The Waiting Club

I love it when I meet Christians with that simple faith. They can move mountains with that faith. People can be restored and healed and lost pennies and neighbors will be found.

Maybe I just know too much. Maybe I'm scared of feeling too much. Maybe I'm afraid of failure and what that would say about me and my God.

It's been a year and a half since I finally received my BA in Teaching of English. When I entered the program, it seemed a cinch. There was a definite need for teachers, especially in the inner-city. What, you mean I get to work with urban youth, teach them a thing or two about life and get paid decently?

Well, they still need teachers here in Chicago. If you can teach math or science, welcome to the Chi. If you're an English teacher without endorsements in Special Ed or Reading and are uneasy about your previous classroom management, welcome to the club. Registration's up front. Waiting area's around the corner.

The Waiting Club. Let me get your coats, make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you something? A drink? A magazine? Virgil, Socrates, Melville, Tolstoy?

I'm not completely let-down by being rejected for another teaching season. I almost expected it. But I am sad. I know that God's preparing something special for me. But I wouldn't have minded learning on the job.

Bono compared the Holy Spirit to women. Women, God bless you and your mysterious ways, but you're no match against the Eternal. I can't read your minds, ladies, but God is invisible (I can't see when I've upset him), eternal (He's certainly experienced more than all of the better half of the human species have), and omniscient (The crux of the matter. He knows what he's doing. We, not-so-scient, don't). But don't think that I'm completely settled and unbothered. I'm no Elie Wiesel (The holocaust survivor accused Job of letting God off too easily), but neither am I a Job.

Last night I found out when and where my brother is getting married. My parents and youngest brother live in Oklahoma. My oldest brother and I remain in Chicago. This particular brother (the fourth of five) is serving in the Navy, as is his fiance (whom he had a part in recruiting, of course). So, the time and place were - in this post-9/11 and highly secretive governmental times - up-in-the-air to the last minute.

Tonight, my mom called to see if I could somehow secure tickets for some in the family who wanted to go. She mentioned a few names, but I must have misheard her (Computer illiterate as they are, I was looking for a name of someone who knew how to work around a modem and keyboard), so I asked again who is going.

"Well, daddy. That's about it for now."

What the...? Dad didn't want to go to Brian's wedding originally. We had to convince him to come to that one with the rest of the family. Caleb (the youngest) was already in hot water. He may just not be able to cut it at this time (I swear, my parents don't know how to raise bad kids. They think we're all supposed to be respectful and stay away from trouble. Worked with the first two...) Chucky (the middle one) is on his way back to Chicago and will travel with us. Grandma and grandpa are gaining in age and fast losing money. They probably won't be able to make this journey this time.

So, the one important missing piece is mama. She's not coming?

"Um... no."

Why? Are you...? The truth is my mama has bipolar disorder. She has suffered this on and off for almost twenty years. Although the effects are no longer as extreme as they were in my teenage years, she suffers from it continuously now. She is constantly worried and guilt-stricken about a completely ridiculous situation that happened two decades ago.

"I'd rather not talk about it now."

My eyes were welling up and before long, the well ran down my cheeks.

"Well, I guess I better get going."

It was obvious that I stopped paying attention and my focus drifted.

Mama.

"Yes?"

I love you. And know that I'm praying for you.

And I am. But I don't know what to expect.

I also don't know what to expect for my new friend Timi. We only started talking and emailing the last couple months. But it makes me wonder how C. S. Lewis felt being with Joy, the brash young American he eventually married and lost shortly thereafter, recounted in A Grief Observed. Timi's got what she describes as a sort of domino effect on her health. Everything from her back to her internals (I feel bad that I always forget if someone has difficulties in their liver or their kidneys.) is acting up and one thing affects another and so on. It's chronic, newly developed and getting worse. And she loves football. She loves being active. And she loves God.

Or, there's Bruce Nelson. Bruce contacted a rare tropical fever while on a missions trip to India. His church eventually laid him off, with some difficulty and hard feelings. He could only be hired back as a janitor, which work was physically impossible for him. Apparently, his head pastor didn't want the children's pastor to ask the hard questions. Bruce, from the standpoint of the article at least, hasn't lost his faith. But he hurts, nonetheless.

There is a song that we don't sing enough in the church anymore. It is by a man who lost much of his family on a ship. While passing that spot over the choppy waters some time later, he wrote these lyrics:

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

And Lord haste the day
When my faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scoll
The trump shall resound and
The Lord shall descend
Even so it is well with my soul

I don't think he had it easy, either. "Sorrows, like sea billows, roll."

False Sense

the second floor facade

pushed out forward,

like a box some kid, anxious,
kicked from his
Hoovertown fortress

while silhouettes always in back
and tableaux move back in progression

Where does movement become inert?

and the subject become a lesson?

what grabs us
pulls us to push?
what forces us
to forward thrust?
what relieves us
to lend us to trust?

-a special realm
an ingrained belief relief-

"It was self-defense...," he says, not quite sure if he cares that i don't or do believe.

"Not what they say...," voice trailing in and out like morphine.

"...It was self defense..."

explains


"...I was a soldier in 'Nam."

Civil

What our knowledge does for us
forcing us to rent space in the back of the bus
burying new skins in old soil of a naked nation
rent in two by reluctantly rising emancipation

Mileage in the shotgun
Revolving a cause to Become.
As old as a whore
as American as Ford's
Given all we could piece,
Nature, she wants more

Releasing the hounds
Civility in bonds,

on the run

raging, making less with itself
than we could live without
For we have been in need
of all sons living freed
- prized in sheols we dug too deep

Knowing nothing but the hope
it won't be this time
Immersion in mercy
bathed in rouge liquid life

And this is why I don't play Madden or Soul Calibur

"We presume the cause of death was heart failure stemming from exhaustion."

????

From playing video games for fifty flipping straight hours. After having "recently quit his job to spend more time playing [video] games."

boink!

Poemic updates

Just looking through some of my unfinished (and still to be finished) works from the last couple months. I'll post updates within the day. Actually, I'm a bit more pleased with a few of them than I thought originally. "cooties" in particular; I like the playfulness more than I realized. I also added titles and made some fairly small changes to a couple of other works. The first draft of "False Sense" could be read here and the second draft of "Civil" could be caught here.

