Finding My Forrester

In Sea Turtle Years

2008-05-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

by Jer

"Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter." -Mark Twain

My eyeballs haven't aged.

When I look in the mirror - inches from it, really - and take in the lines, contours and imperfections on my face, I can see clearly that I am no longer the little boy whose reflection I seem to recall seeing not so long ago.

Around my eyes are lines that fan out and immediately fade. There are groves across my forehead that were once only revealed when I would furrow my brow, but are now always visible. The rate at which my nose and ears produce hair is only rivaled by my course, patchy beard.

And then there is my scalp.

First, my hairline is fighting two losing battles of the bulge on both sides of my head so that what remains resembles Eddie Munster's widow's peak. And then there is the thinning; oh, the thinning! I recently had the displeasure of seeing the back and top of my head in a security camera at a local store. No wonder it is coldest up there on brisk, winter days.

Lastly, the grays. I've never seen them, but my wife insists that they are there. Every once and a while she will supposedly dislodge one with a pair of tweezers. My typical response is to accuse her of planting it; which - figuratively speaking - is probably closer to the truth than either of us is willing to admit.

But the eyes have reminded timeless. They are the same color and texture that I recall having always seen. I concede it could be argued that the human eyeball doesn't age in the same manner as skin, and therefore isn't as reliable in gauging one's age.

My driver's licence indicates that I will be turn 39 this year, and while I'm just over a year removed from becoming middle-aged, my identity and self-perception sometimes tell me I'm just barely old enough to vote.

If the eyes - as the old adage goes - are the windows to the soul, my windows reveal an early spring scene. In other analogous words, my body ages in dog-years relative to my identity... or my identity ages in sea turtle-years; take your pick.

I admit denial must play a role; aging is a curse in western society.

Strange that we would make a curse out of the inevitable.

In the same way that we laud youth's beauty and physical achievements, shouldn't we lend praise to the wisdom and knowledge of the senior generations?

Stupid question. "Wisdom sells" is a lie.

So when my body breaksdown - and it will - and the reality of aging sets in, am I in for a rude awakening?

Probably, but I'm banking on some of that aforementioned wisdom to see me through to the brighter side of things. The side that still sees an early spring scene in the mirror even though it's winter to others.

We'll Always Have Paris

2008-03-27T06:55:00.001-07:00

by Jer

A bunch of us lost a good friend this week.

Former colleague, always a friend, and forever a brother, Jason Presley passed away Monday due to complications from a congenital liver disease. Only in his late 30s, he leaves behind his wife Michelle and their two young daughters.

Now, not many of you had the displeasure of being in the same office as Jason and me when we would break into song together, the following is a favorite memory of my dear friend...

I worked in an office with Jason, and six other music lovers, at a west coast university from 2003 to 2005. At any given moment, on any given day, there were usually eight different songs being played on eight different PCs in our small hallway. Every so often - to diverge from the norm - I would go retro and listen to some old standards; Nat King Cole, Blossom Dearie, Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, etc, etc.

One of my personal favorites is "I Love Paris" as song by Lena Horne. The chorus goes:

I love Paris in the spring time
I love Paris in the fall
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles

Whenever my iTunes would play this song, I would reach to my right, turn the volume button clockwise and look over my shoulder at Jason - whose desk chair was in perfect alignment with mine from across the hall - and start to sing at the top of my lungs:

I love Jason in the spring time
I love Jason in the fall
I love Jason in the summer when it sizzles
I love Jason in the winter when it drizzles

I love Jason every moment
Every moment of the year
I love Jason, why oh why do I love Jason?
Because my love is here!

Being completely confident in his own masculinity, Jason would grin widely and sing back in kind.

The strangeness of seeing two grown men declaring their love for each other in song notwithstanding, this silly scene truly was about the friendly affection I felt for my colleague and brother.

Dare I say it?

Jason and I will always have Paris.

We'll all see you someday soon, my friend.

Bottom of the Birdcage Awards for the Week of 04.23.07

2007-04-25T04:31:00.000-07:00

by Jer

"Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." - Albert Einstein

Welcome to the Bottom of the Birdcage Awards! (a.k.a. The BOBs). The Blogged Drain's bi-monthly award for those things - done or said - that fall under the category of the overwhelmingly annoying, despicably wrong, or galacticly stupid.

This week's winners...

3rd Place: Sheryl Crow

If you hadn't heard, singer and environmental activist Sheryl Crow has proposed a limitation on toilet paper use. From her website she recommended that "only one square per restroom visit, except, of course, on those pesky occasions where two to three could be required". She goes on to say, "I propose a limitation be put on how many squares of toilet paper can be used in any one sitting."

You propose a limitation?!? Two questions: First, how do you propose to enforce this limitation, and second, do you really expect us to believe that you get by with just one square?

2nd Place: Fred X

Blogger for men's rights, Fred X, made the following comments about Kiranjit Ahluwalia and the movie Provoked, which chronicles the 10 years of domestic abuse she suffered and her eventual decision to set her husband on fire. Of Ahluwalia, Fred X says, "Long time readers [of his blog] know exactly what I think of this bitch - who got out of prison due to yet another get-out-clause (Battered Woman Defence) that exists for women-only."

I am, by no means, suggesting that this woman should have gotten out of prison. She did, afterall, commit murder and in a particularly sadistic fashion; there are people incarcerated today for having done much less. However, Fred Flintstoned completely ignores that (1) Ahluwalia's husband brutally beat and raped her for a decade and (2) she is the recipient of the "get-out-clause" and not it's architect. The venom for this questionable piece of legislation should be directed at those to wrote it and passed it; not those who benefit from it.

1st Place: Bella's Former Owners

Chicago talk radio host and part-time animal rights activist, Mike North, featured the following Adopt-A-Pet story on his website: "Bella is a ten year old female Chocolate Lab. She was found wandering by the police, who tracked down her owners. When they took Bella home, her owners told them that they didnâ€™t want her anymore and had turned her loose, hoping the coyotes would kill her off."

My guess is that these are some pretty poor folks. Not only didn't they have the means to keep the dog, drive it to the humane society or to put it down, they couldn't afford common decency, and that stuff's free, and if you can't afford free, well...

It Defies Logic... and the odds.

2007-04-20T04:30:00.000-07:00

by Jer

Now, 0 for 50 would be a historic achievement on any other team, but on the Cubs it is usually called September. - Bernie Lincicome, Chicago Tribune

Growing-up a baseball fan in, outside, or anywhere near Chicago was a tall order as a kid. Unlike most cities - save LA, the Bay Area or New York - Chicagoans get to choose between two baseball teams. Generally speaking, your geography decides for you. Cubs fans live on the north side and White Sox fans live on the south side.

But for those of us who actually took the time to make a conscience choice between the two, we eventually found ourselves wondering, "Is there a third a option?"

Between the two franchises, the Chicago Cubs and the Chicago White Sox, they have 238 years of history and a grand total of 5 World Series, four of which came before the year 1918. That's a championship winning percentage of 2.1%.

Truly, it defies logic.

Like most kids, I loved baseball. I played it. I watched it. I collected baseball cards. And in spite of the lack of winning baseball in the city, I still benefited from its long history.

But my apathy turned to passion in 1984. That's the year the Cubs started to win again. And it wasn't just the winning that was fun, it was the players. For the first time in a long time, Harry Carry, wasn't the only personality on the team. There was Gary, 'the Sarge' Matthews, Rick 'the Red Baron' Sutcliff, Ron 'the Penguin' Cey, and many more whose cards I had to have and whose games I had to watch.

The Cubs won their division that year and went to the playoffs for the first time in 39 years.

They won the first two games against the San Diego Padres in a best of five series. They were one game away from their first World Series since 1945 and they had three opportunities to win it.

In spite of Cy Young Award winning Rick Sutcliff starting game five, they blew all three chances and San Diego went on to represent to National League in the series where they eventually fell to the Detroit Tigers.

I quite literally, cried.

A few years later, the south siders got themselves a new first baseman. His name was Frank Thomas, but they called him, 'The Big Hurt'. He was kind of a moody bugger, but could he hit the ball and hit it far. Not only was he one of the best hitting first basemen in the league, he was the best hitter, rivaled only by a Ken Griffey, Jr of the Seattle Mariners.

With the help of a new stadium, some decent pitching and new black retro uniforms, Frank Thomas helped turn the Chicago White Sox into a more compelling team than their counterparts to the north.

That is, until 1994.

As painful as 1984 was, 1994 was, in some ways, worse. Baseball was engaging that year for the Chicago fan. Individually, the unspoken Griffey and Thomas race were fun to follow. As a team, the White Sox were in a close division race with the Cleveland Indians and Kansas City Royals. Not a single division race was locked down by one team.

And then it abruptly ended. On August 12, 1994, the Major League Baseball players went on strike. The season was eventually canceled as was the World Series.

The worst part of the strike? It was, in large part, what led to the steroid era. So many jilted fans - angry at both the owners and the players - gave-up on baseball. Myself included.

What brought us back? For starters, the single season home run chase of 1998, which we can now safely assume was juiced. Players, who we once watched with awe, are now vilified. Sammy Sosa. Mark McGuire. Barry Bonds.

A decade later, I have a son of my own and already I look forward to the day that I can take him to a baseball game. Collect baseball cards. Watch him play on his own team. Cheer a professional team.

Or should I reconsider that last one?

With baseball's track record, especially in Chicago, am I just setting the kid up for some serious fandom heartbreak?

Some may argue that the White Sox are the safe bet. Their owner, Jerry Reinsdorf, has brought 7 championships to the city of Chicago, including the 2005 World Series and six NBA titles. It would stand to reason that he's going to bring more.

Others might argue the Cubs are now the safe bet. They have a new manager in "Sweet Lou" Piniella , they are about to be sold into private ownship, and frankly, they're due.

But are all those things enough? Baseball is still baseball; it's a poorly run league and their fans, frankly, get shit on a lot. Ticket prices are high. Baseball cards aren't cheap. Many players are jerks.

Is that what I want to encourage for my kid? Is that the sports I want to role model to my son?

"Stand here son and wait for MLB to crap on your head. It'll be fun! We can do it together!"

You know it's bad when they make NASCAR look inviting.

The One Time It Wasn't My Fault

2007-04-17T04:29:00.000-07:00

by Jer

"But why, oh why, do the wrong people travel, when the right people stay at home?" - Noel Coward

In May 2001, I took my wife to Las Vegas for her birthday. I got one of those travel package deals that allowed us to get a flight, hotel on the Strip and some entertainment at a relatively affordable rate. We stayed at the Luxor, ate great food, played the slots and had a generally fantastic weekend together.

At the time, she was pregnant with our first child so I decided to fit-in a trip to Vegas before it became logistically impossible. Additionally, we had tried to get to Vegas four years earlier, but things didn't exactly go as planned...

What I remember most was the heat. July 1997 was a ridiculously hot. Blue skies. No clouds. Plenty of sun. High temps.

Iowa has poured a lot of tax dollars into their interstates. They're not cheap, patched-up asphalt. They're concrete. Solid. Smooth. White. And as my wife and I were westbound on I-80, about 50 miles west of Des Moines, the heat was radiating off that concrete so much so that the reflective mirage effect was perceived well into the distance of the Hawkeye State's relatively flat topography.

Our Honda Accord LX Coupe was four years old. We had bought it just a few months before our wedding and it had served us well. No major work. No big expenses. Lots of good miles.

That would change by the end of this trip.

We were between moves and my new job didn't start for several weeks. I had just resigned my position at a college in southwest Missouri and before I assumed my new responsibilities at a school in St. Paul, Minnesota, we decided to drive out to Las Vegas for some fun. I had been there several times in college and my wife had yet to even drive past the city's shimmering lights. I insisted that she would have a good time and that I could make enough money on the slots to cover the hotel. The latter was the clincher.

On the first leg of our journey - from Missouri to Minnesota - I noticed that the car had been running hot. The temperature gauge was a little higher than I was used to seeing it. I simply attributed it to the increased summer temps, made a mental note to check it more often that usual, and kept on our merry way.

We were on the second leg of the trip - about six hours removed from unloading all of our belongings into a storage unit in the Twin Cities - and headed to Vegas when I started to get concerned.

The Temp gauge was three quarters of the way to red lining and the AC wasn't feeling ACish at all. It was, in fact, blowing warm air.

"Honey, has the car been driving okay for you?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"No problems? Nothing weird?"

"No. Why are you asking?"

"The car seems to be running a little hot. We've got the AC on 'Full' and it's coming out warm."

"That can't be good."

We decided to turn-off the AC and roll the windows down a bit. Seemed like a fair solution, but the problem with rolling down the windows in 90+ degree weather while you're flying down the highway at 65 mph is the hairdryer-in-the-face sensation you experience. It's suppose it's great if you have an oily complexion, but under the circumstances, dermatological concerns were the furthest thing from my mind.

But still, we persisted towards Sin City.

It wasn't too much longer that I noticed the Temp gauge was creeping back towards the red line again.

"Honey, the car's getting hot again."

"Do you think something's wrong?"

"Well, something ain't right!"

I wanted to get to Vegas. I was not going to be deterred. I had an idea...

So there we were. Two people. Flying down the interstate. Windows open. Under the blazing July sun. The mercury pushing triple digits. And our car heater on high.

I figured if I rolled the windows all the way down, cranked the heater to 'High' and pointed the vents outward, it would cool the engine down enough to keep it from overheating.

It worked... for about 20 or 30 minutes.

"Honey. It's getting hot again."

"Pull over."

"But Vegas..."

"Pull over!"

I drove a couple of more miles, in a feeble act of defiance, till I found the next exit, pulled onto a frontage road, turned-off the car and popped the hood.

Like most men who know nothing about cars, I looked around the under the hood hoping to find something obvious, like a gaping hole or a bunch of tubes that looked disconnected or a missing engine. But I no more knew what I was looking at than an infant knows how to program a VCR. I just stared into the mouth of the beast, hoping it would tell me what was wrong. I knew just enough to not open the radiator cap to see if it had fluid. I didn't want to add 3rd degree splatter burns to my list of frustrations.

"Honey, I have no idea what I'm looking at."

"See, this is why you should learn more about cars."

"Is that really a conversation you want to have at this particular moment?"

Silence.

A few minutes pass and a local law enforcement officer pulls up behind our car. The open hood must have been a dead give-away.

I'm always confused why many rural mid-westerners have a southern accent when they're not from the south or living there; but often times, they do. Go figure.

"Canna help ya, folks?"

"I don't know. Our car keeps over-heating and I don't know why."

He walks over the front of our Accord, and peers about for a moment.

"Well, now, I see your problem!"

"You do?!?!"

Astonished and perplexed that it took him no time at all to figure it out, I rush to his side to see what he saw.

He points down to the area in front of the radiator and says, "It's that, right there."

I look where he's pointing and I see the edge of a piece of plywood firmly wedged into a space directly in front of the radiator, clearly blocking the vehicle's air intake and thus limiting its ability to stay cool.

"Who the hell put a piece of plywood in front of our radiator!" I exclaim.

I look over at my wife, expecting to see the same look of bewilderment. Instead, I see a sheepish, almost apologetic smile that, without words, communicates, "Opps!"

Apparently our car wasn't getting hot enough for her liking during the cold winter months. Over the previous Christmas break, she laments this fact to my car savvy brother-in-law and he suggests that she force the issue by putting some plywood in front of the radiator. Then he takes it a step further and with her blessing, gets the wood himself and places it where our officer hero finds it six months later along Interstate 80; all done completely unbeknown to me.

Needless to say, she forgot about the wood.

The end result of the driving hundreds of miles in 90+ degree weather with sheet of plywood in front of our radiator? $1200 in repairs and a canceled trip to Las Vegas.

For the first and only time in my marriage, it wasn't my fault.

Outweighed by the Needs of the Few

2007-04-01T04:28:00.000-07:00

by Jer

Republicans are against abortion until their daughters need one, and Democrats are for abortion until their daughters want one. - Grace McGarvie

I hate the abortion debate. I really do. I think most folks who get loud on both sides of the argument are morons and frankly, I just wish they would go away. Perhaps to Canada or France or better yet, Florida.

I think the Bible-thumping, judgmental, pro-life, evangelical types who say the most vile of things protesting an abortion clinic wouldn't know Jesus if He was standing right next to them.

And I think the button wearing, entitled, pro-choice, liberal types who act so enlightened their shit don't stink are ignorant to the fact that it actually does.

Now that I've leveled the playing field by pissing everybody off...

A couple of weeks ago I was trying to enjoy a cup of over-priced Starbucks coffee when I read an editorial by Cindy Richards in the Chicago Sun-Times titled, Nix parent notification law for abortion. Under normal circumstances, I don't spend a whole lot of time outside of the sports section of the Sun-Times. Clearly, they have the best sports coverage in Chicago (my hometown), but I find the rest of the newspaper - of any newspaper - to be too depressing and slanted to keep my attention for very long.

But for some reason, I found myself flipping through the entire paper on this particular day and Ms. Richards' piece caught my eye.

As the title might suggest, the author is of the pro-choice mindset and would like to see a not-yet-enacted Illinois law repealed; a law that requires parental notification anytime a girl 17-years or younger is seeking an abortion. Ms. Richards concluded her thoughts with the following:

Meanwhile, a bill that would take the edge off the parental notification law is winding its way through the Illinois Legislature. The bill would allow a teen who doesn't believe she can confide in her parents to instead tell another responsible adult about her plans to have an abortion. In the saddest of all cases, a teen who has no trusted adult in her life still would have the option of seeking permission from a judge.

If the goal of the parental notification law is to ensure a girl has sufficient support in her time of need -- and not simply a way to keep her from getting an abortion -- this bill should speed its way through the Legislature.

I'm not in the least bit interested in debating the morality of abortion. I'm not in the least bit interested in debating the reproductive rights of women. It's not that I don't care; it's just that it would be an exercise in futility. On both sides of the issue, there's nothing I can say that hasn't already been said. This is such a polarizing topic; I would imagine there are few who consider themselves "undecided."

However, I do have a problem with this Illinois law that is "winding its way through the Illinois Legislature" and any law that would remove the need for parental notification prior to any kind of non-emergent medical procedure.

So I have some questions about this proposed piece of legislation: Exactly who will determine that a teen has parents in whom she cannot confide? What's that process look like? Who makes the determination that the parents cannot be informed? And based on what criteria? Are we taking the teen's word as evidence enough that the parents should be kept in the dark?

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was playing a game of co-ed, tackle football with a bunch of kids from my church. If you've never played the 'church' version of co-ed tackle football, it's simple. Boys can tackle boys. Girls can tackle girls. Girls can tackle boys. Boys canNOT tackle girls.

The problem with co-ed sports? Boys always think they can do it better than the girls. I was no exception. While on offense, our QB threw the ball to a girl. Thinking I could do bigger and better things, I stepped in front of her, caught the ball, and started to run up-field. I didn't make it too far before Raul Cantu - a future serviceman in the first gulf war - tackled me from the left, pile driving my right shoulder into the ground.

My clavicle broke in three places. I know this because (1) it hurt and (2) with the bone being in such close proximity to my ear, I heard it break.

In the ER, the pain was so excruciating, I kept passing out. Because they needed my name, phone number and other important details, each time things started to go black, the nurse would hold smelling salts under my nose so she could finish taking her report. It was during one such episode that she asked for my home phone number so they could notify my parents. Whatever number she heard while I was starting to fall over was not mine and as a result, they couldn't reach my folks.

So there I sat, in pain, waiting for them to get permission to treat my injury. Without the parental notification, they couldn't even give me Tylenol. (After about two hours of no one answering the phone, they decided to ask me for my number again).

Getting back to the topic at hand, if Ms. Richards gets her way, a minor can have an elective surgical procedure without telling her parents; a procedure with a higher complication rate than a couple of Tylenol capsules.

I applaud her desire to protect those teens who have such short-sighted, untrustworthy parents that they can't turn to them in their greatest hour of need. Chances are a young girl's choice to not protect herself in the first place can probably be traced back to a dysfunctional home.

But those teens are the exception, not the rule, and a law like this outweighs the need of the minority (teens who cannot turn to their parents) over that of the majority (teens who can trust their parents and ultimately are better-off doing so).

And letâ€™s also not lump-in the parents of a pregnant teen who are bound to become angry and/or disappointed (which will be most) with parents who will become abusive and unsupportive. Itâ€™s only natural that a parent would be hurt and angry in such situations; that hardly warrants a law that would enable their teen to keep them in the dark. In most cases, the anger will pass, forgiveness will settle in, and together, parent and child can make an informed, well-thought out decision that isnâ€™t motivated by fear.

