This Post Has Nothing to Say About Ayn Rand Disciples But My Next One Might

It's difficult to ask people to make sacrifices. It's difficult but it seems something good leaders are able to do.

I don't mean just taking something from someone because you can- wether it's time, money, lives.

That's not leadership. That's being a bully. But convincing us that we're responsible to each other, that we're in something together, that we have a reason to overcome our differences, and work towards something bigger and more important than our individual interests. That's what a good leader does.

It's difficult, but that's why it's the purview of good leaders.

But I suppose not being able to lead might also be a result of being a people who don't need leaders. That is, perhaps we are such that we know it's inappropriate to ever have someone tell us to make those choices if it's not something we want to do for ourselves. I think, these days, we call that an ownership society. Later, we'll call it hell.

Last night I only watched a bit of the State of the Union. I thought I would watch the whole thing, but had a meeting to be at later and it was putting me in too foul a mood to handle much more than a few smirks and the affected cheering of the government we deserve.

MY PRESIDENT made it pretty clear that he's coming from a place that has no need for leaders because there is no need for us to come together for anything bigger than some sense of "me." We've no responsibility to anyone other than ourselves. Free market this, private that; take care of yourself and that takes care of enough.

I like that he made that very clear, especially in his pledge to use his mighty but rare veto on any bill that raised taxes. And then to make clear where he's coming from, he joked about the idea of being willing to sacrifice for each other: "Others have said they'd be happier to pay higher taxes. I welcome their enthusiasm. The IRS accepts both checks and money orders."

Usually when he mentions those faceless others, he's talking about people that don't actually exist. Strangely, in this case, he might actually be ridiculing the majority of Americans who say they would be willing to pay more in taxes for health care, or providing relief for those in need, or that the tax cut he wants to make permanent are not worth "it." But instead of leadership, he offers derision. Instead of inspiring us to something greater, he mocks the very idea of inspiration. What an ass.

Later, at said meeting, we were confronted with the idea of how difficult it is in our erstwhile Yearly Meeting to get people to sacrifice the time to come together for anything. Everyone's got their own things to worry about. That's true. We do. And broadly, we're not a people looking for leadership, we're looking for a way to take care of ourselves in such a way that it might take care of everything else. That's true broadly, but particularly- particularly as our Ministry and Counsel- we were struck by how odd and unfortunate that is.

I want to be careful to not make this a "pat ourselves on the back moment" but we're pretty great. So great that pretty great doesn't seem to say it. We're pretty [expletive] great. So great, in fact, that we undermine that sense of how great we might be and are able to be confronted by how great we really aren't so we might be even greater.

We recently had a small winter retreat. We had about half our congregation there. Larger, more successful, no use for a leader congregations in our Yearly Meeting have noted that not only could they not get that rate of people to show for something like that, they could not even get the same numbers from their mega-congregations to show.

I wonder if it's any coincidence that the die-hard 3 out of 10 that approve of MY PRESIDENT would be found in these very same congregations that don't need leaders, that only need to be affirmed in what they want to do to be a part of anything called the Body of Christ.

There was a bit of a realization last night that we're a weird bunch in the larger group. And who wants to listen to weirdos?

M'eh
The Past and Pending- The Shins
I Wanna Be Your Lover- Prince
Nessun Dorma- LP
Not Ready Yet- The Eels
Shrink- Dead Kennedys
Abstract Plain- Frank Black
Penthouse Serenade- Sarah Vaughan
I'm Lonely- The White Stripes
Darn that Dream- Mile Davis
Moonlight Becomes You- Chet Baker

ed.- And in case you can't tell, I wrote this yesterday but didn't post it right away.

This is all you're getting out of me today. I say that like it's a bad thing, but really, this is better than anything I would have written, or anything else you will read, today.

In case you are link weary, here's an excerpt- and inducer:
State of the Union Drinking Game
by Will Durst*

"What you need to play:

4 taxpayers: 1 rich white guy wearing a suit, tie loosened. 2 folks (any sex) wearing jeans, 1 in a blue work shirt, the other in a flannel shirt, and 1 person wearing clothes that look like they were dragged through the sluice chute of the Three Gorges Dam. Belt and shoelaces secured in a safe place.

1 shot glass per person. Everybody furnishes their own, placing it on a coffee table in front of the television. Suit gets to choose first among the assembled shot glasses for use during game. Blue shirt picks next, then Flannel shirt. Suit takes last shot glass as well, and Rags must arrange to rent it from him for the evening or drink out of own cupped hands.