I missed it...

Sorry, Johan. I tried to spread the word. But when I wasn't working, I was sleeping, being interviewed (alas, not by Tyra Banks) or riding the train from one to the other.

Anybody catch my boy on the Tyra Banks show today (Tues.) can tell me how that went?

Edit:

I didn't miss it. I only thought I did. The show was taped and will air probably in September. Johan also divulged (in the juicy comments section), that he is also being bandied about for a NY Times article. Hey, that's diversity for ya!

In other news, mutual friend Darnell Weathersby (Older brother to three of my youth now. Yes, three [3]. Mentor to several others.) was on the front page of the Central Illinois Journal Star. Essentially, they were reporting on the fact that the school district covering Peoria (or, Caterpillaria, Illinois) is trying to hire more black teachers. The student population is about 60% African American while the teaching staff is about 7% black. And, with the addition of Darnell, the entire district has fifteen male black teachers. The article reports that, "[o]nly 1.5 percent of the state's classroom teachers are black males."

On that, Darnell says, "I'm an African-American male, and that's very rare in teaching, period. I'm learning that my role is a lot more than academic... [In regards to teaching in Peoria,] I have a heart for the inner city. I'm an inner-city product. I want to play an influential role for those like me."

In similarly unrelated news, I attended Darnell's wedding (reception only, unfortunately) in shoes that were impossible to dance in. I proceeded to make a fool of myself dancing to New Jack sounds. As white as can be.

Additional note:

Almost lost my religion looking for this image. I finally settled on searching for "Tyra Banks face."

First off, props to mi hermano Johan Khalilian. While preparing to come back from a summer trip to So. Cal., he was asked to speak on the Tyra Banks show about living and teaching purity as a young adult in a thoroughly modern setting. Hey, I'll never reach that audience. The show airs Tuesday. Check your local listings.

Second, my pics are fast fading. I don't know if it's my comps or not (Don't know enough about 'em, but this one's been acting scwewy like Elmer Fudd falling for Bugs Bunny in drag.) but my images are disappearing like Speedy Gonzalez from the public image (Can't say I blame Warner Bros. for trying to Politically Correct that cultural faux pas.). Does anybody know a free, easy-to-use image uploader that is compatible with blogger and will save images on to the site? Right now, I'm thinking of just saving images onto the computer and posting it using the Blogger image uploader feature thingy.

Isn't she lovely?

One more thing: I'm going to try to update a few of my old "poems" throughout the week. Not that you care. But I do. And this is my blog. So, there, sucka!

Dan Brown, Jesus loves you!

I've got way too much to read as it is (I'd name check, but I don't want to embarrass people, especially myself.) and I'm a slow reader. So, ya'll've got a month to get me some N. T. Wright, peeps. For those who don't know who this Anglican bishop is, I was hipped to him by Philip Yancey and by doing a cursory reading of Anne Rice's reading list. (Yes, Anne Rice. She is a devout Catholic now. And she's writing a book about the life of Jesus. I flippin' kid you not. The Godmother of Goth!) Anyway, if you are one who thinks that Biblical scholars are now convinced that the Bible is inaccurate and that the historical Jesus is a different being altogether from the one presented in the New Testament, this cat's for you.

He made a stop at Seattle Pacific University, gave four lectures and an interview. The following excerpts are from his speech entitled, "Decoding The DaVinci Code," in which he tackles the best-selling, and horribly researched, thriller - which alleges, among other things, that the true accounts of Jesus were the Gnostic Nag Hammadi so-called Gospels, including the "Gospel of Thomas" and the "Gospel of Philip," that Jesus was not divine, that the canon Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) were added and endorsed much later, specifically by rule of Emperor Constantine hundreds of years after Jesus died, that Jesus was basically a good and intelligent man who wanted to help people live good lives, and that Mary Magdelene had Jesus' love child and the Catholic Church is working hard to cover that fact.

What then about the place of Mary Magdalene, who, according to Dan Brown and some other writers, features strongly in the Gnostic writings, representing a goddess-figure, the embodiment of the "sacred feminine," the Holy Grail, the Rose, the Divine Mother? It is all pure imagination. (Well, it is at least imagination, certainly.) Mary Magdalene is mentioned in precisely three of the Nag Hammadi scrolls (as against "the countless references to Jesus' and Mary Magdalene's union" (333)). The "Gospel of Mary" is the report of a vision which sets the material world against the nonmaterial, seeing Mind as the intermediary of Soul and Spirit. This is fairly standard Platonic idealism; it is hard to see what it's got to do with the sacred feminine, but it's easy to see that it has nothing to do with a first-century Jewish prophetic movement such as that of Jesus. "The Gospel of Philip" is the one where Jesus kisses Mary - but the idea that a kiss was a key gesture of romantic attachment won't survive two minutes when we move away from Hollywood and into the real world of late antiquity. There is not the slightest sign, in Nag Hammadi any more than in the Dead Sea Scrolls, of Jesus being married to Mary and having a child by her. The "Gospel of Thomas" has one saying about Mary (51:19), in which "Jesus" states that "Mary will be saved if she makes herself male, because every female who makes herself male will become fit for the kingdom of God." That is hardly a ringing endorsement for the sacred feminine. If it's sacred femininity you want, you must look elsewhere, to various forms of paganism ancient and modern. These have become enormously popular in some strands of New Age and postmodern thinking. They have found their way into some revisionist versions of western Christianity. But they have nothing to do with Nag Hammadi and nothing whatever to do with early Christianity.

Dan Brown, apparently, can't be bothered to check his facts.

In particular, the resurrection of Jesus was central to early Christianity, though you'd never know that, either, from Dan Brown or from the many other writers who perpetrate the modern myth in its various forms... The early Christian gospel, which was then written up in the four canonical Gospels, was the good news, not that a new teaching about hidden wisdom had appeared, enabling those who tapped into it to improve the quality of their lives here or even hereafter, but that something had happened through which the evil which had infected the world had been overthrown and a new creation launched, and that all human beings were invited to become part of that project by becoming renewed themselves. In particular, this included from the start a strong political critique. Not the tired old left-wing harangue in Christian dress, of course, but a more subtle, more Jewish, more devastating critique: Jesus is Lord, therefore Caesar isn't. That is there in Paul. It is there in Matthew, in John, in Revelation. If the canon was written, or read, to curry political favor, it was dramatically unsuccessful. Those who were thrown to the lions were not reading "Thomas" or Q or the "Gospel of Mary." They were reading Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and the rest, and being sustained thereby in a subversive mode of faith and life which, growing out of apocalyptic Judaism, posed a far greater threat to Roman empire and pagan worldviews than Cynic philosophy or Gnostic spirituality ever could. Why would Caesar worry about people rearranging their private spiritualities?

