New Old Stuff

I just picked up Adele's debut album, 19.  By now, I'm sure that most of you have heard some/all of her ground-breaking, chart-topping, Grammy-winning album, 21.  You really can't avoid it.  I mean, if you haven't heard "Rolling in the Deep", you may need to pack your volleyball friend onto the raft and think about rejoining society.

Aside: if you haven't heard it, 19 is quite good.  It seems a bit more immature and more of an attempt to mimic the records she heard growing up, rather than developing her own, unique stamp.  There are shades of 21 in there, though.  "Make You Feel My Love" would fit nicely onto 21. 

Listening to her debut album, I'm struck by a few things.  One of them is that this young lady has such command and presence, even at such a young age, that, in my opinion, some of today's "divas" could stand to take some notes.  For one, Adele doesn't over-sing everything.  She crafts interesting vocal lines, sure, but the vocal acrobatics that are so prevalent today, and seem to be the benchmark for what makes a "good" singer, are completely absent.  This is a beautiful, "less is more" approach, and begins to undo some of the damage caused by all of the Whitney Houstons and Mariah Careys of the world.

"But...but..." you stammer. "Whitney could sing!".

You and I will have to disagree there.  Well, maybe not entirely.  She probably could sing.  To me, though, it just seemed like she was yelling on-key most of the time.  Tomatoes, to-mah-toes.  I really didn't come here to bash Whitney.

The second thing that struck me was the phenomenon that I've observed upon discovering a new artist, mid-career, and then delving into their back catalog(ue):

The first album you hear from an artist is, in your mind, their sound, regardless of how it may sound with regard to anything else they've done.

Let me clarify.  In the instance of Adele, 21 is what Adele's baseline sound is.  19 is a change from that.  IN MY HEAD.  For fans who started at the beginning, 21 is the departure.  If the first Pearl Jam album you heard was Vitalogy, Ten is going to sound strange to you.  Have you, readers, noticed this phenomenon as well?

I'd be curious to know what causes this.  Perhaps it's just simple familiarity.  Maybe there's enough nostalgia-weight with your first experience that you'll always hold a special place for that first taste of an artist.

Could you get around this by digesting a band's entire catalog(ue) in one go, thereby imprinting that nostalgia-weight to their entire works?

What artists have you experienced this with?

Oh, no. I don't buy it for a second.

I'm back!  I've had a lot going on, both at work and at home, and just haven't had time (or inspiration) to write anything.  I'll be honest: it's been a pretty stressful time for me, which culminated in something of a nervous breakdown this past weekend.  In fact, I started a post about that while it was still going on, but it read like a suicide note, so I deleted it.  No need to cause anyone any unintentional distress.

Thankfully, I have a wonderful, understanding wife, a fantastic best friend, and a great group of guys at the chapel that I was able to spend some time with, and I got through it.  I'm feeling pretty incredible right now, so that's a definite improvement.

However, that's not why I'm writing today.  As I stated before, I was going to share my new music with you.  I have a couple of new albums to talk about.

Fragrant World

by Yeasayer

Yeasayer are like that band that the cool, art-y kids were listening to in the 80s while you were trying to decide if Boy George would ever top "Karma Chameleon".  Sounding like a cross between Art Of Noise and Gary Numan, Yeasayer brings a deliciously retro sound to a modern audience. 

Their music is predominantly electronic, but the band eschews the trappings of most modern electronic music.  You will not find droning, repetetive beats here.  Instead, this is almost pure pop sensibility, but with so much experimentation and lush density that it feels more like prog than something you'd hear on the Top 40.  The music shifts and swirls, creating a new soundscape every few bars.  By relying on that pop sensibility, though, they keep the music accessible, never making it difficult to listen to.  In fact, the entire album is so utterly listenable that I find myself toe-tapping and head-bobbing right along with it.

Lyrically, the band hits familiar tropes like relationships, etc, but with an artistic flair that makes them more about mood than literal interpretation.  The only exception is the surprisingly mean-spirited "Folk Hero Schtick", which seems to be a diss track, specifically aimed at someone (I don't know who).  It's a step backward and takes away from the positive vibes that you'd expect from a band called Yeasayer (presumably, the opposite of a naysayer).

Overall, Yeasayer have crafted a fine album.  Perhaps it's not quite so memorable as their last effort, Odd Blood, but definitely worth a listen if you enjoy some 80s-sounding synth pop.

Tough Love

A couple of days ago, one of my friends posted a question on Facebook, and I thought it was interesting enough to take some time and give it a proper answer.  It's a big enough question that I thought it might be worth bringing up here:

Does anyone else out there think like me? Does anyone else think that you can be a Christian and a good person, without having to be a church goer that reads and refers to and lives by the Bible? I think I am a Christian as per my testimony at age 14, however, I have also met so many people in this country alone that are incredible people - Muslims, Buddhists, and even Catholic Strippers! Why is it that I can't be open to their ideas and accepting of them and respect their opinions? Does that make me a bad person or a bad Christian? I will not judge others for their choices in life, its just not for me to say, but instead for me to be nice and open and kind to them, right?


OK, since you asked...

There's really no way to address this without bringing up one of the ugly truths about religion.  Almost every religion believes that their way is the right way, and those who are not on board are going to Hell (or some reasonable facsimile).  People don't like this.  It's harsh.  It's black-and-white.  It doesn't leave a lot of room for "Gee, can't we all just get along?".  I know many non-believers who are really offended by this.  It's certainly not something we like to bring up as an icebreaker at parties.
  
