Installed a new garbage disposal. Put in a new ceiling fan/light. Disassembled, cleaned, reassembled and fixed a clothes dryer. Cleaned tile grout. Installed a GFCI. Sprayed the house with exterminator bug spray. Fixed a broken refrigerator ice maker. Corrected a poorly and mislabeled circuit breaker box. Begun work on new kitchen cabinets. Minor engine repairs and tune up on my truck (new air filter, spark plugs, fuel filter, clean battery leads, etc.). Removed overgrown trees and bamboo and minor landscaping. Unclogged dryer vent on roof and in attic crawl space.
The list goes on for the things I have done in just the last 3 weeks since moving to Florida.
And that’s just house work, aside from all the work associated with starting our own business.
But as I’ve piddled around on these different projects, there have been numerous times that I was thankful for at least two things my father has given me: a great set of tools, and a work ethic that that is heavily informed by a Do It Yourself philosophy. Growing up with my dad and grandfathers, I learned quickly that a man can fix just about anything around the house/garage, given the right tools, a patient and inquisitive mind and a long Saturday afternoon. They also hammered home (no pun intended) the fact that DIY usually saves a lot of money. And it’s rewarding.
John Derbyshire touches on this a bit in the National Review this week, where he observes the growing decline in the “hunting population,” and wonders if this not symbolic of a greater cultural trend, that of a declining working class. What caught my eye was how he notes that this could also be evidenced by our attitude toward home repairs and what we in the old days called household “chores.” We are becoming/have become a culture whose first move when it comes to “work” is toward their cell phone (or Google) rather than their toolbox.
It’s like when we were kids and would yell across the house requesting the spelling of some vocabulary word from our mother. Whereas my Mom made me get a dictionary to look it up, our culture is used to having the spelling yelled back to them.
Is that wrong? Maybe not. Of course, if you prefer to spend your hard earned money on somebody who’s willing to earn it by some hard work, that’s your prerogative. But not me - I’d rather do it myself. Maybe I can save some money, or perhaps take the money I saved from buying a new clothes dryer and instead buy that new dryer for somebody in my church or community who can’t afford a dryer at all.
To top it all off, I think it’s no coincidence that the more we are content to have someone else do our work or fix our stuff, the more stuff we will be inclined own. The accumulation of stuff – the Great American Dream. But what’s the old adage – the more stuff you own, the more your stuff owns you? Or as Rich Mullins put it, the stuff of earth competes for the allegiance I owe only to the Keeper of all good things. Perhaps by being forced to spend a Saturday afternoon or a Monday night trying to fix the hot water heater, I’ll be a little less inclined to buy that new household gadget that I probably didn’t really need anyway, and in the process I’ll be rid of one less thing to distract me from my King. Plus He delights in our hard work, too.
So, do you think there will be hunting and NASCAR in heaven?
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
A typical day's work.
I've decided this blog needs more pictures. To follow, therefore, is a pictoral account of a typical day's work at MPC.
1. This is Murray, hard at work at the BFD in our SFO.
2. This is me, doing what I usually do when Murray is hard at work. Yes, that's right, eating giant pancakes with my fingers and a bottle of syrup.
3. This is a typical tile roof. Note, although the roof may look like it's in okay shape, despite patches of breakage, this roof like most has been totalled by the insurance company and will be replaced completely. And this is on top of all the roofs that are covered in blue tarp around town.
4. Sometimes I let Brien run the calculations, just so he can stay on top of his math skills and hopefully get the hang of things.
5. This is the possum that apparently rooms with us. He lives in the yard/tree behind our house.
1. This is Murray, hard at work at the BFD in our SFO.
2. This is me, doing what I usually do when Murray is hard at work. Yes, that's right, eating giant pancakes with my fingers and a bottle of syrup.
3. This is a typical tile roof. Note, although the roof may look like it's in okay shape, despite patches of breakage, this roof like most has been totalled by the insurance company and will be replaced completely. And this is on top of all the roofs that are covered in blue tarp around town.
4. Sometimes I let Brien run the calculations, just so he can stay on top of his math skills and hopefully get the hang of things.
5. This is the possum that apparently rooms with us. He lives in the yard/tree behind our house.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
You won't find this on Ebay
We received this scam email message recently in response to an upright piano Brien was selling on Craigslist (Brien usually reads this email out loud with a heavy Indian accent):
Hello,
I am agent interested in immediate purchase of your item.After several consideration over the advert placed on the website,my client who has really shown interest in it and would really want to issue the payment in form of Money order.....Will you be accepting a Money order? The Money order that will be drawn by my client would include the cost for
shipping this item to my client and my commission would be included on the same Money order......We shall solely be responsible for the shippment of the item. Provide your CONTACT NAME,ADDRESS AND PHONE NUMBER if you are interested in selling so that I can have it forwarded to my client for immediate payment issuance. Please contact me asap via email for futher questions as regards this transaction.If you really show willingness in selling this item asap.Thank You and I am expecting your response ASAP.
BEST REGARDS.
TRACEY
Our response:
TRACEY,
PLEASE TO FORWARD US YOUR FULL NAME, CREDIT CARD NUMBER AND THE AMOUNT OF YOUR CREDIT LIMIT, AND WE WILL BEGIN THE NEGOTIATING PROCESS.
MUCH OBLIGED.
ON BEHALF OF MY CLIENT, BRIEN M.,
JASON
Hello,
I am agent interested in immediate purchase of your item.After several consideration over the advert placed on the website,my client who has really shown interest in it and would really want to issue the payment in form of Money order.....Will you be accepting a Money order? The Money order that will be drawn by my client would include the cost for
shipping this item to my client and my commission would be included on the same Money order......We shall solely be responsible for the shippment of the item. Provide your CONTACT NAME,ADDRESS AND PHONE NUMBER if you are interested in selling so that I can have it forwarded to my client for immediate payment issuance. Please contact me asap via email for futher questions as regards this transaction.If you really show willingness in selling this item asap.Thank You and I am expecting your response ASAP.
BEST REGARDS.
TRACEY
Our response:
TRACEY,
PLEASE TO FORWARD US YOUR FULL NAME, CREDIT CARD NUMBER AND THE AMOUNT OF YOUR CREDIT LIMIT, AND WE WILL BEGIN THE NEGOTIATING PROCESS.
MUCH OBLIGED.
ON BEHALF OF MY CLIENT, BRIEN M.,
JASON
Father Abraham had many sons, many sons had father Abraham...
Since moving to Florida I have been rereading the book of Genesis, in part because I find the stories of the women and men of faith to be both inspirational and insightful in the ways my current situation mirrors theirs. The story of Abraham is one to which I constantly return, particularly when I find myself faced with difficult or significant life decisions. It is no coincidence that Abraham is named “the Father of our Faith,” and in real life moments where the gap between my intellectual assent to God’s sovereign goodness and my actual practical trust seem miles apart, my soul is encouraged by the exemplary obedience of Abraham. Even more encouraging is the fact that every character in the book of Genesis, even our spiritual forefathers, is decidedly fallen. Sometimes I feel like God is saying "You know Jas, if ol' knuckleheaded Jacob can do it, my grace is surely sufficient for you." Abrahram is no exception.
Consider: God’s call to Abraham consisted of very little more than a call to “go forth.” No destination. No real direction. It’s almost like a divine spin off of the Nike ads – “Just go forth.” The one thing Abraham clung to was God’s promise to bless him, to prosper him, and to make his name great. In that ancient culture, there were really only two pursuits that concerned most men – land and descendants. God offers Abraham both. And He ultimately fulfilled His promise in ways beyond Abraham’s imagination. It wasn’t easy, and there are several things that I’ve thought about lately as I’ve read through the difficulties and failures, trials and successes that Abraham endured in the process of following God.
This is the most recent: when God called Abraham, it seems he required that Abraham leave what was familiar (his country) and what was familial (his relatives and “his father’s house.”) The difficulty of that type of move is something with which I can sympathize. This nomadic spiritual journey bit hits kinda close to home. It was difficult for Abraham too, I’m sure, and it wasn’t like God was appearing to him every day to remind him that he was doing the right thing. It looks to me that there were years, often decades between God’s visitations with ol Abe, in between which he was forced to wrestle with God’s direction and faithfulness as he walked through the valleys from one spiritual mountain top to the next. I reckon that's why Abraham built altars whenever God appeared and promised - altars that served as constant reminders in the daily grind to keep going, because God has promised.
But even when Abraham was separated from his last remaining ties with family (Lot) because of strife and a “falling out” of sorts, God renewed and reiterated His promise with his beloved Abraham. It is often in those moments of difficulty that, as Matthew Henry says, “God will abundantly make up in spiritual peace what we lose for the preservation of neighborly peace.” Abraham had had to give up what God has promised him – descendants (through Lot) and the land. Surely he doubted God’s goodness at times. Yet MH again notes, “Communion with God may, at any time, serve to make up the want of conversation with our friends; when our relations are separated from us, yet God is not.”
For those of you who read this blog, particularly you Chattanoogans, know that I miss you each very much. Florida has been great, but it's most glaring shortcoming is that none of you are here. But I pray for myself, and each of you, that your communion with our great God be ever more sweet, and know that while distance separates us, the Spirit is ever present. I am discovering again the joy of God’s word and the sweetness of His presence, and while our relationships in this life are God given blessings to mirror the many facets of his character, would that God commune with us in such a way that all friendships pale in comparison to the depth and richness of Jesus’ gracious love for us.
Sola Deo Gloria
Consider: God’s call to Abraham consisted of very little more than a call to “go forth.” No destination. No real direction. It’s almost like a divine spin off of the Nike ads – “Just go forth.” The one thing Abraham clung to was God’s promise to bless him, to prosper him, and to make his name great. In that ancient culture, there were really only two pursuits that concerned most men – land and descendants. God offers Abraham both. And He ultimately fulfilled His promise in ways beyond Abraham’s imagination. It wasn’t easy, and there are several things that I’ve thought about lately as I’ve read through the difficulties and failures, trials and successes that Abraham endured in the process of following God.
This is the most recent: when God called Abraham, it seems he required that Abraham leave what was familiar (his country) and what was familial (his relatives and “his father’s house.”) The difficulty of that type of move is something with which I can sympathize. This nomadic spiritual journey bit hits kinda close to home. It was difficult for Abraham too, I’m sure, and it wasn’t like God was appearing to him every day to remind him that he was doing the right thing. It looks to me that there were years, often decades between God’s visitations with ol Abe, in between which he was forced to wrestle with God’s direction and faithfulness as he walked through the valleys from one spiritual mountain top to the next. I reckon that's why Abraham built altars whenever God appeared and promised - altars that served as constant reminders in the daily grind to keep going, because God has promised.
But even when Abraham was separated from his last remaining ties with family (Lot) because of strife and a “falling out” of sorts, God renewed and reiterated His promise with his beloved Abraham. It is often in those moments of difficulty that, as Matthew Henry says, “God will abundantly make up in spiritual peace what we lose for the preservation of neighborly peace.” Abraham had had to give up what God has promised him – descendants (through Lot) and the land. Surely he doubted God’s goodness at times. Yet MH again notes, “Communion with God may, at any time, serve to make up the want of conversation with our friends; when our relations are separated from us, yet God is not.”
For those of you who read this blog, particularly you Chattanoogans, know that I miss you each very much. Florida has been great, but it's most glaring shortcoming is that none of you are here. But I pray for myself, and each of you, that your communion with our great God be ever more sweet, and know that while distance separates us, the Spirit is ever present. I am discovering again the joy of God’s word and the sweetness of His presence, and while our relationships in this life are God given blessings to mirror the many facets of his character, would that God commune with us in such a way that all friendships pale in comparison to the depth and richness of Jesus’ gracious love for us.
Sola Deo Gloria
Saturday, February 18, 2006
The Homeowner's Association
Florida and I butted heads this morning. Thus far I’ve overlooked many of the less desirable aspects of living in south Florida, and I’ve put up with things I normally would detest – the ubiquitous suburban sprawl, the overwhelming concentration of wealth, the tolls, and a general community vibe that is most concerned with appearance (be it individual or corporate). Look up materialism in the dictionary and you will find Coral Springs and Ft. Lauderdale listed as synonyms.
As of this morning, I’ve added another suburban enemy – the homeowner’s association.
I should have seen it coming. My first morning here, our next door neighbor woke Brien and I up by knocking on our door, quickly welcoming us to the neighborhood and then announcing that he was the president of the Homeowner’s Association and that the U-haul trailer I was unloading couldn’t stick out in the road like it was. It overhung our driveway by a foot.
For many of you who grew up in places where everyone has the same mailbox and the biggest local debate is whether or not to rebuild the community pool, an HA is probably a normal thing. Part of me understands it – the concern that the neighborhood look nice or that you don’t get somebody with an overgrown yard or a car on blocks requires a governing body to maintain certain standards. Somebody’s got to regulate. But for me, a guy who grew up in a house where you couldn’t see or hear the closest “neighbor” and the “neighborhood” consisted of a green sign and historical marker 1 mile up the road, the idea of some “other group” telling me what I can and can’t do in my property/house is a foreign and frightening concept.
We received the following letter this morning, VIA CERTIFIED MAIL.
Dear Mr. Meyer,
It has come to the attention of the Board of Directors that you are parking commercial vehicles on the property overnight
which is in direct violation of the Association’s Governing Documents and Rules and Regulations.
Please cease and desist from this illegal parking practice immediately.
Are you kidding me? They didn’t even mention it to us or give us a call, they just wrote us a letter and sent it certified as if we were some delinquent debtor on the run from Johnny law. And a commercial vehicle? In a way, I think Wilma Mae, (my truck) and Brien’s truck (whatever her name is) will take this as a compliment. I think. But commercial vehicle? Come on, we’re just two dudes with trucks. Where’s the crime in that? The rules section regarding commercial vehicles also stipulates that any vehicle deemed “a nuisance” by the Board are also illegal. Apparently the guy with the Hummer down the street is ok, because that gigantic piece of gas guzzling metal is definitely a necessary part of residential living, but a pick up truck – that’s excessive. Cease and desist? I expect by the end of the day to see a guy with a megaphone in our front yard yelling “cease and desist,” as if we were some violent rioters or our house was harboring suspected criminals. I blame this all on Reconstruction.
I do not like HA’s. I do not like them, Sam I am. I located our copy of the “governing documents,” and will be having a bonfire tonight in honor of our Homeowner’s Association. All are welcome. Be sure to bring your own kindling.
As of this morning, I’ve added another suburban enemy – the homeowner’s association.
I should have seen it coming. My first morning here, our next door neighbor woke Brien and I up by knocking on our door, quickly welcoming us to the neighborhood and then announcing that he was the president of the Homeowner’s Association and that the U-haul trailer I was unloading couldn’t stick out in the road like it was. It overhung our driveway by a foot.
For many of you who grew up in places where everyone has the same mailbox and the biggest local debate is whether or not to rebuild the community pool, an HA is probably a normal thing. Part of me understands it – the concern that the neighborhood look nice or that you don’t get somebody with an overgrown yard or a car on blocks requires a governing body to maintain certain standards. Somebody’s got to regulate. But for me, a guy who grew up in a house where you couldn’t see or hear the closest “neighbor” and the “neighborhood” consisted of a green sign and historical marker 1 mile up the road, the idea of some “other group” telling me what I can and can’t do in my property/house is a foreign and frightening concept.
We received the following letter this morning, VIA CERTIFIED MAIL.
Dear Mr. Meyer,
It has come to the attention of the Board of Directors that you are parking commercial vehicles on the property overnight
which is in direct violation of the Association’s Governing Documents and Rules and Regulations.
Please cease and desist from this illegal parking practice immediately.
Are you kidding me? They didn’t even mention it to us or give us a call, they just wrote us a letter and sent it certified as if we were some delinquent debtor on the run from Johnny law. And a commercial vehicle? In a way, I think Wilma Mae, (my truck) and Brien’s truck (whatever her name is) will take this as a compliment. I think. But commercial vehicle? Come on, we’re just two dudes with trucks. Where’s the crime in that? The rules section regarding commercial vehicles also stipulates that any vehicle deemed “a nuisance” by the Board are also illegal. Apparently the guy with the Hummer down the street is ok, because that gigantic piece of gas guzzling metal is definitely a necessary part of residential living, but a pick up truck – that’s excessive. Cease and desist? I expect by the end of the day to see a guy with a megaphone in our front yard yelling “cease and desist,” as if we were some violent rioters or our house was harboring suspected criminals. I blame this all on Reconstruction.
I do not like HA’s. I do not like them, Sam I am. I located our copy of the “governing documents,” and will be having a bonfire tonight in honor of our Homeowner’s Association. All are welcome. Be sure to bring your own kindling.
The BFD
“Brien has lost his mind.” That was all Jamey could say for the entire remainder of the afternoon. Brien had summoned us after church on Sunday to meet him with my truck to pick up a desk he had purchased on Craigslist. We arrived at a neighborhood that required a check in at the gate that was more strict than most military bases I have been on. By neighborhood I mean small city. It was some sort of a planned community, with “small” enclaves of 50 house neighborhoods off to each side of the main road. Man made lakes, golf courses, clubhouses, etc. No house under $1 million.
The man who owned the desk was an executive recruiter for a company that makes nice desks. He had a picture of his first $ billion on the wall. The desk was made of solid maple. It was huge. Despite the fact that his small children were constantly around us as we moved the desk, this exec cussed up a storm. We’re not sure, but we believe that he was the originator of the name by which our office desk is now affectionately known – BFD (cf Doom and BFG).
Did I mention the desk was gargantuan? It took all of my and Brien’s truck and over an hour to load it all up. Jamey continued to lament that he wasn’t at home watching the Olympics and napping and repeated his “Brien had lost his mind” claim like a broken record.