Everybody antes 10 bucks. Cash. Except Suit, who tosses in an I.O.U.

1 pot of Texas Chili, and a bowl of guacamole in middle of coffee table with Kettle Brand Salt & Fresh Ground Pepper Krinkle Cut™ chips nearby. If any players are women, they have to prepare and serve the chili and guacamole. Otherwise, buy some pre- made stuff at Costco.

...
Rules of the Game
1. Whenever George W uses the phrase "economic stimulus package," the last person to slap his/ her hand to their own forehead, has to drink 2 shot glasses of beer. Every time the President says "make tax cuts permanent," everybody must drink a whole beer then throw the empties at the television. If can hits President's face, everyone else must drink 1 shot of beer.

4. Every time Senators John McCain, Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama are shown in the audience, you have 30 seconds to throw a chip of guacamole at the television and if anyone makes a chip beard on one of the candidates, everyone else has to drink 5 shots of beer.

11. The 1st time George W mentions the tragic events of 9/11, the last person to eat 1 dollop of guacamole off a tortilla chip must drink 3 shots of beer. The 2nd time he mentions the tragic events of 9/11, the last person to eat 1 dollop of chili off a tortilla chip must drink 3 shots of beer. Continue to alternate. If you mischip, drink 2 extra shots of beer.

13. Whenever George W smirks during a standing ovation, take turns drinking shots of beer until the audience sits down. Do it double time if his shoulders shake with silent laughter. If George W winks and points to someone in the audience, Suit has to drink out of beer filled hands of Rags who gets to dry his hands on Suit's jacket."

*Interesting that Fred Durst's twin brother would be the exact opposite of him in terms of talent.

Warhellride: Sublating The Onion

There are those moments in life when words fail to communicate precisely or truly the depth, severity, or intensity of a thing. We could call those moments sublime. The thing is just the thing, but our response to it, or lack of in that moment, is beneath articulation. It is, by it's nature inexplicable. Once it is described, the purity of the moment is lost.

Those pure moments may be followed by laughter, anger, an awareness of some need, devotion, piety, silence, frustration, eloquent or stilted expression. Whatever it might be, trying to rest in that preceding moment is difficult. God has given us drugs, but even better, this:

You must go to this site. I cannot say in strong enough terms, how good it will be for you to go here and know this exists.

It is pure purity.

Would You Want Others to Achieve the Knowledge You Now Have?

If you haven't had the opportunity to be turned off to Little Handsome Man, here's a chance.

He doesn't say anywhere that he believes the galactic ruler Xenu transported his victims to Earth in interstellar space planes that looked exactly like Douglas DC-8s. Rather he talks about wanting to share with other people what he knows because life will be better for them. He has something that he knows is missing from other people's lives. He has something that can bring people together, bring peace, create a better world, blah blah blah.
Specifically he says, "We have that resposnsibility to say, 'Hey, this is the way it should be done because we do it this way and people are actually getting better...' There is nothing better than going out there and fighting the fight."

That's cool?

I believe a guy came back to life after he was killed and then flew into space like a rocket. But that's totally true- not like the junk Tom Cruise believes. We temporarily go to Venus when we die?

That's stupid. Right? Am I right? High five- don't leave me hanging.

People of Earth
Adult Books- X
Fazer Eyes- Frank Black
My Ship- Miles Davis

Not The Noel Coward Post

I was camping this past weekend. For all the work I put into it, it's a bit sad that people still know it's me in my Carmen Miranda get up.

But seriously, folks.

We got back home at about 7PM on Monday. And to be clear, when I write camping, I mean I was at a place called "Camp." It wasn't what most of us call camping- what I generally consider camping. No tent. No packing in my own food and cooking it on a little stove. No burying my poop. None of that. I slept soundly in a heated building, took hot showers, ate 3 meals a day and had a place to dry my wet clothes... and I dressed up as Rita Hayworth.

Anyway, I was tired and only now feel fully recovered and rested from the weekend. I enjoyed the weekend. I don't think I could say more than that without sounding cheesy.

I feel I want to say it was something like "great" or "wonderful" but I'm not sure I should. Don't adjectives like great or wonderful sound trite? Maybe they only sound trite in reference to something that really is great or wonderful but for me suggesting that it was great or wonderful seems a bit pretentious since I helped plan the great and wonderful experience. Or maybe I don't want to say it was great or wonderful because I did help plan it and if everybody else thinks it was less than great or wonderful, here I'll be with egg on my face.