However (and I'll speak from a Christian's point of view), this gets unfairly pinned on the believers.  "You're being judgmental!"  Well, no, actually.  I'm not.  I have no authority over where you spend the afterlife.  Now, as far as I know, that's the rules, but they're not my rules.  I didn't make them up.  God did.  It's all His, anyway, so...His rules.  Would I like it if everyone got a Get Out Of Eternity In Fire card, just for smiling at others and not kicking puppies?  Sure.  But that's not how it works.  The thing is, though.  There is a big stack of those cards available.  One for each person.  The trick is that you have to take it.  Faith in Christ is your free pass.  You just have to come that far.  The rest has been laid out for you.

Bit of a digression.  Back to the question.  "Can you be a Christian and a good person, without having to be a church goer that reads and refers to and lives by the Bible?"  A good person?  Sure, no problem.  A Christian?  Not so much.  Without the Bible, what does it even mean to be a Christian?  How do you know what Christianity is, or what it looks like?  I suspect that you like to call yourself a Christian, but don't want to have to deal with any of those difficult parts of it, so you adopt the label and then live your life how you see fit.  That way, when someone asks, you can say, "Yes, I am", but you're really not.  When you create the religion to suit what you think God should be like, you're really worshipping yourself.  If this is the case, and if you're really honest with yourself, you should probably stop calling yourself a Christian (unless your name is Chris or Christie - even then, it's unnecessarily misleading).  

Self-identifying as a Christian because you said you were when you were 14, and then not doing anything since is like me saying, "I'm an airline pilot".

"You're not an airline pilot.", you say, "You've never even studied aviation, much less flown a plane".

"True", I reply, "But, when I was a five years old, I got to go in the cockpit and the pilot gave me pilot's wings.  I'm totally an airline pilot".

Maybe I've got this all wrong.  I just don't understand how you're calling yourself a thing that you are not, just because you were at one time.  You are not an eighth-grader, are you?  Even though you were one when you were 14?  Why?  Because you don't attend classes in a middle school anymore.  Why don't you also call yourself an eighth-grader?  

For the other part - can you be a Christian and not a church goer?  Yes, but you're not going to be as effective and uplifted.  The Bible tells us:

Hebrews 10:25 
Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching. 

1 Corinthians 12:12 
The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ. 

Now, can you be open to others' ideas and accepting of them and respect their opinions without judging them?  Again, yes.  Yes, you can.  There is only one Judge, and you are not Him.  But if you really are a Christian, that is, a follower of Christ, well:

John 14:6 
Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me". 

Take a moment and let that sink in.  The Muslims and Buddhists and Atheists and Wiccans (etc.) are all going to be apart from God for eternity.  Straight from Christ's mouth.  Uncomfortable?  You bet.  If you care about these people, you should want them to be with you in Heaven.  At the very least, pray for them, fervently, daily.  Pray that they will accept Christ.  Because saying, "Hey, your way is as good as my way", is a death sentence. 

Again, that's only if you believe what you say you believe.  If you don't, and you think everyone's just cool the way they are, you should probably look into Universalism.

To my friend who asked the question: We've been friends for a long time.  You know we're still friends.  I'm just concerned for you and really would like you to think about why you believe what you believe.

Out Come The Knives

I love music.  I also have a huge appetite for new music.  I mean, of course, "new to me", and not, "recently recorded".  Amazon has a delicious mp3 store that frequently has albums on sale for $5 (or less).  This allows me to indulge my large appetite on the cheap, and I thank them for it.

I listen to many genres of music.  Mostly rock-based (of many stripes), but also jazz, folk, rap, swing, pop, avant garde, and whatever else may find its way onto my iPod.

So, I had this crazy idea that, in order to keep myself writing, I'd start doing reviews (for lack of a better word) of the new music I was picking up.  I don't plan on necessarily going into the back catalog, but we'll see what your feedback and my whims lead to.

Luckily, this idea coincided with a purchase from one of my favorite bands - one that I've mentioned on this blog and also on FB several times - The Paper Chase.

 

 

Hide the Kitchen Knives

by The Paper Chase

 

I started listening to The Paper Chase based on a recommendation from a like-minded, music afficionado, friend of mine.  The album that I heard first was their third, God Bless Your Black Heart.  I have since collected all of their albums.  Hide the Kitchen Knives was their second album and the fifth for me.

Musically, HTKK fits right in with the rest of their work, and is a step forward from their debut album, Young Bodies Heal Quickly, You Know.  The production is more refined, and the band is once again led by mastermind/vocalist ("singer" might be a stretch)/guitarist/songwriter/producer, John Congleton. 

Describing The Paper Chase in words is liked trying to describe the feeling of your first kiss or, more accurately, your first fistfight.  The music is an experimental combination of guitar, bass, drums, piano, and samples.  The band is very tight, but never sounds that way, because their music is so discordant.  It sounds as if the musicians might all be playing the same song, but aren't sure what key they're supposed to be playing in.  I can't tell if Congleton's just such a genius that he can bludgeon these disparate sounds into an overall vision, or if each part being wrong ends up sounding all right in the end.