Finally, a law like this cannot be enforced with any level of equity or dependability. For that reason alone, it should stay off the books. It would simply give teenagers the freedom to abate the consequences of their actions; consequences that - in the short-run - may prove painful, but in the long-run, may pale in comparison to the result of an uninformed, unsupported, knee-jerk choice of a young girl whose body has matured faster than her ability to make a good decision.

Big is the New Small

2007-03-29T04:27:00.000-07:00

by Jer

"A government that is big enough to give you all you want is big enough to take it all away." - Barry Goldwater

In high school, I went through one of those 'sowing my wild oats' periods. That's code for 'I partied my ass off.'

Yes, I drank like a fish. Mostly cheap beer. There was a guy at a local gas station we identified as "The Hippie" due to his long, unmanaged hair and unwillingness to shave. He would have sold booze to the prepubescent version of Macaulay Culkin from the Home Alone movies. Never carded us. We loved him for it.

Unfortunately for my friends and me, we rarely knew when to stop. Often, we would drink ourselves into confusion and drunken disorderliness. To our credit, we always assigned a designated driver - or 'Double-D' - to play goal keeper each Friday and Saturday night.

During one particular escapade, we made our weekly visit to 'The Hippie' and then proceeded to a party at the home of some kid from another school. After a fair amount of drinking and otherwise raucous behavior, I decided to take a break and relax on a couch. I have no idea how much time elapsed before I decided to pull myself up and find my friends.

Where is everybody? I don't recognized a single face at this party. What did I miss? How did I get here? Is that girl puking in her purse?

I made my way out to the street only to find that the car we came in was no longer there.

Those a**holes left without me! (Keep in mind, this was before the era of the cellphone.)

Thank goodness for the Double-D that night, because he didn't get too far before he realized that he was short one drunken idiot.

As an adult - a term I use loosely - I once again find myself looking around wondering, "What did I miss? How did I get here?" Only this time, I'm in a very different arena and after all is said and done, I may need a drink again.

I'm speaking of conservative, American politics. Not exactly as sexy of a topic as me drinking myself into a stupor, but stick with me.

Studying US Government in Social Studies class, I remember the simplified distinction between conservatives and liberals centering around their ideology as it relates to power and control. Conservatives, traditionally, believed that small, limited government was a good thing and liberals sought to tip the balance or power away from the state and towards the Fed.

Pretty straight forward, even for a simpleton like me, right?

Wrong.

George W. Bush has long since been demonstrating a disdain for economic conservatism and the belief in limited government. This we know. What I didn't come to fully realize - bully for you if you did - that the conservative movement in this country has long since been showing signs of a similar disdain. It was a recent comment on MSNBC by author and one-time Nixon lawyer, John Dean, that served as my 'ah ha' moment (or 'uh-oh', depending on your perspective):

When I first got interested in conservatism, the presidency was viewed as something that was dangerous when it was strong. A decade later, when Nixon came in, it started to swing. Then with Reagan, Bush, and Bush, it has now gone 180 degrees, where the conservative canon calls for a strong president.

Maybe I should call my old Social Studies teacher and make sure they've ordered new books.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of Dick Armey, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every-so-often. Of big government he says, "[It] violates [our] rights by meddling in our lives, misusing our hard-earned money, and dictating cultural norms to us." If this is the existing modus operandi of liberals and the "new" one of conservatives, what options are left for those of us who think very little of big?

Before I start coming off like an alarmist, I concede that none of what I'm saying here has any basis beyond the anecdotal. These are all based on observations I've made from various media outlets. However, I'm found of saying, "Where there's smoke, there's global warming" and there are enough conservative leaders outside of Washington DC defending the Bush administration to warrant these concerns; which is not to suggest there hasn't been ample reason to be concerned before this point.

Lastly, one other comment made by John Dean has me on edge - this time from an article he wrote for findlaw.com:

... the 2006 mid-term election was not a mandate in favor of Democrats. Rather, it was a mandate against Republicans. It's also a mandate the Republic party is likely to learn from, and respond to, as the Republican Party has historically been very good at learning from its mistakes, recalibrating, and returning stronger than ever. Moreover, nothing that occurred during the 2006 election has dramatically changed the efforts of Republicans to make themselves the permanent ruling party.

The permanent ruling party?

Where's 'The Hippie' when I need him?

in·tel·le·scru·pu·lous·less·ness, noun.

2007-03-25T04:25:00.000-07:00

by Jer

(Originally posted on The Drain on 4/2/06 in response to an editorial written by Robert Gordon Kaufman, I thought it only fitting to repost 'Intellescrupulouslessness' in advance of his upcoming book, In Defense of the Bush Doctrine.)

"Every decent man is ashamed of the government he lives under." - H. L. Mencken

I decided I would make up a word for this week's installment of The Drain.

Intellescrupulouslessness. Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

And somebody call Webster. If the word "muggle" from the Henry Potter series can get in the dictionary, then intellescrupulouslessness has gotta be a lock.

The definition of intellescrupulouslessness is pretty straightforward. It refers to the quality of being so smart that it leaves little room for a functioning conscience. It is logic run amuck and scruples run into the ground. I was inspired to come-up with this word after reading a pro-war editorial by Dr. Robert Kaufman in the Pepperdine Graphic, entitled U.S. should push the Bush Doctrine.

Dr. Kaufman is a professor at Pepperdine University's School of Public Policy in Malibu, California. He has his J.D. from the Georgetown University Law School and his BA, MA, M.Phil, and Ph.D. from Columbia University (I didn't know there were that many letters in the alphabet). On top of all that he's been published in various scholarly journals and he has a book coming out called "Moral Democratic Realism and the Bush Doctrine." In short, the man is brilliant. Having worked at Pepperdine for a couple of years, I can attest to the fact that they have lots of folks like that walking around on campus. The fact that I'm willing to challenge the thought process of a man of his intellectual ilk just goes to show how stupid I am.

In his editorial, Dr. Kaufman bases support of Bush's "grand strategy" in Iraq on three premises:

Depending on the threat, history has shown that it is better to use preemptive force against an aggressor.
Nobody, especially the UN, is up to the task of dealing with a threat, such as Iraq, as well as the United States.
Bush's goal to spread democracy is supported by history and serves as an essential tactic in the war on terror.

Towards the end, Dr. Kaufman also briefly mentions that it is unfortunate that "the bloodshed in Iraq will continue to prevail."

Not that he needs my affirmation, but I think he is absolutely correct in his assessment of the Bush administration's justification for going to war. But as we know, being correct and being right aren't always the same thing. In fact, one could argue that Dr. Kaufman is demonstrating a high level of intellescrupulouslessness (cheap plug, I know).

I was a sophomore in college when the first Bush waged the first war against Iraq. And while I wasn't entirely certain that the war was justified, I was at least entertained by it each and every evening; it was reality TV at its most realistic. During the day we read about it in the paper and at night we watched it in our living rooms. It made short-term household names out of reporters like CNN's Bernard Shaw and NBC's Arthur Kent, a.k.a. The Scud Stud.

It made a long-term household name out of The Hummer.

But what I remember most was the level of wide-spread patriotism; in my lifetime, I've never seen the country so unified under one banner. Every house was adorned with an American flag. Red, white and blue bumper stickers were affixed, it seemed, to every other car on the road. Yellow ribbons were tied to more than old oaks trees. It was enough to bring goose bumps to the most curmudgeonly among us.

It was also the first time - for my generation and younger - that the country was at war and we were around to experience it; a select few of us experienced it from the battlefield. 'I know somebody in Dessert Storm' was a pithy a way to start a conversation that year.

But It was such a quick-&-dirty war, it hardly gave us time to question the morality of it all. Whereas the second war against Iraq is now over three years old, the first was done and won in about a month. Iraqi losses, for the most part, were limited to the Republican Guard, keeping civilian losses at a minimum.

But now we are fighting in a different war and we have had lots of time to think about it. Opposition to the war has been a slow turning for some. For others it was immediate. For me, it took two weeks after the attacks started to decide that it was a morally wrong. On April 2, 2003 - three years to the day that I type this - I read these words:

Fifteen members of one family were killed late Monday when their pickup truck was blown up by a rocket from a US Apache helicopter in the region of Haidariya near Hilla, the sole survivor of the attack said. Razek al-Kazem al-Khafaji, sitting among 15 coffins in the local hospital, said he lost his wife, six children, his father, his mother, his three brothers and their wives.

Call me soft. Call me short-sighted and unable to see the big picture. Call me a bleeding heart. Hell, you can even call me liberal (you'd be wrong, but you can call me that). The moment I read that story and started to imagine what it must have felt like to be Razek al-Kazem al-Khafaji, I determined whatever is gained by this war will never be enough to justify putting that man through such agony. And we all know he's one of thousands caught in the wake of "unfortunate bloodshed" as collateral damage.

So, to Dr. Kaufman and all the other intellescrupulousless folks who continue to support Bush's "grand strategy", please tell me what is so grand about about tearing apart the lives of people half-way around the globe and when you do, please don't footnote or one-line their pain and loss. No matter how many letters come after your name, it just makes you sound stupid.

Brain Stains, vol. 2

2007-03-23T04:24:00.000-07:00

by Jer

Happy Belated Birthday. The Iraq War marked it's 4th anniversary this past week. For those keeping track at home, that's four years of killings, blood shed, families torn apart, mass bombings, insurgents, disease, road side detonations, downed aircraft, refugees, civil & sectarian violence, and a generally bad time had by all.

When once asked if he saw a comparison between the Iraq War - which still has no end in sight - and the 16-year Vietnam conflict, George W. Bush said, "This [war] is, in many ways, religious in nature, and I don't see the parallels."

Hey George, are you seeing any now or are you just going to make us wait another 12 years?

Has All Gore seen that? Often times, on my commute home, I just let my surroundings blend into the blur that's flying past my car. The only exceptions might be a balloon-laden grand opening of a new store or if I think I saw nudity in my peripheral vision. However, every-so-often, I stop and take the time to notice to thing or two along the way.

Recently, delayed by a train on my way to work, I came out of my trance long enough to observe that I was idling in front of a Sherwin-Williams Paint Store. As I let me eyes make a few meaningless observations, they fell on the Sherwin-Williams logo, mounted prominently on the store's front for all to see.

I have a question.

Why is it somebody like Al Gore or PETA hasn't gone on a negative PR blitz against this company? It's a picture of 'mother earth' being completely drenched in red paint, with the tag-line, "COVER THE EARTH." You'd think in an era of the environmentally conscience, this would be a major PC taboo.

Chief Illiniwek can piss-off the Native-American community but SWP gets a pass from the tree huggers? Odd.

Of course, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it was left-over cold war propaganda from the now defunct Soviet Union. But it's not. It's western, capitalistic marketing at it's finest.

Move'n On Up, I'm Not. In a recent article, CNNMoney.com identified the Top 20 jobs with the most upside. My job - Director of Something or Another - was not listed, much to my dismay. Massage Therapist, however, was number 12.

So what they're telling me is that working out the muscular kinks of half-naked, sweaty men with hairy backs is a growth industry? Go figure.

Turnabout. I came across the following picture on MSNBC.com the other day (click to enlarge). Please tell me I'm not the only one who immediately imagined the horse saying a la Mr. Ed, "So how do you like having somebody sitting on your back, Pal? Not so fun, it it? IS IT!?!"

You Unspeakable Horror

2007-03-21T04:23:00.000-07:00

by Jer

"And without a thought of the consequence; I gave into my decadence" - Pink Floyd from the song One Slip

One of the downsides of Blogging is that, by its very nature, it encourages judgment. The practice of blogging is about the expression of opinion and opinions are nothing more than judgments. Therefore, it stands to reason that it's very easy to get judgmental on a blog.

That thought notwithstanding, I'm about to try on a black robe, sit behind the bench in the court of public opinion and dump a truckload of judgment on the head of Mila Petrov. I'm doing so, If for no other reason, than to help myself feel better knowing I have to share space on the same planet with this unspeakable horror of a human being... and calling her a human being is as close to a complement as she'll get in this piece.

Mila Petrov was a mother; 'was' being the operative word in that sentence. She was a mother until she slammed the head of her own 5-year old daughter, Melanie, into a wall and ended her life. Right now, that little, lifeless body lies unclaimed on a slab in the Cook County medical examiner's office instead of playing outside, enjoying these increasingly warm days we're experiencing here in the mid-west.

Then again, after reading in Tuesday's Chicago Sun-Times a brief account of the abuse Melanie suffered in her short five years with us, perhaps death is the best thing that ever happened to her:

Melanie was abused "for months and months," said prosecutor Marty Moore. "When she lied, [Petrov] would put jalapenos and hot sauce in her mouth." Petrov hobbled the girl "when she ran around too much" by making Melanie cross her ankles and wrapping a belt around her legs, Moore said. Often, she was locked in a closet, he said. Melanie had black eyes, multiple bruises and other signs of child abuse when doctors examined her last week, Moore said. She was injured Tuesday and died of blunt head trauma Wednesday.

"The mother admitted that she was mad at Melanie," Moore said. "The daughter had thrown up, and because of that, she hit her head and the head went into the wall." Petrov then hit her some more, Moore said. Instead of calling 911, she called her husband and cleaned up the house, Moore said.

Again, Mila Petrov, you unspeakable horror.

The acts of this woman don't only violate state and federal law, but they also defy the most basic tenants of natural law.

Growing-up, my family spent its summers in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We owned a cabin on a lake deep in the woods of the Hiawatha National Forest. This lake was so remote, that the last ten miles of the trip â€“ give or take â€“ were on dirt roads that had once been old logging trails.

Being surrounded by hundreds of acres of woodland, it was only fitting that one of my favorite pastimes was to go on nature walks deep into the forest along old trails that were traveled more often by deer than by people. Anytime I would embark on these walks, I was always reminded in advance that if I saw a mother Black Bear â€“ which are common in that part of the country â€“ and her cub, to turn, run and donâ€™t stop until I had reached safety. You could never be sure what a mother bear would regard as a threat to her cub, and as such, she may see fit to attack you.

Even a 'stupid animal' like a mother Black Bear knows and understands something Mila Petrov never did. Whether in nature or in human society, the first obligation of any parent is to the protection of their child; even if that means protection from the parent themselves.

But Mila Petrov did more than simply fail to protect her child. She became Melanie's greatest threat. The child whose instinct was to reach out, love and accept love from her mother spent her brief, terror-filled life probably trying to reconcile in that little mind of hers what she did wrong to make 'Mommy' so mad.

I can only hope and pray that death was release for little Melanie and that Mila will not be granted the same fate anytime soon; let her live with the knowledge of her own depravity for years to come.

Unfortunately, the culpability does not end with her. Who else knew of the hobbling, the force feeding of jalapenos and hot sauce, the beatings, and the locking in closets? Who else failed to to protect Melanie? The father? An aunt? A neighbor? A DCFS social worker?

I've said it before and I will say it again. Child abuse is a community issue and parenthood is not ownership. The pain of abuse runs deep and the consequences run down through generations. Eventually we'll all feel the sting of it, therefore we stand to gain from ending it, even if it's not our own kid.

What if, twenty years from now, Melanie was still alive. A self-loathing, wretched figure who only knows how to hate herself because that was the message 'Mommy' gave her until the day she finally left home. In order to sooth the pain and ease the thoughts of worthlessness, Melanie drinks, regularly experiencing periods of blackouts and lost hours.

One evening, in a drunken stupor, Melanie decides to get behind the wheel of her car and drive to only-God-knows-where. It's late. It's dark. She's drunk and she's not alone on the road. As she struggles to maintain control of the vehicle, she drifts across the median and strikes another vehicle head-on, killing a family of four.

Abuse never stays confined to the home and has broader consequences in the community.

It's reckless to think anything else.

His Burning Sun Shall Melt the Ice of Fear

2007-03-13T04:22:00.000-07:00

by Jer

Be still my soul when light you cannot see; And trembling skies speak to the fear in thee. -Lisbeth Scott

I have one of those worrisome personalities.

I'm not going to bore you with the details of what that means, because I think already you know. But that fact notwithstanding, if I were to encapsulate it in one analogous phrase, it'd be The sky is falling and I'm Chicken Little.

If, by chance, you're still not getting me, I'll put it another way: I'm way, way too high-strung for my own good (and probably for the good of those around me).

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I ended-up like this at the ripe ol age of thir... . I suppose it doesn't help that several of my relatives tend to be hand-wringers. On the other hand, my own mother doesn't seem to sweat too many of life's details, unless, like any good parent, she's done her best to shield me.

So maybe I came by honestly. Maybe I didn't.

I'll try not to worry about it.

The thing about living with anxiety in the 21st century is that there are countless things out in the world that exasperate the problem and few things to remedy it. I know, because I've been trying for most of my adult life to get my anxiety in check. Sometimes that journey has felt like one step forward and ten looking-over-your-shoulder steps back.

Of all the things that cross my path on a daily basis, nothing speaks to that worrisome facet of my personality like the news. If my anxiety is a fire, the news is a five gallon drum of gasoline.

And I don't have to actually hear or read a full news report. Just getting the gist of a headline is enough to get me worked-up.

Here are some examples I found on the front page during a single visit to my biggest news nemesis, CNN.com. These were all of the 'top headlines' they had listed for the day:

Coerced testimony allowed at Gitmo trials
Oprah: Abducted boy too scared to flee
Time.com: What will falling oil prices mean?
House passes tax hike to Big Oil
Radical Muslim: We drink our enemies' blood
CNNMoney: MySpace faces sex abuse lawsuit
Apology aims to heal 'Grey's Anatomy
Couple hole up in 'fortress,' won't pay taxes
Wreck victim saved after 9 hours in cold muck
Woman steals identity, gets into Ivy League
2nd teen catfight caught on tape, seen on web
Seinfeld loses real estate dispute

In one glance, my brain took in the following words or phrases: trials, abducted, tax hike, enemies' blood, sex abuse, catfight, and dispute.

Is there even the potential to read something uplifting in that tangle of by-lines?

Hell of world we live in. Literally.

Back in May 2004 I had the privilege to hear speaker, author, teacher, and generally-smarter-than-most-persons, Marva Dawn. I heard also heard biblical scholars like Dallas Willard and Eugene Peterson speak, but the only thing I recall from that weekend was an off-hand comment made my Mrs. Dawn during one of her keynotes.

I don't watch the news. I avoid it altogether. It doesn't accurately reflect God's sovereignty in the world, so I have no use for it.

And therein lies the problem for me and most worriers, does it not? My world view is just like the world news. It doesn't accurately reflect that God is totally, undeniably, unequivocally, unambiguously, incontrovertibly, irrefutably, indubitably, indisputably in control. And until I accept that He is in control, my anxiety - and subsequently, key elements of my life - will be out-of-control.

In his sixth film of the Nooma series, Rob Bell asks the following question:

What do you really believe God is like? Because until we each deal with this question, then nothing's ever going to make any sense, is it?

So do I believe God is in control? Do I believe that He is good?

Someone once told me that our values are revealed in our choices.

Worry is choice.

What's that say about the things I value or the things I really believe about God?

Not much, me thinks.

So, it's gut-check time. Do I continue to choose the path of hand-wringing, tension headaches and Zoloft, or do I let something in that scares me more than the objects of my anxiety: a little faith.

When I was a kid, it was popular in church Youth Group meetings to play a song that resonated with an emotion or an experience. Looking back now, I see how it was great identity development stuff, but at it's core, it was a practice born out of our inability to articulate a feeling. Who could blame us? We were just kids.

But even now, as an adult, there is one song that - when I'm really wound tight - acts as a gentle salve. Be Still My Soul by Lisbeth Scott (iTune it):

Be still my soul, the Lord is on thy side
Stand calm within, the storm of grief and pain
Trust in thy God to order and provide
Through every change his faithful light remains
Be still my soul the restful peace within
Through trying times leads to a joyful end

Be still my soul, the wind and waves shall know
The voice who ruled them while he dwelt below
Torment and doubt have slipped into the past
All darkened mysteries shall shine at last
His burning sun shall melt the ice of fear
Lift up your heart his soothing voice to hear

Be still my soul when light you cannot see
And trembling skies speak to the fear in thee
The face of God illuminates the night
Unending peace and trusting perfect light
Be still my soul when tears fall from above
You are divine eternally in love
You are divine eternally in love.

