley dorks. Back to our story. I’ve been getting lost in Milwaukee for a while, and finally find the place after noon. So then I decide it’s better to just get the bike now so I can get OUT of the city (gross—very done with this city and all cities for this trip—get me back out into the small towns, please) and go back to looking around, which is what I’m good at. I get the bike and head southwest, taking country roads toward Madison. I rented a bike in January in San Diego, and that’s all I have to compare this experience to, so to me, this ride is:

*HOT (like, 90 outside. Not a winner.)
*LOUD (I had earplugs last time. Shoot.)
*SHAKY (I think I had a bigger bike last time. This little guy seems less stable, like the jittery barbers of yore.)

I enjoy the scenery, but it’s nothing new for me on this trip. I should share at this point that I woke up today really wanting to go home. I felt I’d been gone long enough, I really wanted to see my wife, and I was also thinking that my rental car had to be back by 2:30 the next day, and home’s a long way from Milwaukee. So I turned the bike around before even reaching Madison (and that was definitely regrettable. I’d really wanted to see the UW campus, which I’ve heard great things about), and headed back to the shop. It was, by the way, just a four-hour rental. I had it back in just over three.

Back in the air-conditioned cocoon of my car, where I can leisurely enjoy music, snacks, and read and write (yes), I headed south as quickly as possible, knowing that traffic time in Chicago is NEVER EVER pleasant. I took the tollway around the city, hoping it’d be less congested, and finally made it into Indiana headed south. By this time it was probably 8pm, and I stopped off at a ROADFOOD pick called Thiebet’s Restaurant. Let me get the food part out of the way: in northern Indiana, two specialties are fried perch fillets, drenched in butter, and fried frogs’ legs. I ordered the combo plate and got both. They were good. Now then, to the restaurant itself:

This place was a friggin Blast From The Past, memorializing “fine dining” from 1975 to an uncanny degree. I walked in the place a there was a coat check. A coat check! The foyer was all low-slung sofas, coffee tables with elegantly-placed ashtrays (!), and mirror paneling except for the gargantuan portraits of the four generations of the owning family. A 55-year old woman in a beehive took me to my table. This was a county seat-kind of restaurant, where people would come for special occasions or the upper crust of the FFA set might come on Friday night. Boy was it strange. Very low lighting. Prior to my meal, I was brought a ‘relish tray’ that included a random assortment of raw vegetables, with cottage cheese, sliced beets, and cole slaw. Bizarre.

I got out of there, thoroughly amused, and decided that if I could make it home that night, I would, even if I rolled in in the wee hours. When, about 30 minutes later, I got pulled over for speeding, that sealed the deal. Now I didn’t want to fork over another $50 for a room, when this ticket ate that up and more. So I arrived back home in Cincinnati at about 2:15 am, to Didi’s screams of fear that there’s a man in her bedroom, then embraces of relief, then of gladness. It was a plenty full day.

Exercise- holding a bike steady amid crazy winds for 3 hours
Writing- pop song called Another Summer Gone
Lectures- podcasts from the God Journey, Pearl on Hebrews
Monies expended:

Gaz- 48
Motobicicleta- 80
Gaz por motobicicleta- 10.50
Teibel’s restaurant- 30
Stay awake snacks- 6

Total- $174.50

I’ve decided that Michael Pearl is an odd bird in that he’s the first legalist I’ve ever run across that is really zealous about relationship. That’s a new category. He really has some great information, but sorting through that law becomes tiring. Overall, I like the guy.

[flickr tells me I've caught my limit on photos for the month. So be it. NO PHOTOS FOR YOU!]

Day 3.

Thus far, I've failed to say it, and I fault myself for that. I'll say it now: this is a big lake I'm dealing with here.

Well I awoke VERY late in fabulous Oconto--I think I slept so good because the a/c didn't work in there. I learned back in my Barnabas days (Barnabas is a camp in rural Missouri where I slept for an entire summer in the out-of-doors temps with only a fan to keep the steam circulating) that a/c does quite a bit to give us colds in the night, as your grandparents would be quick to point out. I slept very soundly and longly.

Once up and out (say, noon), I got myself around the bend of Green Bay as soon as possible, and started heading back north on the tiny Door Peninsula. It's called that because it's all Door County up there. Get it? Door Peninsula is a tiny little finger that juts up northeast into Lake Michigan. Before I drove too terribly far, though, I had to deal with my hunger. Now, having done my homework by studying up in ROADFOOD (go buy your copy NOW),

I knew that I must needs be getting a product called a Butter Burger into my gut. This is an east Wisconsin delicacy in which you top a hamburger with a pat of butter. You know, for health purposes. I'd also yet to sample the Wisconsin frozen custard, over which I was in great anticipation. Lo and hark and all that, but I came upon a place with this on the door:


That pretty much set me up. Culver's it was. I ate those things along with Dairyland Cheese Curds, which was a bizarre name for what turned out to be tater-tot sized fried cheese. Okay. Now, this was an outstanding hamburger, I can certainly say that--and I'm not a big hamburger guy. This was impressive.