The songs are arranged in such a way that they move from positively bludgeoning, to quiet and almost-beautiful.  The listener is never allowed to rest, though.  Something will keep upsetting any attempt to just float along with the music, whether it's an intentional, "bad" note, or the theme of the lyrics.  The Paper Chase are also not afraid to let various band members rest for a bit.  Instruments drop in and out of the music to suit the arrangements.  Songs blend together, making the work seem like a concept album, even when it isn't.  Samples are not loops of music bits or sound effects, for the most part, but snippets of voice recordings.  Most appear to be recordings of surviving relatives of crime victims.  They add a creepy layer to the proceedings, boosting the unease created by the music.

Lyrically, the Paper Chase craft an ugly world, giving the impression of a run-down Texas trailer park in mid-August, populated entirely by dysfunctional families whose members have nothing but utter contempt for each other.  Surprisingly, though, the lyrics are quite literate and contain some clever wordplay and dark humor.

All of these elements are in play on HTKK.  The Paper Chase defintely have a sound, and they stick with it.  The vocals lean toward the raw delivery that would fade a bit on subsequent albums.  The lyrics continue their penchant for dark wordplay, and are still painting a dirty, sweaty world.  The music is just as experimental and unsettling.  Basically, I got exactly what I wanted/expected from the album.  The band is in fine form, and the production sounds better than that on Young Bodies.

The highest compliment I can pay to The Paper Chase is that they don’t sound like anyone else.  At least, no one that I’ve heard of.  Most of the time, when you listen to a new band, I will compare the band  to another band (or bands).  “They sound like X, but with the vocals of Y”.  I honestly cannot draw any meaningful comparison.  For me, finding a band that has a wholly unique sound is automatically worth a listen.  Hide the Kitchen Knives, while not necessarily my favorite album by TPC, is certainly a great example of their sound for someone who would like to give them a try.

A Dream of the End

I had an incredibly vivid dream this morning.  Ordinarily, I wouldn't share, but this one was very powerful and is really sticking with me.  Please understand, as I describe this, that it was a dream, and didn't necessarily make entire sense with the world as we know it.  I'm just telling it like it happened.

It was The End.  Like, the end of everything.  God was preparing to enact the final reckoning, and all of the believers of the world were gathered together in one place.  It was many different faiths, too.  I don't know exactly which ones were represented, but it wasn't just Baptists, for example.  The place was a very large, very flat place, all well-manicured grass and trees.  It called to mind the Temple Mount in Jerusalem but, as I said, all grass, like a golf course.  All of the people were there, and yet, it wasn't crowded at all.  That's not a snarky way to say that there weren't that many believers.  It just defied logic, to have so many there and not be crowded.  The people clustered together in small groups, talking and sharing stories and ideas about their lives and what was to come.

A small handful of people were then chosen to take on specific tasks.  I was chosen to give prayer/last rites for the children in attendance.  When I explained that I wasn't Catholic, and didn't believe in last rites, I was told that it was OK.  It was to comfort the children and their parents, and my prayer was more than sufficient for what was needed.  I agreed, honored to be chosen.  Simultaneously, my wife was made the spirit of Death. 

Now, before you start evaluating my thoughts about the Missus, you should understand a few things.  First, the Bible states that we should strive for the greater gifts when it comes to gifts of the Spirit.  My wife has been a Christian for longer than I have and is more mature in her faith than I am.  Secondly, she wasn't kitted out with a black robe and scythe.  It was just her, and she had a very important job to do.  My job was important - I mean, I was singled out - but she was really elevated.  It was pretty awe-inspiring.

So, at a given time, we understood that some of the gathered were ready to pass on to...whatever came after.  My wife and I moved through the assembled.  As I prayed, she would reach out her hand and, whoever she touched, died.  It wasn't a normal death.  They would freeze up and the color would drain out of them and they just weren't there anymore.  Some of them were nervous as she approached, but no one was really afraid.  As we passed, some of the remaining people would thank me for the prayers/last rites.  When enough people were...I don't know..."taken", we would go back to just being ourselves and waiting for the next time we were needed.  This happened a few times.

In the last part of the dream, we were all just waiting again.  Suddenly, I heard a quiet commotion behind me.  People were talking excitedly, gasping, etc.  I knew that God was among us.  Without turning to look, I dropped to my knees and pressed my face to the grass.  I whispered that I was done waiting and was ready to go.  I felt a weight on my back, as if someone were standing over me.  He asked me if I was sure that I was ready to examine my life, to be judged.  I said, "I've been made holy.  I'm ready".

Instantly, there was a table on the grass in front of me.  He started gathering the actions, thoughts, relationships, everything from my life and setting them on the table in front of me, like tokens.  They were a sort of smoky-white color, and were diferent sizes - some small, like a penny, up to roughly two inches across.  He said, "Let's start with the people in your life - those who are important to you".  The tokens lined up North-to-South, in the center of the table.  As I thought of the people that I cared about, the line of tokens grew.  I knew that we were going to go through absolutely everything that I had ever seen, done, thought, felt.  I was nervous, but never afraid.  I felt Love.  Even knowing that my existence would be laid bare, I was never ashamed.  I knew that this was just something that must be done before I moved on.

Unfortunately, before I could see what happened next, wind blew through the house, causing the bathroom door to creak and wake me up.  I tried to ignore the creaking but, by the third or fourth creak, I was awake.  Quite disappointing.  I really wanted to see what would happen next.