Ghosts from the Far Side

2007-01-04T04:21:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"If he calls me passive-aggressive one more time, I'll get back at him in ways so subtle that he won't have any idea why." - Matt Groening

I reached across my desk to peel back January 3, only to reveal â€“ predictably â€“ January 4.

Iâ€™m describing, of course, a daily calendar. You know the kind. We tend to give them as Christmas gifts in anticipation of the New Year. 365 new words, useless facts or quirky anecdotes. At least 365 for the disciplined mind. In my case, itâ€™s good for the first 20 days or so and then it collects dust for six months before I finally give-up on it and throw it away.

But this time might be different. This time I was given a Far Side daily calendar. The single-pane wit and wisdom of Gary Larson should last me â€“ at least â€“ until Groundhog Day.

But as I said, January 4, 2007, was sitting there, looking back at me.

Why does January 4 ring a bell? Whatâ€™s significant about that date?

And as the nostalgia started to fade into focus, it hit me: Karenâ€™s birthday.

Karen was my step-sister of nine years. On July 26, 1980, my mother remarried and our family doubled in size. There we were at the front of the chapel, from left to right, Karen, my mother, my step-father and me.

In the beginning, underneath it all, I desperately wanted to be close to them both, Karen in particular. For an only child, the idea of having a sibling was more than appealing; it was downright enthralling. Later that fall, I was going into the fourth grade and she was starting her freshman year of college. Ironically, my classroom faced her dormitory. Everyday I would look out the window in the hopes of seeing her walk to class. Everyday my teacher would tell me to stop daydreaming.

But we never were close. I saw her at family gatherings, over the holidays and occasionally when she would bring home some laundry to wash. I played the role of the pesky little brother perfectly; probably because I didnâ€™t have the wherewithal to engage her on any other level. Eventually she graduated from college and moved out to Boston for graduate school, effectively nixing any chance at a relationship with her.

A few years later, as the marriage unraveled and I disclosed some less than flattering things about her father, the relationship â€“ if you can call it that â€“ ended without a word. In fact, I canâ€™t even remember the last time I saw Karen. I just know I moved out of the house when neither she nor my step-father was around and moved on with my life.

That was the summer of 1989.

Years later I took the opportunity to bring some closure to my relationship with my step-father. I showed-up on his doorstep and he invited me in. The visit, which lasted no more than 20 minutes, involved me doing most of the talking. There was very little ownership on his part to the deep-seeded ways he hurt me. I did not expect there to be. I came to say what I had to say and took my leave.

Since that time it's been my journey to forgive him; to bring me to the point where I can genuinely wish him well.

However, with Karen, there never was any closure. I made a feeble attempt to connect with her about 8 years back that involved a note on a windshield. Nothing ever came of it. Perhaps just as well.

Yet, here I sit on her birthday, part of me wanting to track-down her contact information and give her the warmest birthday wishes. But I won't. Because what motivates me now isn't how Karen feels, but rather how I feel. You see, I would be selfishly using her special day as an excuse to get something I want. A honest conversation. A goodbye. Closure.

That wouldn't be fair to her.

So I'll resist this queer, internet stalker impulse, read my calendar and let Gary Larson's humor give me a reason to chuckle.

That's Just Ghey

2006-06-07T04:20:00.000-07:00

by Jer

(note: This installment of the Drain is being composed from a Caribou Coffee in Omaha, Nebraska. I mention this for two reasons. First, Caribou is better than Starbucks. Second, when I think about Omaha, I imagine a lot of the Evangelicals about whom you're about to read. So you could say this is being written behind enemy lines! Then again, you may not have my proclivity for the melodramatic and you wouldn't think, let alone write, something stupid like that.)

"I'm tired of those old white guys telling us what to think and do." - A Christian college president, as quoted by Jim Wallis in the May 2006 issue of Sojourners magazine.

I'm resigned to the fact that there are some things in life I will never fully understand.

Sushi. Sushi is a great example of what I'm talking about. It's raw fish. Who am I? Gollum?

Or, who thought the mullet was ever a good idea north of the Mason-Dixon line?

And why, after 14 years in the NBA, can't Shaq hit a free throw?

Why do I still think a cup of sugar infused, caffeine lased, fatty coffee from Starbucks is worth the $4.50 I pay? Am I not paying to slowly kill myself?

Shakespeare in Love. Best Picture. 1998. Really?

And why oh why, do the vast majority of Evangelicals in this country think that the biggest issues facing the Church today are abortion and homosexuality?

This may prove to be a kooky thought, but doesn't it stand to reason that our response to the world around us should reflect Christ's response to the world? Granted, abortion wasn't a hot button topic back in His day, but homosexuality most certainly was present; and yet, He instead concerned himself with things like the afflicted, marginalized and the generally not-so-well-off.

Take the Beatitudes as an example. In them, we have the qualities for whom God is saving His blessings. The poor, the mourners, the hungry, the persecuted, the meek, the merciful, the pure of heart and the peacemakers. These's no declaration in the Bible that, "Blessed are the fag-bashers, for they will receive a slap on the back" But still we proceed as if there was.

I raise these questions now because I have a dear friend who is gay. He never told me he was a homosexual. In fact, so far as I could tell, he didn't really tell anybody. But it wasn't too long after meeting him that it started to make sense. Once I knew what I was looking at I could see that there were subtle things about him that pointed towards his being gay.

He's also a Christian. He believes in Jesus. He prays. He goes to church as a genuine expression of his faith. He even works for a private organization that espouses a Christian worldview.

Now before I take this a step further, let me be clear: I'm not trying to make an argument that homosexuality and Christianity are compatible. In fact, I feel strongly that they are not. From a biblical perspective, I believe the two cannot be reconciled and if asked, I'd share my perspective with my friend; not as a means of shaming him, but rather to let him know, as his friend, my thoughts. I have little doubt he'd respond in kind.

But I also don't believe that the mainstream evangelical response to homosexuality and the Bible are compatible either. Oh hell, while I'm at it, I think I'll just throw everything under the bus: I don't think the mainstream evangelical response to much of anything is compatible with the teachings of Jesus.

Hey Lord. The dying for our sins thing was great. We'll hold on that. But these teachings of yours? You can keep those. We've already got an entire Old Testament of them. But thanks anyways!

I'll give you an example of this from something I recently read in Sojourners magazine. A group known as the National Association of Evangelicas (NAE) has recently made "creation care" a priority. Their stance, in short, is that God created the earth and will someday "ask us what we did what His creation." To that end, they adopted a poilcy entitled, "For the Health of the Nation: An Evangelical Call to Civic Responsibility." It's progressive. It's responsible. It's biblically based.

But that didn't sit too well the many of the mainstream Evangelical leaders who refuse to broaden their perspective beyond the abortion issue and concerns over homosexuality. According to Sojourners:

A letter addressed to the NAE and signed by 22 of the Right's prominent leaders - including James Dobson, Charles Colson, Richard Land, and Louis Sheldon - said, "We have appreciated the bold stance that the National Association of Evangelicals has taken on controverial issues like embracing a culture of life, protecting traditional marriage and family." But it went on to say, "We respectfully request, however, that the NAE not adopt any offical position on the issue of global climate change. Global warming is not a consensus issue."

In other words, the environment is important, but let's continue to deal with the baby-killers and fags first, okay?

Abortion is murder. Homosexuality isn't biblical compatible. I get that. I believe that. Those are important issues. But there's more suffering and affliction in the world than there is homosexuality and baby killing, but you wouldn't know that based solely on the mainstream Evangelical response. Why is it that Brad Pitt cares more about the AIDS crisis in Africa than the church? Why aren't things like the ONE Campaign being founded by those who claim to love Jesus instead of the lead singer of a Rock band?

Bringing this full-circle to my friend, he recently sent me a text message that read, "I've been outted." Through a series of events, his sexual orientation became common knowledge at his place of employment. Having a some familierarity with this organization, I can imagine it didn't go over too well with some of their leaders. The trouble is, I may be more inclined to sympathize with those in charge if I trusted them to view homosexuality in a context that wasn't so narrow that it left room for some understanding and compassion for my friend. You know, that 'love stuff' Jesus kept mentioning.

I may be over-simplifying things, but I don't think I am. When evangelicals get their knickers in a bunch over the issue of homosexuality, they've usually got the story of Sodom and Gomorrah on the brain or some of Paul's teachings from the book of Romans. I'm not trying to invalidate the weight of those teachings, but why don't we use Jesus' teachings as the over-arching guide in our responce to societal and cultural issues and then fan our towards others?

I know why. Because dealing with a behavior doesn't require us to get personal, dirty or vulnerable. I know, because I hate that stuff. Makes me feel all funny inside. In short, dealing with the people behind the behavior requires a little digging the dirt. It can get messy.

But think of the alternative. I don't want to hear God to say to me, "For I was hungry and you gave me nothing, I was thirsty and you gave me more nothing, I was a stranger and you couldn't even make eye contact, I needed clothes and you left me butt naked, I was sick and you told me to cover my mouth when I coughed, I was in prison and you didn't even write. And why? Because it gave you the heebie-jeebies?!?"

"But Lord! Look at all the fags I shamed into obidience!"

Yeah, that'd go over real well.

Post Turtle

2006-06-07T04:19:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while you read or hear an anecdote that succinctly describes how you feel. That was the case when I opened my inbox and found the following...

While suturing a cut on the hand of a 75-year old Texas rancher, whose hand was caught in a gate while working cattle, the doctor struck up a conversation with the old man. Eventually the topic got around to former Texas Governor, George W. Bush and his elevation to the White House.

The old Texan said, "Well, ya know, Bush is a 'post turtle.'"

Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a 'post turtle' was.

The old rancher said, "When you're driving down a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top. Well, that's a post turtle."

The old man saw a puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he continued to explain, "You know he didn't get there by himself, he doesn't belong there, he doesn't know what to do while he's up there, and you just want to stop and help the dumb shit get down."

Where there's smoke, there's a burning Bush

2006-05-19T04:16:00.000-07:00

by Jer

"This notion that the United States is getting ready to attack Iran is simply ridiculous. And having said that, all options are on the table." George W. Bush, Brussels, Belgium, Feb. 22, 2005

"Now that is most defiantly not a Christian publication!"
In my usual seat at Bella Vita Coffee, I look-up from my copy of Rolling Stone to see Buzz Allegro standing there with a smile on his face.
"Oh, before I forget, I think this is yours. I didn't mean to run off with it." He hands me my missing copy of Sojourners magazine.
"No problems Buzz. How ya been?"
"No complaints. It's Jerry, right?" he says as rounds a seat adjacent to my own and makes himself comfortable.
"You remembered."
"What can I say? That last conversation we had stuck with me. So, Rolling Stone magazine, huh? Reading anything good?"
I reveal a sinister smile. "Nothing a hard-core conservative like yourself wants to hear."
"Know thy enemy," he responds with a matter-of-fact shrug.
I give him a suspicious look. "Do you mean that?"
"Sure."
"Don't say I didn't warn you." I flip the magazine up so he can get a good look at the cover. Buzz's eyes roll back into his head leaving me quite certain he saw the characicature of George W. Bush with a dunce cap on his head and a by-line that inquires, "Is George W. Bush the Worst President Ever?"
"Normally I would have left this one on the rack," I begin "but when I saw that the article was written by a Princeton historian, I knew I could trust it more than the biased ramblings of a Rolling Stone staff writer."
"Considering who's publishing it, I'd still question the dude's credibility."
"Good point, but I still wanted to give it a read."
"Well go ahead," he says with a hint of reluctance. "What does it say? What nonsense has the media cooked-up this time?"
I let the last comment slide.
"First off, Sean Wilentz, the guy from Princeton University who wrote this, compares Bush to the generally accepted three greatest Presidents and the three worst Presidents."
"Washington, Lincoln and FDR are the great ones, right?"
"Yup and James Buchanan, Andrew Johnson and Herbert Hoover are at the bottom of the bird cage."
"Andrew Johnson? Isn't he the guy on the twenty dollar bill?" he asks.
"No, that's Andrew Jackson."
"Ok, never mind."
"In the case of the three greats he say the following..." I pause as I look for the words I read just moments before, "...'they rallied the nation, governed brilliantly and left the republic more secure than when they entered office.' And of the bottom three he says, 'they divided the nation, governed erratically and left the nation worse off.' Then he goes on to explain that Bush falls into the last group."
I glance up at Buzz and the expression on his face tells me that he so desperately wants to say something.
"Shall I continue?" I ask him with one brow raised.
"Sure. Why not?" Not exactly a response born out of conviction.
"Mr. Wilentz goes on to breakdown the Bush presidency into categories. Bush at war. Bush at home. Presidential miscon..."
"Okay, okay. Just get to the meat and potatoes," he unapologetically interrupts.
"Alrighty. On the topic of war he points out that guys like Lincoln and FDR made an effort to be inclusive and involve those from the opposing political party so that the war was a truly 'national struggle.' Bush, on the other hand, has done just the opposite and frozen out the Dems."
"Can I respond now?" he asks leaning forward.
"We both know that's more of an announcement than a question."
He ignores my comment.
"First of all, this is a different time period and the relationship between the two parties is much more contentious. The democrats are still pissed-off that the GOP went after Clinton, so now that a conservative is in office, we all know that they won't support Bush so he's just had to move on without them.
"Second, Bush had to send an immediate message to the terrorists and he couldn't just wait around while Congress started singing frick'n kum-by-yah. He had to react. If he hadn't, we might have sent a message of passivity to the enemy and we'd be facing a 9/11 all over again."
He was getting himself worked-up.
"They sing kum-by-yah while Congress is in session?"
He's getting good as ignoring my smart-ass remarks.
"Well Buzz, I think the point he was trying to make was that even after he put his war plans into action, Bush still continued to freeze-out the dems and has not welcomed their input."
"Why should he?" he responds. "They're the opposition!"
"I thought the terrorists were the opposition."
"You know what I mean."
"Sadly, yes I do." I return my gaze to the magazine, "Getting back to the article, he addresses some concerns that Bush has assumed more power than is actually prescribed to the Presidency by the constitution."
With exasperation, "Let me guess. The NSA?"
"Actually Buzz, no. Did you know that whenever a President signs a piece of legislation into law, that he can tack-on what's called a 'signing statement'?"
"A whah?" Mouth left hung open.
"A signing statement. It is a declaration by the President of how he will interpret the law he just signed into being, even if the interpretation goes completely against the will of congress. It's a neat little trick a President can use to avoid having his veto over-turned."
"That's legal?"
"Wilentz refers to it as 'constitutionally dubious' but yeah, it must be legal."
"That awesome!"
"How is that awesome?" I fire, somewhat taken aback. "It basically allows a President to do whatever they want to do."
"Yeah, but Jerry, think about it. In the case of Bush, it allows him to circumvent any liberal nonsense that comes across his desk. That's a good thing."
"I'm all for avoiding nonsense, liberal or otherwise, but what if in the process of avoiding it, your being nonsensical yourself?"
"Ok dude, now you're not making any sense."
I ease back into my chair. "Ok. I heard about this whole thing a few weeks ago on Kieth Olbermann's show on MSNBC."
"Never seen it," he interrupts. "If it isn't on Fox News, I don't trust it."
"Did you know that the Fox News Channel has been proved to lower your IQ?"
"Yeah, whatever."
"I know. That's silly. How do you lower zero?"
He doesn't smile. So I continue.
"Of all the Presidents, nobody has added one of these 'signing statements' to a law more than Bush. Bill Clinton used the signing statement 140 times over an eight-year period. In six-years, Bush has used them over 750 times. That means he has potentially nullified 750 laws. That would also explain why Bush on is track to be only the second President to go through two-terms without vetoing a single bill. The first was Thomas Jefferson."
"If he's blocking liberal legislation, I'm still not seeing what the big deal is."
"First of all, that's a big 'if'. Second, if you want to block something, play by the rules and use the veto. These signing statements are only supposed to be used on constitutionally questionable provisions within a law. Are you telling me that congress has sent 750 bills to the White House all with constitutionally questionable provisions? And before you answer, let me remind you that we're talking about a congress that has been controlled by the republicans for his entire Presidency. So either the republican President or the republican Congress isn't doing their job correctly."
He sits and ponders what I have said.
Finally, he breaks the silence. "It could happen."
"Right." I take a deep breath. "Then let's switch gears and let me ask you this. As a republican, how do you expect a conservative to run the budget?"
"The answer is in your question. I expect them to be conservative."
I feel a little guilt for leading him into this one. "Then explain to me Buzz, why has President Bush borrowed more money on behalf of the US Government than the rest of the other 42 Presidents combined? $1.05 trillion to be exact."
"Um..." he thoughtfully hesitates. "Maybe he got a great interest rate?"

Reflections on 'To Own a Dragon' - pt 2

2006-05-05T04:15:00.000-07:00

by Jer

(WARNING: This week's installment of the Drain again has less to do with general things that most care about and more to do with specific things that few care about. That's my convoluted way of saying I'm about to get personal and it may bore the live'n hell out of ya.)

The strange thing about fatherhood is that it compels you to do the impossible. For most first time dads, you feel the need to rule supreme over the universe around you, creating an imaginary layer protection designed to insulate your children from the big, bad world outside. To be a father is to be the master protectorate, the sentinel, the gate keeper and the key master. You are the last only defense between those you love and perverse culture "out there." You must be sovereign; you gotta be in control.

Are you kidding me? The only control Iï¿½ve mastered is the remote control.

On the way home from the hospital after the birth of my first, I found myself getting angry at the traffic for going too fast; a little post-partum road rage. Never mind the fact that I was doing 35 in a 55. Slow down! Iï¿½m carrying precious cargo! All I did was upset the baby, which is what I was trying to avoid in the first place. (Anxiety has a funny habit of becoming a self-fulfilling prophesy.)

But that instinct to protect your kids is a strong one. And anytime you feel as though you havenï¿½t done an adequate job, the feeling is heart-wrenching, even if the end-result is just a little bump on the head.

I recently saw this yearï¿½s Oscar winner for Best Picture, Crash; and while the premise of the movie was based on racial tensions in L.A., what was most memorable for me were the scenes between a young Latino father and his little daughter. Most notably, a scene where he thought she had been shot. There was a close-up on his face as he held her close. There was no dialog. He didnï¿½t make a sound. It was just the look and expression of pure, unadulterated agony.

I was so troubled by the scene that I started to reach for the remote to power down my DVD player just as the movie revealed that the child had been spared. It tapped into the reality that I'm not always going to be able to protect my children. That scares the hell out of me. It's also why parenting is as much about faith as it is about experience and good judgment.

It's also why the notion of divorce has become so perplexing to me. This is not intended to be an indictment of divorces; having never been divorced, so I can claim nothing but ignorance. However, wanting so badly to always be there for my children, I get puzzled when I think about my own father. Why didnï¿½t he stick around? Why didnï¿½t he try to make better decisions for the health of his own marriage? How could he walk away from a kid as cute as me?

A very good friend of mine, Stuart, recently got word that his father is dying and may only have a matter of weeks to live. Although I don't really know his father, I know that the two have a strong relationship, particularly since the loss of his mother. They even went in on a house together. I, on the other hand, lost my father when I was about seven years old, just a few years after my parents split. Having never really known him or experienced his presence in my life, the news of his death landed pretty lightly on me. That won't be Stuart experience.

And as odd or crass as it may sound, Iï¿½d trade places with him in a heartbeat. For while he is about to experience a painful loss, the benefit of knowing his father has provided him with an immeasurable gain across the breadth of his life; a gain that will never be lost.

I have another friend. Someone you may have heard of over the past few years. Rob Bell. He is the teaching pastor at Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids, Michigan, the author of the book Velvet Elvis and perhaps most notably, the guy in the Nooma videos.

I met Rob and his family back in 1982 (give or take a year). His family and my family both had cabins on the same lake in Michigan, so we would spend our summers together, water skiing, running around in the woods, hanging out on the beach and just generally being kids.

Initially, my friendship with Rob was forged through our shared love for things like water skiing and U2. But as I got to know him, I also got to know his family and I was able to form a relationship with his parents; a relationship I'm happy to say that has persisted throughout the years. When I spent time with Rob and his dad, I paid careful attention to their relationship and the way older took the time to mentor the younger. It was constant. It was caring. It was mutual.

Now, when I think about Rob, I don't necessarily think about the level renown he has achieved, but rather the path he took to achieve it and how the presence of his father must have played a key role in his journey. Even though he and I only touch base once in a blue moon these days, I know for Rob there was very little ambiguity - relatively speaking - once he left home. He went to Wheaton College and graduated in 1992. Shortly thereafter he attended Fuller Seminary in Pasadena, California. After he earned his M.Div, Rob returned home to Michigan where he began his ministry. The rest, as they say, is history.