Indeed. Flippin' morons.

Oh, and can someone get me some Eugene Peterson? I already have most of The Message. I'd like Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, if you may.

Oratory Cheek debuts!

Was gonna mention this on the last post, but it got kind of stuffed with stuff I thought is more interesting. I started yet another blog. Now, this isn't the same as the collective blog, Further Up, that is fine quality work and that nobody is going to even though they should and start bowing before their screens in abject adoration. This is, more or less, a site for archiving my speeches and preachings and maybe some lessons, etc., most of which are just to long to accomodate here.

If you so desire, you may peruse my work. If you so desire, you may pilfer. (Genius steals.) I only ask that you ask and give credit where credit is due (I could set up a PayPal account quite easily.) No, it's free. (But seriously, I could use some donations!)

So, again, while I will continue to hype up Further Up And Further In, I will not continue to blow the horn for Oratory Cheek (Yes, talking and praying cheeks).

Once again, Further Up And Further In is here.

While Oratory Cheek is here.

That is all.

She's a bad mamma jamma

For those of us in youth ministry, the end of summer means the return of our daily lives. The semblance of sanity being restored. The voices of relentless and reckless kids slowly receding from our subconsciouses on otherwise comfortable nights. We can begin to evaluate, reevaluate, polish up our resumes, consider the costs of assuming new identities. All the post-partum depressive tendencies we tend to have at this season. (Just as those poor whiny teachers begin their lesson plans for next year - or mark off the days 'til pension rolls in and dream about their summer homes, yachts, and a world without children.)

One thing I've noticed, we are not naturally a reflective lot. We tend to be doers and not thinkers. Which is partially why I've loved this change of pace as a youth director. But, after trying it out for a year, I've realized this, it just ain't my style, baby!

I love being able to reflect. And I'm lazy.

Speaking of reflective youth workers, my man Stinger's come back from Venezuela and he's just starting to delve into his experience there. In the infamous and glorious words of Napoleon, sounds like he had "a killer time." Manos! Manos! Manos!

The Other Side of the Story of trips such as what Stinger (and a group from my church that just came back from Haiti) took can be viewed in the latest edition of the journalistic juggernaut, LarkNews.

Barbara Nicolosi was interviewed by the New York Times again, this time about the whole, "Christians don't like The Da Vinci Code? What's not to like?" flap. Read her entry here and the article here (NYTimes requires free registration). If you wanna see me in one of my angrier moods, click here.

One disconcerting exchange that she notes with the interviewer, however, is:

Barb: I heard that the studio execs behind The Da Vinci Code are worried that some Christians are going to put them on a hit list. Someone claimed to have gotten death threats during the making of The Last Temptation of Christ. It's so ridiculous. We aren't the ones who throw bombs.

NYTimes Reporter: (paraphrase) Well, there are as many Christians out there throwing bombs as Muslims. Look at all the bombings Christians do of abortion clinics.

Sometimes, I just feel sorry for people.

And, lastly but not leastly (because I actually got his permission), Victor Morton has a post on a radio commentary done over the CBC. You gotta love any post that begins, "From the soft tyranny to the north aka, the Soviet Socialist Republic of Canuckistan..." (Love ya, Christine.) Apparently, Bob Ferguson has a lot of opinions on what should be official Catholic beliefs, certainly those validated by the state.

If Catholicism were illegal,

Then it would be illegal to require a particular marital status as a condition of employment or to exclude women from the priesthood.

On State-controlled church doctrine:

Of course the Vatican wouldn't like the changes, but they would come to accept them in time as a fact of life in Canada. Indeed I suspect many clergy would welcome the external pressure.

[In all truth, would it be much different than the Canadian Episcopalian Church?]

We could also help the general cause of religious freedom by introducing a code of moral practice for religions. They will never achieve unity so why not try for compatibility? Can't religious leaders agree to adjust doctrine so all religions can operate within the code?

As part of this code of compatiblility, ministers would take standardized coursework, sign a pact on agreed-upon terms, etc. Are you catching this? He literally wants the state to "regulate the practice of religion."

It's a good thing that this engineering professor is humble and doesn't overstep his boundaries on things he knows nothing about:

I won't try to propose what might be in the new code except for a few obvious things: A key item would have to be a ban on claims of exclusivity.

And this pearl of swinery,

Religion is important in our lives, but it can become a danger to society when people claim that the unalterable will of God is the basis for their opinions and actions.

Yeah, we wouldn't want to base our ideologies on something we don't completely understand, do we?

And my favorite line goes to:

Now what is the point of proposing this? I do it because I am worried that the separation between church and state is under threat.

Thank you, Bob Ferguson. You've amused me to no end!

Good night!

Attention Deficit of a village...

Bought The Idiot today. Read chapter 1. Kept holding off buying Russian literature because, I reasoned, how would I ever teach it to inner-city high schoolers? Heck, forget them.

Throwing another barbecue at my brother's place. In the email invitation, I felt it was necessary to warn people to drive straight ahead and look like they know exactly where they're going - to the house of the only whites in the neighborhood, not to participate in the illicit activities the other whites are visiting for.

The post about the hot virgin is bringing some traffic to this site. Within the last three days, about five people Googled for Johan Khalilian expecting to learn something else about him or some pix or something. Ok, he was a communications major. He's a pretty effective communicator. His mother's Puerto Rican and his father's Persian. He likes Cross Movement and hip hop. That's it for today's gossip information.

The Paste Magazine CD sampler was hard as blood to get out. But worth it. Along with some John Hiatt, the Redwalls, Sun Volt, Death Cab for Cutie, and Frank Black, it's got some Denison Witmer. "East From West." And just like his crony, Sufjan, who along with the Innocence Mission's Don Peris (conspirators on this album) can talk avidly and simply about his Christian faith without the critical backlash. Or at least so much. Adam really seems to like it. So, I'll give it a buy after I drop Illinois in my CD bin.