Three Men and Two Trucks. Jamey was still in his church clothes. Brien had come straight from his soccer game wearing short shorts and socks pulled up over his knees. I was the only one dressed to move. The cussing exec couldn’t believe we hadn’t brought pads, blankets, and tie downs for the desk. I couldn’t believe the exec cussed in front of his little girl. Jamey couldn’t believe Meyer’s Pride had purchased such an enormous desk – this was the type of desk that Bill Gates has in his office. Brien couldn’t believe the cussin exec had thrown in a wall picture as part of the deal – complete with papers of authenticity.
We got the BFD home. Moving it out of the cussin exec’s huge house with four of us was difficult, moving into our average home with three of us was purt near impossible. We got it halfway in before we realized that it wouldn’t fit down the hallway and around the doorway into the office. It got stuck. There we were with Bill Gates’ BFD and nowhere to put it.
Jamey reminded Brien that he had lost his mind. Brien lamented this rash purchase. I laughed. Then I got to thinking – the BFD might fit through the window. A few quick measurements confirmed my suspicions – BFD would fit through with an inch to spare. A few calls and we had organized a group of guys from church to come by the next night to help with the move.
The guys arrived promptly the next night. Brien and I showed up minutes later…with the BFC we had found and purchased from Craigslist. By BFC I mean a leather sectional sofa with a double sleeper bed. It’s green. After giving the guy cash for the sofa, we went to move it out of his house. It got stuck in the front door. The guy was confused. His wife was convinced it wouldn’t fit. Brien and I were stunned by the possibility that we had purchased two BFPOF – a BFD that wouldn’t fit in the house, and a BFC that wouldn’t fit out of the house. Thankfully, the guy had a big enough hammer, and we managed to beat it through the front door.
The recruits had heard about the BFD – they had no idea about the BFC. They were not excited about the BFC. But, with an army of able bodied men we were able to fit the BFD and it’s many pieces through the window and into the office as well as move the BFC into the living area.
Below are some pics of the BFD and the BFC. We have applied to be members of the local BFBusiness Bureau.
The man who owned the desk was an executive recruiter for a company that makes nice desks. He had a picture of his first $ billion on the wall. The desk was made of solid maple. It was huge. Despite the fact that his small children were constantly around us as we moved the desk, this exec cussed up a storm. We’re not sure, but we believe that he was the originator of the name by which our office desk is now affectionately known – BFD (cf Doom and BFG).
Did I mention the desk was gargantuan? It took all of my and Brien’s truck and over an hour to load it all up. Jamey continued to lament that he wasn’t at home watching the Olympics and napping and repeated his “Brien had lost his mind” claim like a broken record.
Three Men and Two Trucks. Jamey was still in his church clothes. Brien had come straight from his soccer game wearing short shorts and socks pulled up over his knees. I was the only one dressed to move. The cussing exec couldn’t believe we hadn’t brought pads, blankets, and tie downs for the desk. I couldn’t believe the exec cussed in front of his little girl. Jamey couldn’t believe Meyer’s Pride had purchased such an enormous desk – this was the type of desk that Bill Gates has in his office. Brien couldn’t believe the cussin exec had thrown in a wall picture as part of the deal – complete with papers of authenticity.
We got the BFD home. Moving it out of the cussin exec’s huge house with four of us was difficult, moving into our average home with three of us was purt near impossible. We got it halfway in before we realized that it wouldn’t fit down the hallway and around the doorway into the office. It got stuck. There we were with Bill Gates’ BFD and nowhere to put it.
Jamey reminded Brien that he had lost his mind. Brien lamented this rash purchase. I laughed. Then I got to thinking – the BFD might fit through the window. A few quick measurements confirmed my suspicions – BFD would fit through with an inch to spare. A few calls and we had organized a group of guys from church to come by the next night to help with the move.
The guys arrived promptly the next night. Brien and I showed up minutes later…with the BFC we had found and purchased from Craigslist. By BFC I mean a leather sectional sofa with a double sleeper bed. It’s green. After giving the guy cash for the sofa, we went to move it out of his house. It got stuck in the front door. The guy was confused. His wife was convinced it wouldn’t fit. Brien and I were stunned by the possibility that we had purchased two BFPOF – a BFD that wouldn’t fit in the house, and a BFC that wouldn’t fit out of the house. Thankfully, the guy had a big enough hammer, and we managed to beat it through the front door.
The recruits had heard about the BFD – they had no idea about the BFC. They were not excited about the BFC. But, with an army of able bodied men we were able to fit the BFD and it’s many pieces through the window and into the office as well as move the BFC into the living area.
Below are some pics of the BFD and the BFC. We have applied to be members of the local BFBusiness Bureau.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
The Angry Left imitate Napoleon Dynamite
"Some Democrats are furious that their party doesn't have its own ideas. Others say they do have ideas; they're just keeping them secret for now. That sounds a lot like the high school geek who insists that his girlfriend is really hot but lives in an undisclosed location in Canada." —Jonah Goldberg (editor for the National Review Online)
Napoleon Dynamite: My old girlfriend from Oklahoma was gonna fly out for the dance but she couldn't cause she's doing some modeling right now.
Pedro: Is she hot?
Napoleon Dynamite: See for yourself.
[hands him Deb's glamor shot sample]
Pedro: Wow.
Napoleon Dynamite: Yeah, I took her to the mall to get some glamor shots for her birthday one year.
Pedro: I like her bangs.
Napoleon Dynamite: Me too.
Speaking of Goldberg, I just stumbled across Jonah Goldberg's recent editorial about Kayne West. I think he summarizes well my general sentiments when it comes to rap music and the rap culture, although I confess I sneak a listen every now and then...the beat is just so dang catchy.
Napoleon Dynamite: My old girlfriend from Oklahoma was gonna fly out for the dance but she couldn't cause she's doing some modeling right now.
Pedro: Is she hot?
Napoleon Dynamite: See for yourself.
[hands him Deb's glamor shot sample]
Pedro: Wow.
Napoleon Dynamite: Yeah, I took her to the mall to get some glamor shots for her birthday one year.
Pedro: I like her bangs.
Napoleon Dynamite: Me too.
Speaking of Goldberg, I just stumbled across Jonah Goldberg's recent editorial about Kayne West. I think he summarizes well my general sentiments when it comes to rap music and the rap culture, although I confess I sneak a listen every now and then...the beat is just so dang catchy.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Three Blind Mice, down but now out
Craigslist almost came through with a BFD (think BGF from Doom, then insert Date instead of Gun).
The following is our daylong email conversation with Melissa, the first and only real taker on our Craigslist ad we submitted last night. Our emails are in ALL CAPS...
===================
Just wanted to let you guys know that you're all very brave. Good luck.
THANKS. I TAKE IT THAT MEANS YOU ALREADY HAVE PLANS FOR TONIGHT?
No Plans. But I live in Miami Lakes. Look at you, your last name is [Sleuth], related
to [Famous Sleuth]?
I HOPE WE'RE KIN, BUT THE [SLEUTH] FAMILY TREE GETS A BIT PATCHY A FEW HUNDRED YEARS BACK. IT'S ACTUALLY A PROJECT I'M STARTING TO WORK ON.
WHERE IS MIAMI LAKES? DO YOU HAVE TWO MORE FRIENDS THAT WOULD WANT TO JOIN US FOR DINNER?
Miami Lakes is where Don Shula's Golf course is (its sort of North of Miami). I do not have 2 more friends that could join us because it's a school night and most have that to take care of. You guys are too funny, who's idea was this?
A SCHOOL NIGHT THEY HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF, HUH? THIS MEANS ONE OF THREE THINGS:
1) THEY ARE TEACHERS. IF SO, I PROPOSE WE MEET YOU FOR DINNER, AFTER WHICH THEY CAN GO HOME TO PREPARE FOR SCHOOL.
2) THEY ARE STUDENTS. IF THIS IS THE CASE, WHAT FEMALE STUDENT EVER PASSED UP AN INVITE FOR DINNER ON VALENTINES DAY TO STUDY FOR CLASS?
3) THEY HAVE KIDS THAT ARE STUDENTS. IN THIS SCENARIO, THEY SHOULD PROBABLY BE OUT WITH THEIR HUSBANDS TONIGHT ANYWAY.
YOU'RE EXCUSES AREN'T HOLDING MUCH WATER. WHAT SAY YOU, MELISSA?
You guys sound rather interesting (untraditional). Will you guys head over to Miami Lakes? Im a little sick but I'm willing to make sacrificies.
I think the answer is (2). Poor them.
I FIND US PRETTY INTERESTING.
WE ARE WILLING TO HEAD TO MIAMI LAKES, BUT ONLY IF YOU CAN PROMISE US 3 DATES. FROM THE BEGINNING THE THREE BLIND MICE WERE IN THIS TOGETHER. SURELY TWO OF YOUR FRIENDS CAN SPARE 2 HOURS FOR DINNER. NO ONE STUDIES THAT MUCH. YOU'RE NOT, NEITHER SHOULD THEY.
Hey [Sleuth]
I'm willing to work this out. What time is best? If this is starting to drive you crazy call me at [NUMBER REDACTED TO MAINTAIN MELISSA'S PRIVACY].
I'm 22. Mel
P.S. R u guys paying for our dinner too?
==================
** Note: at this point, Jamey, Murray and I began working feverishly to secure dinner reservations at a restaurant somewhere between Coral Springs and Miami Lakes. And of course we were paying. Jamey found most places were booked by now (surprise), but got us the Chili’s at Pembroke Pines
In addition, Melissa now had competition. I had received an email from someone named Bill Bonds, which said the following:
I am a married white male living in Pensacola.
Middle-aged, bald, and morbidly obese. Also a virgin,
have one child, and enjoy Texas hold-em. Good luck in
your quest :)
P.s. The curley haired guy is the cutest!
A little unnerved by a married white male being interested in us, I quickly created a Hotmail account (the3blindmice@hotmail.com) and responded:
Bill (or should I call you Willy?),
Thanks for your inquiry (despite how indirect you were) into a possible date with us tonight (even if you are all the way in Pensacola). I can sympathize with your last minute desperation.
However, I regret to inform you that our ad has already been answered and we have successfully secured our dates for this evening.
Sorry, but as I'm sure you know, you gotta act fast on these things. Tis the nature of Craigslist. The good deals go quickly.
Best wishes on your "quest" as well.
Sincerely,
Three Blind Mice
==========================
At this point, Melissa emailed me back.
Scratch that, Fever went up. Good luck, I hope u do this next year.
MELISSA,
WE ARE SAD TO HEAR YOU ARE SICK. AND THAT YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO MEET US FOR DINNER. I'M SORRY I WASN'T ABLE TO GET BACK TO YOU EARLIER TODAY, WE WERE OUT AND JUST NOW GOT BACK. HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER, AND IT HAS BEEN GREAT TALKING WITH YOU TODAY.
SINCERELY,
[SLEUTH]
Sweet response.
Happy Valentine's Day to the three blind mice (wink).
-Mel
As the saying goes, "Craigslist was not a lady tonight. Craigslist was a bastard."
At least I have Murray.
The following is our daylong email conversation with Melissa, the first and only real taker on our Craigslist ad we submitted last night. Our emails are in ALL CAPS...
===================
Just wanted to let you guys know that you're all very brave. Good luck.
THANKS. I TAKE IT THAT MEANS YOU ALREADY HAVE PLANS FOR TONIGHT?
No Plans. But I live in Miami Lakes. Look at you, your last name is [Sleuth], related
to [Famous Sleuth]?
I HOPE WE'RE KIN, BUT THE [SLEUTH] FAMILY TREE GETS A BIT PATCHY A FEW HUNDRED YEARS BACK. IT'S ACTUALLY A PROJECT I'M STARTING TO WORK ON.
WHERE IS MIAMI LAKES? DO YOU HAVE TWO MORE FRIENDS THAT WOULD WANT TO JOIN US FOR DINNER?
Miami Lakes is where Don Shula's Golf course is (its sort of North of Miami). I do not have 2 more friends that could join us because it's a school night and most have that to take care of. You guys are too funny, who's idea was this?
A SCHOOL NIGHT THEY HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF, HUH? THIS MEANS ONE OF THREE THINGS:
1) THEY ARE TEACHERS. IF SO, I PROPOSE WE MEET YOU FOR DINNER, AFTER WHICH THEY CAN GO HOME TO PREPARE FOR SCHOOL.
2) THEY ARE STUDENTS. IF THIS IS THE CASE, WHAT FEMALE STUDENT EVER PASSED UP AN INVITE FOR DINNER ON VALENTINES DAY TO STUDY FOR CLASS?
3) THEY HAVE KIDS THAT ARE STUDENTS. IN THIS SCENARIO, THEY SHOULD PROBABLY BE OUT WITH THEIR HUSBANDS TONIGHT ANYWAY.
YOU'RE EXCUSES AREN'T HOLDING MUCH WATER. WHAT SAY YOU, MELISSA?
You guys sound rather interesting (untraditional). Will you guys head over to Miami Lakes? Im a little sick but I'm willing to make sacrificies.
I think the answer is (2). Poor them.
I FIND US PRETTY INTERESTING.
WE ARE WILLING TO HEAD TO MIAMI LAKES, BUT ONLY IF YOU CAN PROMISE US 3 DATES. FROM THE BEGINNING THE THREE BLIND MICE WERE IN THIS TOGETHER. SURELY TWO OF YOUR FRIENDS CAN SPARE 2 HOURS FOR DINNER. NO ONE STUDIES THAT MUCH. YOU'RE NOT, NEITHER SHOULD THEY.
Hey [Sleuth]
I'm willing to work this out. What time is best? If this is starting to drive you crazy call me at [NUMBER REDACTED TO MAINTAIN MELISSA'S PRIVACY].
I'm 22. Mel
P.S. R u guys paying for our dinner too?
==================
** Note: at this point, Jamey, Murray and I began working feverishly to secure dinner reservations at a restaurant somewhere between Coral Springs and Miami Lakes. And of course we were paying. Jamey found most places were booked by now (surprise), but got us the Chili’s at Pembroke Pines
In addition, Melissa now had competition. I had received an email from someone named Bill Bonds, which said the following:
I am a married white male living in Pensacola.
Middle-aged, bald, and morbidly obese. Also a virgin,
have one child, and enjoy Texas hold-em. Good luck in
your quest :)
P.s. The curley haired guy is the cutest!
A little unnerved by a married white male being interested in us, I quickly created a Hotmail account (the3blindmice@hotmail.com) and responded:
Bill (or should I call you Willy?),
Thanks for your inquiry (despite how indirect you were) into a possible date with us tonight (even if you are all the way in Pensacola). I can sympathize with your last minute desperation.
However, I regret to inform you that our ad has already been answered and we have successfully secured our dates for this evening.
Sorry, but as I'm sure you know, you gotta act fast on these things. Tis the nature of Craigslist. The good deals go quickly.
Best wishes on your "quest" as well.
Sincerely,
Three Blind Mice
==========================
At this point, Melissa emailed me back.
Scratch that, Fever went up. Good luck, I hope u do this next year.
MELISSA,
WE ARE SAD TO HEAR YOU ARE SICK. AND THAT YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO MEET US FOR DINNER. I'M SORRY I WASN'T ABLE TO GET BACK TO YOU EARLIER TODAY, WE WERE OUT AND JUST NOW GOT BACK. HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER, AND IT HAS BEEN GREAT TALKING WITH YOU TODAY.
SINCERELY,
[SLEUTH]
Sweet response.
Happy Valentine's Day to the three blind mice (wink).
-Mel
As the saying goes, "Craigslist was not a lady tonight. Craigslist was a bastard."
At least I have Murray.
Our first hit
Just received our first bite from the Craigslist ad we submitted last night.
Just wanted to let you guys know that you're all very brave. Good luck.
Mel
Replied:
thanks. I take it that means you already have plans for tonight?
Stay tuned.
Just wanted to let you guys know that you're all very brave. Good luck.
Mel
Replied:
thanks. I take it that means you already have plans for tonight?
Stay tuned.
Mondays with Murray, III
We are the poster children for Craigslist. Everything we have purchased for the house thus far has come from Craigslist. More on that later.
From the dinner conversation tonight:
Jeff: You are craigslists addicts.
Brad: Do you guys buy food on craigslist?
Jamey: There are girls on craigslist.
Jason: Hey, maybe I could find on Craigslist the Valentine's date y'all have been teasing me about.
Brien: (slamming his fist on the table) That's it! It's on. Tomorrow we find three girls on Craigslist and take them out for Valentines dinner/dates. The bet is on. You have less than 24 hours to find a Craigslist Valentine. (pulls out his Blackberry with internet access and begins to sort through the Craigslist ads)
So far, we haven't found anything/anyone worth calling. However, we do have a request ad out there, should you care to peruse. Or contact us. Serious inquiries only.
From the dinner conversation tonight:
Jeff: You are craigslists addicts.
Brad: Do you guys buy food on craigslist?
Jamey: There are girls on craigslist.
Jason: Hey, maybe I could find on Craigslist the Valentine's date y'all have been teasing me about.
Brien: (slamming his fist on the table) That's it! It's on. Tomorrow we find three girls on Craigslist and take them out for Valentines dinner/dates. The bet is on. You have less than 24 hours to find a Craigslist Valentine. (pulls out his Blackberry with internet access and begins to sort through the Craigslist ads)
So far, we haven't found anything/anyone worth calling. However, we do have a request ad out there, should you care to peruse. Or contact us. Serious inquiries only.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Supercuts
"Supercuts offers free haircuts to the public during advanced educational classes. All haircuts are performed by licensed proffesionals who are learning a specialized system of cutting that allows us to create mistake-proof results. We can trim your current style or design something new depending on your preferences. Free haircuts are available for men and women BY APPOINTMENT ONLY on Thursday February 9th and Friday February 10th. To take advantage of this free offer please call our studio hotline 1-888-888-7778 ext 1404."
Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? Yet this was the Craigslist ad to which we responded, and which had led us to venture out on Thursday afternoon in search of the Ft. Lauderdale Supercuts. It was’t that surprising a move – we love a good haircut, and Brien loves anything free. He also loves all things Craigslist.
Thanks to competing directions from Mapquest, Yahoo and Google, Brien’s Blackberry guided us to the Supercuts, 30 minutes late. The lady at the front escorted us through a maze of hallways in the back of the store, where we finally entered a hidden room bustling with activity and jammed pack with free haircutters. We felt like we had stumbled upon Santa’s secret workshop.
Brien got a lady (who’s name escapes me) who based purely on looks and demeanor would have made a great Citgo gas station attendent in North Georgia, except for the very thick New York accent (have we mentioned that Florida is NOT the South?). She was a pro. Brien hadn’t even finished his usual entertaining small talk before the lady had finished his haircut. 7 minutes flat.
We got Rita. Rita was a sweet woman, and we’re sure some grandkids somewhere loved spending time with her on Sunday afternoons. The problem was, Rita was very soft spoken and timid, especially compared to her counterpart cutting Brien’s hair and the Type A woman teacher who never stopped talking the entire time we were there. Rita spoke very little English. Rita also loved playing with our hair – the first 2 minutes she just stared at our head and kept running her fingers through our hair. It was kind of freaky, actually.
What had attracted us to the ad was the phrase “we can…design something new depending on your preferences.” Our move to Florida has given us the tabula rasa life – we’re starting fresh, and perhaps a new hairdo would be in order. But whenever we asked Rita for her professional opinion and gave her the blank check to “do with our head what you will” (well, except continuing to run her fingers through our hair – there would be no more of that), Rita would say “I don’t know, what do you think?” Apparently, the only other phrase she had learned from her Spanish-English dictionary was “Umm, let me get teacher.”
She got teacher. The first question teacher asked was how much skin we wanted. What? “On the sides, how much skin do you want – do you want to see skin?” We didn’t understand the question. It sounded kind of scandalous. Brien later swore that he overheard the conversation and thought they were discussing a potential circumcision.
We knew we were in trouble when it took Rita about 30 seconds turning the clippers over and around before she found the switch to turn them on.
She sprayed us down with water, and with a comb divided our head into quadrants. A part down the middle, and then one on the sides in either direction. Rita was very particular, and by particular we mean slow. She carefully measured each individual hair before cutting it with the scissors. We were able to track her progress because Rita would not move to a quadrant until she had completed the previous one. Rita was still on Quadrant 1 when Brien left his chair.
Midway through the haircut, we realized that Rita was not cutting our hair short enough. We mentioned that maybe it could be shorter? This was a mistake. Looking like she had just watched us take candy from a little child, Rita returned to Quadrant 1 and began shortening. At that point we think she realized that the hair in Quadrant 2 had already grown back to the length of Quadrants 3 and 4 – the length it was when we first arrived. Surely this was a disheartening realization for both Rita and us.
When we had first arrived in the hidden training room, there was a lady sitting in the chair between us and Brien. As Rita worked on our quadrants, we observed the situation next to us. The woman was obsessed with getting her hair cut like the model on the magazine page she had ripped out and brought with her to Supercuts. She wanted to look just like the model. A quick glance in the mirror revealed that she did not look like the model at all, and no hair cut was going to fix that. The woman also had a small child in a stroller. The baby was not excited about the free haircuts - at least that's what we took the constant crying and screaming to mean. We thought that surely the woman was nearly done with her cut and would soon calm the child, but her obsession with the model required multiple recuts by the trainee, and eventually the teacher, thus prolonging the baby’s, and our, misery.
Rita was unnerved by the crying. We think she might have been crying too. Soon we noticed that Rita’s hands were shaking strongly. So were the scissors. Our mind raced to recall the story Dad had told us of how he used to get his haircut at the correctional institution in Columbia. In hindsight, he had realized the absurdity of a small boy being shut in a room with an inmate who was armed with scissors and a straight edge razor. Not that Rita was a criminal, but her shaking hands and those scissors could have posed a serious threat to our head.
As the minutes ticked by, Rita looked more and more nervous, and our hair continued grow and regain its former glory. Out of the corner of our eye we could see Brien in the mirror. We couldn’t see his face, only his shoulders, but their rapid up-and-down movement let us know he was laughing hysterically at the plight we were in.
The haircut took 1 hour and 15 minutes. Thankfully they were not charging by the hour.
We are scheduled for a return visit in 6 weeks. We hope Rita has graduated by then.
Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? Yet this was the Craigslist ad to which we responded, and which had led us to venture out on Thursday afternoon in search of the Ft. Lauderdale Supercuts. It was’t that surprising a move – we love a good haircut, and Brien loves anything free. He also loves all things Craigslist.
Thanks to competing directions from Mapquest, Yahoo and Google, Brien’s Blackberry guided us to the Supercuts, 30 minutes late. The lady at the front escorted us through a maze of hallways in the back of the store, where we finally entered a hidden room bustling with activity and jammed pack with free haircutters. We felt like we had stumbled upon Santa’s secret workshop.
Brien got a lady (who’s name escapes me) who based purely on looks and demeanor would have made a great Citgo gas station attendent in North Georgia, except for the very thick New York accent (have we mentioned that Florida is NOT the South?). She was a pro. Brien hadn’t even finished his usual entertaining small talk before the lady had finished his haircut. 7 minutes flat.
We got Rita. Rita was a sweet woman, and we’re sure some grandkids somewhere loved spending time with her on Sunday afternoons. The problem was, Rita was very soft spoken and timid, especially compared to her counterpart cutting Brien’s hair and the Type A woman teacher who never stopped talking the entire time we were there. Rita spoke very little English. Rita also loved playing with our hair – the first 2 minutes she just stared at our head and kept running her fingers through our hair. It was kind of freaky, actually.
What had attracted us to the ad was the phrase “we can…design something new depending on your preferences.” Our move to Florida has given us the tabula rasa life – we’re starting fresh, and perhaps a new hairdo would be in order. But whenever we asked Rita for her professional opinion and gave her the blank check to “do with our head what you will” (well, except continuing to run her fingers through our hair – there would be no more of that), Rita would say “I don’t know, what do you think?” Apparently, the only other phrase she had learned from her Spanish-English dictionary was “Umm, let me get teacher.”
She got teacher. The first question teacher asked was how much skin we wanted. What? “On the sides, how much skin do you want – do you want to see skin?” We didn’t understand the question. It sounded kind of scandalous. Brien later swore that he overheard the conversation and thought they were discussing a potential circumcision.
We knew we were in trouble when it took Rita about 30 seconds turning the clippers over and around before she found the switch to turn them on.
She sprayed us down with water, and with a comb divided our head into quadrants. A part down the middle, and then one on the sides in either direction. Rita was very particular, and by particular we mean slow. She carefully measured each individual hair before cutting it with the scissors. We were able to track her progress because Rita would not move to a quadrant until she had completed the previous one. Rita was still on Quadrant 1 when Brien left his chair.
Midway through the haircut, we realized that Rita was not cutting our hair short enough. We mentioned that maybe it could be shorter? This was a mistake. Looking like she had just watched us take candy from a little child, Rita returned to Quadrant 1 and began shortening. At that point we think she realized that the hair in Quadrant 2 had already grown back to the length of Quadrants 3 and 4 – the length it was when we first arrived. Surely this was a disheartening realization for both Rita and us.
When we had first arrived in the hidden training room, there was a lady sitting in the chair between us and Brien. As Rita worked on our quadrants, we observed the situation next to us. The woman was obsessed with getting her hair cut like the model on the magazine page she had ripped out and brought with her to Supercuts. She wanted to look just like the model. A quick glance in the mirror revealed that she did not look like the model at all, and no hair cut was going to fix that. The woman also had a small child in a stroller. The baby was not excited about the free haircuts - at least that's what we took the constant crying and screaming to mean. We thought that surely the woman was nearly done with her cut and would soon calm the child, but her obsession with the model required multiple recuts by the trainee, and eventually the teacher, thus prolonging the baby’s, and our, misery.
Rita was unnerved by the crying. We think she might have been crying too. Soon we noticed that Rita’s hands were shaking strongly. So were the scissors. Our mind raced to recall the story Dad had told us of how he used to get his haircut at the correctional institution in Columbia. In hindsight, he had realized the absurdity of a small boy being shut in a room with an inmate who was armed with scissors and a straight edge razor. Not that Rita was a criminal, but her shaking hands and those scissors could have posed a serious threat to our head.
As the minutes ticked by, Rita looked more and more nervous, and our hair continued grow and regain its former glory. Out of the corner of our eye we could see Brien in the mirror. We couldn’t see his face, only his shoulders, but their rapid up-and-down movement let us know he was laughing hysterically at the plight we were in.
The haircut took 1 hour and 15 minutes. Thankfully they were not charging by the hour.
We are scheduled for a return visit in 6 weeks. We hope Rita has graduated by then.
Friday, February 10, 2006
The World's Fastest Growing Religion
One of the reasons I so appreciate my friendship with Elissa.is that there are many things, art being one, that she is so much more learned and thoughtful about than I. Truth be told, I'm the classic shallow guy that prefers a sports poster to a Monet (well, maybe not exactly, but you know what I mean). Her comments are always relevant and thoughtful, and very much appreciated.
I have two additional thoughts to Elissa’s recent discussion (and my follow up comments) regarding this past week’s Muslim rioting in response to the Danish cartoon kerfuffle.
First, there is a big fundamental difference between what drives Christian reactions and Muslim reactions to things like this cartoon or Serrano’s portrait. I believe “true Christianity” does not encourage these violent reactions; “true Islam” does. You and I would both agree that the far right Christian extremists who quickly write off someone like Serrano and condemn all involved are not acting in line with the true Gospel. We would want to explain to a nonbeliever that bombing an art gallery (or abortion clinic) in the name of Christ is not true Christianity. Christendom is full of "false churches" or "false gospels (medieval Catholicism, the Crusades, maybe even the “fundamentalist retreat” of the early 20th century), all of which I would argue have perverted our faith. Christianity is unique because we recognize the gap between how we ought to act and how we actually act. Honestly, I’d be afraid that if someone had to judge the merits of Christianity by watching me for a day, they’d be turned away by the hypocritical inconsistencies of Scripture and my life. But at least we recognize the gap.
The Muslim reactions, however, are not unordinary. The violent riots are a direct outworking of what they believe. That is what I think John Piper.was getting at. Islam is a violent and aggressive religion, BY ITS VERY NATURE, and is not open to criticism or critique. And, regardless of how in vogue or politically correct it is currently to accept Islam as a viable religion, Islam is at its very root opposed to and hostilely against Christianity. Sure, we make a distinction between Islam and what President Bush week referred to in the State of the Union as “radical Islam; the perversion by a few of a noble faith into an ideology of terror and death.” But the real difference is only that the “radical Islamists” have decided to act on what their theology (via the Koran and Hadith) actually teaches. If all Muslims lived like the Koran taught, we’d have a much bigger war on terror than we can ever imagine. Just like if Christians actually cared for the poor and afflicted like Jesus taught, we might have a better answer to questions of poverty.
See, for Islam, there is NO dichotomy between sacred and secular, cf. Christian theonomists. While I, as a westerner, can advocate a theory of religious plurality and freedom of religion because I think it works well as a secular political structure, Muslim’s find it difficult to grasp this concept of free religious expression. I take offense to certain mockeries of Christianity, but I also recognize that there is certain level of discourse that takes place within a democratic society that I allow, even if I disagree. Like Piper said, I know that persecution comes with the Christian turf, so to speak. But when the Muslim religion is challenged, or when someone who is not a Muslim does something that Muslim’s cannot do (i.e. depict Muhammad), they react. Often violently. Piper mentioned Rushdie. Ayatollah Khomeini (sp?) condemned Rushdie to death and ordered Muslims to execute Rushdie and the publishers of his book. This is no Senator Helms speech. There is a significant difference between Christian and Muslim reactions. There is a spiritual (and at times literally physical) battle between Christianity and the Prince of this world – I believe Islam v. Christianity is one of the major battle fronts in our day.
Second. Elissa, I’m confident that you are able to appreciate art and artistic expression on levels far beyond me because of the depth of your training and experience. I can only hope to glean from your wisdom. But I often find the philosophy of art a bit slippery, and explanations like Serrano’s don’t always help me, but seem more like the legalese crafted by witty lawyers that I’ve read everyday for several years now. If I don’t like a piece of art or seem to misunderstand it, I am quickly ushered to the author’s intent and told how I am supposed to view this work. Other times the art fails to elicit any reaction on my behalf, or seems meaningless to me, at which point I am told that the art is what the viewer makes it, that there is no one meaning, so even if its nothing to me it could be full of value to someone else. To me, this reduces art and its critique to an individual level, and erodes any sense of collective appreciation or collective standards for art. I, however, find value in some collective social standards. Depth or no depth, art appreciation or not, most people (Christian or otherwise) see the placement of the crucifix in a bottle of piss as a very inflammatory and derogatory gesture. That says something to me. I too find Serrano’s work offensive. Just like I find the F-word offensive, and no argument from anybody about how it “no longer really means what is used to mean” or “its ubiquitous usage negates any cultural taboos” is going to change that. Regardless of how Serrano may try to justify it, his artwork offends me. It does not help me redefine or personalize my relationship with Christ. And I think he has grossly misunderstood the Eucharist, its elements, and any meaning found in the juxtaposition of celebrating the “body and blood of Christ.” Is he free to make this art? Sure. Except that his art was federally funded through the NEA, which means my tax money paid for his “expression.” And except that in my opinion this type of artistic expression is done, and encouraged, less for the expression and more for the political/power motivations.
This was my big bone to pick originally with my comments on Elissa’s blog regarding the “Danish cartoon fiasco.” Both then and now I am most interested by the reactions of the Muslims to the cartoon, and the media’s reaction to the Muslim reactions. By and large, the media has been sympathetic to the Muslims, and few Muslim’s have been apologetic for their violent reactions. There is a double standard, and once again Christians get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.
For example. The New York Times will not print the pictures of the Danish political cartoon. The Times said this: "(We) and much of the rest of the nation's media have reported on the cartoons but refrained from showing them. That seems a reasonable choice for news organizations that usually refrain from gratuitous assaults on religious symbols."
Sounds good so far. Except that this past week the Times also ran an article entitled "A Startling New Lesson in the Power of Imagery" which included a picture of a dung-covered Mary. No bombs in Mohammed’s turban, but crap on Mary? Please someone define “gratuitous assault.”
Serrano’s work was published in the LA Times and Boston Globe in 1989, and Serrano was featured in a New York Times fashion spread. Or how about "Corpus Christi," the play with a gay Jesus who had sex with some Apostles. Any detractors were condemned by The New York Times as having "contempt for artistic expression."
There seems to be a double standard.
As a humble Christian, I should be and have a right to be offended by mockery of my Savior, and I should also be careful not to intentionally or maliciously offend others, misguided as their faith might be. I too once walked in darkness. But while we are taught to turn the other cheek and rejoice in persecution, Muslims are taught to fight back. While Christians are maligned by a majority of the cultural elite despite the fact that cultural mainstream is broadly “Christian” (84% of Americans claim to be “Christians,” however loosely that term applies), Muslims are applauded and exonerated. We are judged by a double standard. In a post 911 America, I find it hard to understand why the religion that inspired the terrorist attacks on our country gets off so easily.
I refuse to play by those rules, and I do not believe that the current Muslim behavior is similar at all to the way Christian’s have previously reacted to similar situation.
Then again, that's just my opinion.
I have two additional thoughts to Elissa’s recent discussion (and my follow up comments) regarding this past week’s Muslim rioting in response to the Danish cartoon kerfuffle.
First, there is a big fundamental difference between what drives Christian reactions and Muslim reactions to things like this cartoon or Serrano’s portrait. I believe “true Christianity” does not encourage these violent reactions; “true Islam” does. You and I would both agree that the far right Christian extremists who quickly write off someone like Serrano and condemn all involved are not acting in line with the true Gospel. We would want to explain to a nonbeliever that bombing an art gallery (or abortion clinic) in the name of Christ is not true Christianity. Christendom is full of "false churches" or "false gospels (medieval Catholicism, the Crusades, maybe even the “fundamentalist retreat” of the early 20th century), all of which I would argue have perverted our faith. Christianity is unique because we recognize the gap between how we ought to act and how we actually act. Honestly, I’d be afraid that if someone had to judge the merits of Christianity by watching me for a day, they’d be turned away by the hypocritical inconsistencies of Scripture and my life. But at least we recognize the gap.
The Muslim reactions, however, are not unordinary. The violent riots are a direct outworking of what they believe. That is what I think John Piper.was getting at. Islam is a violent and aggressive religion, BY ITS VERY NATURE, and is not open to criticism or critique. And, regardless of how in vogue or politically correct it is currently to accept Islam as a viable religion, Islam is at its very root opposed to and hostilely against Christianity. Sure, we make a distinction between Islam and what President Bush week referred to in the State of the Union as “radical Islam; the perversion by a few of a noble faith into an ideology of terror and death.” But the real difference is only that the “radical Islamists” have decided to act on what their theology (via the Koran and Hadith) actually teaches. If all Muslims lived like the Koran taught, we’d have a much bigger war on terror than we can ever imagine. Just like if Christians actually cared for the poor and afflicted like Jesus taught, we might have a better answer to questions of poverty.