In contrast, my path has been pock-marked with ambiguity and uncertainty, which leads to living without confidence. Thatï¿½s a tough way to live. Itï¿½s especially tough when you know you have the smarts and the gifts, but you have no idea how to align them into practice. But itï¿½s not just about the non-decisions, but also the foolish ones.

Don Miller talks about this dynamic in 'Dragon':

There have been times in my life when I didn't know exactly how to be. I mean, there were feelings, sometimes anger, sometimes depression, sometimes raging lust, and I was never sure what any of it was about. I just felt like killing somebody, or sleeping with some girl, or decking a guy in a bar, and I didn't know what to do with any of these feelings. Life was a confusing series of emotions rubbing against events. I wasn't sure how to manage myself, how to talk to a woman, how to build a career, how to, well, be a man.

Don later goes on to wonder if without a father, boys struggle to know how to be men, how to deal with their emotions or how to confidently move forward into life once theyï¿½ve left home. I wonder the same things.

I can't imagine that a father's departure does any favors for the mothers who are left to raise young boys on their own. Iï¿½m sure my own mother was able to recognize some of these concerns in me and tried to address them, but letï¿½s be honest; there are some things about being a man that boys can only and will only hear from other men. And not any man will do. It must be a man with whom we have a relationship. Say, for example ï¿½ oh I donï¿½t know ï¿½ a father?

The good news is that there is, by the Grace of God, the hope of redemption for the fatherless. Time tends to give us a little more perspective than we were afforded as kids. As such, making a good decision isnï¿½t so elusive. Having children ï¿½ and being committed to them ï¿½ also goes a long way to reversing some of the backwards thinking we do.

Who knows? I may have a thing or two to teach my kids that I may have not had otherwise.

Reflections on 'To Own a Dragon' - pt 1

2006-04-20T03:57:00.000-07:00

by Jer

(WARNING: This week's installment of the Drain has less to do with general things that most care about and more to do with specific things that few care about. That's my convoluted way of saying I'm about to get personal and it may bore the live'n hell out of ya.)

"...real fathers, at least at Tom's house, clean guns while watching television, weed-eat the lawn with one hand while holding a beer in the other, and squeeze their wife's butt in the kitchen while she is cooking dinner." - Don Miller from To Own a Dragon.

For those unfamiliar with Donald Miller, he's a fairly popular author these days among college students and the 20-something crowd. I recently saw him speak at Cornerstone University in Grand Rapids, Michigan and afterward students where getting their picture taken with him as if he were a celebrity. I suppose in certain circles, that's exactly what he is. The book that's gotten him the most attention is Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality. It wasn't until I briefly met Donald back in 2004 that I first got an idea of just how popular he and his books are.

I was working at Pepperdine University at the time and one of my colleagues, Adam, was good friends with Donald. For whatever reason, he was in town and Adam had arranged it so that our entire staff could go out to lunch with him.

When I was told that we were going to have lunch with Donald Miller, my immediate and audible response was, "Who?" Which was followed by the somewhat condescending, "You don't know who Donald Miller is? You know, the author of 'Blue Like Jazz'."

"Blue like what?"

Ironically, as the person most ignorant about this man, I ended-up sitting right next to him at the restaurant. Not being duly impressed or intimidated, I tried striking up a conversation with the guy. "So Don, I was told that you were an author. Have you written anything I could find on Amazon or something?"

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the sharpest tool in the drawer, but I've annoyed enough people in my lifetime to know when I've annoyed yet another. Don mumbled something under his breath (perhaps he suggested I find out if Amazon had "How to win friends and influence people") and that was pretty much the end of our exchange for the remainder of the meal.

Later that day I was meeting with a student and somehow the topic of lunch came-up. "Yeah I had lunch today with some author named Donald Miller." Her eyes flared to the size of softballs, "Donald Miller?!? Blue Like Jazz Donald Miller? Oh my gosh, you had lunch with Donald Miller? I LOVE that book."

Maybe I should have gotten his autograph?

Besides missing out on the opportunity to pick the brain of a well-published author, I also missed out on the opportunity to talk and identify with a kindred spirit. You see Donald, like I, grew-up without a dad. Had I known there was some common ground there, perhaps our time together would have gone differently. But I take solace in that his most recent book, To Own a Dragon, is a collection of "reflections on growing up without a father." And an excellent collection of reflections to boot.

Most kids who grew-up without a father were keenly aware of it. How could you not be? We all had friends who were raised by a complete set of parents and for those of us who went without one or the other, we knew right away that our peer's experience was very different from our own. Watching my friends who had dads interact with their fathers was foreign; there was a cultural divide. That might explain why I avoided interacting with my friend's dads. If a buddy of mine had to ask permission to come over to play or to walk to the local 7-11 to buy baseball cards with me, I always encouraged him to ask their mom; who knew what their dad might say?

But most of the fatherless youth usually look back at their childhood with indifference. Coulda been better, coulda been worse. In spite of everything, I think I turned-out okay. Sure, it would have been nice to learn how to tie a tie from someplace other than Cub Scouts or have them in the crowd at a basketball game, but for the most part, no harm, no foul. Cognitively you know exactly what was missing, but emotionally it's difficult to lament the loss of something you don't remember having in the first place or at least didn't have for very long.

Don Miller says it like this:

For me a father is nothing more than a character in a fairy tale. And I know fathers are not like dragons in that fathers actually exist, but I don't remember feeling that a father existed for me. I know they are real people. I have seen them on TV, and sliding their arms around their women in grocery stores, and I have seen them in the malls and in the coffee shops, but these were characters in other people's stories, and I never stopped to question why one of these characters wasn't living in our house. I don't say this out of self-pity, because in a way I don't miss having a father any more than I miss having a dragon.

That's exactly how I used to think. And then I had children of my own.

The process of plugging into how I really felt didn't happen immediately in my journey as a dad. I wasn't reduced to a whimpering mass right there in the birthing room with my wife catching her breath following delivery of our first born. Sweet Lord, why me!?! WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? Didn't happen like that. Not even close. It was a slow turning; something I didn't recognize in myself until months after the birth of my third child and even then I was just seeing a shadow of these feelings I had piled under layers of denial or coping mechanisms or whatever headshrinker moniker fits.

I was watching my kids run around the house when I had one of the aforementioned I - turned - out - okay - in - spite - of - a - missing - father thoughts. For whatever reason, it drifted into the thought, "What if my kids had to grow-up without a father?" Externally it caused me to stiffen and to furrow my brow. Internally, the reaction was much more violent and desperate. The thought of them growing-up without a dad actually panicked me.

Let me be clear: It wasn't the thought of me being separated from them that caused this reaction. It wasn't even the thought of something happening to me. It was the specific thought of my kids being raised without a father - any father - that solicited such a fearful reaction. And then the introspection began; emotional math, if you will. If I truly feel fine about being raised without a father, then how do I reconcile that with my feeling a whole hell-of-a-lot-less than fine with just the thought of my kids going without?

From the outside looking in, that may seem like an obvious question, but with your own emotions, nothing is ever obvious. If I could reduce how was feeling to mathematics, it would have looked like this:

If emotion-A equals emotion-B and emotion-B equals emotion-C, then emotion-A should equal emotion-C... but it didn't.

Confused? Yeah. So was I. And as it turned-out, a little hurt.

To be continued...

Brace Yourself, Chocola

2006-04-14T03:55:00.000-07:00

by Jer

I don't approve of political jokes. I've seen too many of them get elected. - Unknown

Remember the age of gaudy orthodontic braces? You know, back when they were more like cyborg implants and less like the transparent composite stuff you see today? When I was in elementary school, it seemed like everybody had braces. It was as if some home-room epidemic had afflicted all of my peers. And it didn't matter who you were, because braces transcended all of our pre-pubescent differences. It didn't discriminate between the cool kids and the dweebs, the boys and the girls, the teacher's pets and the detention bound. Everyone seemed to fall victim to bad teeth. All... except me.

As a kid, it's easy to put the negative out of your mind and focus on the positive. Perhaps that's why I wanted a chrome plated mouth too. Who wouldn't like to be allowed to skip class every couple of weeks for an adjustment appointment? No drawback there. Plus there was a lot of urban myth surrounding braces. Would I really get a shock from a 9-volt battery? What would happen if I kissed a girl who had braces too? And what's with that wax? I had an inquiring mind and I wanted to know.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice was screaming, "Be careful what you wish for!" Nobody told me I was supposed to listen to it.

As it turned out, I had braces from the fifth grade until my freshman year in high school. They were supposed to be out by 7th grade. During that time I had to deal with a sore jaw, bloody gums, sharp wires, stupid comments (e.g. hey railroad tracks!), and an orthodontist who was, quite frankly, a prick. Aside from the mullet I sported as a teen, I don't think I have ever been so wrong about something.

In addition to the realization that a 9-volt battery in contact with braces does hurt, what did I learn from the whole miserable experience? Sometimes a fulfilled wish and a huge regret go hand-and-hand.

Fast forward 23 years to 2004 and abruptly shift gears to politics. Class was again in session for that same ol' lesson. It was an election year and I should have been more careful, because I made some regrettable wishes on my ballot that November.

I wished for the big giant Bush (R). Wish came true. I now regret it.

I wished for Indiana Gov. Mitch Daniels (R). Wish came true. I now regret it.

I wished for US Congressman Chris Chocola (R). Wish came true and according to a TV ad by moveon.org, I should regret it as well.

Moveon.org is a political action group; a political action group seemingly less concerned with partisanship and more concerned with corruption in the nation's capital. Their current TV ad campaign is directed at republican members of the House, but don't think democrats haven't found themselves in the Moveon cross-hairs. The group's inaugural initiative was a petition campaign to "Censure President Clinton and Move On to Pressing Issues Facing the Nation."

The folks at Moveon.org claim energy companies have Rep. Chris Chocola in their back pocket. According to their TV ad and website, the congressman has accepted $82,750 in campaign contributions from "Energy & Natural Resources" political action committees. That, in and of itself, isn't too surprising. A quick skim of Indiana's PAC Guide reveals that there are a several energy groups who are active in the state's political process.

What may or may not be surprising - again according to Moveon.org's website - is Rep. Chocola's voting record on energy and oil related measures clearly favors his contributors more than his constituents. They cite at least three different instances where he has voted against a measure that would have protected the consumer at the pump and at least one instance where he has voted in favor of a measure that would lead to the use of tax money "to pay new refineries for the coast of significant delays due to lawsuits and government regulations."

It should also be noted that Chocola, along with three others, are the only representatives in the House, out of 435, to be singled-out in this TV campaign.

It also doesn't help Mr. Chocola's cause that he's buddy-buddy with a President whose approval rating is floating around the 30s. Air Force One, to the best of my recallection, has landed at South Bend Regional Airport at least three times during the Bush administration. The last time it landed, back in February 2006, George and Chris stepped off the plane together, practically holding hands.

By the way, G-Dub was in town for a Chocola fund raiser at Bethel College that day. How much ya wanna bet some reps from the energy folks were there?

Taking this all into consideration, none if it exactly inspires me to stand-up and shout with pride, "Hey, that's my man Chris!" Nor does it inspire me to vote for him again this fall. In truth, it further solidifies my decision to vote against him.

So...

I spent the 1980s wishing I had braces and then wishing I hadn't.

I spent the 1990s wishing the Democrat's would lose the House and the Senate and then wishing they hadn't.

I think I'll spend what's left of the 2000s wishing for an aspirin for the headache all this wishing is giving me.

Less Smoke and More Smug

2006-04-10T17:11:00.000-07:00

by Jer

"Do you mind if I don't smoke?" - Groucho Marx

A few nights back I watched one of the best South Park episodes I had seen in a long time and 'long time' by South Park standards is equal to about one week.

Without giving too much away, the plot was based on the premise that many Californians - San Franciscans in particular - see themselves as so progressive that they've actually become smug.

Having lived in California for a couple of years, it pains me to say this, but I'm afraid they're right. I know. Hard to believe. From the outside looking in they seem so down to earth, so grounded. And yet, when you pull back the curtain - brace yourselves - there's a completely different reality.

It's a little known fact, but California is actually the world's largest exporter of smug and I'm afraid it doesn't come from just one region of the state. You have vanity smug produced in the south. The enlightened smug comes out of the north. In the valley you have wine smug, and health smug is available from state line to state line. Different flavors of smug for different personalities... and geographies.

Now putting all that aside, there are some legitimately progressive measures in California that not only make sense, but are actually redeeming. Take as a prime example, their statewide smoking ordinance. If you're inside and it's not your home, there's no smoking. Not in a bar. Not in a restaurant. Not in a Denny's. Not in the boy's room. Not in any indoor gathering space. Period. We may be smug but we've got our health! And as a non-smoker, I loved every smoke-free minute of it. Never was I asked, "Smoking or Non-Smoking?"

"Yeah, but California has so many cars and they do all sorts of damage to the air quality!" decry some critics. Last time I went out to grab a bite to eat, I didn't have to worry about somebody's SUV sitting at the table next to me blowing exhaust in the air. Different issue. Different debate.

Now shift your perspective 2100 smugless miles east to St. Joseph County in north central Indiana, right on the Michigan state line. The county is home to cities like Granger, Mishawaka, New Carlisle, Walkerton and most notably, South Bend. It's also home to the University of Notre Dame, the College Football Hall of Fame, the Silverhawks minor league baseball team, The Hummer, the Studebaker Museum, and me.

As of today, April 10, 2006 it's the home to a new "Clean Air Ordinance" that prohibits smoking in most public places such as restaurants, malls and parks; a lot like the one you'll find back in smug-infested California. They've even got a cutsie little kick-off for the new law called, "Eat Out and Breathe In!"

And while it makes me want to do naked cartwheels down Interstate 80/90, there are those who think the new ordinance is bad for business and an infringement on smokers' rights.

I'm not going to argue with the folks who are worried the restaurant business's bottom line will take a hit. It's a legitimate concern that some of their patronage will be sacrificed on the alter of a smoke-free environment. If pressed, I'd even go a step further and say that if a private business wants to cater to a smoking clientele, they should be allowed to do so. But have they given any thought to what they might gain in new non-smoking customers who have stayed away because of the smoke and how much healthier it will be for their employees? I'm just asking.

As for those who feel they are being relieved of their right to smoke, repeat after me: Nobody is taking my cigarettes away. Nobody is trying to illegalize tobacco. Nobody is outlawing ashtrays. [Repeat]

I find it curious that many smokers feel these new measures to limit public exposure to smoke is part of some insidious plan to control their behavior as opposed to a common sense measure to promote healthier environments. I understand smoking is addictive. I understand it's a habit. But please also try to understand that a person's right to not breathe uninvited polluted air is greater than another's right to smoke wherever they please.

If I'm not articulating myself well enough, I know the following does. These words were found posted at Ken's Magic Shop... wherever the heck that is:

Thank you for Not Smoking. Cigarette smoke is the residue of your pleasure. It contaminates the air, pollutes my hair and clothes, not to mention my lungs. This takes place without my consent. I have a pleasure, also. I like a beer now and then. The residue of my pleasure is urine. Would you be annoyed if I stood on a chair and pissed on your head and your clothes without your consent?

So Kudos to the St. Joseph County Counsel for this bold initiative. Who knows? Someday we may be lucky enough to be called 'smug.'

Brain Stains, vol. 1

2006-04-06T17:09:00.000-07:00

by Jer

A new feature here at the Drain, Brain Stains are a collection of "bloggetts" that you can expect to see here a couple of times each month. There are so many things out there worth a blogger's effort, but not all warrant the long-winded pontificating you normally get from me. So through this new forum, I continue to give credence to the fanciful notion that somebody, anybody, gives a rip about what I think.

Spring has Sprung. There are two key indications, at least in my mid-western world, that spring is upon us. First, Startbucks is featuring new seasonal items on its menu; this year it's the Green Tea Latte. Second, there's a hint of thawed manure in the air.

Throwing your family a curve ball. It was reported last August that LA Dodgers Pitcher Derek Lowe left his wife and three kids for Fox Sports locker room reporter Carolyn Hughes. I just heard about now. But I figure since his kids are probably still wondering where daddy is these days, there's no statute of limitations on pointing out that he's still a turd.

Sister Paris. Apparently the resemblance between Paris Hilton and Mother Teresa is so striking that Indian director T. Rajeevnath is considering the debutante for the role of the late "Saint of the Gutter" in an upcoming film on her life.

So let's make sure I have this right. The Paris Hilton who got squeamish getting near farm animals on her reality show The Simple Life is being considered for the role of a woman who opened a home for lepers? The same Paris Hilton whose filmography includes a homemade porno is being considered for the role of a woman who was beatified by Pope John Paul II and is now referred to as the Blessed Mother Teresa? The Paris Hilton who was named "Sex Star of the Year" by Playboy magazine in 2005 is being considered to play the role of a woman who won the 1979 Noble Peace Prize?

I guess nobody can accuse Mr. Rajeevnath of type-casting.

No place like home. For you football fans, Sports Illustrated recently ranked the Top 10 Toughest Places to Play in the NFL. They are as follows:

Kansas City
New England
Indianapolis
Denver
Seattle
Pittsburgh
Chicago
Green Bay
Philadelphia
Minnesota

For you sports fans out there, do you notice who's missing? Cleveland's Dawg Pound perhaps? Nope. I'm talking about Oakland's Raider Nation; home of the scariest, strangest, and possibly, the most deviant fans in the NFL. I guess the folks at SI are trying to say that being an ass clown doesn't necessarily translate into wins for your team, huh?

The return of Stuart Smalley. Remember Al Franken as Stuart Smalley on Saturday Night Live? You know, the sensitive white guy who would turn to the mirror and with a feminine lisp say to himself, "You're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggone it, people like you!" Well, he's back and he's black.

A story in the Longmont Daily Times out of Colarado quoted Denver Broncos wide-receiver David Terrell as saying, "Terrell Owens ain't better than me. Keyshawn Johnson ain't better than me. Randy Moss ain't better than me. The only person that's better than me is me."

In 2005 David Terrell had zero catches for zero yards. Funny, I had the same stats, so I guess it's fair to say, "David Terrell ain't better than me!"

What does a library and a birthing room have in common?. Based on the belief by Scientologists that a woman should remain quiet during childbirth, Tom Cruise has reportedly purchased an adult sized pacifier for his pregnant bride-to-be, Katie Holmes, who is due to give birth to their kid... someday. Apparently all that noise can have a negative psychological effect on the child - as if to suggest being pushed through the end of a coke bottle isn't the stuff nightmares are made of.

Even if the story about Cruise and Holmes isn't true, what is true is that the Church of Scientology actually has created such guidelines. Is there any doubt that this is the brainchild of a man? Having witnessed the birthing process three times in person, I can assure the folks over at Scientology HQ that trying to tell a woman to be quiet while giving birth is like shooting a grizzly bear with anything other than a bazooka; all it does it piss her off more.

A Drain Follow-up. - A few weeks back I wrote about the Barry Bonds steroid saga and I mentioned how I was concerned my friend Michael, who is a BIG fan of the slugger, was going to name his then unborn child Barry. I'm happy to report that his wife Tara - a former co-worker of mine - gave birth to a 7 lbs, 5 oz boy earlier today. They named him Caleb. Whew!

Congrats to Michael, Tara and Caleb, and lots-o-blessings to you all.

Side note: Had Michael tried to keep Tara silent during the birth, I'm positive little Caleb would be fatherless right now.