Sam Ashworth, if memory serves, is Charlie Peacock's son. Paste doesn't rave about his music (3 our of 5), but Matt Slocum (of Sixpence None the Richer), John Davis (Superdrag - I think. I may have to research that), and Fleming McWilliams (wifey part - and supervocalist - of Fleming & John duo) really seem to like him. The song has the air of Peacock's Aim a Little Higher.

By the way, Timi is "Foine."

Meee-ow.

Want proof?

Isn't she hot stuff?

Even when she's concerned and worried about the trappings of life there's a sort of benign dignity about her.

Notice the way her lips curl. They scream, "You must know me, respect me, love me and my God. You must woo me and marry me before you get any smoochie-smoochie."

An honorable woman. A man who finds a Timi Allen (not the warmed-over comedian, but the warm, inviting and comely woman of God) finds a good thing.

Bookends

A couple quotes from Dostoevsky (why is it that everytime I see his name, it's spelled differently? They didn't have standard spelling in turn-of-the-century Russia?) and another from Tolstoy that I'm pilfering from Philip Yancey's The Jesus I Never Knew. Man, I miss writing quotes that I like. It's been awhile.

If anyone could prove to me that Christ was outside the truth, I would prefer to remain with Christ than with the truth. (p. 141)

The genuine realist, if he is an unbeliever, will always find strength and ability to disbelieve in the miraculous, and if he is confronted with a miracle as an irrefutable fact he would rather disbelieve his own senses than admit the fact. Faith does not... spring from the miracle, but the miracle from faith. (p. 163)

[Concentrating on the Sermon on the Mount, Leo Tolstoy says,] The test of observance of Christ's teaching is our consciousness of our failure to attain an ideal perfection. The degree to which we draw near this perfection cannot be seen; all we can see is the extent of our deviation. (p. 126)

And this is from an introduction to an interview with Cambridge professor (actually, "associate principle at Ridley Hall at Cambridge") and musician and conductor Jeremy Begbie.

Cultural forms [as in, art forms imbued within the culture] are not simply utilitarian or ornamental, but are expressions of an understanding of the nature of creation, specifically of human nature and human well-being. Cultural conventions usually take form at specific times and places because they’re compatible with a set of dominant assumptions about things. They are concrete crystallizations of abstract hopes, desires, and theories.

Friday I'm in love

I'm just kidding. Far from it. Ladies, you still have your opportunities.

Take me while ya got me.

It has been flippin' too much today. I'm gonna look for that great story-teller voice that is just aching to come out and tell today's events in an enthralling way (if not, I just may start another post I won't ever finish or I may just decide to bore you another way).

But I wanna hit - real briefly - on two small, peripheral points. One, it was kind of cool to see my boy, superboymodel Johan Khalilian (remarkably, I think I misspelled his name) on the cover of the RedEye today. I say "kind of" because:

1) the RedEye sucks big time. It's the equivalent of saying, not only can't our children read, but neither can adults ages 18-35. So let's give them an alternative paper (This one being published and produced by Tribune Company, which gives us The Chicago Tribune, WGN, half of the WB "network", and the Chicago Cubs.) that's really only a daily US Magazine with a farm league sports section.

2) the way they cover the story about grown-up virgins /celibates (the article apparently either doesn't know that last word exists or doesn't want to risk assuming that its readership does). I think the topic is good and it needs to have some light shed on it. It says that there are some of us still out there. (Hey, if you're 30 and still haven't gotten any, you're either extremely antisocial or serious about the business of celibacy.) The problem is, the focus (again, because of projected images of readership) was on the beautiful virgins (Huh?? They exist?), and was way too short to address the issue with any clarity or depth. Which is bad enough in a regular newspaper (especially Red State / Blue State qualifiers like the NY Times), but this is a rag which delivers the cover story in a two page spread where 1/2 of it is dedicated to photos and another chunk is given to seriously unrelated - read, garbage - sidebars. As much as I want to see The 40 Year Old Virgin later this year, it has nothing to do with a worldview of purity in sexual relationships. Neither, shocker, does Brittney.

Also, got a chance to shortly meet JR from the Cross Movement crew today. One thing I know is, if he hangs out with CM, he's got his head straight. But joe can sing, and produce. He's engaged, ladies, so sorry. (Of course, I'm still available and I ain't got all that baggage.) But he's dropping his latest in Oct.

Memory meme

Timi put me up to this. I still love you, sis.

Ten years ago: I was just starting college. And I was working part-time and I was paying out of pocket and saving money like crazy. Course it was a community college.

Five years ago: I think that's when I took a year off from school to decide my next major. Yeeeaaah, English Education!

One year ago: I was broke. Bum broke. Only ocassionally working. My friends were helping me out. But I was also getting ready to go to a terrific urban sports camp (KAA, you know!) with my brother, my good friend AJ (Happy Birfday, AJ!) and several loveable rugrats, two of whom are in Haiti this week. I love my rugrats. Oh, and I started working full-time for the church as an interim youth director.

Yesterday: We celebrated AJ's birthday. AJ likes to think of herself as a spy. That's ok, 'cuz we do too. For this surprise party, her roommates and best friends devised a fun little spy romp, where they'd leave little clues that lead to one another and lead to evidence (such as random pirate noises, etc.) that I had kidnapped them (hence, the Pirate Kidnapper text some of y'all got yesterday) and brought them downtwon to a factory (Cheesecake Factory, where the cheesecake is both really expensive and really rich. Honestly, I didn't eat dinner like everybody else did, and still I couldn't finish my slice. Course I had some burgers 'fore we left. But that was 5 hours before the cheesecake. And I, like Timi, LOOOOVE cheesecake!) where she could 'Declare our Independence' - meaning in the John Hancock building. She actually got the Cheesecake Factory reference, but somehow missed the Declaration of Independence reference, so she started looking for another room of some sort. Tracked her down like an animal. Lot of fun.

Huh? »

Today: Woke up before the alarm.

Tomorrow: Is Thursday. Baby steps, baby steps.