See, for Islam, there is NO dichotomy between sacred and secular, cf. Christian theonomists. While I, as a westerner, can advocate a theory of religious plurality and freedom of religion because I think it works well as a secular political structure, Muslim’s find it difficult to grasp this concept of free religious expression. I take offense to certain mockeries of Christianity, but I also recognize that there is certain level of discourse that takes place within a democratic society that I allow, even if I disagree. Like Piper said, I know that persecution comes with the Christian turf, so to speak. But when the Muslim religion is challenged, or when someone who is not a Muslim does something that Muslim’s cannot do (i.e. depict Muhammad), they react. Often violently. Piper mentioned Rushdie. Ayatollah Khomeini (sp?) condemned Rushdie to death and ordered Muslims to execute Rushdie and the publishers of his book. This is no Senator Helms speech. There is a significant difference between Christian and Muslim reactions. There is a spiritual (and at times literally physical) battle between Christianity and the Prince of this world – I believe Islam v. Christianity is one of the major battle fronts in our day.
Second. Elissa, I’m confident that you are able to appreciate art and artistic expression on levels far beyond me because of the depth of your training and experience. I can only hope to glean from your wisdom. But I often find the philosophy of art a bit slippery, and explanations like Serrano’s don’t always help me, but seem more like the legalese crafted by witty lawyers that I’ve read everyday for several years now. If I don’t like a piece of art or seem to misunderstand it, I am quickly ushered to the author’s intent and told how I am supposed to view this work. Other times the art fails to elicit any reaction on my behalf, or seems meaningless to me, at which point I am told that the art is what the viewer makes it, that there is no one meaning, so even if its nothing to me it could be full of value to someone else. To me, this reduces art and its critique to an individual level, and erodes any sense of collective appreciation or collective standards for art. I, however, find value in some collective social standards. Depth or no depth, art appreciation or not, most people (Christian or otherwise) see the placement of the crucifix in a bottle of piss as a very inflammatory and derogatory gesture. That says something to me. I too find Serrano’s work offensive. Just like I find the F-word offensive, and no argument from anybody about how it “no longer really means what is used to mean” or “its ubiquitous usage negates any cultural taboos” is going to change that. Regardless of how Serrano may try to justify it, his artwork offends me. It does not help me redefine or personalize my relationship with Christ. And I think he has grossly misunderstood the Eucharist, its elements, and any meaning found in the juxtaposition of celebrating the “body and blood of Christ.” Is he free to make this art? Sure. Except that his art was federally funded through the NEA, which means my tax money paid for his “expression.” And except that in my opinion this type of artistic expression is done, and encouraged, less for the expression and more for the political/power motivations.
This was my big bone to pick originally with my comments on Elissa’s blog regarding the “Danish cartoon fiasco.” Both then and now I am most interested by the reactions of the Muslims to the cartoon, and the media’s reaction to the Muslim reactions. By and large, the media has been sympathetic to the Muslims, and few Muslim’s have been apologetic for their violent reactions. There is a double standard, and once again Christians get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.
For example. The New York Times will not print the pictures of the Danish political cartoon. The Times said this: "(We) and much of the rest of the nation's media have reported on the cartoons but refrained from showing them. That seems a reasonable choice for news organizations that usually refrain from gratuitous assaults on religious symbols."
Sounds good so far. Except that this past week the Times also ran an article entitled "A Startling New Lesson in the Power of Imagery" which included a picture of a dung-covered Mary. No bombs in Mohammed’s turban, but crap on Mary? Please someone define “gratuitous assault.”
Serrano’s work was published in the LA Times and Boston Globe in 1989, and Serrano was featured in a New York Times fashion spread. Or how about "Corpus Christi," the play with a gay Jesus who had sex with some Apostles. Any detractors were condemned by The New York Times as having "contempt for artistic expression."
There seems to be a double standard.
As a humble Christian, I should be and have a right to be offended by mockery of my Savior, and I should also be careful not to intentionally or maliciously offend others, misguided as their faith might be. I too once walked in darkness. But while we are taught to turn the other cheek and rejoice in persecution, Muslims are taught to fight back. While Christians are maligned by a majority of the cultural elite despite the fact that cultural mainstream is broadly “Christian” (84% of Americans claim to be “Christians,” however loosely that term applies), Muslims are applauded and exonerated. We are judged by a double standard. In a post 911 America, I find it hard to understand why the religion that inspired the terrorist attacks on our country gets off so easily.
I refuse to play by those rules, and I do not believe that the current Muslim behavior is similar at all to the way Christian’s have previously reacted to similar situation.
Then again, that's just my opinion.
A note to Tricia
Since relating the story of meeting Tricia's ex the other day, I have received an overwhelming amount of emails regarding this situation. James has also received several emails, and in hindsight I realize that linking to his flickr account may have been a poor decision on my part. Apparently things between Tricia and James were more heated than I realized, which led to a more "nasty" breakup than I first understood. It is still a rather volatile situation. Had I known this, I probably would not have brought all of this up on my blog. Unfortunately I can't change that.
I would, however, like to address Tricia's backlash.
Tricia, I have confirmation from both Ashleigh and James that they do not know each other and have never "cheated" together. The fact that my sister was never in Young Life limits further any potential connections they could possibly have had. While making up stories about my sister may somehow alleviate any pain and embarassment that you obviusly are harboring over your relationship with James, shifting the blame to someone else through fanciful fabrications in no way makes me, or the readers of this blog, sympathetic to your plight.
I am sorry that things ended sourly with you and James. But, you've never lived until you've loved, and you'll never love rightly until you've learned from loving wrong. At least you loved James. I can only hope that you have learned from that.
I would, however, like to address Tricia's backlash.
Tricia, I have confirmation from both Ashleigh and James that they do not know each other and have never "cheated" together. The fact that my sister was never in Young Life limits further any potential connections they could possibly have had. While making up stories about my sister may somehow alleviate any pain and embarassment that you obviusly are harboring over your relationship with James, shifting the blame to someone else through fanciful fabrications in no way makes me, or the readers of this blog, sympathetic to your plight.
I am sorry that things ended sourly with you and James. But, you've never lived until you've loved, and you'll never love rightly until you've learned from loving wrong. At least you loved James. I can only hope that you have learned from that.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Tales from Meyer's Pride, The Illustrated Children's Edition
Here are the faces of Meyer's Pride Construction, LLC, which you can read more about on our new WEBSITE.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
It's a small world, after all
You just never know who you might run into these days.
For instance, on Saturday Murray and the Sleuth went to the grocery store. We were waiting in line at the deli counter, stuck behind a family with two parents, three shopping carts and about 4 or 5 kids (depending on who had taken off to find something new in teh store that they hoped mom and dad would buy). They finally finished, and the deli lady looked at us to assist us in our sandwich meat shopping. As we began to place our order, we noticed that the family that was in front of us had left one of their more important items - a kid. As we completed our request for honey maple turkey and simultaneously wondered what to do with the lost little boy, a woman came running over from behind the fresh bread, yelling at us and the deli lady that it was in fact her turn in line. We disagreed, and so informed her. Apparently, the little boy did NOT belong to the family in front of us, but was in fact this lady's own boy, who she had left as a "deposit" in line to secure her place in the deli meat queue. We thought that was lame. She thought we had cut in line. Deli lady thought we should get some cheese with our meat.
We were in line again today, this time at Office Depot. After about 10 minutes of waiting, the copy center was ready for us, and we for it. As we stepped up to get our copies, a woman who had been in line behind us scooted around and began to order in front of us. The Office Depot lady look helplessly at us, hoping we might intervene and assert our Constitutionally guaranteed "line rights". We were about to put our foot down when Murray realized that the lady who had just cut in front of us was the same lady from the deli line at the grocery store the other day. The boy was nowhere to be seen. She probably had him saving a place in a line somewhere else.
Some call that karma. We call it two times in 4 days that that lady was a jerk.
We tell you that story of strange meetings as a preface to this one. We met this guy at church last weekend named James Poole. He was a nice fella, and we enjoyed talking to him. We discussed the usual - hometown, current jobs, where we went to school, etc. When we mentioned Covenant we noticed in his eyes that something registered. "You just graduated recently?" he asked.
"A couple years ago - 2004."
"Ohh. You didn't happen to know Tricia Williams did you?"
We couldn't believe it! Yeah, we knew Tricia. She was only like one of our good friends and one of our sister's closest friends.
"How do you know Tricia?"
He seemed a little sheepish, but he responded anyway, "Uhh, we dated a little in high school.'
"Really?"
"Yeah, sort of. We met at a Young Life camp and kept in contact for a long time. Saw each other on ocassion at different Young Life events. You know, the summer camp fling kinda dating relationship thing."
"uhhuh."
"We had it pretty bad for each other. She sure was a firecracker. But I guess we were young and a little wild."
"Yeah, Tricia is pretty wild. So you were really diggin her chili, huh?"
"Pretty much. We called each other boyfriend and girlfriend for a while, but then after a year in college things kinda ended on a sour note."
We couldn't believe this! First, we didn't even know that in a Former Life Tricia had lived the Risqu'e Life with a Young Life fling. Second, the chances of us meeting him were about as slim as getting cut in line twice by the same person in one week at two different stores. We were a bit dubious of the whole story, and told James so, but James convinced us it was true, and as proof, the next day he sent us a link to his Flickr account.
Sure enough, there is Tricia. Underneath her picture are the words "My Ex." A little creepy, we must admit. But hey, we met a friend of Tricia!
Just goes to show you never know who you might run in to.
For instance, on Saturday Murray and the Sleuth went to the grocery store. We were waiting in line at the deli counter, stuck behind a family with two parents, three shopping carts and about 4 or 5 kids (depending on who had taken off to find something new in teh store that they hoped mom and dad would buy). They finally finished, and the deli lady looked at us to assist us in our sandwich meat shopping. As we began to place our order, we noticed that the family that was in front of us had left one of their more important items - a kid. As we completed our request for honey maple turkey and simultaneously wondered what to do with the lost little boy, a woman came running over from behind the fresh bread, yelling at us and the deli lady that it was in fact her turn in line. We disagreed, and so informed her. Apparently, the little boy did NOT belong to the family in front of us, but was in fact this lady's own boy, who she had left as a "deposit" in line to secure her place in the deli meat queue. We thought that was lame. She thought we had cut in line. Deli lady thought we should get some cheese with our meat.
We were in line again today, this time at Office Depot. After about 10 minutes of waiting, the copy center was ready for us, and we for it. As we stepped up to get our copies, a woman who had been in line behind us scooted around and began to order in front of us. The Office Depot lady look helplessly at us, hoping we might intervene and assert our Constitutionally guaranteed "line rights". We were about to put our foot down when Murray realized that the lady who had just cut in front of us was the same lady from the deli line at the grocery store the other day. The boy was nowhere to be seen. She probably had him saving a place in a line somewhere else.
Some call that karma. We call it two times in 4 days that that lady was a jerk.
We tell you that story of strange meetings as a preface to this one. We met this guy at church last weekend named James Poole. He was a nice fella, and we enjoyed talking to him. We discussed the usual - hometown, current jobs, where we went to school, etc. When we mentioned Covenant we noticed in his eyes that something registered. "You just graduated recently?" he asked.
"A couple years ago - 2004."
"Ohh. You didn't happen to know Tricia Williams did you?"
We couldn't believe it! Yeah, we knew Tricia. She was only like one of our good friends and one of our sister's closest friends.
"How do you know Tricia?"
He seemed a little sheepish, but he responded anyway, "Uhh, we dated a little in high school.'
"Really?"
"Yeah, sort of. We met at a Young Life camp and kept in contact for a long time. Saw each other on ocassion at different Young Life events. You know, the summer camp fling kinda dating relationship thing."
"uhhuh."
"We had it pretty bad for each other. She sure was a firecracker. But I guess we were young and a little wild."
"Yeah, Tricia is pretty wild. So you were really diggin her chili, huh?"
"Pretty much. We called each other boyfriend and girlfriend for a while, but then after a year in college things kinda ended on a sour note."
We couldn't believe this! First, we didn't even know that in a Former Life Tricia had lived the Risqu'e Life with a Young Life fling. Second, the chances of us meeting him were about as slim as getting cut in line twice by the same person in one week at two different stores. We were a bit dubious of the whole story, and told James so, but James convinced us it was true, and as proof, the next day he sent us a link to his Flickr account.
Sure enough, there is Tricia. Underneath her picture are the words "My Ex." A little creepy, we must admit. But hey, we met a friend of Tricia!
Just goes to show you never know who you might run in to.
Tales from Meyer's Pride, Chapter 2
I was very proud of myself. Since I had moved down here to Coral Springs, most of the driving around town had been done by Jamie (if the three of us were together) or Brien (if it was just him and me). This was mostly because Jamie's car was the only one comfortably big enough for us all, plus they wanted me to get a feel for the city without having to drive.
Last night, however, I ventured out on my own.
Brien was at soccer practice, and I was working on a collage while I watched the Duke v. UNC game. I needed some supplies, so I headed out to Kmart. 10 minutes later I had what I needed and was back in the neighborhood (you can't beat the convenience of the suburban sprawl).
As I pulled in the driveway, I decided to park on the left side of the driveway, rather than the right side where my truck had sat since I arrived. This was my attempt to mix things up a bit, you know, give our driveway life a little variety, and keep the nosy neighbors entertained. After all, my truck hadn't moved since i returned the Uhaul trailer last Friday, so I'm sure the concerned folks on the neighborhood homeowners association board were wondering what kind of unemployed bum had domiciled in their quaint little Floridian enclave. This parking job was also my subtle way of signaling to Brien (he would notice when he returned from practice) that I had weaned myself from his and Jamie's geographic care and had courageously braved the roads of Coral Springs on my own. Without a map. As my truck rumbled into the driveway, I was glad my dual exhaust was so loud - perhaps the noise would bring someone to their window, and my plan would be noticed instantly. This was most excellent.
When I got to the front door I fumbled in the dark for my house key, but even once I found it I was having some difficulty getting it to fit in the keyhole. Where was the light when you needed it? Then I remembered - I had specifically left the light by the front door on when I left for Kmart. It was off. Somebody was in our house.
I quickly stepped back, surveyed the situation, and then decided to take a peek in the window to see if I could see anybody. This proved difficult as the lights inside the house were off as well. My nose was pressed hard to the glass and I cupped my hands around my eyes, but I couldn't make out anything inside. Suddenly, I realized that I didn't remember there being a window next to our front door, and as I quickly whirled around I noticed that the dying palm tree that Brien and I always laughed at was absent from next to the walkway.
I was at the wrong house. I darted back to the driveway, glanced around and saw the familiar front door of MY house - one driveway down the road. I ran to get in my truck, slipped and fell into the garage door. The noise reverberated off the concrete and echoed back from the house across the street. Surely everyone in the neighorhood was watching. My truck rumbled as I turned the ignition - why was it so STINKIN loud?!
Fairway View is shaped like a "q". we live on the straight drive just below where the "circle" connects to the "stem." I drove around the circle, hoping that somehow that would divert any observers' attention. I'll never know if this plan worked. Finally I pulled back into the driveway of our house.
I parked on the left side, but my enthusiasm had been curbed. So much for being ready to drive on my own in coral springs. Perhaps I need a few more weeks of practice.
Last night, however, I ventured out on my own.
Brien was at soccer practice, and I was working on a collage while I watched the Duke v. UNC game. I needed some supplies, so I headed out to Kmart. 10 minutes later I had what I needed and was back in the neighborhood (you can't beat the convenience of the suburban sprawl).
As I pulled in the driveway, I decided to park on the left side of the driveway, rather than the right side where my truck had sat since I arrived. This was my attempt to mix things up a bit, you know, give our driveway life a little variety, and keep the nosy neighbors entertained. After all, my truck hadn't moved since i returned the Uhaul trailer last Friday, so I'm sure the concerned folks on the neighborhood homeowners association board were wondering what kind of unemployed bum had domiciled in their quaint little Floridian enclave. This parking job was also my subtle way of signaling to Brien (he would notice when he returned from practice) that I had weaned myself from his and Jamie's geographic care and had courageously braved the roads of Coral Springs on my own. Without a map. As my truck rumbled into the driveway, I was glad my dual exhaust was so loud - perhaps the noise would bring someone to their window, and my plan would be noticed instantly. This was most excellent.
When I got to the front door I fumbled in the dark for my house key, but even once I found it I was having some difficulty getting it to fit in the keyhole. Where was the light when you needed it? Then I remembered - I had specifically left the light by the front door on when I left for Kmart. It was off. Somebody was in our house.
I quickly stepped back, surveyed the situation, and then decided to take a peek in the window to see if I could see anybody. This proved difficult as the lights inside the house were off as well. My nose was pressed hard to the glass and I cupped my hands around my eyes, but I couldn't make out anything inside. Suddenly, I realized that I didn't remember there being a window next to our front door, and as I quickly whirled around I noticed that the dying palm tree that Brien and I always laughed at was absent from next to the walkway.
I was at the wrong house. I darted back to the driveway, glanced around and saw the familiar front door of MY house - one driveway down the road. I ran to get in my truck, slipped and fell into the garage door. The noise reverberated off the concrete and echoed back from the house across the street. Surely everyone in the neighorhood was watching. My truck rumbled as I turned the ignition - why was it so STINKIN loud?!
Fairway View is shaped like a "q". we live on the straight drive just below where the "circle" connects to the "stem." I drove around the circle, hoping that somehow that would divert any observers' attention. I'll never know if this plan worked. Finally I pulled back into the driveway of our house.
I parked on the left side, but my enthusiasm had been curbed. So much for being ready to drive on my own in coral springs. Perhaps I need a few more weeks of practice.