I'm not really sure why I'm sharing this.  I'm not one of those "visions" people.  I realized, as soon as I woke, that it was a dream.  I don't feel like I saw the future or anything.  It was just a very powerful experience for me.  If anything, I think it provides a clear idea of how I view God.  That alone makes it worthwhile for me.

P.S.  I just put my iPod on Shuffle, and the first song it chose was "These Dreams", by Heart.

In Which I Have A Bad Attitude

Warning: This may get a little bit ramble-y.  I'm trying to puzzle through this on the fly - please bear with me.

Church made me grouchy yesterday.  It's been doing that a lot lately.  Our head pastor recently departed, and it seems like the church hasn't been the same since (or even a bit before he left).  It's definitely changed, and it's hard to put my finger on what exactly the difference is.  I don't think that it's necessarily a vaccuum effect, as we have continuity in our remaining pastor, although, it may be tangentially related to that.  Plus, I feel like our current pastor is really bringing his A-game to his messages.  He's rocking some good scripture study.

I'm wondering if certain members of the church are trying to re-mold things in the former pastor's absence.  See, the thing is that we're a multi-faith, Protestant chapel.  Not all of our members' attitudes and dogmas coincide perfectly.  Some of the change may be people trying to make the chapel line up a little more with their individual faith.  I can write that off as growing pains.

It also seems like a really, really lot of our members are going through some stuff right now.  Obviously, this has nothing to do with who is standing on the pulpit on a given Sunday.  Perhaps some of my perceived change is just being in a room with a lot of people who are hurting.  I could honestly spend one whole service just hugging people and crying with them - just letting them know that they're not alone.  Not very practical, from a we-need-to-have-singing-and-sermon-and-offering-and-singing point of view, but, hey, it's how I feel.

Anyway, yesterday, as we left, I related to the Missus how I felt, counting through item after item of inconsequential things that all added up to me making this emoticon >:-( by the time we left.  She suggested that, maybe, we shouldn't attend that church anymore, if I was so upset every week.  Just that simple suggestion really stopped me in my tracks.  That is certainly not the direction that I wish to go.  For one, as I said, the pastor is really blessing me weekly with some good, in-depth, study.  Also, I'm starting to build some good relationships there.  I certainly don't want to leave them behind and start all over. 

At that point, I really had to admit that I might be the problem.  Well, not me, but my attitude.

So, where is the attitude coming from?  Well, I think it may be the issue I had last month with some of my fellow chapel members.  I think I've really been holding onto that, and it's coloring my overall experience when I have to be in the same room as them, which hasn't necessarily been as infrequently as I would like.

Yes, I am guilty of being unforgiving.  It's made me a less effective Christian, and, honestly, a less effective member of the human race.  The irony is not lost on me that a reasonably significant portion of my blog, to date, has been dedicated to convincing people to be more hip and groovy to each other and, here I am, stewing over some old stuff.

Here we go, then.  You church members who I am upset with - I forgive you.  I recognize that you will probably not read this, as we are not friends, nor will we likely be - and that's OK.  I'm forgiving you in my heart, and am going to let last month's issue go.  It's over and done with, and life goes on.

Whew.  That feels better.

To the few of you who actually read this: thanks for letting me get that off my chest.  I really do think the world will be a much better place when we can all figure out a nice, peaceful way to handle our disagreements.  Obviously, I am not the perfect example, but I'm trying.  Life's too short to spend it angry.

I Wrote Another Short Story!

I love the show The Twilight Zone.  Little slices of things that were always just a bit askew.  I think I loved them for the same reason that I love short stories.  You can shorthand a lot of stuff and just dive right into to a character in a strange situation.

This story is my attempt at paying homage to that great series.  I've had this idea for a long time about a man waking up, and realizing that the sky above him was not the sky that he was familiar with.  I thought that would be a very disorienting way to wake up.  I sort of forced myself to give this man a story.

Again, let me know what you think.

Unfamiliar Sky

Dan Burke woke, flat on his back in the grass, staring up at an unfamiliar sky.  Stargazing was a hobby of his, and the constellations overhead were definitely in the wrong positions.  He took quick stock of his various body parts, and judged that he was uninjured, if a little damp from lying in the wet grass.  He lifted his head, slowly, and looked around.  He recognized the softball field immediately.  His company's team had taken second place in the city tournament last year, and he played second base.  He stood.

I'm only a mile or so from home.  That's good, he thought.  But why are the stars wrong?  And, why am I in the softball field?

The field lights were off, but the first traces of light were coming over the horizon, and Dan could tell that his car wasn't in the small parking lot.  He checked his pockets and discovered that he had his keys and wallet.

I don't feel hung over.  How did I get out here?

Slowly, Dan headed toward the break in the fence near the dugout.  Leaving the field, he started toward home.  Even though he knew where he was, he was disoriented from waking out in the open, and felt shaken by the strange sky.

Someone was running toward him on the street.  His heartbeat quickened, and he tensed.  He had a moment’s indecision whether or not to run away.  Instead, he chose to continue ahead, ready to spring out of the way if needed.  As the person got closer, he could hear rhythmic, heavy breathing.  Morning jogger, Dan thought, and felt a little silly for his apprehension.  Sure enough, the jogger passed him by with barely a glance.