5 snacks I enjoy: Technically, not snacks: Cheesecake, Ice Cream, Doritos, Cookies, Frappaccinos. (I'm gonna be diabetic and lactose intolerant, I swear.)

5 bands that I know the lyrics of most of their songs:
Not all of the lyrics to songs, but a lot of them, and not all bands but, U2, Switchfoot, dc Talk (Sooo much shame!), Fred Hammond, Stevie Wonder & Cross Movement. 6, so what? They're all incomplete!

Stryper, eat your heart out!

5 things I would do with $100,000,000:
1) Get out of debt
2) Take care of my family
3) Buy a home
4) Use 20,000,000 to donate to World Vision, some other charities I believe in (KAA, Inner City Impact, my church). And yes, I do tithe now.
5) Start a company. It's the best way to get people work.
*This is all contingent on taxation. I'm figuring that I'll still owe the gov half even if I donate one-third and start a company with most of the rest. Now, if I started a corporation...

5 locations I’d like to runaway to: Hawaii. OK, I haven't the foggiest. I'm planning on going south in a few weeks in a rental car, so, we'll see.

5 bad habits I have:
1) Touch my hair.
2) Touch my face (oily skin I've got, can't be touching no face).
3) My bedroom's a super-duper mess and I always put it off.
4) I watch way too much late night tv.
5) Sarcasm.

5 things I like doing:
1) Writing
2) Reading
3) Having mixed intelligent/goofy conversations
4) Having someone make me laugh
5) Figuring things out (I'm pretty slow)

5 things I would never wear:
1) Skirt
2) Dress
3) Hot pants
4) halter tops
5) tattoos (I'm too beautiful to blemish my skin with ink)
Yes, the last three were Timi's, but they're applicable.

5 TV shows I like:
1) Simpsons
2) Letterman
3) Conan O'Brien
4) Buffy (It's been awhile, though. Don't laugh, it's got some of the finest writing, period.)
5) The Office *
*On DVD

5 movies I like:
1) Napoleon Dynamite
2) Hoop Dreams
3) Star Wars IV
4) Star Wars V
5) Magnolia

Don't lie, you thought I was gonna put an image of Napoleon, didn't you? What the heck is your problem?

5 famous people I’d like to meet:
They're dead. And they're the same ones others would say. And what would I say to them? "Wanna play me?"

5 biggest joys at the moment:
1) Spending time with my youth kids.
2) Spending time with my friends.
3) Alone time.
4) Writing.
5) Making someone laugh.

5 favorite toys: Toys? I can't afford toys!

Who's next?
I'm'a tag (and I know some are on hiatus and some ain't gonna want to do this, pero...) Adam Ant, Gabzilla, Alibabba, Destiny and - just for kicks - Micah, 'cuz he's bored out of his skull.

This is why I like reading Relevant Magazine online

After a fairly stale and unoriginal - though not without merit nor humorless - take on the death of the English language and its main culprit - the internet - several readers responded thanking the author of "The Impotence of Literacy," and a few tried to be witty.

But this is my favorite line of the week:

'it's also time the american people starting putting the u back into words like "colour"

language is constantly changing....'

Being mildly fascinated (paradox, I know) in linguistic history as well as an English teacher, I can attest that the responder is correct in that language is never static (For instance, double negatives were common in the English language - even in Shakespeare's time among the intelligentsia - until one brilliant man pointed out that double negatives in math equal positive equations, so therefore it should not work in language.) and, further, that there is no such thing as a correct English - besides what we confer as to being correct. But there is a huge difference between 'constantly' and 'radically' changing language.

The responder cannot, at will, change the meaning of words, basic punctuation, nor the function of syntax. There is no verb in that first sentence. Idiot.

Media-to-rare

Because I don't have anything clever to say today, these are the lyrics in entirety (without the obligatory labeling of chorus, verse, repeat, etc., and etc.) of Five Iron Frenzy's "Oh Canada." It is available on three different discs, of which two are live and of which I think I may own all three. But I will try to recollect solely from one of the live versions, sans printed lyrics.

welcome to canada
it's a maple leaf state,
canada, o canada,
it's great
people are nice here,
there's beef and stew
if you don't like it here
man, you sniff glue

the great white north
the kids say 'blah'
hosers say 'ah
it's not that bad.'

i want to be
where yaks can run free
where the royal mounties
can arrest me

let's go to canada
let's leave today
canada, o, canada
ay, s'il vous plait

they've got trees and mooses
and sled dogs
lots of lumber and lumberjacks
and logs
don't you think that it's kind of a drag
that you have to go in [?]
and get milk from a bag
they say "eh?" instead of
"what?" or "duh!"
that's the mighty power of canada

i want to be
where the lemmings run into the sea
where the marmasacks [editor: huh?]
can attack me

can you please
explain to me
how this all has come to be
we forgot to mention something here
did we say that william shatner is
a native citizen
and slurpees made from venison
that's here [?]

Thank you. Goodnight!

You think Leanor (the girl, of course) will accept my proposal...
for ice cream?

Followed by a courtship?

Speaking of girls (ok, I don't usually use that term, but, there's always exceptions to the rule), I'm liking Mary Mary's Mary Mary (sorry, already made that joke). Several scorchers toward the beginning are instant classics and hits just waiting to happen. Of course that may never happen for a few of the songs because of their self-referential nods to the '40s and '70s, two decades definitely not in favor with the Top-40 music crowd (and I use the term 'crowd' very loosely). Except for the clean-as-a-vacuum production and some latter-era Black Gospel vocal stylings, you'd almost swear some of these songs came out of that era, although "Heaven" does parch a riff from the 1970's. And of course, I'm embarrassed to say I don't even know who they copped, and that I've never heard of them. But even the instant hits begin to fit after a while, which is not something that I say often of female pop groups, or contemporary R&B. Mary, Mary quite contemplative. Yeppers.