The Angry Left, Part 3
Perhaps you've heard the phrase "stuck on stupid" thrown around lately, particularly if you read the right wing blogosphere or listen to any of a number of conservative radio talk show hosts. The phrase has been around for awhile, i'm sure, but it got really popular in the conservative/republican vocabulary when it was used by Lt. Gen. Russel Honore (who has helped lead the Gulf Coast relief effor) last year when he responded to a dumb question asked by one of those ubiquitous ignorant-but-think-they're-brilliant journalists.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well here's a picture worth at least three words - "stuck on stupid." It doesn't get much more stupid than Cindy Sheehan and The Right Reverend Jackson.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Palmetto Pride
This is actually a comment from Johnny T regarding the previously posted GFCI saga, however, I find John's anecdote extremely humorous, and I didn't want the brilliance to get lost in the comments shuffle.
John wrote:
The South rises to the occasion...
Intrigued by this post, I called up a Wal-Mart in good ol' Columbia, South Carolina. Assuming that the guy in sporting goods who handles the selling of guns and knives and hunting licenses knows more about electricianing than the electronics guy, I asked to speak to someone in sporting goods. Once I reached the old codger, I asked him if I could buy a GFCI there to which the Southern Wal-Mart Dude replied:
"Ain’t that a Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter?”
“Yes sir.”
“Yeah, we got ‘em. But not in my section. Come on over and I'll show you where they are."
I then thanked the guy for being in Columbia and not moving to Florida. Not knowing the preceding story thus being slightly confused, he said “Sure. Have a good’un.”
John wrote:
The South rises to the occasion...
Intrigued by this post, I called up a Wal-Mart in good ol' Columbia, South Carolina. Assuming that the guy in sporting goods who handles the selling of guns and knives and hunting licenses knows more about electricianing than the electronics guy, I asked to speak to someone in sporting goods. Once I reached the old codger, I asked him if I could buy a GFCI there to which the Southern Wal-Mart Dude replied:
"Ain’t that a Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter?”
“Yes sir.”
“Yeah, we got ‘em. But not in my section. Come on over and I'll show you where they are."
I then thanked the guy for being in Columbia and not moving to Florida. Not knowing the preceding story thus being slightly confused, he said “Sure. Have a good’un.”
Monday, February 06, 2006
Mondays with Murray, II
Murray: I’m telling you Jason, they’ve got everything down here. House. Church. Sun. Money. Girls. It’s all here waiting for you, just bring your own toothbrush.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
An update on the GFCI
Murray is currently trying to install the GFCI. He has been shocked several times in the process. This looks to be a more dangerous task than we first thought.
Perhaps it would be best if we just abstained from hair drying and/or any contact with bathtub water.
Perhaps it would be best if we just abstained from hair drying and/or any contact with bathtub water.
Tales from Meyer's Pride
Meyer’s Pride Construction, LLC, is officially in business. Our first task was a trip to Walmart. The reason for our visit was due to a bit of advise that the home inspector had offered to Brien on the recent walk-through in Brien’s newly purchased home (hereinafter referred to as “Manville South” and/or “Monster Garage”). The inspector informed Murray (in his heavy British accent) that, besides being a “cosmetic eyesore,” the outlet in the master bathroom needed to be fixed because it could be “potentially lethal.”
We arrived at Walmart and began our search for the Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter, the device that would apparently correct the lethal outlet. We soon spotted a blue vest with the words “How may I help you” emblazoned on the back. Pay dirt. The following conversation then ensued between Brien and the Walmart employee:
Murray: Excuse me, do you know where I could find a GFCI?
Walmart dude: A what?
Murray: A GFCI. Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter.
Walmart dude: What is that? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.
Murray: A GFCI.
Walmart dude: I can’t understand you.
The old Walmart dude walked away. It was at this point that I realized that I was no longer in the South, but in the 6th Borough. First, judging by his demeanor, accent, age, the thick glasses, and the mesh hat he was wearing, the Walmart dude was obviously a former Navy man, a northeasterner who had retired to the sunny south beaches to fulfill his lifelong dream of working part time in the appliance section of Walmart. This dude was a Yankee through and through. Second, after listening once to Murray’s rapid and sometimes difficult to understand speech patterns, he was no longer interested in trying to figure out what Murray was saying. Or to help us. So much for customer service and southern hospitality.
We searched a little longer and found another employee. She referred us to the service counter in the home appliance section. We arrived only to find our friend, the Walmart dude, solely managing the home appliance counter.
Murray: I looked in the electrical section, but I couldn’t find a Ground Fault Circuit Conductor.
Walmart dude: A what? (he leaned in really close to Murray’s face) I don’t understand what you’re saying. (there was an edge in his voice – he was annoyed)
Murray: Ok, it’s a thing you put on your outlet so if you’re drying your hair with a hair dryer or something and drop it in the bathtub it won’t electrocute you. It’s an electrical thing.
Walmart dude: I was a carpenter for thirty years, I don’t know electrical stuff. But I’ve never heard of this thing. What’s it called again?
Murray: A GFCI. I’ve never bought one, but my building inspector told me I needed to get one.
Walmart dude: So you just bought a house and the inspector told you this? He’s bullshitting you. I’ve never heard of it in my thirty years of carpentry. But tell me what you think it does, I want to learn something here.
By now, Murray, me and Jamie were all laughing a the Walmart dude’s antics and jokes. At least he had lightened up a little bit. Murray again explained what he thought the GFCI did. Jamie then piped up and asked Murray if he even used a hair dryer and if this would ever be an issue, to which Murray laughed and replied with that famous playful smirk, “No, but you know the inspector guy said it was lethal!”
Walmart dude: The guy told you this? Why the hell would you be drying your hair in the bathtub anyway? Are you boys done messing with me?
Murray: (laughing) We’re not messing with you.
Walmart dude: Yeah right, you boys are all laughing and having a good time, but now I’m gonna get back to what I was doing before you hooligans came along, which was nothing.
To confirm that we were crazy, and that Walmart dude was justified in his ignorance, he began to ask every person that walked past if they knew what a GFCI was. The kitchen lady didn’t know, the three high school boys pushing a large cart didn’t know, and the guy who was clearly Walmart’s electronic expert hadn’t heard of it. Walmart dude then turned to the girl that had just showed up to take over the home appliance counter and said:
Walmart dude: This guy here claims to be looking for something that lets you stand in a bathtub full of water and drop your hairdryer into it and not get shocked. You ever heard of anything like that?
She hadn’t. She only knew paints.
Walmart dude: You need to tell that british inspector to go back across the ocean to his queen. What does that queen do anyway? She makes $4 million a year for doing what? I mean, our President doesn’t do anything, but at least we don’t pay him $4 million a year. (I make no claims as to the accuracy of Walmart dude’s knowledge of the queens salary)
Murray: Uhh…
Walmart girl who only knows paints: I’ve called the area supervisor, he’s coming over to show you where the GFCI is. (to the Walmart dude) Murray, I told you, I don’t know anything except paints.
Walmart dude’s name is Murray!?! Go figure.
We found the GFCI. Brien took it back to Walmart Murray and had him read the letters out loud. G-F-C-I. We had won.
So in case you were wondering, there is such a thing as Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter. Meyer’s Pride Construction, LLC now owns one.
We arrived at Walmart and began our search for the Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter, the device that would apparently correct the lethal outlet. We soon spotted a blue vest with the words “How may I help you” emblazoned on the back. Pay dirt. The following conversation then ensued between Brien and the Walmart employee:
Murray: Excuse me, do you know where I could find a GFCI?
Walmart dude: A what?
Murray: A GFCI. Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter.
Walmart dude: What is that? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.
Murray: A GFCI.
Walmart dude: I can’t understand you.
The old Walmart dude walked away. It was at this point that I realized that I was no longer in the South, but in the 6th Borough. First, judging by his demeanor, accent, age, the thick glasses, and the mesh hat he was wearing, the Walmart dude was obviously a former Navy man, a northeasterner who had retired to the sunny south beaches to fulfill his lifelong dream of working part time in the appliance section of Walmart. This dude was a Yankee through and through. Second, after listening once to Murray’s rapid and sometimes difficult to understand speech patterns, he was no longer interested in trying to figure out what Murray was saying. Or to help us. So much for customer service and southern hospitality.
We searched a little longer and found another employee. She referred us to the service counter in the home appliance section. We arrived only to find our friend, the Walmart dude, solely managing the home appliance counter.
Murray: I looked in the electrical section, but I couldn’t find a Ground Fault Circuit Conductor.
Walmart dude: A what? (he leaned in really close to Murray’s face) I don’t understand what you’re saying. (there was an edge in his voice – he was annoyed)
Murray: Ok, it’s a thing you put on your outlet so if you’re drying your hair with a hair dryer or something and drop it in the bathtub it won’t electrocute you. It’s an electrical thing.
Walmart dude: I was a carpenter for thirty years, I don’t know electrical stuff. But I’ve never heard of this thing. What’s it called again?
Murray: A GFCI. I’ve never bought one, but my building inspector told me I needed to get one.
Walmart dude: So you just bought a house and the inspector told you this? He’s bullshitting you. I’ve never heard of it in my thirty years of carpentry. But tell me what you think it does, I want to learn something here.
By now, Murray, me and Jamie were all laughing a the Walmart dude’s antics and jokes. At least he had lightened up a little bit. Murray again explained what he thought the GFCI did. Jamie then piped up and asked Murray if he even used a hair dryer and if this would ever be an issue, to which Murray laughed and replied with that famous playful smirk, “No, but you know the inspector guy said it was lethal!”
Walmart dude: The guy told you this? Why the hell would you be drying your hair in the bathtub anyway? Are you boys done messing with me?
Murray: (laughing) We’re not messing with you.
Walmart dude: Yeah right, you boys are all laughing and having a good time, but now I’m gonna get back to what I was doing before you hooligans came along, which was nothing.
To confirm that we were crazy, and that Walmart dude was justified in his ignorance, he began to ask every person that walked past if they knew what a GFCI was. The kitchen lady didn’t know, the three high school boys pushing a large cart didn’t know, and the guy who was clearly Walmart’s electronic expert hadn’t heard of it. Walmart dude then turned to the girl that had just showed up to take over the home appliance counter and said:
Walmart dude: This guy here claims to be looking for something that lets you stand in a bathtub full of water and drop your hairdryer into it and not get shocked. You ever heard of anything like that?
She hadn’t. She only knew paints.
Walmart dude: You need to tell that british inspector to go back across the ocean to his queen. What does that queen do anyway? She makes $4 million a year for doing what? I mean, our President doesn’t do anything, but at least we don’t pay him $4 million a year. (I make no claims as to the accuracy of Walmart dude’s knowledge of the queens salary)
Murray: Uhh…
Walmart girl who only knows paints: I’ve called the area supervisor, he’s coming over to show you where the GFCI is. (to the Walmart dude) Murray, I told you, I don’t know anything except paints.
Walmart dude’s name is Murray!?! Go figure.
We found the GFCI. Brien took it back to Walmart Murray and had him read the letters out loud. G-F-C-I. We had won.
So in case you were wondering, there is such a thing as Ground Fault Circuit Interrupter. Meyer’s Pride Construction, LLC now owns one.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
The Angry (and hysterical) Left, Part 2
This week’s glance at the almost comical demise of the Democratic leadership comes from one of our beloved Senators from Massachusetts, Edward “Ted” Kennedy.
“We have doubled the number of deaths from asthma this year than we had five years ago, doubled the deaths for children. I wonder why that is? I don't know what you tell the mother when they see the children having that intensity…where will this nominee come out? Will he come on out for that mother who has a child that's got asthma or that parent who's seeing the pollution that's taken place in a pond -- in a lake and whose child has been affected by those kinds of poison?”
- Sen. Kennedy’s speech on the Senate floor yesterday in his feeble attempt to postpone the vote to confirm Sam Alito to the Supreme Court
“In another area of controversy, Judge Alito's views on issues of particular concern to women should give every woman pause -- from his role in striking down a key provision of the Family and Medical Leave Act, to his opposition to the privacy of women's reproductive decisions. He was unwilling to accept the full constitutional right of privacy recognized by the current Supreme Court. Judge Alito's testimony failed to resolve the very serious concerns that he's itching to overturn Roe v. Wade. He said that he will keep an "open mind" on the issue -- but that is no comfort to those who know his record. That record includes his 1985 memo to the Reagan Administration's Solicitor General, advising that the best way to undermine Roe was to chip away at its protections. We have every reason to believe that he will do exactly that if confirmed to the Supreme Court.”
- Sen. Kennedy, in a speech to the President, as to why Alito should not be confirmed to the Supreme Court (because of his pro-life, anti-abortion leanings)
So I got to thinking and researching, and this is what I’ve found.
There are approximately 5,000 deaths annually among children as a result of asthma. (National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Disease)
However, according to The Alan Guttmacher Institute, a branch of Planned Parenthood (whose statistics are more reliable than the CDC), there are between 1.5 and 1.7 million abortions per year.
Thankfully, ol’ Ted and his keen eyes has realized these disproportionate numbers and is working hard to make sure Sam Alito, the heartless misguided SOB that he is, doesn’t get a chance to carry out his evil campaign to silence the voice of this nation’s asthma inflicted.
“We have doubled the number of deaths from asthma this year than we had five years ago, doubled the deaths for children. I wonder why that is? I don't know what you tell the mother when they see the children having that intensity…where will this nominee come out? Will he come on out for that mother who has a child that's got asthma or that parent who's seeing the pollution that's taken place in a pond -- in a lake and whose child has been affected by those kinds of poison?”
- Sen. Kennedy’s speech on the Senate floor yesterday in his feeble attempt to postpone the vote to confirm Sam Alito to the Supreme Court
“In another area of controversy, Judge Alito's views on issues of particular concern to women should give every woman pause -- from his role in striking down a key provision of the Family and Medical Leave Act, to his opposition to the privacy of women's reproductive decisions. He was unwilling to accept the full constitutional right of privacy recognized by the current Supreme Court. Judge Alito's testimony failed to resolve the very serious concerns that he's itching to overturn Roe v. Wade. He said that he will keep an "open mind" on the issue -- but that is no comfort to those who know his record. That record includes his 1985 memo to the Reagan Administration's Solicitor General, advising that the best way to undermine Roe was to chip away at its protections. We have every reason to believe that he will do exactly that if confirmed to the Supreme Court.”
- Sen. Kennedy, in a speech to the President, as to why Alito should not be confirmed to the Supreme Court (because of his pro-life, anti-abortion leanings)
So I got to thinking and researching, and this is what I’ve found.
There are approximately 5,000 deaths annually among children as a result of asthma. (National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Disease)
However, according to The Alan Guttmacher Institute, a branch of Planned Parenthood (whose statistics are more reliable than the CDC), there are between 1.5 and 1.7 million abortions per year.
Thankfully, ol’ Ted and his keen eyes has realized these disproportionate numbers and is working hard to make sure Sam Alito, the heartless misguided SOB that he is, doesn’t get a chance to carry out his evil campaign to silence the voice of this nation’s asthma inflicted.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Mondays with Murray
From a recent phone conversation:
Murray: I can’t wait until I’ve got a house. Right, now, I spend a lot of my time driving around looking for where I’m going to eat.
Sleuth: Man, you’ve been eating out a lot lately, huh? That’s expensive isn’t it?
Murray: Yeah, but I see it as an investment in my body.
Murray: I can’t wait until I’ve got a house. Right, now, I spend a lot of my time driving around looking for where I’m going to eat.
Sleuth: Man, you’ve been eating out a lot lately, huh? That’s expensive isn’t it?
Murray: Yeah, but I see it as an investment in my body.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
So that's why I like sports...and who I am?
Play as the clue to ontological explanation:
"This suggests a general characteristic of the nature of play that is reflected in playing: all playing is being-played. The attraction of a game, the fascination of its exerts, consists precisely in the fact that the game masters the players. Even in the case of games in which one tries to perform tasks that one has set oneself, there is a risk that they will not "work," "succeed", or "succeed again," which is the attraction of the game. Whoever "tries" is in fact the one who is tried. The real subject of the game (this is shown in precisely those experienecs in which there is only a singel player) is not the playter but instead the game itself. What holds the player in its spell, draws him into play, and keeps him there is the game itself."
- Hans-Georg Gadamer
"This suggests a general characteristic of the nature of play that is reflected in playing: all playing is being-played. The attraction of a game, the fascination of its exerts, consists precisely in the fact that the game masters the players. Even in the case of games in which one tries to perform tasks that one has set oneself, there is a risk that they will not "work," "succeed", or "succeed again," which is the attraction of the game. Whoever "tries" is in fact the one who is tried. The real subject of the game (this is shown in precisely those experienecs in which there is only a singel player) is not the playter but instead the game itself. What holds the player in its spell, draws him into play, and keeps him there is the game itself."
- Hans-Georg Gadamer
A Bit O' History
I was inspired by Noel's comments today. Apropos, Noel. So while we're on the topic of inflated self appreciation (i.e. New Yorkers) and historical memory loss, let's talk about the Volunteers. This is a bone I've had to pick for a while, and my parents recent tour of San Antonio, including the Alamo, has reminded me of a bit of history that often goes unnoticed.
The entire state of Tennessee has built its identity around their beloved "volunteer soldiers"(c.f. Univ. of Tennessee), who either fought at the Alamo or in the Battle of New Orleans. In fact, while Texans are known for their big egos, Tennesseeans aren't far behind - after all, in their mind, if you don't mess with Texas, then you sure as hell don't mess with Tennessee, because it was Tennessee that "singlehandedly" put Texas on the map.
But before the state that I've "lived in" for the past six years gets too excited, they should try a slice of this humble pie:
Lt. Col. William Travis - shortly after arriving in San Antonio he took control of the Texas regulars and by the time of the Battle of the Alamo was also commanding the volunteers (yes, that group of renegade Tennesseeans). He died alongside Bowie, Crockett and other famous names in American folklore defending the Alamo. Remember, this was the top dog at the Alamo.