As the sky brightened overhead, erasing the errant constellations, Dan’s nerves calmed considerably.  He turned onto his street, and saw his car, parked in the driveway.  He arrived at his house and pulled his keys out of his pocket.  He slid his house key into the lock and turned it over.  Or, rather, he tried to.  While it slid home easily enough, it refused to turn.  He tried again.  Nothing.  He checked that he was using the correct key.  Yes, it was definitely his house key.  Knowing that it wouldn’t work, Dan tried once more.  Still nothing.  His unease was creeping back up, now mixed with frustration.

The door opened.

“Dan?  Where have you been?”  It was Paige, his wife, a concerned look on her face.

“I, uh, I was just out for a walk.  I, um, woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep.  Thought I’d go get some air”, he lied.

“Dan, I was really worried.  You could have left a note or something”.  She kissed him as she stepped back to let him in.  “I’m glad you’re home, anyway.  Want some coffee?”

“Oh, yes.  Very much yes”.  He followed Paige into the kitchen.  “I think something’s wrong with the lock.  Or my key.”

“Really?  We can try my key later.  See what’s wrong with it”.  She busied herself with the coffee maker.

Dan sat at the kitchen table and watched her make coffee.  She had always had a great figure and, dressed as she was, in her robe, hair still damp from the shower, Dan found her to be incredibly sexy.  He was forming the words to tell her so, when she approached him, steaming mugs of coffee in hand.

“Here you go, sweetie”, she said as she flashed him her disarming smile, the one that made the corners of her sparkling hazel eyes turn down.

Dan’s heart began pounding again.  Paige had the most stunning hazel eyes.  They flashed green when she was angry.  He had spent hours of his life, staring into them.

Paige’s eyes, as she handed him his coffee, were a flat, milk chocolate brown.

Dan started, pushing away and upsetting his chair in the process.  He fell hard to the floor.  His mug shattered, spattering him with hot coffee.

“Dan!  What the hell?”, Paige yelled at him.  Her eyes did not flash green.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Her face softened and she leaned down toward him.  “Dan, what’s wrong?  Are you OK?”

“I SAID ‘GET AWAY FROM ME!’”.  Dan kicked the upset chair at Paige, knocking her feet out from under her. She sprawled over the chair and crashed to the floor.  Dan scrambled to his feet and ran awkwardly for the front door.  Throwing it open, he almost ran into Ed, his next door neighbor.

“Hey, Dan.  Is everything OK?  I heard shouting”.  Ed glanced past Dan, into the house.

“Huh?  Oh, uh, yeah.  No, everything’s fine”.  Dan made a feeble attempt at a smile.  Ed returned the smile, revealing a set of teeth, all pointed, like a shark’s.

“Ed!  Help!”, Paige screamed from kitchen.  Ed’s shark grin widened. 

Dan screamed and punched Ed square in the nose.  Ed staggered back for a moment, then rushed forwards, grabbing Dan by the shirt and slamming him backwards into the wall, knocking the wind from his lungs.  Paige came around the corner, limping, fixing her disheveled robe.  Tears ran down her cheeks.

“Dan, why?”, Paige asked, leveling her brown eyes at him.

“Your…your eyes”, Dan whispered.

“What about my eyes, Dan?” 

Paige sighed, lowering her head.  When she looked back up at him, her damp eyes were hazel, favoring green, as they always had been.  Dan gaped at her, then glanced at Ed, with his smashed nose, blood pouring down his face, and then back into his wife’s beautiful hazel eyes.

Dan fainted.

*********************************************** 

Dan Burke woke, flat on his back, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling.  All white, with metal grates covering the recessed lights.  He took quick stock of his various body parts, and judged that he was uninjured, but he couldn’t move his arms.  He lifted his head, slowly, and looked around.  He took in the padded walls and straitjacket. 

Dan lowered his head and closed his eyes, hoping to awake somewhere else.

In my head, the confrontation between Dan and Paige was much more violent.  Then, I thought that, between this story and the last, some of you might think that I had a real problem with women.  That's not the case at all, but I figured that maybe toning it down would be better for the story anyway. 

Planks And Specks, Vol. 2

Recently, no fewer than four of my Facebook friends posted a link to this comic (there are some bad words in it, so follow at your own risk) :

How To Suck At Your Religion

I won't copy it into my page because 1.) I don't like it, and 2.) I don't want to get in any kind of legal trouble.  So, you can follow the link.

I take issue with this for a number or reasons but, chief among them is the inherent hypocrisy of it in the first place.  Drawing up a comic, or any other form of expression, couched in the delivery and language that this is, taking (mostly) Christians to task for being hateful and judgmental, is blatantly hypocritical.

Here's the deal, Atheists (or is it "atheists"?  Is it capitalized?) - we all get that you don't believe in God, Allah, Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Yoda, etc. ad nauseum.

We believe in something that you don't. We get it. We really do. However, taking every possible opportunity in your lives to lambaste others for their beliefs doesn't really make you right. It just makes you kind of a jerk. If you're going to call theists judgmental and hateful and pushy, maybe you should take a little more care that you don't exhibit these same traits yourself.

That's what gets me. The hate directed towards telling theists how hateful they are. It's a real "fight fire with fire" approach, and I don't think it really accomplishes anything.