The last stanza's a mess

While I was writing this simple little poem (Sometimes it's an exercise I do to clear my head so I can write some quality stuff. But sometimes it turns out quite all right on its own.) at the cafe, a couple were loudly and profanely demonstrating their grievances toward each other. And although it was almost funny at the beginning, it was also sad. Not for them. Forget them. It was sad for those of us enjoying the relative cool of the night (That day it surpassed a 100 degrees Farenheit, which is the scientific-equivalent term for So Hot You Can't Even Sweat No Mo') and trying to study/read/write.

how will i
will to do
what the few
choose to rule

cause matter
of the mind
still shattered
lingered time

never could
matter mind
take two pills
& grow a spine

The blogosphere is in danger of itself

I like the ideal of the coffeehouse setting, or what David Dark calls the Waffle House - an idyllic uniquely American locale where people of various opinion can opine, argue, inform and eventually - but not always - agree to disagree.

It occurs to me that, more than nearly any other sort of electric medium, the blogosphere (Or what I care to call the blogocosmos. Yes, you may borrow it. It'll satisfy my ego to no end to see that phrase everywhere in lights. And then I'll sue.) is such a place. It seems to fight against logic that blogs offer a respite for democratic civility, for 1) blogs revolve around the individual, rather than the communal and those that are set up for a sort of communal output - at least as far as the posts are concerned - do not tend to last long or be well-involved (cf. FurtherUP.blogspot.com) and 2) there are so many pages on the internet that those who carry a certain taste for a certain rhetorical polemical politicos can feasible feast solely on a staple of ideological ditto-heads.

Yet I see - and am involved in - several threads where maybe one person dissents to the small majority of faithful readers' opinion, holds up his or her own and is constantly rebutted by members of that online community in various opinions that belie as many differed opinions as shared. And in an atmosphere where the writer/replier can offer their opinion in the frame of several paragraphs while still holding interest of the reader/replier, the odds that intelligent dialogue is happening is greatly increased.

Contrast that to the endless gluttony of Rush Limbaugh or Al Franken fact- agreeants, whose diet is stable and malnourishing, at best. As a consequence, truth suffers for lack of vision. Although I am new to the blogging world, I have witnessed witnesses to democratic speech, people aware that others may not share their views and offer to share their own, usually in civility, with hopes of teaching and learning.

Maybe that sounds a bit myopic and severely naive. I've also seen environs of ridicule and meanness - the internet has long been infamous, for instance, as a place where violent and closet racists and child molesters can fester. But these are, by and large, places of anonymity, where one can enter and leave various chat rooms with a new identity intact and attached for each one, an electronic village of Sybils.

In order for bloggers to suffer our massive egos, on the other hand, anonymity must be kept at bay. We search other blogs not necessarily to find others that we may only agree with, but in search of friends - in the blogosphere and elsewhere, in search of people who can add to our blog as we do to theirs, usually out of joy, although sometimes out of boredom or sense of duty. Our identities, to a greater extent, certainly, stay intact with our personhood - or at the least, there is only one of each of us.

Add to that the newness of blogging itself. Although there are several veterans (veterans also being a relative term), an unscientific perusal finds that a good amount of bloggers are, like myself, neophytes, having done this for under a year. So, the blogocosmos is young, having just been spoken into existence. What we find, then, is a larger sense of community, a grouping of divergents coming together in defence of each other.

That thread of unity, however, may more quicky tear than we would desire. For disunity always starts somewhere, then feeds off itself until there is enough asexual reproduction to make any amoeba ashamed at its slowness. The cause, I believe, is not argumentation nor liberals nor conservatives. The cause, presumably, will not be over religious issues, but perhaps, over a false and pervasive religion that is spreading like a viral infection throughout at least the US - celebrity. (Who, after having seen Access Hollywood, E! Entertainment, or US Magazine can doubt the power of this strange cult of demigods?) Celebrities are now joining the tide and all reviews are heaving the thumbs down. Megalomania at its fiercist. What can Pamela Anderson offer the print and dialogical world? What possibly interesting tidbits of his life - that are not in his scripts - can Kevin Smith toss to his salivating fandom?

Pablum.

Real writers and journal-ists will not suffer more, will we? In order to take full advantage of our 15 minutes promised us by Andy Warhol, we will gladly rip the celeb-bloggers a new one. And in the process, the tearing of the fabric will begin and will not end.

Da- da -duhn!

Events

You know I don't like these "this is what's going on in my life" posts. Others, like Revolt, are really good at it. It's not much of my t'ang, y'all.

But, while I'm waiting for my resumes to print (stupid printer, stupid printer), thought I'd bore y'all too...

Finally bought Five Iron Frenzy's last, The End Is Here. They used to be one of my favorite bands. But personally, I'm not big on ska. I think it's a fairly limited musical form. Which is why I don't listen to much hard music. (By the way, if you don't own Arcade Fire's Funeral, what the heck is wrong with you? Pick it up. I said, "NOW!"). Five Iron, however, is a good ska band, and some great songwriters, in the tradition of - though not quite there yet - of a Steve Taylor or Terry Taylor. If you don't know who these two people are, what the heck is wrong with you? All right, I'll provide the links later.

But FIF is socially conscious and funny and fairly probing, in social, personal, spiritual and political matters (which, I think, is the way it should be). "Kingdom of the Dinosaurs" shall live on, mis gentes! I do have one more thing to say about it, at this point (Like I'll do a review on it. Puh-leeze!). Can somebody introduce me to Leanor Ortega? I think I want to marry her, or at least ask her to remove the court order.

I also picked up Mary Mary's Mary Mary, if for no other reason than to obligate myself to write the name Mary several times in a row. Actually, to my ears, it seems they avoided the sophomore slump on this, their third album. I wish they had also avoided it on their sophomore album. But dang, some Stax-like soul burners, a couple big band influenced torchers. A couple softy songs (not one for 'em, but their main demographic is girls so, go figure). Warryn Campbell is a genius (so much so he married one of them before I got the chance to even propose), although his rapping skills leave a bit to be desired. I still wish they'd take advantage of the skills of some of the finest rappers out there (hello ManChild, Ambassador, Coffee, Freddy Bruno, Pigeon... no, no Pigeon John. Sorry baby. Loose cannon.) And the sisters can sang, period. Especially in gospel music, they will just flat embarrass poseurs like Beyonce. But don't take my word for it, buy it.

I'll put links in later.

Oh, and tomorrow's the big day. Fly or crash and burn. If I don't get some bites at the Chicago Public School county/job meet & greet fair, I'm moving to the country. Skraight up, y'all!

Mars Ill is trying to kill me!