Well... no, it's not really either of those things. I really did enjoy myself but am reluctant to describe it beyond that. I don't mean it was so over the top that words fail to describe the experience. Only that the words that I might use to describe it wouldn't mean much if I don't explain it more fully and to explain it more fully would, to my mind, diminish some of its significance for me.

Or maybe explaining it more would give it a sense of completion that I don't think is appropriate yet. I mean there are certain things that I think I must do in response to what I experienced or learned and unless or until those things are done it's not something to describe.

Maybe that's silly, but I think to perhaps best give a sense of what I took from it I simply have to do what I think will best give a sense of what I took from it.

You And Your Team

A lot of my family is from Mexico. A lot of my family is also from France and Spain. The French folks came to the US, and after a couple of winters and many meals in Indiana, moved to Mexico, and from there to Oxnard, California where my great grandfather was born. My grandmother was born in Redondo Beach. That's my father's side. On my mother's side, my oldest white ancestors were in the New World in the 16th c. And the brown in me was here even before that, but I know that doesn't count.

Despite geography, history, birth, and my own general skepticism towards issues of identity, the way YOU PEOPLE do things, I'm Mexican. Well, a kind of Mexican- the kind that has no place in Mexico.

So sometimes I do embrace the idea of Mexico, which is about as Mexican as what any of the other idealized ethnicities people in the US pretend to be. But there are times when I will act the part of a Mexican though I don't always know the role.

Soccer is one of those "times." I mean I often support the Mexican National Team and vaguely follow some Mexican players. So that means I'm glad for Mexican players that make it to better teams and I like it when they do well, or the Mexican team as a whole does well. Unless, of course, they're playing the US.

Then I hate them with a burning hate I generally save for MySpace, Christmas Shoes, and hell. Funny how that works, isn't it? I may hope that Nery will have a chance to score a lot in the EPL; come February though, I hope he breaks both of his legs or chokes himself with his jersey.

Metaphorically of course.

It seems difficult for things to not work that way. I mean as fluid as identity might be, we easily fall into more rigid clannish categories when push comes to shove, or when push comes to putsch. Maybe that is so because identity is so fluid rather than in spite of it.

This past summer I proposed a pantomime fight with a Columbus Crew fan sometime after I yelled "Chivas Suck!" at some schlub on the sidewalk. I like to think that was a bit of confession and camp on my part. I mean, I caught myself really acting like an idiot, so I decided to pretend to be an over the top idiot to show how idiotic it is to be an idiot.

You may know, if you have half a brain, the half necessary for reading and comprehension, that I'm not a big fan of MY PRESIDENT. Yet reading the news about his trip to Israel and Palestine puts me into that strange position of wanting to defend him. Sure he's a vampire war criminal, but that's for me to say. I'll burn his effigy, you find your own leader to burn. After all, he's MY PRESIDENT.
Well... it's more than that. As much as he and I are not from or on the same plane[t], I feel a subtle pinch when I see these pictures, as if Bush is some new signing I have to support.

True story- I was sitting in a United section of a "pub" for the Arsenal-Man U match earlier this season and I called Rooney a fat load. A woman behind me said something to the effect that if he were on my team I would love him. I said that might be true, but he would still be a hefty blob of pale flesh under whatever colors he wore.

I think many of the claims much of the world can make against the US right now are legitimate... depending on how they're made... But for a brief moment this morning, I wanted to buy a Chinese-made yellow vinyl magnet and PRAY FOR THE TROOPS. I guess that's supposed to happen. The reptile in me wants to narrow who THEY are and what I can do. I guess this is a confession of sorts.

Nationally, many of us still seem to suffer from a lack of imagination when it comes to dealing with people we insist are no more than enemies. Or rather, any energy we put into imagining goes to creating unreal scenarios of how we will deal with our caricatures. Seriously, follow Bin Laden to the gates of hell and shoot him with a Smith and Wesson; get Jack Bauer to hunt and kill our enemies?

I don't write this because it's necessarily news to me. I'm not surprised that I can be parochial. But as we've made it a habit lately, and if others are as susceptible as any, what will we make of the most recent events in the Gulf of Tonkin... I mean the Strait of Hormuz?

We're moving that ball right along while others do the same. We're all so busy creating caricatures to hate, valorizing some sense of us and demonizing them to make it easier and more palatable to kill each other. And there seems to be a sort of velocity building. It's more work at first; then it gets easier. Then it's moving along so freely it's hard to imagine it's not a natural thing after all.

Oh well, Jesus will come back soon and then everything will be great.