James Bonham: The courageous solder (i forget his rank) that snuck through enemy lines on multiple occassions in an effort to get word to the reinforcement troops to hurry to the Alamo.
Andrew Jackson: Commanded the Volunteers at the battle of New Orleans (a much better leader than the Big Easy's current Ray "school bus" Nagin) and later became TN's first congressman and a U.S. president.
All of these men: South Carolina natives. Long live the Palmetto State.
The entire state of Tennessee has built its identity around their beloved "volunteer soldiers"(c.f. Univ. of Tennessee), who either fought at the Alamo or in the Battle of New Orleans. In fact, while Texans are known for their big egos, Tennesseeans aren't far behind - after all, in their mind, if you don't mess with Texas, then you sure as hell don't mess with Tennessee, because it was Tennessee that "singlehandedly" put Texas on the map.
But before the state that I've "lived in" for the past six years gets too excited, they should try a slice of this humble pie:
Lt. Col. William Travis - shortly after arriving in San Antonio he took control of the Texas regulars and by the time of the Battle of the Alamo was also commanding the volunteers (yes, that group of renegade Tennesseeans). He died alongside Bowie, Crockett and other famous names in American folklore defending the Alamo. Remember, this was the top dog at the Alamo.
James Bonham: The courageous solder (i forget his rank) that snuck through enemy lines on multiple occassions in an effort to get word to the reinforcement troops to hurry to the Alamo.
Andrew Jackson: Commanded the Volunteers at the battle of New Orleans (a much better leader than the Big Easy's current Ray "school bus" Nagin) and later became TN's first congressman and a U.S. president.
All of these men: South Carolina natives. Long live the Palmetto State.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Chuck Norris facts
The wild boyz on Second South have recently begun a bulletin board shrine to Chuck Norris. The facts they have have enshrined thus far are pretty hilarious. In keeping with the spirit of creativity, as well as Scott Steere's desire for more original, Covenant related Chuck Norris facts, Manville Tabletalk offers the following little known CN facts:
1. The only person Wallace Anderson is afraid of is Chuck Norris.
2. The reason Crossman retired is because he heard Bryan College had recruited Chuck Norris for soccer.
3. Chuck Norris was once did a roundhouse kick and created an alternate inverse universe. In this universe, he called heaven Second South and hell Second North.
4. The only time Chuck Norris ever showed signs of weakness was after eating in the Great Hall.
5. When Chuck Norris sneezes, Lookout Mountain gets fog.
1. The only person Wallace Anderson is afraid of is Chuck Norris.
2. The reason Crossman retired is because he heard Bryan College had recruited Chuck Norris for soccer.
3. Chuck Norris was once did a roundhouse kick and created an alternate inverse universe. In this universe, he called heaven Second South and hell Second North.
4. The only time Chuck Norris ever showed signs of weakness was after eating in the Great Hall.
5. When Chuck Norris sneezes, Lookout Mountain gets fog.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Nonsense from the Angry Left, Part I
House Democrats proposed two bills in 2005 to bring the Fairness Doctrine back, -- and as a law, rather than a mere regulation.
(The Fairness Doctrine was an FCC regulation that required radio and later television stations to cover "vitally important controversial issues of interest in the community served by the broadcaster" and to provide "opportunity for the presentation of contrasting viewpoints on such issues." It essentially served to suppress any non-liberal media).
The not-so-subtle target of these bills? Talk radio, like Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity, and FoxNews.
Rep. Louise Slaughter of New York, who introduced the first of the two bills, says that right-ruled radio is a grave threat to American freedoms, "a waste of good broadcast time, and a waste of our airwaves." People "may hear whatever they please and whatever they choose," she tells PBS's Bill Moyers, in a statement as incoherent as it is illiberal. "And of course they have the right to turn it off. But that's not good enough either. The fact is that they need the responsibility of the people who are licensed to use our airwaves judiciously and responsibly to call them to account if they don't."
In other words, people can't be trusted with freedom but need the supervision of a paternalist government.
(summary from today's Wall Stree Journal Opinion Journal article entitled "Shut Up, They Explained," by Brian Anderson.)
(The Fairness Doctrine was an FCC regulation that required radio and later television stations to cover "vitally important controversial issues of interest in the community served by the broadcaster" and to provide "opportunity for the presentation of contrasting viewpoints on such issues." It essentially served to suppress any non-liberal media).
The not-so-subtle target of these bills? Talk radio, like Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity, and FoxNews.
Rep. Louise Slaughter of New York, who introduced the first of the two bills, says that right-ruled radio is a grave threat to American freedoms, "a waste of good broadcast time, and a waste of our airwaves." People "may hear whatever they please and whatever they choose," she tells PBS's Bill Moyers, in a statement as incoherent as it is illiberal. "And of course they have the right to turn it off. But that's not good enough either. The fact is that they need the responsibility of the people who are licensed to use our airwaves judiciously and responsibly to call them to account if they don't."
In other words, people can't be trusted with freedom but need the supervision of a paternalist government.
(summary from today's Wall Stree Journal Opinion Journal article entitled "Shut Up, They Explained," by Brian Anderson.)
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Why we like Notre Dame, and why we won't apply to Tennessee
Seeing as how we're in the midst of applying to law schools, we have spent a lot of time lately considering what it actually means to BE a lawyer. Why do we want to practice law? What drives us toward the legal profession? What kind of attorney do we want to be?
Likewise, what law program is going to best help us accomplish those goals?
Let's be honest, lawyers don't have the best reputation. Google the words lawyer and/or attorney plus joke and you'll get 17.6 million hits. Compare that to the 10.6 million for preacher and/or minister plus joke, and the 13.5 for doctor plus joke.
If we say lawyer, you think:
(a) A man who helps you get what's coming to him,
(b) A mouth with a life-support system, or
(c) A slick talking SOB who's basic creed is something like "A man is innocent until proven broke"
Not exactly what we aspire to be.
Which is why we WILL NOT apply to Tennessee's law school (besides not wanting to graduate with a wardrobe that might be confused with the Adopt a Highway folks). Their goal seems to reinforce the negative stereotype:
"The College of Law teaches its students to think, write, and speak like lawyers, providing them with a complete legal education." - University of Tennessee Law School Dean (also, the Dean eerily resembles Red Forman from That 70's Show)
Contrast with Notre Dame's purpose statement:
"Perhaps the most prominent aspect of the Anglo-American legal tradition at Notre Dame is the focus on law not just as another job option, but as one of the ancient healing professions. Like doctors who are called to their vocation to heal the ills of the body, and like the clergy who are called to heal the ills of the spirit or soul, Notre Dame lawyers are called to heal the ills of society - to seek justice and peace among nations, within communities, and between individuals."
Go Irish.
Likewise, what law program is going to best help us accomplish those goals?
Let's be honest, lawyers don't have the best reputation. Google the words lawyer and/or attorney plus joke and you'll get 17.6 million hits. Compare that to the 10.6 million for preacher and/or minister plus joke, and the 13.5 for doctor plus joke.
If we say lawyer, you think:
(a) A man who helps you get what's coming to him,
(b) A mouth with a life-support system, or
(c) A slick talking SOB who's basic creed is something like "A man is innocent until proven broke"
Not exactly what we aspire to be.
Which is why we WILL NOT apply to Tennessee's law school (besides not wanting to graduate with a wardrobe that might be confused with the Adopt a Highway folks). Their goal seems to reinforce the negative stereotype:
"The College of Law teaches its students to think, write, and speak like lawyers, providing them with a complete legal education." - University of Tennessee Law School Dean (also, the Dean eerily resembles Red Forman from That 70's Show)
Contrast with Notre Dame's purpose statement:
"Perhaps the most prominent aspect of the Anglo-American legal tradition at Notre Dame is the focus on law not just as another job option, but as one of the ancient healing professions. Like doctors who are called to their vocation to heal the ills of the body, and like the clergy who are called to heal the ills of the spirit or soul, Notre Dame lawyers are called to heal the ills of society - to seek justice and peace among nations, within communities, and between individuals."
Go Irish.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Carolina athletics and the War of Northern Agression
Life must have been great in antebellum South Carolina.
The Panthers just got manhandled by Seattle in the NFC Championship game. Seattle's defense shut Carolina down from the opening snap, Delhomme completed more pases to Seattle than he did to Carolina, Steve Smith was double teamed most of the, and the only Carolina receiver to make any decent plays was Carter - too little, too late. Granted we were playing most of the game with our fourth string running back, an our lack of success in the backfield allowed the Seahawks to cover our receivers even tighter. But still, we looked pathetic.
Which has me wondering yet again, why do my Carolina teams always lose in the big games? It's at times like these I question God's goodness. But despite my doubt and questioning, during another dark night of the sporting soul, I cling to the one thing that can sustain me through the ups, well mostly downs, of my state's athletic ineptness.
Being a Carolina fan is God's way of placing me in an accelerated sanctification program.
Anybody can cheer for Alabama or Michigan or (gag me) Tennessee football when its a team that wins year in and year out, and gets a championship title often enough to satisfy their hungry fans. I mean, you have a bad season as a Duke or North Carolina basketball follower, and all you have to do is go back a few years to their most recent championship, and all is well on Tobacco Row. Hurricanes can't destroy the 5 College Baseball World Series tittles LSU has, all within the last 15 years.
So let's be honest. Its not hard to cheer for a team that always wins, or has a longstanding tradition of success. But try cheering for the team that always chokes and never lives up to expectations.
The Gamecocks haven't beaten Clemson since 2001, including the worst lost against our rivals in school history in 2003. South Carolina's basketball team won the school's first national championship in ANY major sport last year, but it was the freaking NIT (which is basically the game the scrubs get together on the playground after all the good players got picked on the big court), but has thus far this season followed with a sub par year. Gamecock soccer is consistently a contender, and even won the Conference USA tournament this year, only to get ousted from the NCAA tournament early on by Wake Forest. Even USC's baseball team, a perennial powerhouse, which has been to the World Series 3 of the last 4 years, hasn't won the big one yet, and lost in the championship game against Texas in 2002. The Panthers choked against New England in 2004. And then the pitiful performance by the Panthers tonight.
Only the truly righteous can maintain a steadfast comittment to a team that consistently lets them down. Patience. Loyalty. Forgiveness. Self-control. Unrequited Love. Joy despite hardship. These are the marks of the righteous. Funny, these are also the marks of a Carolina fan.
Which is why, despite the frustrating loss of Panthers tonight, I take solace in my A+ from Sanctification class.
So why do my teams suck? And why do I care so much? It wouldn't be so bad if I was a nonchalant observer. But apparently the words "sport" and "nonchalant" do no coexist peacefully in my world. I can't watch a game on tv without getting emotionally involved. I mean, I can't even enjoy a friendly game of football without competing against my previous performance, and being utterly frustrated when I underperform. I'm never satisfied unless I feel like I've played as well as I know I am capable of playing. And i will never be fulfilled until one of my teams wins the big one. Until that time, I will continue to utter expletives under my breath, yell loudly at the the players on the TV as if my armchair coaching will have some inspiring effect, and throw things on occasion. And in the process, get sanctified.
Life must have been good in antebellum South Carolina. Then that dang war came, and we haven't been able to win anything since.
The Panthers just got manhandled by Seattle in the NFC Championship game. Seattle's defense shut Carolina down from the opening snap, Delhomme completed more pases to Seattle than he did to Carolina, Steve Smith was double teamed most of the, and the only Carolina receiver to make any decent plays was Carter - too little, too late. Granted we were playing most of the game with our fourth string running back, an our lack of success in the backfield allowed the Seahawks to cover our receivers even tighter. But still, we looked pathetic.
Which has me wondering yet again, why do my Carolina teams always lose in the big games? It's at times like these I question God's goodness. But despite my doubt and questioning, during another dark night of the sporting soul, I cling to the one thing that can sustain me through the ups, well mostly downs, of my state's athletic ineptness.
Being a Carolina fan is God's way of placing me in an accelerated sanctification program.
Anybody can cheer for Alabama or Michigan or (gag me) Tennessee football when its a team that wins year in and year out, and gets a championship title often enough to satisfy their hungry fans. I mean, you have a bad season as a Duke or North Carolina basketball follower, and all you have to do is go back a few years to their most recent championship, and all is well on Tobacco Row. Hurricanes can't destroy the 5 College Baseball World Series tittles LSU has, all within the last 15 years.
So let's be honest. Its not hard to cheer for a team that always wins, or has a longstanding tradition of success. But try cheering for the team that always chokes and never lives up to expectations.
The Gamecocks haven't beaten Clemson since 2001, including the worst lost against our rivals in school history in 2003. South Carolina's basketball team won the school's first national championship in ANY major sport last year, but it was the freaking NIT (which is basically the game the scrubs get together on the playground after all the good players got picked on the big court), but has thus far this season followed with a sub par year. Gamecock soccer is consistently a contender, and even won the Conference USA tournament this year, only to get ousted from the NCAA tournament early on by Wake Forest. Even USC's baseball team, a perennial powerhouse, which has been to the World Series 3 of the last 4 years, hasn't won the big one yet, and lost in the championship game against Texas in 2002. The Panthers choked against New England in 2004. And then the pitiful performance by the Panthers tonight.
Only the truly righteous can maintain a steadfast comittment to a team that consistently lets them down. Patience. Loyalty. Forgiveness. Self-control. Unrequited Love. Joy despite hardship. These are the marks of the righteous. Funny, these are also the marks of a Carolina fan.
Which is why, despite the frustrating loss of Panthers tonight, I take solace in my A+ from Sanctification class.
So why do my teams suck? And why do I care so much? It wouldn't be so bad if I was a nonchalant observer. But apparently the words "sport" and "nonchalant" do no coexist peacefully in my world. I can't watch a game on tv without getting emotionally involved. I mean, I can't even enjoy a friendly game of football without competing against my previous performance, and being utterly frustrated when I underperform. I'm never satisfied unless I feel like I've played as well as I know I am capable of playing. And i will never be fulfilled until one of my teams wins the big one. Until that time, I will continue to utter expletives under my breath, yell loudly at the the players on the TV as if my armchair coaching will have some inspiring effect, and throw things on occasion. And in the process, get sanctified.
Life must have been good in antebellum South Carolina. Then that dang war came, and we haven't been able to win anything since.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Road trip soundtrack
I uncovered a gold mine today: The U.S. Department of Transportation. More particularly, the Federal Highway Administration.
Why?
Because my (and your) tax dollars have been well spent by at least one of our beloved government officials, who, under the auspice of the U.S. of A. government, has compiled a fairly exhaustive list of the greatest Road Songs ever written. You can check it out here:
http://www.fhwa.dot.gov/infrastructure/roadsong.htm
Thankfully, this project was not based on the arbitrary whims of some apathetic arbiter of asphalt. No, there are important critera that must be met if your favorite cruising music is going to make the Road Songs list. Observe:
1. Songs about musicians being "on the road" don't qualify unless they actually mention roads.
2. Songs about cars, rather than roads, also don't quality.
3. A song can qualify if it mentions a highway even if the rest of the song is about something else.
So far, I have only noticed one oversight on The List. Glaringly absent is the greatest highway song of them all, "Free Love Freeway," by David Brent from the BBC's The Office.
Once you check out this tasty lick, I think you'll agree that no road trip will be complete without a dose of David Brent:
http://homepage.mac.com/elliottday/theoffice/sounds1/freelovefull.mp3
Happy cruising.
Why?
Because my (and your) tax dollars have been well spent by at least one of our beloved government officials, who, under the auspice of the U.S. of A. government, has compiled a fairly exhaustive list of the greatest Road Songs ever written. You can check it out here:
http://www.fhwa.dot.gov/infrastructure/roadsong.htm
Thankfully, this project was not based on the arbitrary whims of some apathetic arbiter of asphalt. No, there are important critera that must be met if your favorite cruising music is going to make the Road Songs list. Observe:
1. Songs about musicians being "on the road" don't qualify unless they actually mention roads.
2. Songs about cars, rather than roads, also don't quality.
3. A song can qualify if it mentions a highway even if the rest of the song is about something else.
So far, I have only noticed one oversight on The List. Glaringly absent is the greatest highway song of them all, "Free Love Freeway," by David Brent from the BBC's The Office.
Once you check out this tasty lick, I think you'll agree that no road trip will be complete without a dose of David Brent:
http://homepage.mac.com/elliottday/theoffice/sounds1/freelovefull.mp3
Happy cruising.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
F this
In my opinion, the F word is one of the foulest words in the English vocabulary. An onomatopoeia of sorts, it takes something incredibly beautiful and makes it completely crass and devoid of any real meaning.
But as an expletive, some would argue that often it is the only word that fits the situation - so I've been thinking, and as best as I can figure, there are only eleven times in history where the "F" word has been considered acceptable for use.
They are as follows:
11. "What the @#$% do you mean, we are sinking?"
-- Capt. E.J. Smith of RMS Titanic, 1912
10. "What the @#$% was that?"
-- Mayor Of Hiroshima, 1945
9. "Where did all those @#$%ing Indians come from?"
-- Custer, 1877
8. "Any @#$%ing idiot could understand that."
-- Einstein, 1938
7. "It does so @#$%ing look like her!"
-- Picasso, 1926
6. "How the @#$% did you work that out?"
-- Pythagoras, 126 BC
5. "You want WHAT on the @#$%ing ceiling?"
-- Michelangelo, 1566
4. "Where the @#$% are we?"
-- Amelia Earhart, 1937
3. "Scattered @#$%ing showers, my ass!"
-- Noah, 4314 BC
2. "Aw c'mon. Who the @#$% is going to find out?"
-- Bill Clinton, 1998
1. "Geez, I didn't think they'd get this @%#*^ing mad."