Maybe that's what I'm so bothered about: What are you trying to accomplish? Are you trying to convince theists that you're right? Has a hateful theist won you over? No? I didn't think so. Is it some masturbatory reflex to get other atheists to pat you on the back and tell you how clever you are and how you really stuck it to the Christians? Are you so sad inside that you need that validation?

Tolerance.  Tolerance and diversity.  That's all you scream about.  The Christians are SO hateful because they say that I'll go to Hell if I don't sign on with their Imaginary Sky Daddy.  Yet, you can't have an honest discussion about it without resorting to ridicule.  You want tolerance?  Practice a little.  And that free-thinking you so value?  Why do I have to freely think exactly what you think in order to not be ridiculed?  Guess what?  I used to be a militant atheist, just like you.  Free thinking led me to faith in Jesus Christ.  Um, is it not supposed to work that way?  Did I do it wrong?  Geez.

There's more to say here, but I'm tired and want to close this before it gets way too long.  I'll close with this question:

When did our egos get so fragile that we can't tolerate anyone who doesn't think exactly the way we do?

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things!

I just returned home from an amazing trip to Israel.  For 10 days, a pretty large subset of my church family toured (what felt like) pretty much the entire country.  I had an amazing time and, as a Christian, got to visit some very important locations from both the Old and New Testaments, with a lot of non-Biblical stuff mixed in, just because it's pretty cool/educational/etc.  It's also phenomenal to see, first-hand, how the various Middle Eastern cultures live and work together.  Politically, it's a pretty big mess but, in the day-to-day, it's largely stable and full of people who would really like to go the rest of their lives not killing each other.  If you get a chance, you should go.

One thing really bothered me, though.  It's been scratching at my brain a little since I've been here in Europe, but now it's honestly become a full-blown issue for me.  My problem is this:

How does the Catholic Church justify its modus operandi?

Please, allow me to explain with a fun pictorial.  Here is Exhibit A:

This is the site, to include actual walls and excavated rooms, of the church that Peter started up after the crucifixion of Christ.  If you recall, immediately following the crucifixion, being (what would soon be known as) a Christian was a dangerous thing.  I mean, look, they just nailed up the head guy!  The remaining disciples, etc, were in hiding.  This tiny little room was where the first meetings were held as the Church tried to regroup and get its collective balance.





The site is found - awesome.  What a great opportunity for Christians to come and see the roots of where all of it began, right?  Well, sure, until the Catholic Church swoops in, buys the site, and builds a flying saucer right on top of it!






The sad part is that this is actually tasteful compared to some of the other sites.  Exhibit B, The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the supposed site of Christ's crucifixion (Golgotha) and resurrection:

Seriously.  It looks like Liberace exploded in here.  What I find interesting is that there is no archaeological evidence that this is the actual site for any of the events leading up to Christ's crucifixion.  The Catholic Church bought this site and said, "OK, everyone.  This is the spot.  You know, because we say so".  They slap a bunch of marble and gold in it and it's the spot.

The very worst is that they've utterly erased any trace of anything in the  site that could possibly be used to verify their claim.





So, the part I'm having trouble wrapping my head around is that this is a religion, right?  Granted, they don't have the greatest track record, what with the Crusades and the odd Inquisition here and there.  But they can put that behind them and show how they've moved on.  Maybe they've put their thumbscrews in a long-forgotten cabinet in a long-forgotten basement, but this wholesale appropriation of historical sites is unfathomable to me.

Again, this is a religion, supposedly based upon the teachings of Christ and His followers.  When I look at the opulence on display, and how they plunk a church down on every holy site they can gain access to, I have a difficult time believing that this is an organization that is, in any way, concerned with getting people right with God so that they can go to Heaven.  Instead, I see an organization that is entirely concerned with saying to the world, "Look at me!  Look at how rich and powerful I am!".   When I look at these monuments to ostentatiousness (spell-checker is mad at me), I can't help but wondering how much good could be done if the money and resources went to the needy instead of to phallus-waving.  It really turns my stomach.

If they could say that they weren't doing this anymore, and were just maintaining the already-established sites, I could sort-of give them a pass.  But, they aren't.  The Vatican is, as we speak, trying to buy the room where the Last Supper was held.  The room has already been altered enough, since it's been alternately a chapel, a synagogue, and a mosque, depending on who's been in charge at the time.  Thankfully, the Israeli government is refusing the sale.

I know that the Catholics get upset every time Lady Gaga or someone uses Catholic imagery in a blasphemous music video, but it seems to me that the Catholic Church devolved into self-parody a long, long time ago.  I mean, if you think about what a church should be like, and what this one is currently like, I can't think of anything more ripe for satire and parody.

And, that's not to say that Protestants, Jews, Muslims, or Buddhists are completely in the clear on this, either.  But, cast your eyes to that first picture.  That's a real church, in the model of Christ.  It was held in someone's home with a group of dedicated believers, who wanted nothing more that to spread the Gospel and take care of widows, orphans, and the sick.  That's the model, people!  Not gold-plating everything that's nailed down.

I hope the tone of this isn't too biting.  I tried to keep it more or less civil, but I'm pretty upset about it, as a general concept.  We're all doing it wrong, and it seems, to me, that Catholicism is the worst offender.

I guess the silver lining is that this is really causing me to do some soul-searching on how I "do church" so, at least, I can thank them for that.