Wow That Really Does Work- I Feel So Off the Hook
Gimme the Car- Violent Femmes
Revolution Rock- The Clash
Welcome- The Who
America The Beautiful- Neil Young
Myxomatosis- Radiohead
Once- Pearl Jam
Give the People What they Want- Jimmy Cliff
Helter Skelter- The Beatles
Stomp Box- They Might Be Giants
Just Like a Woman- Bob Dylan
That Old Black Magic-Louis Prima
DMSO- Dead Kennedys
I Die- THe Magnetic Fields
Innervision- System of a Down

Hey, Foreigner

I haven't mentioned yet that I got laser vision over the Christmas break. My hatred for glasses finally overcame my fear of going blind from lasers or long term complications.

Though many of you are uglier than I ever could have known before, all in all, I am very pleased with my fixed eyes, though that's not the point of this.

During my recovery I had to put various drops in my eyes- antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, moisturizing drops. Most every time I did, I thought of my laser vision, and I couldn't think laser vision without thinking of my previous double vision, and then that awesome Foreigner song, Double Vision. So at least five times a day I was saying to myself, "That laser vision gets the best of me..." and at least a few times I would sing it out loud. But each time I was clearly making the link from my eyes, through laser surgery, to laser vision, and finally to the song Double Vision.

That was then.

The past few times I have put anything in my eyes (dog water, gravel, etc...), which I have to do much less frequently now, I go to the melody of the song in my head without thinking anything else. There is no conscious path from the eye drop to the song. This morning, when I put the artificial tears in my eyes, I thought right away of Double Vision, and not being a fan of the song, or having actually heard it in some time, for a split second I wondered, why "Ba da da dada da da duh duh duh" was in my brain.

Laser surgery is why. They don't tell you about that possible side effect.

I suppose we are relatively quickly and easily conditioned to do any number of things. Things that are deliberate little acts soon become rote patterns.

Completely unrelated I'm sure...

If you're a concerned citizen you probably already received this email alert:
"Evangelical Leaders Pledge Common Cause With Islam"
The content of this alert goes on to tell you, concerned citizen, that some eggheads are selling out Christianity in an attempt to dialogue with Muslims. Thankfully, the sellout points are itemized in the alert:
-apologizing for the sins of the Crusades "without mentioning Muslim atrocities" (Whenever I am truly sorry for something, I mention what the other person did to make me do the wrong I would have never done otherwise)
-opening the deity of Christ to discussion (I make sure to only talk about the deity of Jesus with people who already believe in the deity of Jesus)
-putting Christian communities in the Muslim world at risk by admitting any guilt (Nothing makes the isolated Christian communities in the Muslim world stick out like confessions out of Yale. Those Assyrian Christians in Iraq who live under a constitution declaring Islam as the official religion, having their stores and churches blown up, family members crucified and raped really aren't looking forward to word getting out that Muslims might have reason to resent them.)

Keeping It Real

Classic Grandpa- How come you didn't preach while Bruce was gone?
Skybalon- I dunno. No one asked me to.
Classic Grandpa- Why not?
...
Skybalon- They've been reading my blog.

Zinng!

Hail The Conquering Hero

Robin M wins my latest interblog contest.
She wins a copy of His Glorious Reappearing by James White, an 1895 text telling us how we know that Jesus is returning about 100 years ago. I'm a big lame and collect stuff like this. It has some minor water/mold damage on the cover and some pencil marks on the endpages and notes throughout.
I hope, Robin M., you find this text as fascinating as I do.
To the rest of you, I hope you remember the stinging shame of your defeat so that you try harder the next contest.

Eat It Like This

Before January 1st I only had a passing awareness of how awful Rachel Ray is. Through commercials, channel surfing, and standing in supermarket checkout lines I figured I gleaned enough to know that I did not like what she did for the world of food.

On the 1st though, I was literally stuck- and by literally, I mean literally- watching her CBS talk/food show. Before I knew only in part, now I understand fully. Now I've seen more than enough.

If there is a bright shining center to the world of TV cooking food learnery, let's say America's Test Kitchen, then Rachel Ray is the point furthest from it.

The food she makes is horrible and she's a dud.

The Queenbeen would try to get me to cut her some slack by telling me she was a cook and not a chef.

So.

I don't see why that matters. Well, I see why that could matter. If she were trying to make things simpler, maybe changing things for the regular home cook by making things accessible, explaining or reducing some complex cooking processes so others could try and enjoy them, altering things for the sake of health, ease, or efficiency. Doing something like that. But that's not what she does. She makes high sodium, high fat, pre-packaged, over-processed, bland, lumpy, awful garbage.