-- Saddam Hussein, 2003
Let me know if you can think of any others.
But as an expletive, some would argue that often it is the only word that fits the situation - so I've been thinking, and as best as I can figure, there are only eleven times in history where the "F" word has been considered acceptable for use.
They are as follows:
11. "What the @#$% do you mean, we are sinking?"
-- Capt. E.J. Smith of RMS Titanic, 1912
10. "What the @#$% was that?"
-- Mayor Of Hiroshima, 1945
9. "Where did all those @#$%ing Indians come from?"
-- Custer, 1877
8. "Any @#$%ing idiot could understand that."
-- Einstein, 1938
7. "It does so @#$%ing look like her!"
-- Picasso, 1926
6. "How the @#$% did you work that out?"
-- Pythagoras, 126 BC
5. "You want WHAT on the @#$%ing ceiling?"
-- Michelangelo, 1566
4. "Where the @#$% are we?"
-- Amelia Earhart, 1937
3. "Scattered @#$%ing showers, my ass!"
-- Noah, 4314 BC
2. "Aw c'mon. Who the @#$% is going to find out?"
-- Bill Clinton, 1998
1. "Geez, I didn't think they'd get this @%#*^ing mad."
-- Saddam Hussein, 2003
Let me know if you can think of any others.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Us vs. Rick Warren
Here's our response to the Purpose Driven Life, by way of one C.S. Lewis as he discusses what he sees as the false dichotomy that is often created between books of piety and books of theology/doctrine...
"For my own part I tend to find the doctrinal books often more helpful in devotion than the devotional books, and I rather suspect that the same experience may await many others. I believe that many who find that "nothing happens" when they sit down, or kneel down, to a book of devotion, would find that the heart sings unbidden while they are working their way through a tough bit of theology with a pipe in their teeth and a pencil in their hand."
Now that's what we're talking about.
"For my own part I tend to find the doctrinal books often more helpful in devotion than the devotional books, and I rather suspect that the same experience may await many others. I believe that many who find that "nothing happens" when they sit down, or kneel down, to a book of devotion, would find that the heart sings unbidden while they are working their way through a tough bit of theology with a pipe in their teeth and a pencil in their hand."
Now that's what we're talking about.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Get Hooked on Arrested Development
Go here or be queer!
http://www.getarrested.com/
Good video clips in case you are too busy to watch on tv.
murr
http://www.getarrested.com/
Good video clips in case you are too busy to watch on tv.
murr
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Schiavo, the Afterlife, and Christianity
A person who no longer has the ability to experience joy, or remember, or pray, or wish is still a person, I agree. But it seems to be a great evil to me, and to betray a general lack of confidence in the afterlife, to selfishly grasp at the few remaining signs of the life once there, like a pulse, and breathing. The family is often seen as a picture of selflessness. This ought to be questioned: it is entirely possible that they are motivated out of guilt. As the violent reaction of the religious right has shown, there is a great amount of guilt associated with letting Ms. Schiavo die by “starvation.” Remember, this is a death that would have been inevitable only a hundred years ago. It suddenly becomes “murder” to not provide her with a kind of care we only recently acquired the ability to use.
If anything, the biblical witness would encourage us to avoid hanging onto life at all costs; “whoever loses his life, for my sake, shall find it;” or as the apostle Paul wrote,
“For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose, I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with you all, for your progress and joy in the faith, so that in me you may have ample cause to glory in Christ Jesus, because of my coming to you again.” (Phil. 1:21-6)
Paul does not wish to remain alive because he promotes a “culture of life” or because he has certain “inalienable rights,” including the “right to life.” Such language is completely absent from the Bible, and for good reason: that language is based on philosophies unknown to the biblical authors, because they originated in the Enlightenment! The emphasis in the Bible, if anything, is on giving up rights, and on sacrificing lives for the sake of others. Paul, in this passage, wishes to remain for only one reason: that he might encourage others!
There is an incredible amount of joy in working with the disabled. This can be a surprise to many people, as it was to me. And yet there is an enormous difference between a person suffering with Down Syndrome, for example, and Terri Schiavo. Disabled people experience emotions, like we do, often more intensely and less self-consciously. They laugh, pray, think, get excited and have hopes and dreams, and experience pleasure and pain. We have evidence that Ms. Schiavo experienced none of these things; consequently, her ability to provide them for other people is next to nothing. Disabled people encourage and love others. Ms. Schiavo does not. Her condition is similar to a (very young) embryo, you might think. But embryos have enormous potential; Ms. Schiavo cannot recover.
Her food and water should not be considered “futile treatment,” because they are not treatments, I agree. It may be true that we generally abhor the thought of withholding nutrients from anyone; but in Ms. Schiavo’s case, it is a mercy on everyone involved. The question is not whether we are committed enough to provide care for life in any form, but whether we should provide care for life in any form. God would ask a great many things of us; but he has not told us to preserve life at all costs. In this case loving your neighbor as yourself may involve mercifully withdrawing care from a life that most of us would not wish to live ourselves. It has been suggested that those who would withdraw care are in “fear” of having to exist in a state like Terri’s. Is it “fear” to want to trade a life that is almost gone for a life of eternal bliss in the presence of God? I think that those who fear, in this case, are those who think it would be “murder” to withdraw care; fear of eternal punishment, perhaps. Fear that although this does not look like or feel like murder it still may be. But fear, nonetheless. We must remember that the God who will be judging us is the same God that gave us death as a divine mercy, barring us from the tree of life so that we would not suffer here forever, and dying for us so that we might spend the after-life with him. We shall be saved by our faith in him, and not, ultimately, by whether we have supported such an ethereal principle as a “culture of life.”
If anything, the biblical witness would encourage us to avoid hanging onto life at all costs; “whoever loses his life, for my sake, shall find it;” or as the apostle Paul wrote,
“For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose, I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with you all, for your progress and joy in the faith, so that in me you may have ample cause to glory in Christ Jesus, because of my coming to you again.” (Phil. 1:21-6)
Paul does not wish to remain alive because he promotes a “culture of life” or because he has certain “inalienable rights,” including the “right to life.” Such language is completely absent from the Bible, and for good reason: that language is based on philosophies unknown to the biblical authors, because they originated in the Enlightenment! The emphasis in the Bible, if anything, is on giving up rights, and on sacrificing lives for the sake of others. Paul, in this passage, wishes to remain for only one reason: that he might encourage others!
There is an incredible amount of joy in working with the disabled. This can be a surprise to many people, as it was to me. And yet there is an enormous difference between a person suffering with Down Syndrome, for example, and Terri Schiavo. Disabled people experience emotions, like we do, often more intensely and less self-consciously. They laugh, pray, think, get excited and have hopes and dreams, and experience pleasure and pain. We have evidence that Ms. Schiavo experienced none of these things; consequently, her ability to provide them for other people is next to nothing. Disabled people encourage and love others. Ms. Schiavo does not. Her condition is similar to a (very young) embryo, you might think. But embryos have enormous potential; Ms. Schiavo cannot recover.
Her food and water should not be considered “futile treatment,” because they are not treatments, I agree. It may be true that we generally abhor the thought of withholding nutrients from anyone; but in Ms. Schiavo’s case, it is a mercy on everyone involved. The question is not whether we are committed enough to provide care for life in any form, but whether we should provide care for life in any form. God would ask a great many things of us; but he has not told us to preserve life at all costs. In this case loving your neighbor as yourself may involve mercifully withdrawing care from a life that most of us would not wish to live ourselves. It has been suggested that those who would withdraw care are in “fear” of having to exist in a state like Terri’s. Is it “fear” to want to trade a life that is almost gone for a life of eternal bliss in the presence of God? I think that those who fear, in this case, are those who think it would be “murder” to withdraw care; fear of eternal punishment, perhaps. Fear that although this does not look like or feel like murder it still may be. But fear, nonetheless. We must remember that the God who will be judging us is the same God that gave us death as a divine mercy, barring us from the tree of life so that we would not suffer here forever, and dying for us so that we might spend the after-life with him. We shall be saved by our faith in him, and not, ultimately, by whether we have supported such an ethereal principle as a “culture of life.”
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Food for thought (no tube pun intended)
Keep in mind this lady is writing for www.slate.msn.com, a fairly "liberal" perspective.
Not Dead at All
Why Congress was right to stick up for Terri Schiavo.
By Harriet McBryde Johnson
Posted Wednesday, March 23, 2005, at 4:50 AM PT
The Terri Schiavo case is hard to write about, hard to think about. Those films are hard to look at. I see that face, maybe smiling, maybe not, and I am reminded of a young woman I knew as a child, lying on a couch, brain-damaged, apparently unresponsive, and deeply beloved—freakishly perhaps but genuinely so—living proof of one family's no-matter-what commitment. I watch nourishment flowing into a slim tube that runs through a neat, round, surgically created orifice in Ms. Schiavo's abdomen, and I'm almost envious. What effortless intake! Due to a congenital neuromuscular disease, I am having trouble swallowing, and it's a constant struggle to get by mouth the calories my skinny body needs. For whatever reason, I'm still trying, but I know a tube is in my future. So, possibly, is speechlessness. That's a scary thought. If I couldn't speak for myself, would I want to die? If I become uncommunicative, a passive object of other people's care, should I hope my brain goes soft and leaves me in peace?
My emotional response is powerful, but at bottom it's not important. It's no more important than anyone else's, not what matters. The things that ought to matter have become obscured in our communal clash of gut reactions. Here are 10 of them:
1. Ms. Schiavo is not terminally ill. She has lived in her current condition for 15 years. This is not about end-of-life decision-making. The question is whether she should be killed by starvation and dehydration.
Continue Article
2. Ms. Schiavo is not dependent on life support. Her lungs, kidneys, heart, and digestive systems work fine. Just as she uses a wheelchair for mobility, she uses a tube for eating and drinking. Feeding Ms. Schiavo is not difficult, painful, or in any way heroic. Feeding tubes are a very simple piece of adaptive equipment, and the fact that Ms. Schiavo eats through a tube should have nothing to do with whether she should live or die.
3. This is not a case about a patient's right to refuse treatment. I don't see eating and drinking as "treatment," but even if they are, everyone agrees that Ms. Schiavo is presently incapable of articulating a decision to refuse treatment. The question is who should make the decision for her, and whether that substitute decision-maker should be authorized to kill her by starvation and dehydration.
4. There is a genuine dispute as to Ms. Schiavo's awareness and consciousness. But if we assume that those who would authorize her death are correct, Ms. Schiavo is completely unaware of her situation and therefore incapable of suffering physically or emotionally. Her death thus can't be justified for relieving her suffering.
5. There is a genuine dispute as to what Ms. Schiavo believed and expressed about life with severe disability before she herself became incapacitated; certainly, she never stated her preferences in an advance directive like a living will. If we assume that Ms. Schiavo is aware and conscious, it is possible that, like most people who live with severe disability for as long as she has, she has abandoned her preconceived fears of the life she is now living. We have no idea whether she wishes to be bound by things she might have said when she was living a very different life. If we assume she is unaware and unconscious, we can't justify her death as her preference. She has no preference.
6. Ms. Schiavo, like all people, incapacitated or not, has a federal constitutional right not to be deprived of her life without due process of law.
7. In addition to the rights all people enjoy, Ms. Schiavo has a statutory right under the Americans With Disabilities Act not to be treated differently because of her disability. Obviously, Florida law would not allow a husband to kill a nondisabled wife by starvation and dehydration; killing is not ordinarily considered a private family concern or a matter of choice. It is Ms. Schiavo's disability that makes her killing different in the eyes of the Florida courts. Because the state is overtly drawing lines based on disability, it has the burden under the ADA of justifying those lines.
8. In other contexts, federal courts are available to make sure state courts respect federally protected rights. This review is critical not only to the parties directly involved, but to the integrity of our legal system. Although review will very often be a futile last-ditch effort—as with most death-penalty habeas petitions—federalism requires that the federal government, not the states, have the last word. When the issue is the scope of a guardian's authority, it is necessary to allow other people, in this case other family members, standing to file a legal challenge.
9. The whole society has a stake in making sure state courts are not tainted by prejudices, myths, and unfounded fears—like the unthinking horror in mainstream society that transforms feeding tubes into fetish objects, emblematic of broader, deeper fears of disability that sometimes slide from fear to disgust and from disgust to hatred. While we should not assume that disability prejudice tainted the Florida courts, we cannot reasonably assume that it did not.
10. Despite the unseemly Palm Sunday pontificating in Congress, the legislation enabling Ms. Schiavo's parents to sue did not take sides in the so-called culture wars. It did not dictate that Ms. Schiavo be fed. It simply created a procedure whereby the federal courts could decide whether Ms. Schiavo's federally protected rights have been violated.
In the Senate, a key supporter of a federal remedy was Iowa Sen. Tom Harkin, a progressive Democrat and longtime friend of labor and civil rights, including disability rights. Harkin told reporters, "There are a lot of people in the shadows, all over this country, who are incapacitated because of a disability, and many times there is no one to speak for them, and it is hard to determine what their wishes really are or were. So I think there ought to be a broader type of a proceeding that would apply to people in similar circumstances who are incapacitated."
I hope against hope that I will never be one of those people in the shadows, that I will always, one way or another, be able to make my wishes known. I hope that I will not outlive my usefulness or my capacity (at least occasionally) to amuse the people around me. But if it happens otherwise, I hope whoever is appointed to speak for me will be subject to legal constraints. Even if my guardian thinks I'd be better off dead—even if I think so myself—I hope to live and die in a world that recognizes that killing, even of people with the most severe disabilities, is a matter of more than private concern.
Clearly, Congress's Palm Sunday legislation was not the "broader type of proceeding" Harkin and I want. It does not define when and how federal court review will be available to all of those in the shadows, but rather provides a procedure for one case only. To create a general system of review, applicable whenever life-and-death decisions intersect with disability rights, will require a reasoned, informed debate unlike what we've had until now. It will take time. But in the Schiavo case, time is running out.
Harriet McBryde Johnson is a disability-rights lawyer in Charleston, S.C. Her memoir in stories, Too Late to Die Young: Nearly True Tales from a Life, will be released in April.
Not Dead at All
Why Congress was right to stick up for Terri Schiavo.
By Harriet McBryde Johnson
Posted Wednesday, March 23, 2005, at 4:50 AM PT
The Terri Schiavo case is hard to write about, hard to think about. Those films are hard to look at. I see that face, maybe smiling, maybe not, and I am reminded of a young woman I knew as a child, lying on a couch, brain-damaged, apparently unresponsive, and deeply beloved—freakishly perhaps but genuinely so—living proof of one family's no-matter-what commitment. I watch nourishment flowing into a slim tube that runs through a neat, round, surgically created orifice in Ms. Schiavo's abdomen, and I'm almost envious. What effortless intake! Due to a congenital neuromuscular disease, I am having trouble swallowing, and it's a constant struggle to get by mouth the calories my skinny body needs. For whatever reason, I'm still trying, but I know a tube is in my future. So, possibly, is speechlessness. That's a scary thought. If I couldn't speak for myself, would I want to die? If I become uncommunicative, a passive object of other people's care, should I hope my brain goes soft and leaves me in peace?
My emotional response is powerful, but at bottom it's not important. It's no more important than anyone else's, not what matters. The things that ought to matter have become obscured in our communal clash of gut reactions. Here are 10 of them:
1. Ms. Schiavo is not terminally ill. She has lived in her current condition for 15 years. This is not about end-of-life decision-making. The question is whether she should be killed by starvation and dehydration.
Continue Article
2. Ms. Schiavo is not dependent on life support. Her lungs, kidneys, heart, and digestive systems work fine. Just as she uses a wheelchair for mobility, she uses a tube for eating and drinking. Feeding Ms. Schiavo is not difficult, painful, or in any way heroic. Feeding tubes are a very simple piece of adaptive equipment, and the fact that Ms. Schiavo eats through a tube should have nothing to do with whether she should live or die.
3. This is not a case about a patient's right to refuse treatment. I don't see eating and drinking as "treatment," but even if they are, everyone agrees that Ms. Schiavo is presently incapable of articulating a decision to refuse treatment. The question is who should make the decision for her, and whether that substitute decision-maker should be authorized to kill her by starvation and dehydration.
4. There is a genuine dispute as to Ms. Schiavo's awareness and consciousness. But if we assume that those who would authorize her death are correct, Ms. Schiavo is completely unaware of her situation and therefore incapable of suffering physically or emotionally. Her death thus can't be justified for relieving her suffering.
5. There is a genuine dispute as to what Ms. Schiavo believed and expressed about life with severe disability before she herself became incapacitated; certainly, she never stated her preferences in an advance directive like a living will. If we assume that Ms. Schiavo is aware and conscious, it is possible that, like most people who live with severe disability for as long as she has, she has abandoned her preconceived fears of the life she is now living. We have no idea whether she wishes to be bound by things she might have said when she was living a very different life. If we assume she is unaware and unconscious, we can't justify her death as her preference. She has no preference.
6. Ms. Schiavo, like all people, incapacitated or not, has a federal constitutional right not to be deprived of her life without due process of law.
7. In addition to the rights all people enjoy, Ms. Schiavo has a statutory right under the Americans With Disabilities Act not to be treated differently because of her disability. Obviously, Florida law would not allow a husband to kill a nondisabled wife by starvation and dehydration; killing is not ordinarily considered a private family concern or a matter of choice. It is Ms. Schiavo's disability that makes her killing different in the eyes of the Florida courts. Because the state is overtly drawing lines based on disability, it has the burden under the ADA of justifying those lines.
8. In other contexts, federal courts are available to make sure state courts respect federally protected rights. This review is critical not only to the parties directly involved, but to the integrity of our legal system. Although review will very often be a futile last-ditch effort—as with most death-penalty habeas petitions—federalism requires that the federal government, not the states, have the last word. When the issue is the scope of a guardian's authority, it is necessary to allow other people, in this case other family members, standing to file a legal challenge.