Planks And Specks

"And why do you look at the speck in your brother's eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye?  Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me remove the speck from your eye'; and look, a plank is in your own eye?  Hypocrite! First remove the plank from your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye."  --Matthew 7:3-5

I am a Christian.

This is an important preface to today's topic.  I feel that, a lot of time, people like to criticize people with whom they have nothing in common, therefore lack any kind of empathy with them.  Atheists criticize theists.  Republicans criticize Democrats (and OH SO vice versa).  Chocolate criticizes peanut butter.  It's a madhouse, and everyone thinks that their own opinion is the only one in the world that matters, feelings and thoughts of others be damned.  My problem with this - and I'm almost certainly guilty of it myself, and need to try very hard to stop - is that by criticizing groups with which you have no affiliation robs you of perspective necessary to formulate a good argument.  You can very easily, wholeheartedly, nay-say, but I think you lack a decent foundation for debate.

I think our energies would be better spent dealing with our own mess, either personally, or as a collective.  It's very difficult to change others.  Seriously, think of the last time that someone screaming at the top of their lungs really changed your mind.  Take a minute.  It's OK.  I'll wait.  Got one yet?  Were you walking past a Westboro picket line and suddenly exclaimed, "You know what?  You're right.  I bet God really does hate homosexuals!  (yes, I self-censored the f-word.  it's ugly)  Hand me a sign".  Yeah, I didn't think so.

So, where am I going with this?

I've noticed that most non-believers' problems with Christians, completely aside from Christianity, is that many of us come off as judgmental, bigoted, loudmouth idiots who are trying to force their views on others.  Largely, I think that's an unfair stereotype, perpetuated by a minority of loudmouth idiots.  Come to think of it, look at a lot of our stereotypes.  How many of those are based on a minority of loudmouth idiots?  Since I've moved to Germany, I've come to know a number of Muslims.  Guess what - none of them has ever tried to blow me up for being a Christian or an American.  In fact, every single one of them was/is a delight to be around.  Did you know that for every ONE Christian who will bomb an abortion clinic, there are literally thousands who would like nothing more than to see you alongside them in Heaven and, in the meantime, share a table full of Mexican food and a few large glasses of sweet tea with you?  It's true.

However.

The loudmouth idiots DO exist.  Today, they landed in my personal circle of influence.  I'm terribly disappointed that they feel that they need to push their views on others.

In my relationship with Christ, I desire authenticity above all else.  My favorite person in the Bible is the second thief, crucified alongside Christ.  Grab a Bible and read Luke 23:40-43.  That guy is my hero.  He's like the perfect Cliff's Notes version of our salvation story.  He admits his sin, confirms Christ, and is told - by Christ Himself - that he will be with Him in Heaven.  Seriously, it brings tears to my eyes every time I read it.

The key part of that is that this thief admits that he is guilty - that he is the broken one.  Certainly not the kind of guy that would try to pretend he was something he was not.  Also not the kind of guy that would compare your life to his and, finding yours lacking, would attempt to force you to emulate his.

To close this already-too-long post, my points are two-fold:

1.  For the Christians: attend to your planks.  You look like a jerk and ruin your witness, and the witness of others, when you don't.

2.  For everyone else: we're not all like that.  Most of us just want to love you and see you sitting with us in Heaven.  If Mexican food and sweet tea is involved, all the better.

I Wrote A Short Story!

I have always loved short stories.  I love the bite-sized-ness of them and how they were always sort of dark or had an interesting twist ending (at least the ones that I read).

Today, I was riding in my car listening to The Paper Chase (as I am wont to do), and I picked up a line that had something to do with animals being drawn to the scent of rotting meat.  I can't recall the exact song - or even the exact album - but that line really jumped at me and I quickly filled in around it.  I may revisit it later and flesh it out a little more.  I intentionally left it a bit rough, with a few ideas on the cutting room floor.

Let me know what you think.

I'd like to present:

Squeeze

"Don't pull the trigger.  Squeeze."

It was one of the more helpul things Dave taught me before he left.  We had been trying to thin out the crowd of zombies around the house.  From the second floor windows, we had a better angle to hit headshots, but I was still wasting a lot of ammo.  Moving targets - even slow-moving targets - are pretty hard to hit.  "Squeeze" helped me conserve some of our precious ammo and reduce the shambling horrors by a few extra.  Of course, that was before we realized that the few that we were able to drop was more than made up for by the noise we were making.  Silence doesn't draw a crowd. We were surprised at how many animals were drawn to the smell of rotting meat.  Dogs (wild and [formerly] domesticated), cats, clouds of crows.  Interestingly, while the crows got fat from eating the zombie carcasses, the dogs and cats would only occasionally try to eat them, drawn as they were by the smell.

Dave is gone now.  He was convinced that he'd do better on his motorcycle, out in the open.  He thought that he could get far enough away from civilization that he'd be able to set up and ride this mess out.  Ann and I tried to argue with him but, in the end, he had made his choice.  He didn't even take much food - just his pistol and some water.  

The worst part was giving up the garage.  When you're barricaded in a house, regardless of size, space is at a premium.  The smaller your available space gets, the more imprisoned you feel.  When you are trying to hold onto your sanity, not feeling caged is very important.