Separation of Church and Brain

2006-03-25T17:08:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"I'm in favor of the separation of church and state. These two institutions screw us up enough on their own, so both of them together is certain death." - George Carlin

I set my Chai Tea latte down on the coffee table and eased back into the soft, leather chair, being sure to let my arms fall gently on the rests, caressing its skin with my finger tips. "There's something about leather furniture that feels like home," I thought to myself.
Sitting in Bella Vita Coffee in Granger, Indiana, I pulled out the most recent copy of Sojourners magazine and went straight to the contents to see which article would be my first stop.
"Is that a Christian magazine?" I hear from the leather love seat perpendicular to my own.
"Excuse me?" I say somewhat curtly, feeling annoyed that my reading has been interrupted before it began.
"That magazine you're reading. It says, 'Sojourners: faith, politics, culture' on the front."
"Yeah, it is a Christian magazine," I say with a pursed half-smile, before directing my gaze back to the magazine, hoping that will be the end of our dialog
"So it must be a republican magazine."
Not wanting to show bad coffee house form - heaven forbid - I finally make eye-contact with the inquisitor. He was a fellow in his mid-twenties. He had unkept sandy brown hair that matched our surroundings and a pale white complexion that seemed about right for this time of winter. He was sporting a pair a jeans and a plaid flannel with some kind of screen printed t-shirt beneath. He was well sunk into the love seat, letting it do nasty things to his posture.
He also had a rather expectant look on his face, having something to do, I assume, with his question.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your magazine. It must be pretty conservative."
I noted the switch from "republican" to "conservative" in the phrasing of his question.
"No, I think you could call it 'middle of the road.' The editors seem to make an effort to avoid partisanship," I say with a nod and another half-smile. I return my gaze to the magazine, feigning concentration, again in the hopes that it would end his line of questioning.
"'Middle of the road?' Is that code for 'unwilling to take a stand?'"
Now the lad genuinely has my attention. I close the mag, look up and say with a polite chuckle, "No, the writers take a stand on issues. It just depends on what the issue is."
"So in other words, they're wishy-washy."
Taken a bit aback I ask, "You're kinda direct, aren't you?"
"I guess so."
"My name's Jerry," offering my hand.
"I'm Buzz Allegro," taking my hand with firm grip and making eye contact.
"Allegro. That's unusual. Is that Italian?"
"No, it's my last name."
I pause to let me brain replay the exchange to make sure I heard what I heard.
"Right... well... it's nice to meet you Buzz. Back to your original question, I wouldn't call the magazine 'wishy-washy.' I've read some articles and commentaries in here that take some pretty strong stands."
"Like what?"
"Well in last month's issue I read a commentary by the editor Jim Wallis where he was very critical of George Bush and..."
"Which George Bush?" he interrupts. "George W. Bush? The current President Bush?"
"Yeah. He feels as though..."
"Wait. This is a Christian magazine that's critical of our Christian President? Can I see that thing?"
In spite of being caught off-guard, I hand him my copy.
"Just because our President claims to be a Christian doesn't mean he's not prone to make mistakes or that he's above reproach. If you think about it, we really don't know anything about the man in private. Just what he chooses to show us and I'm sure his PR people are very careful to paint an image..."
He looks up from leafing through the magazine to interrupt me again, "That's liberal speak. You must be a democrat," he says half laughing.
I give him another quick half smile to hide my irritation. "There ya go again with that direct approach Buzz and no, to answer your question, I'm not registered with any party."
"This is how I see it...," he says, hardly shocked he's willing share his opinion, "if you aren't standing with the conservative folks in this country, you are standing against them. The GOP clearly represents issues that the Bible values. Values such as protecting the life of the unborn, punishing the wicked, giving people the freedom to choose."
"What kind of choices?" I ask, intriqued by whatever it is that makes his mind tick.
"The choice to do what we want with our money. The choice to own a gun or not."
Wanting desperately, for kicks and giggles, to ask him about the choice to have an abortion, I think the better of it and say, "I see where you are coming from, but I think there are some things we need to consider first. For example, if the Bible calls us to be honest, and if a President - any President - sides with me on an issue but doesn't lead with much integrity, what good is that?"
"That would be a problem, but what proof do you have that George W. Bush isn't honest?"
"I was trying to speak hypothetically, but since you mention him, there have been several instances where he has said something on one occasion and just the opposite on another."
"Like when?" he blurts out.
"Well, the other night I was watching MSNBC and President Bush was asked at a town meeting why he thought that Saddam Hussain and 9/11 were connected. He interrupted the questioner and said that he had never suggested such a thing. The folks at MSNBC found a clip from one of his State of the Unions where he used the words 'Saddam Hussain' and '9/11' in the same sentence several times. That's not being honest, is it?"
He was silent for the first time in our conversation.
"And I really have to question why a Christian would lead us to war," I go on. "Didn't Jesus say something about 'blessed are the peacemakers?'"
"Oh, so we should just let Saddam Hussain stay in power, killing all of his people with nobody to stop him?"
"How many more innocent people have died as a direct result of our invasion?"
"I don't know, but it just seems like it would have been wrong to keep him in power. The guy was evil!"
By this time, I was no longer leaning back in the big, comfy chair. I was forward, making all sorts of monitions with my hands.
"True, to say he has some character flaws is putting is mildly, but if I can go back to something you said before. There are a number of republican platforms I support. In fact, there's probably more I support than not. But when it comes to our leaders, even if we share the same faith, I tend to hold them with a very loose regard."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, it means I try not to treat politics like a religion and I try not to view politicians like gods. Even though I have a conservative outlook on things, it affords me a little more objectivity. Think of it as a personalized separation of church and state."
Expressionlessly he says, "Dude, you just sound wishy-washy to me. It sounds like you don't want to commit to anything in case you might be wrong."
"It's more like I don't want to commit to any politicians because chances are they will be wrong.
"Let me give you another illustration of what I'm talking about. Are you familiar with the part of the Bible where Jesus says, 'Give to Cesar what is Cesar's'?"
"Yeah."
"It's that same principle for me. I give politicians the appropriate amount of respect and support, but not so much that it keeps me either unwilling or unable to see their short-comings. Otherwise it is a case of the blind leading the blind. That is why I can hold conservative values and still be critical of our conservative leaders. Does that make me sound like a turncoat or liberal? To some it might, but I'm more concerned with how I perceive our leaders than how others perceive me."
"I suppose, but if everybody thought like that, it would weaken the conservative leadership base. The liberals already challenge our values but if people who claim to support the conservative agenda are also critical, it will weaken things from within."
This time he gives me a reason to pause.
"If I choose to not support the conservative leadership either here in Indiana or over in DC," I continue, "then it's because some of their actions are in contradiction with my values. It might not have anything to do with an issue like the death penalty or social security. It might be something as simple as honesty. And if I can't trust them to be honest, can I really trust them with these other issues?"
"Dude, you're giving me a headache."
"Sorry."
"Well, I have to bolt. Do you come here often?"
"Often enough."
"Well maybe we'll get to chat again."
"I look forward to it. It was nice meeting you Buzz."
"Later."
"Bye."
I lean forward, pick-up my latte and take a sip to make sure it is still warm. I lean back into my chair going over in my mind the random exchange I just had with Buzz. Then I snap forward in my chair.
"Dang it!" I think to myself. "I forgot to get my magazine back!"

The Politics of Star Wars

2006-03-21T17:07:00.000-08:00

by Jer

The trouble is people don't always agree.
Well then they should be made to.
By whom? Who's going to make them?
I don't know. Someone. Someone wise.
Sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship to me.
Well... if it works...
-An exchange between Padme & Anakin, Star Wars Episode II

I think I've found new grounds on which to impeach George W. Bush. Copyright law violation (I realize it's not ideal, but neither is was convicting Al Capone of tax evasion and it worked). From what I can tell, Bush has almost identically patterned his administration after the fictitious administration of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine from the Star Wars film series. In doing so, he has totally ripped-off the creative and intellectual property of George Lucas and hasn't given him a single cent. At least not that I'm aware of.

Think I'm crazy? That's beside the point.

I grew-up a fan of both the Republican party and of Star Wars. I didn't have GOP trading cards or action figures (I bet a Dick Chaney with shotgun GI Joe figure would be a big seller), but having grown up the in DuPage County - a republican stronghold outside of Chicago - and the grandson of a GOP politician, I've gotten into the habit of keeping an eye on the party over the past 25 years or so.

But I've kept an even closer eye on the Star Wars franchise. To use a tired cliche, I waited with baited breath, like so many others, for Episode I to come out back in 1999. Unlike so many others, I was not disappointed with the new chapter or the two installments that were to follow. Sure, some of the characters were a bit goofy and cartoonish and the dialog wasn't very original, but the special effects more than made-up for any misgivings and I loved the storyline.

A very Reader's Digest version of said storyline goes like this: Man becomes leader. Most think he's swell, including the hero. He's actually evil. He manipulates an excuse to go to war. He uses war as an excuse to expand his constitutional powers. The galactic senate does nothing to get in his way. He eventually envelopes so much authority and power that he dissolves the republic and becomes a dictator.

Does any of that sound familiar?

Here's where I get really crazy. Based on the Star Wars model, I figure there are 5 steps to dictatorship. From what I can tell, George W. Bush must have been taking notes in the movie theater, because he has worked his way through steps one, two, three and four.

Step One: Come into power
The history books will always look back at the 2000 Presidential campaign as an unusual one. Some consider it to be more controversial than unusual, but whether you believe G-Dub was elected or appointed, all that mattered in the end was he was President. The Supreme Court made their ruling and for the second time in our nation's history, a 'Bush Administration' was occupying the white house.

Step Two: Manipulate the republic into war
Step one was the easy part. Step two was a little more tricky, but with the help of some inaccurate reports about WMDs and chemical weapons, Bush was able to muster up plenty of support domestically and just enough support abroad to invade Iraq. The United Nations were totally opposed to the US plans for war. Ironically, Bush told the UN the same thing Saddam Hussein used to tell them: Kiss my grits; or more specific to Saddam, Kiss my falafel. (Side note: I always find it ironic when situational ethics come into play for pro-lifers like Bush. They revere the life of a fetus or the comatose, but not-so-much for the "collateral damage" incurred through war. Go figure.)

As it turns out, there were no WMDs and if a few more people at the White House had been paying attention to the CIA, step two would have never happened. Whether the Bush Administration disregarded the CIA reports deliberately or out of incompetence, we may never know.

Step Three: Use war as an excuse to expand authority
Steps three and four are where things get a little cloudy. Still in the headlines are the reports that Bush has used the war - the war on terror - as an excuse to blatantly ignore FISA's requirements for court orders in matters of eavesdropping and surveillance. In a Sojourners commentary, previously referenced here at The Drain, CIA veteran Ray McGovern says of Bush's actions:

The president has placed himself above the law, just as he did in authorizing torture. On the eavesdropping issue, the case is clear cut. The president has thrown down the gauntlet, saying, in effect: I did it; I continue to do it; I dare you to try and stop me; I don't care what the law says.

Again, Bush treating any suggestion of accountability with the same disdain as another dictator we have all come to know and hate: the aforementioned Saddam Hussein.

Step four: Have a legislative branch that won't provide opposition
A Republican controlled House of Representatives + a Republican controlled Senate = a doormat. Sure, some of the republicans have "voiced" concern over the President's actions, but talk is cheaper for a politician than it is for most. What has been their solution to the concerns over illegal wiretaps? Rewriting the laws to remove barriers to wiretapping, which is a great solution from here on out. The only problem is that it still doesn't address the issue of Bush's breaking the law. Laws don't work retroactively as a means to cover the President's ass.

Step Five: Become a dictator
I know, I know. It's an absolutely ridiculous thought. There's no way Bush, even if he did have such aspirations, would ever become a dictator. The people of this country have tasted freedom for far to long to ever relinquish it without one heck of a nasty fight; especially in a country that lets its citizens arm themselves. But I've noticed a few things that suggest if a leader is power hungry enough - even in a great republic such as ours - a government could start to lean, ever so slightly, towards totalitarianism.

The truth is, to come-up with such an insane idea requires brains, of which I have very little. So I have to depend on people smarter than me, of which there are many. People like former Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor.

NPR reported back on March 10 that while speaking at Georgetown University on the issue of "judicial reforms driven by nakedly partisan reasoning" and other public attacks against the judiciary by republicans (such as Tom DeLay), the 24-year veteran of the high court had this to say:

"We must be ever vigilant against those who would strong-arm the Judiciary into adopting their preferred policies. It takes a lot of degeneration before a country falls into dictatorship but we should avoid these ends by avoiding these beginnings."

Yes. She used the word "Dictatorship." She didn't use it to reference the past. She didn't use it to reference Star Wars. She didn't use it to reference Cuba. She used it in reference to the here (as in the United States) and the now (as in now).

She's not the only one. Last month I was at an event in Indianapolis where I had the opportunity to hear Indiana Secretary of State Todd Rokita speak. When addressing the topic of the President's authorizing illegal wiretapping, he referenced history and warned that a republic's move away from democracy and towards dictatorship always starts small, with a leader beginning use more power than they are authorized. And before you go citing partisanship, you should know that Todd is a Republican.

Last thought: G-Dub's approval ratings are about as low they've ever been and are still on a downward slide. While I certainly don't believe poll numbers should dictate policy, with numbers this low, words of defiance will do little to quell concerns about the direction this country is being led. But that's exactly what we get from Bush. Smug, condescending defiance.

It would seem he doesn't care what the populous thinks... neither did Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. Coincidence? I hope so.

Acts on American soil worse than 9/11

2006-03-16T17:06:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"Refusing to know God, they soon didn't know how to be human either--women didn't know how to be women, men didn't know how to be men. Sexually confused, they abused and defiled one another, women with women, men with men--all lust, no love. And then they paid for it, oh, how they paid for it--emptied of God and love, godless and loveless wretches." Romans 1:26,27 from the Message

Theology speaking, I don't adhere to any of the fire and brimstone rhetoric we've been known to hear from the pulpit every so often. First, most of that imagery comes from the book of Revelation, chapter 19 and I've believed for some time now that there is very little, if anything, that is prophetic about that book. Its author, the Apostle John, was writing not about the future, but what was going on in the church in his day.

Sorry if I am alienating any fans of the Left Behind series by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins. You can always sell them on eBay.

Second, if Jesus didn't spend a lot of time talking about damnation, why should I listen to some preacher with control issues talk about it?

Tonight I read a story on CNN.com that instantaneously soured my mood. The first line of the story read as follows:

An Internet chat room that streamed video of live child molestations has been shut down and 27 people have been charged with online child pornography offenses, federal authorities said Wednesday.

A few lines down, I read this:

One of the seven molestation victims was younger than 18 months, according to the Justice Department.

A few more line down, I read this:

Immigration and customs Assistant Secretary Julie Myers on Wednesday described the chat room as "molestation on demand."

Ever read the story of Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis 18 & 19? It's a disgusting tale, really. A couple of angels show up at Lot's house (Abraham's nephew) and his neighbors hear about the visitors, so they swing by to gang rape the two men. Lot, being a spineless turd, offers his two virgin daughters as substitutes. The crowd and their prison mentality refuse Lot's offer. Eventually the whole family gets out of there and Sodom and Gomorrah get flattened by the fiery wrath of God.

In all the years since I first heard that story as a boy, never have I conceived of something as depraved as the primal debauchery I read about tonight. The molestation of children for the sole purpose of entertainment. Let those words bounce around in your head for a few minutes. If something like this doesn't feel like a heaviness on your shoulders, a lump in your throat and turning in your gut, it doesn't necessarily make you a bad person. It may, however, mean that you are desensitized from years and years of media-overload. In either event, try your best to feel something for these kids that lasts longer than the time it takes you to read this blog. Go be depressed. Go be horrified. Go be broken hearted. Go be outraged. Crimes like these demand emotions like these and so much more.

As for the 27 cretins who committed these crimes, what can I say? What can anybody say? Kill them! What would be the point of that? Chances are, ending their lives would be merciful. It would release them from the bonds of having to live with themselves.

I can't think of a single argument that would lead me to believe that the 19 hijackers from September 11 committed a more appalling crime than the 27 arrested in this FBI sting. I'm not trying to minimize the cowardly acts of the men who flew those jets into buildings. I'm trying to maximize the perspective of those who might read or hear of this story and say, that's a shame, and move on to their next meaningless thought.

In truth, I'm less concerned with these 27 depraved animals and more concerned about the children who were their victims. The damage done to their minds and spirit runs so deep, no matter how much help they get in life, this will be something they carry with them till the day they die.

I mourn for those kids who won't get any help. I also mourn for those around them.

Pastor Dave Johnson of the Church of the Open Door in Minneapolis, Minnesota words it like this (paraphrase): "When sexual contact is involved, good or bad, something more than skin on skin is being touched. Sexual wounds run much deeper than physical wounds. Sexual wounds are wounds on the soul."

Ask any woman, if you had to choose between a harsh physical beating that involved no sexual assault OR being raped with few or no physical scars, which would you choose? If you are a woman, which would you choose? I've posed that question to a number of female college students with whom I have worked over the past ten years. I have yet to hear one of them choose rape over the beating. Something more than skin on skin is being touched.

Imagine how much more devastating it is for an impressionable child whose understanding of the world around them is limited. They become overwhelmed by simply spilling a glass of milk. How much more overwhelmed do they feel when someone sexually assaults them? How much worse is it if they know that person?

As I said, I don't buy into the whole fire and brimstone routine. But whatever hell is, it can't be much worse than what these children have had to endure and what I hope the perpetrators are about to endure.

Criminals aren't the only stupid people

2006-03-15T17:04:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"The problem with America is stupidity. I'm not saying there should be a capital punishment for stupidity, but why don't we just take the safety labels off of everything and let the problem solve itself?" - Unknown

I've never gotten fan mail - that is, assuming my mother doesn't count. But I think after this piece, I'm going to get lots of hate mail. Then again, I called for King George's impeachment a few weeks back and I got very little response; hardly a word from the 3 of you.

So why I'll be the most hated man in all of blogdom...

I'm one of those types who thinks that Political Correctness is nothing short of an infringement of my First Amendment right to free speech. Maybe it's one of those entitlement things and I don't like being told what to do. Maybe I'm just minimizing the crudeness of what comes out of my mouth; I do so like "no arms, no legs" jokes. Maybe I'm just a ignorant white boy. Or it could be that I'm on to something and everybody else has lost their frig'n minds.

It's one thing if I'm being deliberately profane or degrading, but since when was it okay for the PC Police to up and decide what is and isn't okay to say? Wait a second. I didn't vote for them, did I? They weren't one of those people in the last general election who I voted for just because they were on the ballot? I never can resist the fun of punching a hole.

Now my reasoning may not hold water with a lot of folks, but I'm going to proceed anyway, so get ready to let the venom fly...

Tara Rose McAvoy, 18, of Austin, Texas is no longer with us. She's dead. It's very sad. Very sad indeed. Tara was the reigning Miss Deaf Texas. Couldn't hear a thing. Since birth. Not a singing bird. Not the Beatles. Tragically, she had to go her whole life without hearing a single Texan, "Yee-haw!" Nothing. She couldn't even hear the sound of a train horn. That would explain why a locomotive ran her over while she was walking along the tracks on Tuesday.

If you've been deaf for 18 years - and I would think by that time you would have realized it - wouldn't it occur to you that walking along train tracks isn't a good idea? Am I being too hard on Tara?

Perhaps I am, but I know I'm not being too hard on a St. Paul, Minnesota mother who got shot by her three-year old over the weekend. Apparently the little sharp shooter found a loaded 9mm handgun under a couch cushion, and when his mother saw what he had, she took the gun away. Shame on you! How many times have I said don't play with mommy's M9 Beretta when it's loaded and within reach? If really, really, really, really, really pressed, I might - just might - be able to forgive her folly up to this point. Unfortunately, that's not the end of our tale. Mommy unloaded the gun, forgetting about the round in the chamber and SLID THE GUN BACK UNDER THE COUCH CUSHION WHERE HE FOUND IT THE FIRST TIME! And again, that's where junior went back, took the weapon and accidentally discharged it, capping mommy in the knee.

This is where a DNA fail-safe would be nice to prevent you from procreation if your IQ falls below a certain level.

I've found that common sense isn't always that common, so don't think me too cruel if I also choose to pick on a minor. Take, for example, the story of an 8th grader who who tried to show-up his buddy in a pre-pubescent rite-of-passage that went painfully awry.

Apparently the lad and his friend were playing out in the rain in their swimming trunks when the boy in question accidentally bumped into a hot grill that his mother was using to cook dinner. The combination of the heat and the moisture in his trunks resulted in a chemical reaction commonly knows as "steam." Ahhhh. Fascinated, the two boys used this as an opportunity to see who could hold their wet bottoms to the grill the longest. Our hero came up with an idea that he believed would win him the competition. What he didn't realize was that he had actually started to out-grow his trunks; anytime he would sit down, they would hike upward, exposing the lower quarter of his rear-end. But he realized it the second he backed himself up to the grill, jumped-up on top of it in a sitting position, hopped off, only to find that he left behind two pieces of flesh from his now stinging posterior.

The lad spent the next week on his belly as his mother applied the necessary medication to his 2nd degree burns. Can you imagine how complicated sitting on the toilet must have been?

So there you have it. My politically incorrect pot-shots at stupid people.

But before you open fire, know this: whenever the memory crosses my mind, I never fail to hear my friend's laughter the day I left part of my ass on that grill.