ProPain is the one album I've been looking forward to buying this summer. It was originally set to be released early in spring by Gotee Records. But there were some sample-clearing issues and Gotee wanted to push the record like it does with some of their other acts (Relient K is now on TRL. I didn't even know TRL is on tv anymore You know, like maybe it was on Kiss FM or something.) and/or something else.

But now the records being pushed back even further. And, to top it off, their site's still closed due to tech difficulties.

The news over at Deepspace 5's site is that the album was delayed by EMI, the evil distributor, for as-yet undisclosed reasons. In the meantime, listen to two new hots on their myspace (sorry, ladies) spot.

L.A. Symphony, apparently, is supposed to drop a fresh rec in Okt.

And apparently, getting a hold of Sufjan Steven's Illinois is hard to do - especially if you want a cover with Superman flying through Chicago (which I had always dreamed of) since DC Comics once again pulled out the cease and desist (just like they did for Capt. Marvel).

Flash Gordon, where are you? We need you!
5 points for both the references of that quote.

Edit: And check out their radio interview/performance.

Aslan is going to be played by...

Drumroll please....

...

...

...

Liam "Schindler" Neeson.

And the best joke (sorry I couldn't find the link, but credit goes to Peter T. Chattaway) I've heard about this so far, "This would make at least three films this year that Neeson has either given someone a sword and/or taught them to use it."

I see you still haven't learned to be aware of your bearings.

Lewisheads and fantasy film lovers: More Narnia news from ComicCon [Sorry, don't really know much about it. Kinda scares me. Comic book conventions, not The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, of which Aslan is the Lion.] available here. (If you haven't registered yet, what's your prob?)

People, I'm White!

I never did a John Walker-Lindh, I never pretended to be someone else. But some people have assumed (partially for cultural reasons, or the fact that I tended to have conversations with and about African Americans) that I'm Black. I'm not. In a sense, I'm not White either. But, I talk more about that here and in the near-to-distant future. In the meantime, I thought it just an excuse to post a picture of myself, but since I don't care for my pix, I decided to post a group photo. Thanks, Lori, miss ya kid.

10 points to the first one who guesses which one I am.

Graze

Once again, the poem of the week is an incomplete one. Which is okay, I suppose. I should start going back and complete some of them, or try to. Just as I should go back and complete some of the series and loose ends I said I would.

Pero, maybe I'll put some of them at Further Up & Further In, in a shrewd marketing campaign to draw people to that site (another one would be to pretty it up. But good things happen to those who wait.)

And for your reading pleasure:

so long

so far

so wide

i grazed

consumed

soil, grass

what's left

of it


so long

so far

i wade

on substance

that drips

like sweat that

glistens

the devil's back

Wim Wenders and projective space

Yes, that Wim Wenders!

OK, I won't pretend. I've yet to see Wings of Desire or any of his other films for that matter. But I loved the soundtrack for Until The End of the World, which inspired the Judas-kiss song of the same name by U2 and let us fans into their studio and minds months before they released Achtung Baby. It also gave us an acoustic peak at a song that T-Bone Burnett released on his brilliant and classic (but most likely out of stock) Criminal Under My Own Hat.

But he (Wimmy, that is) had some nice things to say in an interview recently about film and literature that I think are worth hearing (or reading). You can catch an abridged version here or you can go to the source (Again, my internet blocker's supersensitive spidey sense was tingling, so I didn't get a chance to read it yet). The gist of it, though, is that movies, like books and well yes, music, are best read between the spaces of the action and dialogue and happenings. The best stuff happens, he says, when you are allowed to "sneak in with your imagination, to dream on and to project your innermost hopes or fears or desires into what you see and thereby pushing it further." But of course, he says this in the negative, lamenting the passing of silent moments in the movie theaters.

Flame On!

Story-Time

Listen up, young'uns. Grandpa Jasdye is gonna tell ya some stories. They're not particularly great stories, nor particularly well-told. For that, you may want to check out Timi and Gabi's blogs. But, since you're here, this is what you get:

I volunteered to help a church that we sometimes attend (don't worry, steeplechasers. It's on Saturday nights. And I take along a group of teenagers. It's not infidelity. I stopped dating the church a long time ago.) run a concert on the block a few weeks ago. Got several of my youth (I'm a youth ministries director, kind of like a youth pastor without the skateboards I suppose.) to volunteer alongside. We were at a preliminary meeting for the volunteers when Pastor Phil warned us to be on our toes, because when the church is doing something right, the devil will pound. (Yes, I believe in demons. Not D&D type stuff. And I don't believe in them like I believe in God, but I believe that they're active, but not in some silly Stephen King way.)

He offered an example of when he had a speaking engagement at a church and the speakers blew out so he had to speak through a monitor. "And they had some ladies in the back," he ad-libs, "making cookies in an Easy-Bake oven."

"'Hold on! They'll be ready in just a minute. Mmmmh...' Baking by a light bulb."

(See, Destiny? It works better vocally, with the physical cues and all. Now I made all these people upset with me. Ahh, nothing new there.)

I'll edit in the rest of the story later.
Edit!

So, on the day of the concert we come to help in the morning and things are pretty cool. The teens enjoy being a part of the whole process and one of them has their first leading-to-Jesus moment that she was really excited about. Some punks made me upset by constantly hitting on a couple of the girls, but they did a good job of keeping them at bay. It's at times like those, though, that I wish that urban youth would just man-up, and I could just give them a thumping and they wouldn't need to cry to their gangs about it. But, over all, it was good stuff.

We took our break, picked up and dropped-off some other teens and when we arrived, there was a dude with a megaphone yelling about how nobody wants to hear about a white Jesus. Being one of the only non-Blacks in attendance, I wanted to ask who presented this white Jesus that everyone is supposed to be worshiping. Apparently, some others were wondering the same thing too. "Why is he so racist? What's wrong with him?"

"The real Jesus wouldn't want us to die and go to jail!" Amen, although I recognized that as a flip on the old stand-by, "Jesus don't want you to die and go to hell!" So, again, who is positing this false gospel?

"They are kicking us out of the neighborhood to make room for the whites to move in." Huh? The expressway is at least two miles away. Downtown is a drive and a half. Bus service is, at best, shaky. There's no other whites around there. Who wants to move to Lawndale? And since when did Lawndale Community Church or any of its ministries work against the neighborhood and its residents? I know of few other churches so actively involved in their community.