Up into the peninsula I went, finding cute coastal town followed by cute resort town followed by quaint fishing villiage. The west side is cuter than the east side, with Ephraim and Fish Creek kind of taking the prize. [There is no prize.]


On my way up, I stopped at Bailey's Harbor looking for a barber. "Ernesto," I said to myself, "there HAS to be an old-timey barber in one of these well-kept towns." I went into a coffee shop for directions, and asked the girl behind the counter. She didn't understand what I said, and told me so in a severe accent. I asked where she was from. She was from Bulgaria, and the other girl behind the counter was from Poland. I paused for a moment, then decided that I didn't need to hear the back story. I continued to look until, on my way out of the Door Peninsula, I stopped by a place on the main drag of Sturgeon Bay called the Yankee Clipper. I'd not have known to stop there except that they had that helpful barber pole with the stripe of blood running down it outside. All professions should have these visual aides. I know the doctors have those intertwined snakes (an inscrutable symbol if ever there was one--is that supposed to be a Biblical reference?), but nobody else does. It's outrageous!

I can't TELL how pleased I am with the way that haircut turned out. I met Joe Lindsley, a 40-year barbering vet, who cut Packers coach Mike Sherman's hair during his tenure (he'd just been sent Houston Texans paraphernalia from Mr. Sherman, who's now an assistant coach there. I saw the goods!), and had lots of sports memorabilia up on his walls. This guy was at the Ice Bowl! It was great talking to this guy, and he buttressed the idea I've had with the Rod about creating an upscale chain of barber shops and men's grooming. It's a dying breed, and I hate to see them go. Joe told me that there isn't one barber school in Wisconsin anymore. Sucks.

The day was getting on, and I knew that I faced an uncomfortable decision: dinner vs. exercise. Part of me was hoping for some Lake Michigan fish at some roadside joint (as talked about in famous books like ROADFOOD), but I saw a GIGANTIC YMCA and had to stop in. This was the YMCA for the whole of Door County, and it's a wing-dinger. It was only built in '97, with a massive wing added in '02. Two huge pools, great workout rooms, and 2 sweet basketball courts. I got my hoops on and did some weights. Good times. I got kicked out at 8pm.


My my, that hair's been lopped off in SUCH a handsome pattern! And, is that Ode De Y Locker Room you're wearing?

Then I was driving once again, headed south. I made it all the way to Port Washington, just 30 minutes north of Wisconsin, which is great because tomorrow I hope to rent a motorcycle from the Harley-Davidson headquarters there and take off west. I went through Dairyland, I suppose, because dairy farm after dairy farm separated the road from the Lake. After pulling off the highway, I stopped at a grocery store to get some cereal when I spied Sprecher Root Beer in the snack aisle. This was introduced to me by Wunderkind, and I do love this stuff. So I bought like six cases and moved on, into the night.


I found this country inn that said $50 SINGLES on the sign, so I stopped in (not a great price, but passable). Talking with Chris behind the desk, she told me that their only non-smoking room was a hot-tub suite. I talked fast and here I am, God bless her every one.

Miles driven: 425
Exercise: YMCA!
Lecture: the final installment from Mike Pearl’s Body, Soul, Spirit series
Writing: I failed on this one, today. This post is accomplishment enough.
Cash outlay:

Culver's Butter Burgers and other blood-clotting ingestives: 11
Yankee Clipper: 15
YMCA: 8.75
Cereal and Sprecher: 19
Hot Tub Suite: 54
Total: $107.75

PS- Today my ipod loved John Gorka and Norah Jones, both Didi picks, as well as Jack Frost (real name), the Gutteral Sermonizer. There was some “next song”ing done in the Camry.

PPS- I also considered today how much more I could get done if Bobby was awake in the car with me. Reading, navigating, writing, documenting with the photos—all would’ve been much better. I think, too, that if I had a MONTH to do this trip, I wouldn’t feel so frustrated with all I have to miss. It’s too bad, really.

One last thing: I like the semi-sour smell of dairy farms. I guess I owe this to my experience with them in my childhood due to my Uncle Kenneth, who owned one. If by poor sentence construction I made that sound like Uncle Kenneth smells semi-sour, I have misled you. He smells like Old Spice and alfalfa.

Day 2.

One addendum from yesterday’s noticings: I also noticed on Sunday that *America is finished with Sunday night church*. That surprised me, frankly. I never got that memo. I was really hoping to stop in somewhere for some worship, even if I felt like a complete outsider, or that everyone was staring at me. Ideally, I was hoping for a group where I might could get some free prophecy, too. But I must’ve passed 40 church-houses between 5 and 7:30 pm Sunday night, and that Sunday night service thing just wasn’t going down. Whaddaya know.

Alright then: Day 2 of Me and Bobby’s Big Trip.

Woke up in Saugatuck, where my pal Ben just spent a week of vacation. He heartily encouraged me to go see this artsy coastal town, and I gotta say, it’s so quaint and charming I could about puke.