Reset to 61

2006-03-13T17:03:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"No. I don't have to [use steroids]. I mean, I'm a good enough ballplayer as it is. I don't need to be any better. I can't get any better at this age."- Barry Bonds in an interview on On the Record with Bob Costas in June, 2002.

When I heard that Sports Illustrated was going to print an excerpt from a book detailing Barry Bonds' use of steroids, my first instinct was I can't wait to write about it. But while on a mission to buy a dozen eggs for my wife at 10:30 in the evening, I grabbed a copy of the magazine and after reading the article that same evening, I had a change-of-heart. I concluded there was little I could do, other than recap what's already in black and white, so why bother wasting my time? The authors had made a compelling case against Bonds, based on more than just circumstantial evidence, confirming what many of us suspected all along: Barry used steroids as a means to breaking Mark McGwire's single season home run record in 2001.

I'm not going to touch this one, I told myself. I'm wasn't interested in writing about the considerable collection of evidence against Bonds or why this is yet another stain on Major League Baseball or why this mess is a microcosm of greater society or how I think baseball should deal with Bonds or why I think he is a giant turd. There are people more articulate than a hack like me who will cover those topics. No need for me to pile on, so I'm just going to sit back, grab a bag of popcorn and be a spectator for this round.

That was, until I considered an email from my friend Michael.

You see, Michael, who is an ardent Giants and Bonds fan, is convinced that all of this "is a witch hunt!" This comes as little surprise to me. He's one of those guys, when they feel passionate about something, can really work up their SWM (Spoken Words per Minute). I've heard him defend Bonds over lunch, over coffee, over the phone, over a game of poker, over and over and over again. He's even taken the time to blog in defense of Bonds.

(My real concern is for Michael's wife, Tara, and their unborn child. The baby is due in the coming weeks and I'm a little worried he's going to push to name the kid Barry. Fight the good fight Tara!)

Michael emailed me something from at ESPN.com a few days ago. The topic at hand: What to do with Barry Bonds' records? Some have suggested they be erased. Some have suggested they remain as is. Some have suggested they be tagged with the infamous asterisk. Some have gone so far to suggest that baseball is a only a game and they don't care what happens. Heretics.

My stance has always been somewhere between leave them as is and tag with them with a footnote. The idea of altogether expunging a stat has always seemed a little silly to me. While records are usually associated with individual milestones, they all happened within the context of a game involving other players and other teams. If MLB were to expunge any individual records, does that mean they would retroactively change the outcomes of the games that led to those records? Of course not; there are too many variables to consider.

So then, Michael's email got me thinking on the topic of records.

There are two achievements in Baseball that standout as crown jewels in the record books. First and foremost, Most Career Home Runs. Hank Aaron, who has held this record since 1974, managed to hit 755 of them in his twenty-two year career. The second, currently held by Bonds, is the Most Single Season Home Runs. As mentioned, it was set in 2001. The steroid aided Bonds manged to hit the ball out of the park 73 times that year.

Before the 1998 season, the single season home record had belonged to Roger Maris. As a New York Yankee in 1961, Maris managed to hit 61 home runs, breaking the record formally held by Babe Ruth going all the way back to 1927. The Babe had 60. So over a 71-year stretch, only two players managed to hit 60 or more home runs within a season. That speaks to the greatness of the achievement and the difficulty in achieving it.

At least, that's what we used to think before 1998.

1998 is a year that even non-baseball fans recognize. That's the year Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire both chased down and broke Maris' record; Sammy with 66 and McGwire with 70. And while people did wonder aloud if those two ball players had any steroidal assistance, the frenzy and fervor of the chase were making it too much fun to think such downer thoughts. Besides, where was the proof? They were great hitters who also happened to be gym rats. Right?

In the following year, Sosa and McGwire did what neither Ruth or Maris were able to do. Hit more than 60 homes runs a second time. Sosa added 63 to his career total and McGwire added 65. In 2001, Sosa did it again hitting 64 more home runs; the same year that Bonds broke McGwire's record with 73.

In first 122 years of baseball, a player was able to hit at least 61 home runs in a single season just once. In the four years spanning 1998 to 2001 it happened six times.

Gee whiz, I wonder what changed?

There's no proof that Sammy Sosa or Mark McGwire used steroids; at least not the kind of proof mounted against Bonds. However, there are plenty of indications. Sammy's corked bat incident proves that he's been willing to cheat the system. McGwire's refusal to answer questions at the congressional hearing last year about steroid use certainly brought his legacy into question. And all three players can provide startling before-and-after pictures of their physique from their early days to recent years.

I think it's also worth mentioning that since Bonds took the single season home run record for his own nearly five years ago, Major League Baseball has come under pressure to ban steroid use and has since started screening players. In that time, the most home runs hit by a player in a single season is 57, set by Alex Rodriquez in 2002.

So where did all of this leave my thinking? First, Maris went through a lot of scrutiny and criticism by the media and the fans in his pursuit of Ruth's single season home run record back in 1961. Most wanted Mickey Mantle, who finished the year with 54, to break the record. As a result, Maris became a pariah for playing well. Go figure. Second, and more importantly, the fact that it's only through the use of performance enhancing drugs a player has been able to hit more than 61 home runs in the history of baseball makes Maris' accomplishment all that more special.

As I said, I think the idea of expunging record is pointless. None-the-less, if Major League Baseball ever gets to the point of acknowledging steroid use by Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire and Barry Bonds during their pursuit of the single season home run records, I hope they'll do the right thing and give that title back to Roger and his surviving family.

In the meantime, I'll be happy so long as Michael doesn't name any of his off-spring Barry.

A Blog by Any Other Name

2006-03-08T17:01:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"I'm going to memorize your name and throw my head away." - Oscar Levant

I'm relatively new to blogging. Not just writing, but also reading. So I did a little research to see what other people are blogging about out there. I discovered there's not much they aren't blogging about. It's big business; everybody's got an opinion and everybody wants it to be heard.

Most bloggers recognize that the key to getting exposure starts with the name. The following is a list of blog titles that caught my attention... and my initial reaction when they did:

Panama Residential Developers Blog - Developing residential land in Panama? Well, I suppose if your looking for an investment, this is something to do. I also hear the Iraqi housing market is going to boom any day now. OK, maybe "boom" wasn't the best choice of words...

modestly yours blog - I thought this was refreshing. A blog of women who "value modesty in its various forms." Good for them! (FYI, there's a picture of one of the girls on their "about" page who is hot! I bet she'd look slam'n in a bikini!)

Dating Scene In NYC From The French Point Of View - I could see where a blog like this would be helpful if 1) I was dating in New York City and 2) I gave a damn what the french think.

Gay News Blog - A blog for cowboys?

Breakfast with Pandora - "caters to everyone interested in ancient Greek and comparative mythology, good stories, the craft of writing, food, theology, education, and other human things." Since you include other human things, could you blog about Joan Rivers? Oh wait; I got mixed-up. She's a 'thing other than human'.

Chocolate & Zucchini - A food blog, no doubt. I was going to start my own food blog once. I was going to call it "Cheetos & Lard".

angry chicken - If somebody cut my head off, I'd run around pissed-off about it too!

"Cowboy's Sweetheart" Vintage Cowgirl Journal - Weblog of Deb Trotter - So what, now we're saying they're not gay? Make up your mind!

Scribal Terror - The blog's author says on her About page, "I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia." What do you mean "if there isn't"? Sweetheart, the closest thing to Naria you're going to find in this dimension is a Grateful Dead concert.

Adventures in Troubleshooting - Isn't that like 'Oil in Water'?

Life Insurance Ideas - Yeah, I'd appreciate it if you didn't give my wife any ideas.

Mirror of Justice - A blog dedicated to the development of Catholic legal theory. Legal theory alone is compelling. But Catholic legal theory? I can hardly contain myself! Oh look, I found a nickel.

BillyKnowsBest - "Consumer and Shopping advice from Billy Kolber-Stuart." A guy who likes shopping? No really, what's this blog about?

Bridalwave - "Frocks, shoes, food and booze - helping you to say 'I do'." Don't you mean, helping him say 'I do'?

beckschallenge - "Sit down, grab a cool drink and read about my new journey to a gorgeous, healthy body." That's disappointing. I was hoping it was going to be about beer.

one raised eyebrow - "better take your clothes off ï¿½ I'm about to say something profound" You first babe.

Obsessive Compulsive Order News - Update the blog. Check the stove. Update the blog. Check the locks. Update the blog. Check the iron. Update the blog. Wash hands. Update the blog. Check the stove...

The Blogged Drain - Oh I get it. Clogged drain, blogged drain. Ha ha. Truth is, that's not funny. It's not even clever. It's just stupid.

Everything I say is fascinating - Finally somebody who is honest. Everybody feels that way. Why do you think blogging is so damn popular?

Hollywood: The Heart of a Nation's Conscience

2006-03-07T17:00:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"A lot of people say this town is too liberal. They say that Hollywood is out of touch. ... I don't really have a joke here. I just thought you should know a lot of people are saying that." - from Jon Stewart's opening monologue at the Oscars, March 5, 2006.

I spent this past Sunday evening watching the Oscars. Or should I say, I watched Lost on Tivo and every 20 or 30 minutes, I'd flip to the Oscars to see who won.

I did catch the first fifteen minutes of the show and in that time I saw George Clooney win for Best Supporting Actor. I would like to share the tail-end of his acceptance speech:

"And finally, I would say that, you know, we are a little bit out of touch in Hollywood every once in a while. I think it's probably a good thing. We're the ones who talk about AIDS when it was just being whispered, and we talked about civil rights when it wasn't really popular. And we, you know, we bring up subjects. This Academy, this group of people gave Hattie McDaniel an Oscar in 1939 when blacks were still sitting in the backs of theaters. I'm proud to be a part of this Academy. Proud to be part of this community, and proud to be out of touch."

Translation: Hollywood has a conscience... and nobody else does. If it weren't for us and our ability to bring light to the issues that we alone care about, then the world would be a dark place indeed. If it weren't for Hollywood, there'd be no civil rights movement. If it weren't for us, there'd be no AIDS awareness. If it weren't for us, the country would have no soul, because nobody cares enough to make a difference the way we do.

Perhaps that's a little-over-the-top, but I think I'm in the ballpark.

I like George Clooney. Really, I do. Great actor. Seems to be a nice guy. Makes great films. But there's something I need to say to him: George, take your self-righteous b.s. and blow it out your ass. Please.

Hollywood was talking about civil right before it was popular? So was Martin Luther King, Jr and he didn't film his message, distribute it, and remain safely tucked away in Beverly Hills when the white masses became outraged. He spoke in public, where he faced the heat of opposition until it killed him.

And Hollywood was talking about AIDS when it was just being whispered? Is Time magazine to be a "whisper" of a publication, because I seem to recall seeing it on their cover - several times - long before I saw anything about it in a theater.

And you gave Hattie McDaniel an Oscar before segregation was lifted? True, but where was Hattie sitting the night she got the Oscar? In the back of the theater.

Besides, Hattie was not the point you were trying to make. The point you were making - in a venue where you knew few would disagree - is that Hollywood is made up of brave trailblazers who aren't afraid to use their art to fight the good fight.

Bologna.

Hollywood is made up of people whose first priority is to make it big for themselves and once that is accomplished, they'll start to concern themselves with the ills of the world, so long as they don't have to compromise their fame and riches. And even when they do take-up a cause, is it because their publicist said it would make for good PR with their next movie due out soon or because they care?

Now before I get accused of stereo-typing, I acknowledge that there are those in Tinseltown who take up a cause because it is something in which they genuinely believe. Prime examples (so far as I can tell): Brad Pitt and his support of the One Campaign. Paul Newman and the Hole in the Wall Gang summer camp charity. Rosie O'Donnell and The For All Kids Foundation.

I also don't deny that celebrities are great in a pinch. When it came to raising funds for tsunami and Katrina relief, their involvement was instrumental.

But let's not forget what Hollywood is. First and foremost it is a collection of businesses; very lucrative businesses that pay their employees very, very well. Their first concern, like any business, is the bottom line. So if making a picture about racial tensions in LA will sell tickets, that is what will motivate a studio to make that film. Magnanimous sentiments will be secondary.

There are exceptions to the rule. Most defiantly. There are filmmakers who are trying to pay the bills and get a message across. They also happen to be the minority and many of them are independent.

I would caution George and his counterparts to pull back on the self-righteous rhetoric for one last reason: Hollywood produces a lot of amoral (and immoral*) crap. Movies that are the complete antithesis of what he was touting on stage Sunday night. So if they want credit for the positive things coming out of the studios, they'd be less hypocritical if they also took responsibility for the garbage that is bound to follow.

Dear God, you can't be serious?

2006-03-06T16:58:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection." - Sigmund Freud

There's been one story in the Bible that I'm surprised doesn't get a little more pub from the pulpit or isn't on some "Coolest Stories of the Scriptures" Top 10 list (which is something I wouldn't put past the of-it-but-not-in-it crowd).

For those in need of a little Sunday schooling, let me give you a some background. Abraham, who lived about 4100 years ago, is considered by many to have been a man of unparalleled faith. Whenever God gave him a word, rarely did he question it and always did he obey it. God rewarded his faithfulness by promising him a good name, great prosperity and lots of grand kids. It was that last promise that really caught Abraham's attention. Like so many couples, Abraham and his wife Sarah wanted desperately to have children but were unable. If God was promising to bless Abraham's descendants, the small matter of conceiving needed to be addressed. Long story short, making good on His promise, God eventually blessed them with a son. His name was Issac.

Those descendants? We know them today as the Jews, effectively making Abraham the first Jew. That kinda makes Abraham a big deal in both the Jewish and Christian traditions, and as it turns out, the Islamic tradition as well, but that's a tale for another blog.

The story I want to focus on is found In Genesis 22 and while it involves Abraham and Issac, it's really about Abraham's relationship with God. The story begins with the following (from The Message):

After all this, God tested Abraham. God said, "Abraham!" "Yes?" answered Abraham. "I'm listening." He said, "Take your dear son Isaac whom you love and go to the land of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I'll point out to you."

STOP! If I had been Abraham - and let's all be grateful that I was not - after hearing that, I imagine my exchange with God would go a little something like this:

I'm sorry God, but could you repeat that last part again? I could swear I heard you say 'go offer Isaac up as a burnt sacrifice.'

Yes, that's what I said.

God, you can't be serious?!? I mean, we've been holding out for this kid, he finally comes and you want me to kill him? Hello? What about our big plans? A great nation? Descendants too numerous to count? The family vacation to Egypt? I hear those new pyramids they got are spectacular.

I still plan to honor my side of the deal.

Your side of the deal? What am I supposed to tell his mother? 'Ah honey, don't worry about setting a place to Isaac at dinner tonight. He won't be joining us... EVER! But that's okay, cause God's still going to honor his side of the deal.'

You are just going to have to trust me on this one.

God this isn't about the whole Hagar and Ishmael thing, cause if it is, I thought we buried the hatchet on that one.

Trust me.

Trust you? God, I so want to trust you on this one, I really do, but I'm not sure I can. I mean, it's more than the plans or his mother. He's my boy. My flesh and blood; blood you are asking me to spill. God, how can you ask me to do this to my boy?

But Abraham's exchange with God went nothing like that. In fact, the scriptures don't record what his immediate response was. All it says is that the next day, he woke-up, grabbed a couple of donkeys, some servants, and he, along with Isaac, went off to where God had commanded him (again from The Message):

"Abraham built an altar. He laid out the wood. Then he tied up Isaac and laid him on the wood. Abraham reached out and took the knife to kill his son. Just then an angel of GOD called to him out of Heaven, "Abraham! Abraham!" "Yes, I'm listening." "Don't lay a hand on that boy! Don't touch him! Now I know how fearlessly you fear God; you didn't hesitate to place your son, your dear son, on the altar for me." Abraham looked up. He saw a ram caught by its horns in the thicket. Abraham took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son.

Before I had children, I always considered that to be a compelling story. You cared about the characters. Plenty of suspense. A happy ending. What's not to like?

That changed after the birth of my first child. Once I became I parent, I was genuinely troubled by the story. Looking at the text through the lenses of a father, it raised two questions for me. First, how could God ask that of Abraham and second, why would Abraham so readily comply?

Side Bar: There is a third question that may vex some, so I thought I would at least acknowledge it. How do we know this story is true? The answer is, we don't. And that's okay. Even with a B.A. in Biblical and Theological Studies, there are a lot of stories that I don't take at face value. For example, the Creation account in Genesis One. Do I really think it happened in 7 days? Absolutely not. It was a simple explanation written during a simpler time by a simple man - intellectually speaking, that is.

But the point of the story isn't how God did it, but that He did do it. Most refuse to question the fallibility of the scriptures; if they did, then their logic dictates that the rest of the text can be brought into question; most notably, the Gospels. That's a pretty faithless perspective. I like to think that it takes a greater measure of faith to acknowledge that there are inconsistencies in the biblical text and still to believe in God's sovereignty.

So is the Genesis 22 account 100% accurate? Again, God only knows. I'm more concerned with the question, "What does God want me to learn from this story?"

So back to my original two questions: How could God ask that of Abraham and why would Abraham so readily comply? The answer to the first question is easy for me. He's God. He's good. We just have to trust he knew (and knows) what he was doing. If you can't leave it at that, then you may not truly believe He's good, in which case the rest of what I have to say will be a little consequence to you.

As for Abraham's willingness to take his son's life, I think it runs deeper than "He was a man of great faith." I think Abe was dialed into something I struggle with daily. Actually, most of us in western civilization struggle with daily. He understood that while Issac was his son, Issac wasn't his.

See if you can wrap your brain around this one. You own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not your "possessions." Not your soul. Not your body. Not your life. And certainly, not the life of another. If we did, we'd be taking some of that stuff with us after we turned our toes up to the daisies. The Egyptians thought they could take their belongings with them, but their stuff just ended up in museums.

It's counter cultural and counter history to think that we actually don't own anything. Why do you think somebody thought slavery or the feudal system were good ideas? To be human is to be territorial. Especially when it comes to our children. My son. My daughter. My kids. For a parent, the thought that our children aren't ours is an anxious one. Trust me; I know. But there is a way out from under the fear.

Richard Foster in his book, Celebration of the Disciplines puts it like this:

"Freedom from anxiety is characterized by thee inner attitudes. If what we have we receive as a gift, and if what we have is to be cared for by God, and if what we have is available to others, then we will posses freedom from anxiety" (Foster, 1978, p. 88).

And that, I believe, is what Abraham had figured out. "Issac is not mine. He is God's. I'm just a steward. God granted me this gift; I didn't go out and get it on my own."

But for me, that kind of thinking flies in the face of my world view. Most parents feel a strong need to protect their children. "You get near my kid and I will do to you ungodly things that you can't even imagine" (and that's the PG version of what I'm really thinking).

But what if that isn't really protecting them at all? What if having faith in something we can't see is the key to truly protecting those we love and care about? Does that mean that I could put a knife to my children's throat? Oh, hell no! But for me it starts with a simple prayer, asking for God's protection over "my" family, acknowledging they are His & His to protect, and thanking Him for allowing me to the opportunity to care for His children.

Remember, He loves our loved ones more than we ever could.

The Road to Stupidity is paved with Good Intentions

2006-03-01T11:42:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"Life is tough. Life is tougher if you're stupid." - John Wayne

I was almost childlike thinking about how happy I was going to make her. She was going to be so relieved. Who knows, I might even get lucky because of it.

As it turns out, I was like a child in ways I didn't even realize. Silly... foolish... thoughtless little boy. What was truly amazing is that by the end of it all, I would try to minimize the effect of my own stupidity by exhibiting more stupidity. That's tantamount to pouring a bucket of water over your head as a means to drying-off.

It was the summer of 1997. My wife and I were in the process of moving from Bolivar, Missouri to St. Paul, Minnesota. I just finished a two-year stint as a Resident Director (RD) at Southwest Baptist University and was getting ready to assume the same role at Bethel College. The nice thing about being an RD is that housing typically comes as part of the compensation package. No rent. No mortgage payment. No utilities. It's really quite a nice gig.

The drawbacks are few, but they are significant. Among them, you usually aren't permitted to move into your new surroundings until college housekeeping and maintenance get the opportunity to clean and do any necessary repairs, and they can't get to work until the current occupants vacate. For us, that summer, it was even more complicated. Southwest Baptist wanted us out before Bethel was asking my predecessor to leave. The difference was a span of about 2 or 3 weeks.