If you are ever going to have me over to share a Rachel Ray meal, do us both a favor and throw my portion straight into the toilet. Thank you.

So I watched her show and the food was horrible looking. Then there were the interviews. Good grief.

One of the actors from one of the CSIs was on talking about how great it was to be one of the actors on one of the CSIs. Then some lady showed us how easy it is to multitask with a waffle maker; quesadillas, hamburgers, and sandwiches can all be cooked in a waffle maker. Brilliant right? Not necessarily more easily, better, or in a more healthy way, but still, why not throw a quarter pound of ground beef into one of the more expensive to buy and use cooking appliances?

Sure.

And all this was done with the grace and conversational flair of Paula Abdul interviewing Kim Jong Il. It would have been more entertaining to have the guests talk to a jar of mayonnaise and then invite some passersby to read and demonstrate the recipe found on the side of said jar.

Of course as I write this I know I'm wrong. Rachel Ray is at the top of some mega-food media... not quite an empire... territory? Okay. Rachel Ray is at the top of some mega-food media territory, so she's right. Right? She must know food and I just know that in the world she rules, I'm some dumb jerk.

If, years ago, she were to ask me if she should pursue becoming some cooking mogul, I would gently tell her, "No." I would suggest that's not where her particular gifts are and that she would be wasting time and other resources chasing that dream. I would be the nay sayer, the small-town mind that had no way of seeing her vision in the made for TV movie of her life. I would be the memory that would keep her going through the hard times- she would overcome the obstacles laid by people like me until she realized her dream of sharing ground turkey and crouton meat blob with the masses. Then I'd see.

And I do see, but still I'm here, like an idiot, arguing with the results. 'Cos really, when it comes down to it, we're all about the results aren't we? It takes quite a dummy to argue with that.

There's a monster church pastor I know who, despite how untalented, dangerous, ungifted for the role, out and out wrong, and ultimately opposed to the Gospel I think he is, rules over a very large congregation. He was one of two churchy speakers that have ever made me so angry I shook. When we used to have reason to speak to each other, I would take off my shirt, cup my hands on my buttocks and hop around on, first my right, then my left foot, and sqwuak. He would stare at me with the focused but far away look of a man trying to remember the lyrics to a toothpaste jingle he'd known as a child.

Like Rachel Ray, I would say he is not suited for what he's doing. If I was some elder, at some point in his past, I would have said, "This is not for you." Then years later, or after a montage set to a David Crowder song, he would be the pastor of a giant church, selling CD's, hosting prophecy seminars, calling Jesus "immortable," and he'd feel more than right. He'd know that he had discerned God's call for his life. He'd see that it had come to be, and like some Gamaliel, I'd be there with my hat in my hand saying, "You can't argue with results."

He's right. When he taught that America is God's anointed power for good in the world and got me a'shakin, he was right. When he told his daughter to screw school because a.) Jesus would be back very soon so high school and college don't really matter or b.) she just needed to marry someone who could take care of her he was right. When he focuses his entire November-December sermon series on the need to defend Christmas, he's right. He's got a mega-church empire to prove it. Well, not an empire. I guess in the Calvary Chapel way of doing things, it's a fiefdom.

I'm not so big a dummy that I argue with that. Not because there's not something to argue with there, but there's there and here's here. It's when there shows up here that it requires some arguing. And when there seems to be what everyone's after, it's hard to not believe that here should be more like there.

And then what?

As Far as Pretty Cooking Ladies That Look Like Natalie Portman With a Big Forehead Go, I Really Like That Giada De Laurentiis
Aquarius- The 5th Dimension
C for Conscription- The Almanac Singers
Message From the Underworld- The Weirdos
What Do I Get- The Buzzcocks
Frontier Psychiatrist- The Avalanches
Level- The Raconteurs
Why Can't I Touch It- The Buzzcocks
God Only Knows- The Beach Boys
Gimmie Some Salt- Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Panic In Detroit- David Bowie
Moonage Daydream- David Bowie
Los Angeles- X
The Guns of Brixton
Luz Azul- Aterciopelados
White Riot- The Clash
We Americans- The Briefs
Kiss Me On the Bus- The Replacements
The Last of the Famous International Playboys- Morrissey

ed- I was not going to embed the Madness Colgate ad, but even just alluding to it in my brain forced me to search the internets for the commercial. I'm amazed that this commercial matters to the 14 year old shut-ins that curate the YouTube. Oh, and if you dispute me that this jingle is not clearly a Madness song I will cook a Rachel Ray recipe for you.