9. The whole society has a stake in making sure state courts are not tainted by prejudices, myths, and unfounded fears—like the unthinking horror in mainstream society that transforms feeding tubes into fetish objects, emblematic of broader, deeper fears of disability that sometimes slide from fear to disgust and from disgust to hatred. While we should not assume that disability prejudice tainted the Florida courts, we cannot reasonably assume that it did not.
10. Despite the unseemly Palm Sunday pontificating in Congress, the legislation enabling Ms. Schiavo's parents to sue did not take sides in the so-called culture wars. It did not dictate that Ms. Schiavo be fed. It simply created a procedure whereby the federal courts could decide whether Ms. Schiavo's federally protected rights have been violated.
In the Senate, a key supporter of a federal remedy was Iowa Sen. Tom Harkin, a progressive Democrat and longtime friend of labor and civil rights, including disability rights. Harkin told reporters, "There are a lot of people in the shadows, all over this country, who are incapacitated because of a disability, and many times there is no one to speak for them, and it is hard to determine what their wishes really are or were. So I think there ought to be a broader type of a proceeding that would apply to people in similar circumstances who are incapacitated."
I hope against hope that I will never be one of those people in the shadows, that I will always, one way or another, be able to make my wishes known. I hope that I will not outlive my usefulness or my capacity (at least occasionally) to amuse the people around me. But if it happens otherwise, I hope whoever is appointed to speak for me will be subject to legal constraints. Even if my guardian thinks I'd be better off dead—even if I think so myself—I hope to live and die in a world that recognizes that killing, even of people with the most severe disabilities, is a matter of more than private concern.
Clearly, Congress's Palm Sunday legislation was not the "broader type of proceeding" Harkin and I want. It does not define when and how federal court review will be available to all of those in the shadows, but rather provides a procedure for one case only. To create a general system of review, applicable whenever life-and-death decisions intersect with disability rights, will require a reasoned, informed debate unlike what we've had until now. It will take time. But in the Schiavo case, time is running out.
Harriet McBryde Johnson is a disability-rights lawyer in Charleston, S.C. Her memoir in stories, Too Late to Die Young: Nearly True Tales from a Life, will be released in April.
Looking for Giraffe people...
"Do you have a long neck?
Please email a pic.
Serious inquirees only."
So read my most recent campaign for attention from single ladies on the infamous Personals section of the underground classifieds on craigslist.org Washington DC.
No long neckers have responded yet.
And don't ask me why.
It seemed ridiculous at the time. Seemed innocent next to all the other "Free Dirt" ads on the men seeking women section. It may be odd, but in context it is kinda funny.
I have quite an invitation to extend to all those bored enough to be scanning the archives of manvilletabletalk.
What are you doing three summers from now?
Hopefully Macey will be gainfully employed - or finishing up some overdue paper for the previous semester's graduate class.
Hopefully Sleuth will be a partner in that law firm he is singlehandedly running right now. Thankfully it will be summer and he will not have an excuse to still be taking college classes.
Hopefully Straw will have married that girl out in California and will have kicked all his renters out, forcing Macey to get a job.
Hopefully Rob will have bought an ugly house and fixed it up. Maybe all the renters could move in there. Then Rob could complain to Sleuth if Sleuth tried to eat his eggs.
Hopefully Paige will have paid off his leased truck. I have money on he and Paige uniteing legally into Dave Paige and Paige Paige.
Hopefully Borger and his wife (currently to be) will be very very happy and have some money to spend on a vacation.
Hopefully Swanson will be found or will have changed his voicemail from "Leave me a message and I will call you back" to something more truthful like, "Leave me a message - I may never call you back."
Hopefully Noel and his wife will have proven good matchmakers for all the single men of manhouse.
Hopefully I will have forgotten nobody and those I have forgotten will also forget about me.. and the time I... ah, forged about it.
But more important than all that, hopefully some of you, the forementioned, will accompany me on a trip of grand heights, great sights, under German city lights.
Right now tickets are on sale for World Cup 2008 Germany.
Many of us will be attending the World Cup Qualifiers in Birmingham next week.
But how about the chance to go see World Cup games and to travel Germany three summers for now? Consider the possibilty of watching the USA win the entire thing (as has been secretly planned for the last ten years as part of project 40?)
Tickets are only on sale through the end of this month.
Check out the link:
http://fifaworldcup.yahoo.com/06/en/tickets/venues.html
If you have other plans, the Germans have a phrase for you: "forged about it."
To employ a guilt-imposing selling line by Dr. K that also seems to me to rule out reason, "say yes unless God closes the door."
I will be awaiting close to 10 replies from giraffe people on this site. Be sure to send a pic.
Please email a pic.
Serious inquirees only."
So read my most recent campaign for attention from single ladies on the infamous Personals section of the underground classifieds on craigslist.org Washington DC.
No long neckers have responded yet.
And don't ask me why.
It seemed ridiculous at the time. Seemed innocent next to all the other "Free Dirt" ads on the men seeking women section. It may be odd, but in context it is kinda funny.
I have quite an invitation to extend to all those bored enough to be scanning the archives of manvilletabletalk.
What are you doing three summers from now?
Hopefully Macey will be gainfully employed - or finishing up some overdue paper for the previous semester's graduate class.
Hopefully Sleuth will be a partner in that law firm he is singlehandedly running right now. Thankfully it will be summer and he will not have an excuse to still be taking college classes.
Hopefully Straw will have married that girl out in California and will have kicked all his renters out, forcing Macey to get a job.
Hopefully Rob will have bought an ugly house and fixed it up. Maybe all the renters could move in there. Then Rob could complain to Sleuth if Sleuth tried to eat his eggs.
Hopefully Paige will have paid off his leased truck. I have money on he and Paige uniteing legally into Dave Paige and Paige Paige.
Hopefully Borger and his wife (currently to be) will be very very happy and have some money to spend on a vacation.
Hopefully Swanson will be found or will have changed his voicemail from "Leave me a message and I will call you back" to something more truthful like, "Leave me a message - I may never call you back."
Hopefully Noel and his wife will have proven good matchmakers for all the single men of manhouse.
Hopefully I will have forgotten nobody and those I have forgotten will also forget about me.. and the time I... ah, forged about it.
But more important than all that, hopefully some of you, the forementioned, will accompany me on a trip of grand heights, great sights, under German city lights.
Right now tickets are on sale for World Cup 2008 Germany.
Many of us will be attending the World Cup Qualifiers in Birmingham next week.
But how about the chance to go see World Cup games and to travel Germany three summers for now? Consider the possibilty of watching the USA win the entire thing (as has been secretly planned for the last ten years as part of project 40?)
Tickets are only on sale through the end of this month.
Check out the link:
http://fifaworldcup.yahoo.com/06/en/tickets/venues.html
If you have other plans, the Germans have a phrase for you: "forged about it."
To employ a guilt-imposing selling line by Dr. K that also seems to me to rule out reason, "say yes unless God closes the door."
I will be awaiting close to 10 replies from giraffe people on this site. Be sure to send a pic.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
The Soccer Skinny for the Salubrity of your Soul
Men of Manville,
This blog has been dormant for far too long. I realize we are trying to make the transition to the more formal Monthly Journal via snail mail, but for the sake of all that is cyber space, I will post this letter, which most of you should be receiving shortly.
March 8, 2005
Friends, countrymen, chosen from among the not chosen,
The smell of a freshly cut pitch.
The touch of the ball on your feet.
The rush of adrenaline as you warm up in anticipation of the next 90 minutes of your life.
The sound of a roaring, raucous crowd of multiple soccer moms.
The Soccer.
6 games in two days.
The showdown of the century – the rematch with team Mexico.
The chance to represent your country and pseudo-country in an international competition second only to the World Cup.
Beer with lemonade after the game – like they do it in England.
The Tournament.
A weekend getaway with 11 of your closest friends.
A roadtrip that’ll bring you back to those carefree days of college.
Memories that will last a lifetime.
The time Matthew Gillikin crashed his car, Korbin Parker was demolished by a 200 pound Jamaican, and Peter Brinkerhoff was interrogated as a possible terrorist suspect.
When “el Gordo,” the goalie for Team Mexico, actually ATE the soccer ball.
Short-Shorts, Headbands, Noise Makers/Shakers and Mesh Hat Mania.
The Fellowship.
As I’m sure you are well aware, what I’ve described above are some of the sweetest sensations and experiences known to all of mankind in, well, pretty much ever. And, if you’re like me, any opportunity to live any one of those experiences would be phenomenal – to experience them all in one weekend would be the chance of a lifetime.
The fact that you hold this letter in your hands is proof that we here at the St. Elmo Short-Short Society for the Advancement of Man-thigh (the “Thighs”) believe that YOU share with US our passion for these three staples of human existence – Soccer, Tournaments, and Fellowship, and we want to give you that once in a lifetime chance. That is why we have specifically chosen to extend to you an invitation to be a member of this year’s Team South-USA-Scotland (“SUS”) that will compete in the annual Columbia International Soccer Tournament (the “Tournament”).
For the sake of brevity, I will postpone any discussion of the fabled tradition and history of the Tournament, as well as Team SUS’s two previous successful trips to the Tournament. Let me get straight to the heart of the matter.
Enclosed for your signature and return to the Thighs is a Letter of Intent, signifying that you are interested in being a part of the excitement, passion, and excellent winning tradition of Team SUS. We are looking to solidify our team roster within the next two weeks, with an anticipated “official Signing Day” of March 19, 2005.
Other important information:
Dates: Friday, April 29 – Sunday, May 1, 2005
Location: Columbia, South Carolina
Times: Our first game is usually Friday night, so we would be leaving in a carpool caravan early Friday afternoon.
Cost: The entry fee is yet to be determined, although in prior years it has worked out to about $10-15 per person. We also intend to get jerseys, we would split the cost of gas, and if the Luther family houses and feeds us as has been the case in prior years, we would hope to pitch in a little for the cost of feeding our group. All in all, we anticipate the costs to be between $25-$40 for the weekend.
Who: Just the name SUS should get your heart pumping. In case it doesn’t, rest assured that the core of the team includes the Thigh’s Board of Directors and selection committee, the names of whom are listed at the end of this letter.
Deadlines: Because this is an 8-a-side tourney, space is limited to about 10-12 players, so your prompt response is critical. Due to the logistical details, signing day will be March 19, 2005. You may send your Letter of Intent any time before then.
Other details: The Tournament is hosted in conjunction with the annual Columbia International Festival. Recognized among the Top 20 Events in the 10-state Southeastern Region by the Southeastern Tourism Society, the Columbia International Festival showcases the music, culture, food, and performing arts of the various cultures, nationalities, races, and language groups represented in South Carolina. The event brings all of the area's international communities together to build better community/race relations between various ethnic/cultural/language groups and with the South Carolina community at large. Estimated attendance for 2004 was over 20,000. The Tournament brings together the area international communities as a playground to showcase the sport of choice for the entire global community (i.e. soccer) as well as an opportunity for us to prove that despite the diversity of cultures, nationalities, races and language groups represented in the Festival and the Tournament, the SUS culture is still superior. Also, that we have mad soccer skills. And sweet bowstaff skills.
But I digress. What matters is that we want you for our team. Please contact the Selection Committee at the address or phone number on the above letterhead, any of the contact information listed below, or you can email us. An email response with your filled out NLI is sufficient.
We look forward to hearing from you and the opportunity to call you teammate.
Long live excitement,
Sleuth I
Chairman, Soccer Selection Committee
Board of Directors, The Thighs
Macey, Founder of the Thighs
Sleuth, Chairmen
Noel, V. Chairmen/Secretary
Straw, Treasurer
Page, Resident Nurse
Borger, Audio/Visual
Elissa, Pres. Of Soccer Moms
This blog has been dormant for far too long. I realize we are trying to make the transition to the more formal Monthly Journal via snail mail, but for the sake of all that is cyber space, I will post this letter, which most of you should be receiving shortly.
March 8, 2005
Friends, countrymen, chosen from among the not chosen,
The smell of a freshly cut pitch.
The touch of the ball on your feet.
The rush of adrenaline as you warm up in anticipation of the next 90 minutes of your life.
The sound of a roaring, raucous crowd of multiple soccer moms.
The Soccer.
6 games in two days.
The showdown of the century – the rematch with team Mexico.
The chance to represent your country and pseudo-country in an international competition second only to the World Cup.
Beer with lemonade after the game – like they do it in England.
The Tournament.
A weekend getaway with 11 of your closest friends.
A roadtrip that’ll bring you back to those carefree days of college.
Memories that will last a lifetime.
The time Matthew Gillikin crashed his car, Korbin Parker was demolished by a 200 pound Jamaican, and Peter Brinkerhoff was interrogated as a possible terrorist suspect.
When “el Gordo,” the goalie for Team Mexico, actually ATE the soccer ball.
Short-Shorts, Headbands, Noise Makers/Shakers and Mesh Hat Mania.
The Fellowship.
As I’m sure you are well aware, what I’ve described above are some of the sweetest sensations and experiences known to all of mankind in, well, pretty much ever. And, if you’re like me, any opportunity to live any one of those experiences would be phenomenal – to experience them all in one weekend would be the chance of a lifetime.
The fact that you hold this letter in your hands is proof that we here at the St. Elmo Short-Short Society for the Advancement of Man-thigh (the “Thighs”) believe that YOU share with US our passion for these three staples of human existence – Soccer, Tournaments, and Fellowship, and we want to give you that once in a lifetime chance. That is why we have specifically chosen to extend to you an invitation to be a member of this year’s Team South-USA-Scotland (“SUS”) that will compete in the annual Columbia International Soccer Tournament (the “Tournament”).
For the sake of brevity, I will postpone any discussion of the fabled tradition and history of the Tournament, as well as Team SUS’s two previous successful trips to the Tournament. Let me get straight to the heart of the matter.
Enclosed for your signature and return to the Thighs is a Letter of Intent, signifying that you are interested in being a part of the excitement, passion, and excellent winning tradition of Team SUS. We are looking to solidify our team roster within the next two weeks, with an anticipated “official Signing Day” of March 19, 2005.
Other important information:
Dates: Friday, April 29 – Sunday, May 1, 2005
Location: Columbia, South Carolina
Times: Our first game is usually Friday night, so we would be leaving in a carpool caravan early Friday afternoon.
Cost: The entry fee is yet to be determined, although in prior years it has worked out to about $10-15 per person. We also intend to get jerseys, we would split the cost of gas, and if the Luther family houses and feeds us as has been the case in prior years, we would hope to pitch in a little for the cost of feeding our group. All in all, we anticipate the costs to be between $25-$40 for the weekend.
Who: Just the name SUS should get your heart pumping. In case it doesn’t, rest assured that the core of the team includes the Thigh’s Board of Directors and selection committee, the names of whom are listed at the end of this letter.
Deadlines: Because this is an 8-a-side tourney, space is limited to about 10-12 players, so your prompt response is critical. Due to the logistical details, signing day will be March 19, 2005. You may send your Letter of Intent any time before then.
Other details: The Tournament is hosted in conjunction with the annual Columbia International Festival. Recognized among the Top 20 Events in the 10-state Southeastern Region by the Southeastern Tourism Society, the Columbia International Festival showcases the music, culture, food, and performing arts of the various cultures, nationalities, races, and language groups represented in South Carolina. The event brings all of the area's international communities together to build better community/race relations between various ethnic/cultural/language groups and with the South Carolina community at large. Estimated attendance for 2004 was over 20,000. The Tournament brings together the area international communities as a playground to showcase the sport of choice for the entire global community (i.e. soccer) as well as an opportunity for us to prove that despite the diversity of cultures, nationalities, races and language groups represented in the Festival and the Tournament, the SUS culture is still superior. Also, that we have mad soccer skills. And sweet bowstaff skills.
But I digress. What matters is that we want you for our team. Please contact the Selection Committee at the address or phone number on the above letterhead, any of the contact information listed below, or you can email us. An email response with your filled out NLI is sufficient.
We look forward to hearing from you and the opportunity to call you teammate.
Long live excitement,
Sleuth I
Chairman, Soccer Selection Committee
Board of Directors, The Thighs
Macey, Founder of the Thighs
Sleuth, Chairmen
Noel, V. Chairmen/Secretary
Straw, Treasurer
Page, Resident Nurse
Borger, Audio/Visual
Elissa, Pres. Of Soccer Moms
Monday, November 29, 2004
DSCF0066
this sort of thing could only be deemed "offensive" by those completely unimpressed by perfect symmetry and flawless sculpting. Cf. Michelangelo's "David."
poolhog
Here is the man of the hour . . . if there is a
"flickr" link on this post, and you want to see more
pictures, try clicking on it.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Coyotes downtown
Coyotes Spotted In DC
11-06-2004 10:57 AM
(Washington, DC) -- Coyotes are said to be taking up residence in the nation's capital. Their presence was only confirmed in September when a naturalist spotted one in the woods of a city park. Michael Bean, the chairman of the wildlife program at the Environmental Defense group, says he suspects coyotes have been in the area for some time. City-dwelling coyotes like to feed on kitchen garbage and pet food.
Copyright 2004 Metro Networks Communications Inc., A Westwood One Company
11-06-2004 10:57 AM
(Washington, DC) -- Coyotes are said to be taking up residence in the nation's capital. Their presence was only confirmed in September when a naturalist spotted one in the woods of a city park. Michael Bean, the chairman of the wildlife program at the Environmental Defense group, says he suspects coyotes have been in the area for some time. City-dwelling coyotes like to feed on kitchen garbage and pet food.
Copyright 2004 Metro Networks Communications Inc., A Westwood One Company
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