But, that's what family is for and my mother graciously offered to let us stay with her in Chicago during that time. All we had to do is haul our belongings 600 miles to a storage facility near Bethel and then drive another 400 miles to my mother's home.

So that's what we did. Drove to Minnesota, rented a locker at a local U-Haul station large enough to accommodate our worldly processions, purchased one of those heavy duty padlocks, dropped-off the extra padlock key with my brother-in-law who lived nearby, put my padlock key in a safe place and immediately headed towards Illinois.

That was the easy part. It became decidedly more difficult when I allowed myself to have an idea.

My wife had commented that she was dreading the thought of having to move our belongings from the storage locker and then again into the on-campus apartment. It bothered her so much, that she lamented it daily.

I, on the other hand, was not bothered by the idea in the least. It was a brainless activity that required no thought on my part; just a little elbow grease. Me husband. Me move boxes. Me drive truck. Me move boxes again. Ugh. So it only seemed logical for me to do it without her. Then I got word that our apartment was ready ahead of schedule and that gave me the idea not only do it without her, but also unbeknown to her. Oh boy, oh boy, won't she be happy with me!

So I came up with an excuse to be gone for a few days... Chicago Bears training camp or something. I made arrangements to rent a truck from the U-Haul station, recruited my college roommate Phil to help - who also lived close to Bethel - and headed back to the Twin Cities in my grandmother's 1991 Olds Delta 88.

When most people think of Wisconsin, they think of cheese. And when they think of cheese they think of cows. And when they think of cows they think of farm land. Having driven through the state dozens of times, let me assure you that while that does describe thousands of square miles of America's Dairyland, it does not describe it all.

As you drive north along I-90 out of Illinois into Wisconsin, the land is one large pasture covering a series rolling hills, pockmarked with groves of trees every couple of acres; but it's not the flat, as-far-as-the-eye-can-see topography of an Iowa or a Nebraska. In spite of the bland quality of farm country, the drive through southern Wisconsin can be rather pleasant.

But the land actually turns genuinely scenic, for about 150 miles, once you get near the city of Portage, about 30 minutes north of Madison. At that point the rolling hills begin to crowd each other, forcing them to tower over the interstate, leaving northbound travelers feeling claustrophobic. The folding of the land here causes the soil to peel itself back, revealing rock formations that jut out of the side of these now steep hills. Because the ground no longer caters itself to farming, the natural order of things takes over and the hills are covered in miles and miles of woodlands, with the occasional rock formation as a backdrop.

Some of these formations are very impressive. They sit as lone survivors of erosion long since past; shear faced, flat topped giants of... Shit! No I did not! Oh no, I did! My mind began to race. I could feel the color leave my face. These picturesque surroundings might as well been a thousand miles away because all I was aware of was the dilemma I had thoughtlessly created for myself.

I was roughly three or four hours into my trip; just over half way to St. Paul. That was when I realized that I forgot my padlock key. Jerry, how could you be so stupid! It was mid-day, so to turn around, get my key and get me back to this point would waste about six or seven hours; hours I could not afford because my wife was expecting me back the following day. I nervously and repeatedly ran my hand through my hair.

I called Phil and told him that there was a snag in my plan and that I would call him once it was settled.

I had one hope. My brother-in-law, David. I was at least mindful enough to leave a key with him. One slight problem: for reasons I cannot recall now, I knew that he and his family were gone for the day. His house was empty. I knew where the key was in his kitchen, but little good that did me if I couldn't get into the house. My spirits sank as I sank into my seat.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures." Do you know what that is? I am convinced that is a phrase coined by a colossally stupid man looking for an excuse to take his stupidity to a whole new level. That's the phrase that I kept looping through my mind so as to squelch any sign of common sense. That's the phrase I used to justify my solution to this dilemma.

I was going to break into David's home.

To be perfectly honest, I was a little intimidated by David those first few year of my marriage. When my wife and I got engaged, he wasn't all too crazy about the idea and he had no problem letting her know. He eventually made nice-nice with my wife; he never said a word to me. He's also one of the single most handy men I know. David and his wife Kathy owned several properties that they rented out and he alone maintained. The house I was planning to break into, he built. In sharp contrast, I barely knew the difference between a flat-head and a Phillip's screwdriver. Because of our differences, I was never entirely certain that I had his trust and I certainly didn't believe I had his respect. We had a somewhat tenuous relationship, so for me to think that breaking into this man's home was the best solution to my problem, I must have been really desperate; and really stupid.

David and Kathy's home is located on a lot out in the woods, about 30 miles north of downtown St. Paul. Way out in the woods. Getting there requires driving on a couple miles worth of unpaved, sandy roads that had likely once been logging trails. Keeping up with the scheme of things, their driveway was all sand as was their front and back yards. They had neighbors, but their lots were separated by a hundred feet of trees and the homes were barely visible to each other; there was a very isolated quality to their property.

As I pulled up to the house, any hope that they might be home vanished. There were no cars and all the windows and doors were closed. I parked my car, got out and started to walk around the house, checking all of the doors and looking for windows that might have been left unlocked. The front door, the side garage door and the sliding back door were all locked. The basement windows were no help either. Any first level window within reach was closed and even if they had been left open, negotiating the screen out of the frame without tearing it would be difficult.

I drove to a neighbor's house, who I recalled being friends with Dave and Kathy, in the off-chance that they might have a key. Nobody home. I drove back.

I could almost sense the padlock key. I could look through their kitchen window and see the drawer where it was safely kept. It wasn't even 10 feet away from where I stood. I circled the house again and again hoping to find a weakness that I missed on a previous pass. I could not bring myself to leave. I had come over 400 miles that day and I would not allow it to be for nothing. I felt like a guard dog who had chased an intruder up a tree and with a singular focus paced around its base, unable to walk away. The thought that an inch long, worthless piece of metal was thwarting my plan incensed me. But it wasn't worthless. Otherwise I wouldn't be creating a moat around my brother-in-law's home.

I decided to walk around the house once more, but this time I would widen my path. I did see something. I could see that the master bathroom window on the second floor was open; only by an inch, but it was open. What was advantageous about this window being unlocked was that is sat directly above a bay window that protruded from the house, topped with a layer of roofing shingles slanting at a greater than 45 degree angle. All I had to do was get myself to the top of the bay window, situate myself on the shingles, reach up, and find a way to remove the screen.

I looked around. There was nothing on their property that I could use to boost me up to the top of the bay window. The stupidity in me started to rise forcing an idea to the top of my mind. I did bring something I could climb; or more specifically, it brought me.

I got into my grandmother's car, started it up, pulled it into their back yard, and positioned it inches from their house, directly under the bay window. I then proceeded to climb onto the roof of a car, that was not mine, to break into a house, that was not mine.

I pulled myself up onto the top of the bay window, feeling the grit of the shingles being embedded into my bare knees. As I peered over the top over the window sill, I could feel an air flow coming from house. All that separated me from gaining entry was the micro thin layer of tin that made up the mesh of the screen. My only hope was to somehow pop the screen out of it's frame without tearing or bending it. It was bad enough that I was breaking and entering, but I didn't want to add vandalism to the list.

I acknowledged that falling was possibility, but I didn't think about what might happen upon landing; with nobody in the vicinity, perhaps I should have been more concerned. But while my stupidity is what got me into this mess, it is also what got me out of it; it's the one time that I did dry-off by pouring the proverbial bucket of water over my head. By not concerning myself with frivolous details like common decency and safety, I was able to focus on my goal. I liken to what athletes know as "the zone." It's that experience where you stop thinking about something and simply do it. Athletes like Michael Jordan and Larry Bird have talked about how the game would slow down and the net looked like a hula-hoop. Perhaps that is why, without fear - another sign of stupidity - I was able to balance myself about fifteen feet above the ground, against the side of a house, on steeply slanted shingles, reach up, free the screen with my car keys and gain entry to David's home.

A week later, even as we were walking into our new apartment, my wife was again lamenting the chore of having to retrieve our belongings from storage. Her mood immediately changed upon seeing that the task had already been completed. Her relief was obvious. But I imagine that the relief she felt that day, paled in comparison to mine, the day I came to rest on David's bathroom floor, under the window through which I had just crawled.

Bye, 'Buy American'

2006-02-28T11:39:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"Mediocrity - It takes a lot less time and most people won't notice the difference until it's too late." - from despair.com.

If you own a "Buy American" bumper sticker, would it be asking too much for you to remove it? If you send me your address, I'll send you a razor and a bottle of turpentine, if that would help.

Consumer Reports came out with their list of the top automobile picks for 2006. Out of ten possible categories - such as "Sedan, less than $20,000" or "Mid-sized SUV/SUV more than $30,000" - not a single American made vehicle took the top spot. In fact, it was a clean sweep by the Japanese.

Good for them. Bad for the idiots behind the slow dying "Buy American" campaign. (We can't even come up with a public service campaign that has any longevity).

I'm no Milton Friedman, but I at least understand that the standard of living I enjoy is made possible by our economy, so I won't be so fooish as to dismiss American made products out-of-hand. Truly, I want to want to buy products that are "Made in the USA." I want American companies to do well in the marketplace. But at the risk of sounding like I'm biting the hand that feeds me, why should I buy American products just for the sake of buying American products?

Now, I'm not saying that all things American-made are second rate. Take the Apple computer for example. Is there a better personal computer out there? If so, I bet it too is American (Of course, I would be interested to know how many of the components are 'made in Taiwan'). And who makes a better vacuum cleaner than Sears Kenmore? According to Consumer Reports, nobody. They really suck.

The product doesn't even have to be the best; just competitive. The German-made Braun PowerMax MX2050 is, also according to the good people at CR, the best blender on the market. But guess what? The American-made Cuisinart Smart Power SPB-7 isn't too far behind in the rankings and the difference in price is only $10. I could so write ad copy.

And honestly, what country makes better guns, golf clubs and fishing poles than the US of A?

But aside from our homes, the largest expenditure we are likely to make is for an automobile. For some, it's a humongous expense. I found a used 2004 Bentley Continental GT Coupe on eBay that sold for $165,900.00. I once purchased a house for about that much. But even $21K for a Ford Taurus or $20K for a Chevy Impala is a lot of money. So if I'm in the market for a car, again I ask, why should I buy American products just for the sake of buying American products, particularly when I can buy something better for roughly the same amount?

The Consumer Patriotism folks will do their song and dance about how American sovereignty is being sacrificed to the global market and I have a duty to my country to support the economy by putting my money back into it. While I'm sure there is a measure of truth to that sentiment, is it really that cut-n-dry? Perhaps it is, but doesn't it sends the message, "Let's reward mediocrity" and isn't that a very unAmerican sentiment?

And isn't excessive debt bad for the economy? How is my going into debt to purchase an American made vehicle, that may not last as long as a foreign model, a good thing? Wouldn't that force me to buy another vehicle, thus incurring more debt, sooner than I would otherwise?

I haven't even begun to breach the issue of the additional costs for maintenance and upkeep of American vehicles.

Again, I'm no economist; I have more questions than answers. But if those who lament the financial troubles of the American auto industry decry the wide-spread purchasing of the better made foreign models, then my original question still stands. Why?

Oh, and I almost forgot. Leaf blowers. Who makes better leaf blowers than America?

Breaking Partisan Ranks

2006-02-27T11:29:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely." -Lord Acton, British historian

David called and asked if I wanted to get together for lunch. Yeah, I can do lunch. How about La Esperanza? Sounds good. What time? Let's meet at 11:30 so we can get in just ahead of the lunch crowd. Good thinking. See you then. Later. Click.

I got out of the office in a timely fashion; no hold-ups on my way out the door. The cold motivated me to double-time it across the parking lot to my car. I should've let the car warm-up but I didn't. The traffic was good. I was going to be early. Or was I? The cars were backed-up at the corner of Edison and 23. There were a couple of squads blocking all traffic from entering the intersection from two opposite directions. I got out of line, cut through a neighborhood and tried another intersection a few blocks down. Same thing. I tried a third. More cops. This time I pulled into a parking lot adjacent to Edison Road. I got out of my car and walked to the curb. As far as I could see in either direction, the police were preventing traffic onto the road to keep it clear. For what? A parade in February?

Then I heard a noise. Sirens to be exact and a lot of them. Cresting over the hill about 3/4 of a mile to my left I saw two lines of motorcycles about five rows deep, flashers on. It was the source of the noise. I took a picture with my camera phone for posterity. Following close behind were three limousines, flanked by another pair of motorcycles. Pulling up the rear were about six or seven large, black SUVs with tinted windows.

As the motorcade got closer, something in the back of my mind asked, "Didn't I hear that the President was coming to South Bend for a visit?" That question was answered as the limousines pass and I see George W. Bush looking out a window, waving to on-lookers.

I looked at my watch. I should have been at La Esperanza ten minutes ago. Because of the President of the United States I was running late. I guess I can just add that to the long list of things that man has done to frustrate me over the past few years.

I voted for George W. Bush; twice. I almost didn't the second time. The only time I have voted against him was in the Minnesota primary back in 2000 when I voted for Arizona Senator John McCain. There was a missed opportunity.

When it comes to politics, I tend to be more conservative in my thinking. I came by it honestly. My mother thinks it's because I attended a private, conservative, evangelical college. She's wrong. I have considered the issues. The platforms. The philosophical approaches. And in my opinion, in an ideal world, the conservative approach to politics is best. I guess that's why they call it ideology.

However, that does not mean that I agree with every stance the conservative leaders of this county take. Prime example: George W. Bush.

Criticism of the President is nothing new. The last time we had a President who enjoyed any kind of wide-spread popularity, Ronald Regan was in office. Before him I'd imagine you'd have to go back to JFK... following his assassination. It's rare for most of the people to appreciate the President most of the time. But how about most of the people disapproving of him most of the time? Rare or not, one could argue that is today's reality.

The demonization of this President is impressive. Many evangelical, conservative types believed Bill Clinton to be a sinner of the worst kind. He cheated on his wife. He engaged in carnal behavior in the Oval office. He lied about it. And yet, according to some, Bill Cilinton and all of his character flaws have nothing on G-Dub. For example, I found a web site dedicated to proving that George W. Bush is in fact, the anti-Christ. And what other Presidents had to deal with a box office success like Fahrenheit 911?

The public mockings have been equally impressive. Can you think of a President who's been the butt of more "stupid" jokes during late night monologues or on Saturday Night Live? Swing by Amazon.com, do a search under his name, and you'll find everything from publications of "Bushisms" to "Impeach George W. Bush" bumper stickers.

Additionally, the President and his administration are starting to come under attack from members of the Christian media. In its January 2006 issue, Sojourners magazine published a commentary by "God's Politics" author Jim Wallis entitled "Falsehoods and the Iraq War." In it, Wallis took issue with the Vice President by asserting that he "has a serious moral problem with truth-telling." In the most recent issue of Sojourners, Ray McGovern, a 27-year veteran of the CIA's analysis division, comments on the President's open willingness to authorize NSA eavesdropping without a court order. He writes, "The founders wrote into the Constitution an orderly process to deal with a president or other high official who starts acting as though he is above the law - a political process that obviates the need for an insurrection or coup. It is called impeachment."

But what I find more indicting than the movie, the web sites, the commentaries, the jokes and the protests is that one-by-one, members of his own party are starting to publicly challenge the President. Some conservatives have gone so far as to publicly endorse proposals for Articles of Impeachment; such as the always vocal Pat Buchanan, Former GOP Congressman Bob Barr of Georgia, republican House candidate Dennis Morrisseau of Vermont, former White House Counsel to President Nixon, John Dean, and former Assistant Secretary of the Treasury in the Reagan Administration, Paul Craig Roberts.

While the country was clearly polarized over George W. Bush during his re-election bid, it now seems as though there is a new swell of opposition building.

So is the President guilty? It's a question worth asking. I've been told that where there's smoke, there's fire. It would seem to this simpleton that there have been enough concerns raised both from within and from without to warrant a trial; a trial to determine if this President and his administration have been acting above the law. Speaking as somebody who supported his candidacy and voted for George W. Bush, I most certainly want to know.

On a less sympathetic note, this is a bed that the Republican party made for itself. If President Clinton can be impeached for lying about his sex life, then leading us to war under false pretenses or blatantly acting without a necessary court order, more than meet the criteria for filing Articles of Impeachment.

Unfortunately, we are unlikely to have that opportunity with a Republican controlled congress. For that reason, and no other, I am breaking partisan ranks this fall and voting Democrat. If that would worry some, trust me when I say, President Bush has done more than most presidents to support the conservative agenda by appointing Justices Roberts and Alito to the Supreme Court.

In spite of what Bill Clinton experienced, impeachment is not about humiliating the President. It, like all other trials, is about getting at the truth. My hope is that republicans and democrats alike would want nothing less.

If the thought still leaves a sour taste in your mouth, think of it as congress conducting a job preformance review on the President. And yes, depending on the outcome, somebody could get fired.

But fret not. I'll be voting for John McCain again in 2008.

Good for Kelly and her Breasts

2006-02-22T11:27:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness." - Leo Tolstoy

I admit it. I stared right at her breasts. I could hardly help myself. I think I even leaned forward in my chair a little.

In my defense, it was not entirely for the reasons you think. Perhaps - just perhaps - it was not even mostly for the reasons you think.

Over the weekend I saw a photograph of American Idol winner turned genuine pop-star Kelly Clarkson arriving at the Brit Awards in London - UK's version of the Grammys - wearing a black, strapless little number and a big smile. After noticing that she accessorized the dress with a black headband and a purse that resembled a rolled-up a newspaper, my eyes fell directly on her breasts... and there they stayed for the next few moments.

There was something different about her breasts. What was it? I've seen my fair share of red carpet fashion shows where the art of pretension is perfected, but there was something about her cleavage that was out-of-place and I could not put my finger on it (insert sophomoric pun here).

Then it dawned on me. Her boobs are real!

And in that moment, I had nothing but admiration for Miss Clarkson.

I'm just taking a stab in the dark here, but I'm guessing that as soon as Kelly Clarkson stepped into the public eye, she started feeling pressure to cultivate her own hollywood image; an image that was likely the brain-child of some LA publicist, vis--vis Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle. Taken to the extreme, an image I imagine, that might have required a nip here, a tuck there or an implant anywhere.

Having lived in Malibu, California for a couple of years, I'm sure it would surprise few to learn that cosmetic surgery is commonplace in SoCal. I saw my share of teen-aged girls walking around with post-rhinoplasty bandages across the bridge of their nose; either that or there is a schnoz-punching crime spree that is targeting the daughters of America's rich and famous.

If those young ladies - whose livelihood is not contingent upon widespread exposure - feel the pressure to have cosmetic work done, how much more pressure must celebrities feel to perfect an image in addition to their perfecting their craft? If you believe any of what you can read in the grocery store lines, many of them do succumb and go under the knife.

Now before your eyes roll so far back in your head that they get stuck, let me assure you that I'm not writing this to solicit sympathy for those afflicted with fame. I am, however, writing this to applaud Miss Clarkson's efforts to keep her body as she found it.

We all know what is at the core of this issue: vanity.

We all deal with it because it's a by-product of our interactions with each other. If we isolated ourselves, then we'd find little reason to look nice or presentable. Hygiene would become obsolete. The cosmetic sector would plummet on Wall Street. Beauty mags would go out-of-business. Women would have hairy legs. And most tragically, the metro-sexual movement would be reduced to a passing fad. It wouldn't be pretty (pun intended).

But we aren't isolated and we do spend time together and as a result we concern ourselves with how we are perceived. Men and women alike. Women try their best to meet the unrealistic expectations of the lust-happy male culture and men try their best to meet the unrealistic expectations of the female culture. It's a viscous cycle and it starts pretty early in life, even for boys.

I remember in 7th grade wanting to look "cool" so I had my mom buy me a pair of parachute pants. I didn't own a parachute, but boy did I want the pants.

In jr. high you did not want to be the last kid in the locker room to grow hair on your legs or the nether regions of your body. There was no greater affront to a young man's budding masculinity than to be called "hairless."

In high school you wanted to be one of the first kids to feature the proverbial peach fuzz above your upper lip. Unfortunately the hair issue has gone to the other end of the spectrum and now I would like to halt its growth; particularly from places like my ears, nose and back.

My point being that vanity-run-a-muck isn't solely a female issue or solely a male issue. It's cultural and as we all know, it is at epidemic proportions. It's why 13 year old girls are more concerned with looking like a Brittany Spears than being a kid. It's why high school boys use steroids. It's why nearly 1/5 of all college-aged women struggle with bulimia (Radar Programs) and why approximately one million men and boys struggle with an eating disorder (ANAD). It's also why there has been a 40% increase in plastic surgery among women since 1997 (AAFPRS).