I ate breakfast outside (carrot and chive frittata! Yes! Apple pancake casserole! Yes!), then made my way to a coffee shop with free internet—I posed as if I’d actually bought something. I wandered around town some, then headed over to Oval Beach, Saugatuck’s main lakeside spot. I read that morning in some free literature that Oval was voted one of the top 5 beaches in the nation by MTV, which worried me some, but I really don’t understand what that would be based on. Anyhow, being there at the beach was extremely surreal. Imagine a white sugar beach, and the surf coming in, and seagulls, and you go out there and it’s NOT salt water you taste. Weird. But I enjoyed that beach a lot—completely family-occupied, very quiet—I listened to the Rod’s MP3 player and caught some Rob Bell sermonizing while getting sunburned.

I didn’t get out of there until around 3pm, and I started to get a little concerned about my distance. I’d gone nowhere since waking up, and had a long, long way to go. So I stopped at a country grocery store and got a strange soda called Rock and Rye (liquid + sugar = good enough for me) and some strange-flavored chips. I also stopped at one of a hundred roadside fruit stands and bought a pint of cherries. Lunch.


Driving through Holland, I stopped off to see the Wooden Shoe Factory. This is an uncomfortable invention, the wooden shoe. Look at the photo below, and consider that you can no longer act like you don't know that hundreds of wooden shoes are aborted EVERY DAY.

From there, I was rolling, I headed up to Traverse City (holy SMOKES, this place is GREAT. I hope to return here for a weeklong vacation at some point. The beach is huge—it’s like Chicago’s lakeside—and the entire place seems to be built around the summer traveler. Great place for a getaway.), where I must pause.

While I was researching for this trip, I went to the library and the bookstore finding what I could find. One book I came across that I simply couldn’t let pass by was Roadfood. I bought it because I want it as a reference for the rest of my days. It catalogues 600+ one-off restaurants and greasy spoons across the country that typify local food or sell curiosities. I am very excited to own this book, and have marked on my map where Roadfood establishments exist. I ate at one of these places in Traverse City (and stopped at another in Beulah just because it sounded so interesting)—the Grand Traverse Pie Co.

Northern Michigan is a fruit-and-fisheries hotspot, and this place is supposed to crank out some of the best pie anywhere. So I got a sandwich and soup there, and finished with two slices of pie (I mean, I wanted a fair sampling. What if one wasn’t that great?). They were fabulous. If you have a chocolate cream pie with a great crust, brother, you done something right. I also looked on their free wi-fi at the possibility of my making it to the top of the Lower Peninsula before bedtime. I really wanted to see Mackinac island, where there’s no motorized transportation allowed, but again, was concerned about my timeline. So I looked at the motel situation up there (strong) my possibility of getting there before sleep hit me (good on time), and I set off. I decided that, if I wanted a motel at the internet-cheap rate, I could call my parents, who are ‘wired’ at home (Didi and I are not), and they could book it for me while I waited outside the office. Clever? Yes. Yes it is.

When I got to Mackinac Bride, the 5-mile suspension bridge that spans the meeting point between Lake Michigan and Lake Huron, connecting the two parts of Michigan, I felt pretty good, sleep-wise. I thought I could push on. By the way, it’s a little surreal going over a bridge, looking left and seeing a horizon on the water, and looking right and seeing the same thing. Okay, it’s a lot surreal. One genius thing that happened there, though, was that I tuned my AM dial to 530, where the signs told me to, and I got a free history lesson on the bridge! How terrific is that!? Why doesn’t the gub’ment tell states that they can each have their shot at AM 530 so that, wherever you go, you get a history lesson of that region via your radio? THERE’s some public education for ya!

Suffice it to say, I pushed on and kept pushing. I went through cute town after cute town, becoming more and more resolved to get into Wisconsin before bedtime, which I did. There was no town called Michconsin at the border, though there should've been. I came around the entire north shore and finally stopped in Oconto, just a little north of Green Bay, sunburned and sleepy. And the motel was cheap. Yes! The only disappointing thing about all this is that I know that I drove through a lot of beautiful country in total darkness, namely the Hiawatha National Forest. But there it is.

Miles driven: 518
Lectures endured: 2 from Rob Bell (shoulder shrug), the next one from Michael Pearl (I listened to it twice—it was heady stuff refuting Calvinism. I agreed with all of it).
Exercise- swimming in Lake Michigan!
Wrote- a pop song called My Lake Michigan.
Dough outlay:

Breakfast: 7.50
Pie Company: 13
Gas: 50.75
Room: 44.25
Total: $115.50

I am noticing how much, much cheaper it is to travel with two. Except for the meals, these costs would be exactly the same. Where’s my wife?!


PS- I will NOT believe that the ipod is truly random. It isn’t. It favors certain songs, there is no doubt in my mind. It also favors, for some reason, Sarah McClocklin (I have NO idea how to spell her name so I’m not even trying) and Ross King.

PPS- I actually turned around to get this photo. It's for everyone's enjoyment.