We had sort of mapped the place out into sections and had contingency plans to block off breached areas.  We made a diversion on the other side of the house so that Dave could get the garage door open, but we weren't able to get it closed again in time.  Not with the roar of the bike firing up and him speeding off.  So, the loss of square footage hurt.  Knowing that Dave was leaving gave us time to clear the garage out and bar the interior door before he opened the exterior one - quite a luxury.

Ann and I spent the following days quietly talking and watching from the upstairs windows.  For obvious reasons, the first floor windows were all boarded up.  We would just sit, keeping each other sane, taking turns sleeping, listening and watching for help or trouble.  I know that in some of the zombie stories, they make a big deal about moaning.  Not so, in actuality.  The zombies don't seem to have a need to vocalize.  What really got under my skin was the scratching.  Being inside a zombie-sieged house is a lot like having the world's worst mouse infestation.  They all know that you're inside, and they all want to get to you.  Lacking fine muscle control, they just push and scratch, and scratch, and scratch.  Eventually, we were able to just tune it out, like radio static.  That constant scratching became the soundtrack for our lives.  

It is the new sound - the cracking - that wakes me up.  Ann screams my name and, by the time I am on my feet, she is already halfway downstairs.  They have gotten into the kitchen.  When we barricaded, we thought the locks on the doors would hold.  Not true for this one, I guess.  When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I see Ann.  She is swinging her aluminum baseball bat (axes stick in bone) at the intruders when they get a hold of her.  One manages to grab her arm.  I see it bite her, and she turns around, eyes wide, silently pleading at me to help.  I kick her further into the kitchen and slam the door.  I immediately shove the furniture we had set by the door into place and grab the hammer.  She stops screaming before I finish pounding the first nail into the door frame.  When I finish securing the door (scratching, so much scratching), I vomit.

I come upstairs.  I never want to go down there again.  I lock myself in the master bedroom.  I find some earplugs in the nightstand and put them in.  I don't care about listening for them anymore, I just don't want to listen to that constant scratching.  I grab the gun off of the dresser and sit on the bed.

I wonder how Dave's doing, and how far he made it.  I wonder if I should have gone with him.

As I put the gun in my mouth, I think:

"Don't pull the trigger.  Squeeze."

I Love My (yes, it's mine) Beer Store

I have the very great fortune to live in Germany, right next to the border with the Netherlands.  It's a very narrow strip of the Netherlands, which means that, in about 15 minutes of my house, I can be in Belgium.

You may not know this, but Belgium is responsible for the best beer in the world.

I have discovered a wonderful beer store in Maaseik, Belgium.  It's called Dranken Corstjens.  The staff speaks English (not a certainty over here), and is friendly, helpful, knowledgeable, and generous.  Wow.  It sounds like I should just sign them up for the Boy Scouts, doesn't it?

The store is family-friendly, too.  Because Europe isn't as hung up on enforcing its own morality on everyone, children are welcome in the store, and are treated quite well, in order to give parents the most relaxing shopping experience possible.  The last time I took my girls, they were given a candy, a promotional hat, and a real leather football (soccer ball).  They were also smiled at and encouraged as they explored the area.

The store has a loose policy of giving a free beer glass with every six bottles purchased.  For you Americans,  the concept of the beer glass may be foreign to you, but it's a vital part of properly enjoying a beer.  Each beer company makes their own glass (or glasses), each best suited to their beer (or beers).  I've been starting a bit of a collection so, for the most part, I can serve each beer with its own glass.

But I digress.  I say "loose policy" because it's certainly not hard and fast.  For example, yesterday, I purchased 12 bottles of beer - a light haul as I still have a decent number left from my last trip - and was cheerfully given three glasses, just because I asked.

I was also recommended a tasty, new beer and given a sample to try, in-store.  By sample, I mean entire bottle.  As my friend and I were checking out, the young employee dropped half a crate of assorted bottles on its side.  Luckily, none of them broke, and only one - a LaTrappe Quadruppel, popped open.  The young employee then offered us a glass so that we could drink the injured beer, as he would have to throw it away, otherwise.  The LaTrappe Quad is one of my favorites so, passing the keys to my friend, I agreed to not waste such a delicious beverage.  (un)Fortunately, it was closing time for them, so I had to polish it off pretty quickly.  As a result, I "had to" finish off two beers, on an empty stomach, in the space of about 15 minutes.  The first beer had an alcohol content of 6.5%.  The Quad is 12%.  By the time I left the store, I was three sheets.

This is already bordering on tl;dr, but I just want to add that I desperately wish that my friend, Dennis, was here to go with me.  He would crazy-go-nuts for this place.  My family misses he and his a lot, and it would be great to have them over to share some food, fun, and companionship (and beer!) with.  Especially when our weather is so entirely clement (highs in the mid- to upper-60s) and they live in Alabama (mid- to upper-OMGs).  Hopefully, they'll find their way to Germany while we're still here.

It's been a long time, it seems

I've missed writing.  I used to keep a blog of sorts on MySpace that I enjoyed visiting, but I haven't touched it in years.  The MySpace account was closed years ago.  Life got in the way.  It seemed like I was always too busy to sit and write anything that was even interesting to me.  I'm taking a bit of a hiatus from videogaming, so this seems as good a time as any to pick a blog back up.

I don't really have a theme in mind yet so, for now, this will just be someplace for me to write things down.  Topics will vary.  I'm a little curious to see if anyone will find this.  We shall see.