Those who we chose to set the ridiculously high standards for beauty and appearance are the same people we place in the global spotlight. People like Paris Hilton. Brad Pitt. Christina Aguilera. Brad Pitt. Angelina Jolie. Brad Pitt.

But there are others in the spotlight as well. People who affirm a different standard.

People like Kelly Clarkson.

And that is why Miss Clarkson's choices - or non-choices - about her body are refreshing. Choices like those will always be more admirable than the body could ever hope to be.

What McDonald's Was to the 20th Century

2006-02-19T11:25:00.000-08:00

by Jer

"My body... officially hates me." - Morgan Spurlock from the documentary Super Size Me.

Ever noticed that wherever you go, there's a McDonald's? Of course you do. You can drive to some of the most remote places in the country and there will be a McDonald's. There might not be a Burger King, a Wendy's or a Taco Bell, but I bet'cha the Golden Arches are somewhere close.

The town of LaGrange - ironically - sits in LaGrange County, the least populous county in the state of Indiana. This quaint little town, which still features hitching posts next to parking spots to accommodate its Amish residents, is run by a town council. They are, according to Indiana state law, too small to be governed by a mayor.

But they have a McDonald's.

You might think that a place like Malibu, California, home to movie stars and some of the world's wealthiest people would be too affluent a community for a MickyDs. Not true. They've got one right there on the Pacific Coast Highway, not 50 yards from the ocean.

A few years back, my wife and I took a trip to Europe. Getting off the train in Munich was an assault on the senses. There were boarding calls for towns I had never heard of. People were speaking different languages. The vendors sold candy I did not recognize and newspapers I could not read. It was exciting and a bit nerve racking at the same time. We felt far from home. Then we walked out of the train station and suddenly Munich didn't seem quite as foreign.

Yup. McDonald's. Right across the street.

Is it me or are there so many McDonald's that they rarely have the need to build new ones? I've seen them remodel quite a few in that retro style where a pair arches run from the ground, through the roof and back down the other side. Yet, I can't remember the last time I drove past a construction site and saw a sign that read, "Coming Soon! McDonald's!" There just aren't that many places without them anymore.

But nature abhors a vacuum. Enter Starbucks.

Starbucks is to the 21st century, what McDonald's was to the 20th century.

Now it's Starbucks that are popping-up everywhere and have been for the past couple years. Don't get me wrong, I love "The Buck." I love it so much that if I were to add-up the number of dollars I spent there over the past three years, it would easily require four digits. Ask any of my friends (Don't ask my wife; it's a sore subject).

A few years ago I moved away from South Bend, Indiana, a city that only featured those Starbucks kiosks in a select few grocery stores, but nothing more. Less than two years pass, I move back, and there are now three stores, complete with drive-thru's, all within ten minutes of the each other. Even the University of Notre Dame added a full-service Starbucks to their Student Center.

Go to any big city and Starbucks are, quite literally, on just about every street corner. I recently went to Washington DC for a conference and arriving a day early, I naturally decided to do some sightseeing. However, before concerning myself with the trivial details of finding directions to the Washington Monument or the Smithsonian, I had to focus on the important business of locating the nearest Starbucks. A quick stop by their website revealed that there were in fact eight stores to grab a Grande White Chocolate Mocha on my way to the White House, which was not even six blocks away.

And don't think that the marketing geniuses have forgotten to supply this sweet nectar of the gods to the Eskimos. That's right. If you happen to find yourself about 40 miles north of Anchorage, Alaska in the small town of Wasilla (population 4000), there's a Tall, extra-hot, soy Chai Latte with your name on it!

Don't get me wrong. I see the differences between McDonald's and Starbucks:

McDonald's has playlands for the kids. Starbucks has jazz playing through the speakers.

McDonald's has the Big Mac. Starbucks has the Caramel Macchiato.

McDonald's has the Super Size. Starbucks has the Vente.

McDonald's has the Hot Fudge Sunday. Starbucks has the Chantico Drinking Chocolate.

McDonald's offers free re-fills on their drinks. Starbucks... yeah, I don't think so.

Still, there can be too much of a good thing and I think both of these businesses are prime examples of this. Go to the McDonald's website and do a search for the number of their stores 20 miles within the Los Angeles 90012 zip code and you will get 290 results. Do the same thing for Starbucks and it will return 347.

It's almost cliche to say it - and mostly hypocritical coming from me - but obviously these are things that should be enjoyed in moderation. Sure, it's easy to say that about fast food, but do I really think that because my Grande White Mocha isn't a greasy Quarter Pounder with cheese that it's not as unhealthy? It might be more socially acceptable, even trendy, but it is most defiantly not healthier. See for yourself:

Calories: Grande White Mocha - 510; Quarter Pounder w/cheese - 510

Calories from fat: Grande White Mocha - 220; Quarter Pounder w/cheese - 220

Total fat: Grande White Mocha - 24g; Quarter Pounder w/cheese - 25g

Saturated fat: Grande White Mocha - 16g; Quarter Pounder w/cheese - 12g

Total Carbs: Grande White Mocha - 58g; Quarter Pounder w/cheese - 43g

And don't forget, coffee has that fun little drug called caffeine.

The year before last, filmmaker Morgan Spurlock subjected himself to the "McDonald's only" diet for 30 days, filmed it, and the documentary "Super Size Me" went on to be nominated for an Oscar. In it, Morgan's body deteriorated in that short period of time to the point that his doctors and nutritionists were nearly begging him to end the experiment pre-maturely. Morgan lived, but not before he gained 25 pounds, to say nothing of the other numerous health concerns that were raised.

Many people responded to this movie by asking, "But who eats at McDonald's 90 times in 30 days?"

What if Morgan had drank a Grande beverage with every meal for 30s days? Considering there are enough people who frequent Starbucks daily as it is, maybe his idea would not have seem so far-fetched and would have silenced a few more critics.

Who You Crap'n?

2006-02-17T11:22:00.001-08:00

by Jer

"It is hard to believe that a man is telling the truth when you know that you would lie if you were in his place." - H.L. Mencken

Maybe it's the knuckle-dragger gene in me, but I love sports radio; can't get enough of it. I listen to it in the car. I listen to it in the office. I'd listen to it at home if it wouldn't prompt my wife to give me "the look." Even if I'm in a city other than my own, I'll scan the dial for local sports acumen until I hear it coming through the speakers.

WSCR out of Chicago is sports radio mecca. It's not just that they talk about Chicago sports, which I love, but the personalities are accessible and the programming is entertaining.

The highlight of my sports radio week comes on Thursday afternoons in the form of a segment facilitated by personalities Terry Boers and Dan Bernstein called, "Who you crap'n?" Boers, a longtime sports journalist in Chicago, was covering the Bears back in the day when Mike Ditka was still pacing the sidelines. During a press-conference following a loss, Boers asked a somewhat melancholy Ditka if he was resigned to the Bears' fate, a question that sparked the ire of the coach.

"Aren't you the guy who wrote about me when I had the fire and that it was the wrong thing to do? So who are you crap'n?" barked Ditka.

"Well I just..."

"No, no, no. Don't crap me!"

And thus, born unto the sports radio landscape was the opportunity for callers, faxers and emailers alike to expose the liars, fibbers and fabricators of the world.

The rules to crap someone are simple. First, it must be something someone said and not something someone did. Second, it doesn't have to be sports related. Anybody who has said something that was not true, or at least perceived to not be true, is a candidate for crap'n. Third, after exposing the lie, you must conclude with the question, "Who are you crap'n" or some variation therein.

Over the past couple of months I have sent a handful of eCraps to the show; some even made it to the air. So in today's blog, I gladly give you "The Best of Jerry's eCraps" (and if they seem a little harsh, my apologies. Just remember, I'm a knuckle-dragger):

This Crap goes out to Indianapolis Colts' kicker, Mike Vanderjagt. While answering questions about his missed field goal in the Colts playoff loss to the Steelers, he was quoted as saying, "From the Polamalu interception reversal to Jerome's fumble, everything seemed to line up in our favor. [But] I guess the Lord forgot about the football team."

Mike, a few years back you ripped into QB Payton Manning and head coach Tony Dungy for being too nice to win the big game, but when you cost your team the chance to win, you blame God?

Sadly, that's not the worst of it.

To think that God cares enough about the outcome of a football game or that it is in some way worthy of divine intervention is a slap in the face to those who have had to endure the outcome of terminal illness, hurricanes, tsunamis, terrorist attacks, war, genocide, rape, birth defects, famine, torture, the sudden loss of a loved one, so on and so forth. If anybody has cause to wonder whether or not God forgot about them, it would those who have experienced a real tragedy; just ask your head coach who buried is oldest son last year. A missed field goal by someone who is paid an exorbitant amount of money to play in a few minutes of a game 16 Sundays a year hardly warrants a post-game faith crisis.

So the next time you are talking to reporters after you choke in a game (and there will be a next time), remember what the Bible says: "Thou shalt not lie" and ask yourself "Who art thou crap'n?"

This Crap goes out to the Faux News Channel's Bill O'Reilly, who recently took a shot at Unicef spokesman Harry Belafonte by saying, "If Joseph Stalin was still alive, he'd be the Unicef spokesman."

I certainly don't agree with everything Mr. Belafonte says, but to compare the man who once sang, "Come Mister Tally Man, Tally me banana" to a murderous dictator whose government was responsible for the death of over 30 million people is so far beyond inappropriate, there's no word for it in the English language.

Bill, you are proof that "ideals" and "principles" don't necessary translate into morality and ethics.

Bill O'Reilly, you black hole to common decency, who are you crap'n?

This Crap goes out to Dave Baum of sports radio WSCR in Chicago. On the Friday before Christmas, Mr. Baum was commenting on the story that Chicago Mayor Richard Daley was hoping to lure the 2016 summer Olympics to Chicago. Speculating on which venues might host the various events, he said, "I think Chicago could handle the Olympics. They could play hockey at the United Center..."

Ice Hockey at the Summer Olympics?!?!

Lo these many years, Dave, and you still have not grasped the subtle differences between summer and winter? Do the people of Chicago a favor and serve on the mayor's Olympic bid committee. Hopefully that would be enough to sabotage this lame-ass PR attempt of his to remain in office.

Dave Baum, who ya crap'n?!?!

This Crap goes out to Mark Madden of WEAE sports radio in Pittsburgh. This particular Madden (no relation to John, but who would know), was a guest on WSCR's Bears' pre-game show prior to the Bears/Steelers game back on December 11, 2005. He was commenting on Steelers' QB Ben Roethlisberger's "severed" thumb when he said the following: "His thumb should not be an issue for him because they really fixed him up. Ben must have had the same doctor who reattached the arm of Def Leppard's drummer."

First, the drummer in question has a name. It is Rick Allen, as any good by-product of the 80s would know.

Second, microsurgery failed to reconnect Rick's severed limb because if you hadn't noticed, HE ONLY HAS ONE ARM!

Mark, as hard as it is to believe, you are a disservice to the name "Madden."

Mark, who are you crap'n?

Fatherhood Foibles and Lessons Learned

2006-02-16T04:49:00.000-08:00

by Jer

I've got a lot of gall.

The other night I was reading the story No Matter What to my two-year old. I was, at the time, in what my wife calls "task mode." I had a task at hand. I was focused on accomplishing it.

It was Mission Probable.

My mission, which I had no choice but to accept, was to get my children into bed so that I could go downstairs, put my feet up, and contribute to the frittering away of my mind by watching a meaningless episode of the TV series Lost.

The bedtime routine in our household consists of the brushing of teeth, using the potty, changing into PJ's, reading a story, getting into bed, hugs & kisses, and turning out the light. As a parent, nothing is more valuable than cultivating a close relationship with my children. For a dad who works most of the day, the bedtime routine may be the only opportunity I get that day to work on that relationship and show my kids how much I love them.

But not this evening. No, this evening I was much more interested in finding out whether or not Boone and Locke where going to get the mysterious hatch open, if Claire was going to have her baby and if we would ever find out what Sayid heard out in the jungle.

I learned not so long ago that in spite of what we say, our true values are always revealed in the choices we make. For example, I may value frugality, but if I value getting my caffeine fix more, I'm going to drop $4.00 on that overpriced cup of Starbucks coffee.

I value my relationship with my children, but sadly, that night I valued a TV show and its fictional characters more than spending time with my own daughter. That would explain why, when she kept asking questions about the things she saw in the pictures, I responded by saying, "Jayne, you need to stop asking questions and just let Daddy finish reading the story."

If you are a parent, you see the crime here and it's not just that I referred to myself in the third person. You may even feel what I feel: nausea. If you don't see it, allow me to pontificate.

I don't have a degree in child psychology, but from what I can tell, one of the most valuable tools that contributes my kids' development is their inquisitiveness. In fact, it's more than just a tool; it is a fundamental part of their identity. Every minute of our lives we are learning, gathering more information, and using it to inform the choices we make to get through the day. For a two-year old like my daughter, everything is new and therefore everything requires an inquiry, even the things we consider commonplace. This is how she learns. This is how she experiences the world. This is how her identity and values begin to form. To say that it is her nature to ask questions would be an understatement of gigantic proportions.

Then along comes big, bad dad and his need to escape into fantasy land. Instead of affirming this part of her identity, I essentially tell her to shut-up, stop being who she is so that dad can power his way through a bedtime story and get to the important business watching TV.

Shame on me. No really, shame... on... me.

Is there a lesson to be learned in here other than don't be an asshole to your kids?

Throughout my educational journey I've had some great teachers. In 6th grade I had Mr. Johnson. In high school I had Mr. Coiner. In college I had Dr. G.W. Carlson. In grad-school I had Dr. Tim Nelson. This past year, one of those great teachers, Dr. Chip Anderson, passed away from brain cancer. On the first day of class he announced, "My name is Chip and I'll probably be dead within the next ten years." That was five years ago. The guy was so smart he knew when he was going to die.

Chip was a life-long learner and he wanted his students to be life-long learners too. To us he would always say (paraphrase), "Don't EVER stop asking questions! Question everything! The second you stop asking questions you will become stagnant and die." Considering he was somewhat of an expert on the topic of death, I think we should take him at his word.

God brought us into this world being inquisitive. I'm sure if as a newborn, we had the awareness of an adult, our first thought would be, "What the hell just happened?"

See. We came in into the world asking questions. Is there any reason why we should not go out doing the same? It's natural.

It's also a mentality thing. Many believe that in order for significant, quality learning to take place, a classroom must be involved. Depending on your definition of "classroom", the aforementioned "significant, quality learning" can happen anywhere; this is, if learning, and not a piece of paper, is your true goal. Thatï¿½s not intended to be an argument against pursuing a formal education; I'm simply stating that learning and tuition can be mutually exclusive.

I'm also convinced that entering into the regular practice of questioning is the key to being a life-long learner.

That, among other things, is why my trying to silence my daughter was such a crime.

As I said before, the book I was reading to Jayne was No Matter What. The title comes from the phrase, "I'd love you, no matter what", a response a child was given when they were asking their parent a series of questions. Perhaps it is not just a book I should read to my children, but something I should have read to me.

So I ask my daughter:

If I'm a selfish goof,
if I'm a big lug,
will you forgive me,
and give me a hug?

I'm not the 'Why?' Guy

2006-02-16T04:31:00.000-08:00

by Jer

Do you know who I am?

Ever known somebody who is gifted, charismatic, well-respected or well-liked among a wide range of people? Ever known somebody who met the high expectations placed on them from an early age (the 'I always knew they'd make it' types)? Ever known somebody who was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" in your high school senior superlatives and they did? Ever known somebody who was so brilliant that they were able to cherry-pick their educational path from a selection of the most prestigious schools in the nation? Ever known somebody who wrote a bestselling book? Ever known somebody who was savvy enough with money that they saw the writing on the wall and started buying real estate before the housing market boom of the mid-90s? Ever known somebody who does something so well that they experience a certain level of fame and notoriety for it? Ever known somebody who is told that it will take a particular amount of time to meet a milestone in their career and they cut that time in half? Ever known somebody who climbed the corporate ladder with such momentum that they found themselves with a level of authority and influence most will never achieve?

Well, I'm not that guy.

But I'm not the guy on the other end of the spectrum either. I'm not the one who lives in a homeless shelter, is unemployed, had all of my worldly possessions destroyed by a hurricane, lost my kids in a nasty custody battle with my ex-wife, is on welfare, or generally can't seem to catch a break.

No, I'm the guy standing somewhere in the middle. Chances are I'm standing pretty close to you. I've also stood close to many of the aforementioned high achievers. Very close. Each example that I gave is the reality of somebody I know. A couple of the examples are the same person. Some are people I knew well when I was younger but have lost touch with over the years. Others are cousins. Still others are close friends to this day. One is even my wife. I think we have all known them. In one respect or another we may even be one of them and not even realize it.

I begrudge nothing to anybody. I wish them nothing but the best. I wish the same for you. This is not a woe-is-me blog. It is however, among other things, a why-not-me blog. There is a difference. Do you see the distinction?

The idea of woe-is-me, at least in this context, is born out of pity and self-loathing. It is desperate. It is the well-fed child who dares to ask their mother, "Why don't you love me?" when denied a single piece of candy.

In contrast, why-not-me is almost brash and energetic. It is a rejection of the mundane. It is the proverbial pulling oneself off the floor. It is the locker-room realization of an underdog team that considers the question of a championship title and realizes, as if the answer was always in plain sight, "why not us?"

A few years back I took an introductory class in Marriage and Family Therapy for my graduateFreud_3 degree. It was one of those classes that contributed to a required psychology component for my program. I had taken my fair share of psychology during my undergraduate work; Intro to Psychology, Psychology and Religion, Abnormal Psychology, Personality Theory, etc. Most of what I had studied was based on the long-standing Freudian approach of psychoanalysis. If you aren’t too familiar with what I’m talking about, Wikipedia defines psychoanalysis as the process that “reveals retrospectively how individuals unconsciously contribute to problems they encounter, according to specific logics of condensation and transference.” Blah, blah, blah, blah...

In other words that don’t give you a migraine, psychoanalysis looks at a problem or a neurosis and asks, "Why?" (If you're a shrink, please forgive my over-simplification).

Family Systems Theory, on the other hand, spends very little time on the why-questions. It is more interested in questions like “What now?" or "How?" It answers the question, "why me?" with "why not you? What difference does it make?" and moves on to, "What now are we going to do about it?"

It's a tough sell, no denying that. We like the why-questions. We seek understanding. We want to make sense of it all. For example, "What's the meaning of life?" is really a why-question and it's one that we've been asking since humanity knew how to ask questions. Why-questions have their place. Many times they keep us from making the same mistakes twice. But if we really want to learn and grow beyond today, whatever it is we are right now, the why-questions serve a very limited purpose.

Ever try to teaching an elderly person how to use a computer? Particularly a real curmudgeon? “What the hell do I need with a computer?" they exclaim. "By the time I learn how to use the damn thing I’ll be dead!" For me, it’s much like that with "why?"

So we ask, "why not us?" and try to move on from there.

Perhaps I have an idea about where to find the answer: The bookstore! I log onto Amazon.com and I find resource after resource after resource…

"The Life You've Always Wanted"
"Your Best Life Now: 7 Steps to Living at Your Full Potential"
"How to Win Friends & Influence People"
"Understanding Your Potential"
"Living Above the Level of Mediocrity"
"The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People"
And the bonus find…
"The 8th Habit: From Effectiveness to Greatness"

Hot damn! The journey is nearly complete! I just know it is! All I have to do is spend three paychecks on books, find the time to read them and I'll be good to go!

Is the sarcasm coming through? I can never tell.

Stick around. Perhaps through my daily missteps, mishaps, misgivings, mistakes, misspellings and run-ins with Miss-whatever-her-name-was, we can learn a thing or two, having a laugh or more along the way.

I leave you with this. Karen Katz is a successful children's book author. I’ve read her stuff to my kids at many-a-bedtime. Of her path to success she says the following (and take note of the fact that there isn't much "why?" is what she says):

Do the work.Work hard.
Keep your eyes and ears open.
Look at the most beloved writers and illustrators.
Learn from them.
Be yourself.
Know your medium.
Have excellent technique.
Be inspired by what you love.
Work from your heart.
Keep at it.
Don’t give up.
Get out there and be seen.
Keep working.
Keep sending stuff out.
Be passionate about what you do.
A little luck doesn’t hurt.