And the kicker,

"How many of y'all got jobs?" A dozen or so hands go up, most of the others being youth or children. "Put your hands down! You're lying, 'cuz y'all ain't White and y'all ain't Mexican."

I dropped my jaw.

Why do I feel like I already wrote this story?

By the way, this qualifies as my upsetting reply moment. And you'd probably have to be me in order to understand why I was so upset. He meant well, I'm sure:

I don't know what's so bad about mega churches. Jesus attended a mega church in Jerusalem, didn't he? And then he met with his small group.

I don't attend a mega church (ours averages around 500), but I don't see how a church that's alive and gets people excited, and provides tons of ministry opportunities, and connects people in meaningful ways through small groups, can be bad!

Churches become big because they come up with ways that actually reaches people and touches them and if that draws them closer to Christ then that's just flat-out awesome.

And my reply:

First... I want to thank you for stopping by my little ego-drive today and for leaving a comment.

I appreciate your sincerity and judging by a quick glance at your blog, I can tell that that is what you are about, bringing God into the public, so-called "secular," arena.

I also agree, as I did in my post and as I do in my thought processes, that the good things (people getting connected to God and each other) that happen within the mega-church movement are in fact, good things. However, I also believe it's paramount to not confuse good results with good, Biblical, Spirit-filled processes.

First, on a historical note, the temple that Jesus attended in the early 1st Century was not by any means a Mega-Church. It was THE Temple. The only temple (cf. John 4:20-22). There was no market-driven strategy. There was no competition. People came simply because the Temple in Jerusalem was the Only place to worship the Only God. To suggest, however, that the Twelve were Christs' small group is to trivialize the awesome transformation and revolution happening in the relationships between Jesus, the masses, and his committed followers. Again, nothing against small groups; they are great and often life-transforming. But Jesus wasn't just meeting some guys over tea and fritos.

The times, however, are a-changing. And no one should negate that. When the times change, the Church should recognize its role in the environment. It should never lose a hold of its vision or purpose (Mtt. 28:18-20), to restore sight to the blind, give hope to the hopeless, shelter the homeless, protect the innocent, the fatherless, the widows, etc, but in the love of and from Jesus with an eye on eternity.

I'm not saying that mega-churches do not do that, but the focus is taken off Jesus and these commands and put onto the consummer. The seeker is the consummer and we must do whatever is necessary to get their attention, even if it means compromising the Gospel message and that which is considered offensive (picture a senior pastor of a mega-church getting up and saying that all congregants must drink this blood and eat this flesh to get into heaven. Not gonna happen in a consummer-driven church). Jesus knew he was going to be a stumbling block, that when he calls us, he calls us to die with him.

I cannot see Joel Osteen (OK, so I named one, and an easy target, but he is setting up a dangerous pattern) saying to all that would follow him that, "Foxes have holes and birds have nests in which to rest, but I don't even have a pillow or a box spring. I'm homeless." Or to another would-be attender who wants eternal life, "Sell everything you have to the poor and follow me." Or how about, "Hey, people are gonna hate me, what'd'ya know? I'm gonna die. And if you want any piece of what I'm about, you're gonna die too. So, yeah, come follow me."

The more I follow the life and teachings of Jesus, of course, the more I realize how short I fall on EVERY single issue. I have to look at my own complacency and laziness and definitely the fact that I want people to like me; I fear man more than God. But that shouldn't stop anyone for calling the Church to question.

And, just because a church is active and even theologically correct does not mean it is alive (cf. Rev. 2:1-7).

Hey, don't be a stranger,
Peace,
jason

So, yeah, you could tell I was itching for a fight. He didn't bring it, though.

The Collective begins... Now!

It's not complete yet. The design, as of this writing, is about as blase as can be. But the collective is riding.

Yes, this image was in the Shameless Plug post. But I doubt you'd know that, because nobody read it.

We've baptized it Further Up and Further In. It's a statement that C. S. Lewis penned some years ago in the Last Battle, the finale of the Chronicles of Narnia, of which The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe was the first written and released (Note: for further, I had already deposited a ton of links here - they're hidden in the lyrics). The quote is a call by Aslan to explore the infinite of heaven, to enter into and enjoy the fullness of paradise.

My first post is up, today (but it's under Adam's photo, which was put up the other day), as well as the funniest inaugural post I've ever read, done by mad-skills Adam. Although you may have to be versed in the evangelical subculture to understand it. And you may have to be versed in a whole mess of other stuff to grasp mine (like borderline insanity). But read it, people!

Anyway, I'll be posting there once a week, updating frequently, but always looking for critical feedback. Honestly, tell me what you think. I want to be able to publish (as in, print) some of this stuff.

Further,
j.

My plans for world peace have once again been thwarted.

Arrrrgghhhh! Hulk angry!

Ever get that feeling that the world was at your fingertips, just ready to comply to your most secret, most base desires, especially if your desire was to see Celine Dion (the Queen of Pretentiousness) perform "Bad" by Michael Jackson (the Queen of Preteens).

The filthy part of this dream is that I can not, the raison d'etre has slipped through my grasp. I do not have the capabilities here at work to watch it. Quicktime is not downloaded here and it would be so much trouble trying to download it. But, if you have it and you watched that piece of cosmic genius and now you are just getting off your high, you might be able to - depending on the feasibility and expediency of lawyers - check out downloads from Live 8.

Thanks to lookingcloser.blogspot.com for nothing. For me. If you get 'em and love 'em, send 'em a note. Tell 'em I sent ya. And answer this question:

Who's bad?

Singles

You're looking for a born-again, water-baptized, never-married, church-going, tithe-giving, Bible-reading virgin to marry. Right — and there's life on Mars.

Anyway, that reminds me of the second question that I wanted to ask last post: What is the most ridiculous and /or funny pick-up line you ever heard or used? (Extra points to the lames who've used them.) Now, please be reminded that I've heard all the stand-bys (Too many gay bars around these parts!), so "Did it hurt...," "I must be dead...," and "I've lost my phone number, can I have yours," were at one time funny, but not anymore. I need new funny. Give us new funny!

A cleaned-up example my 'son' gave me the other day (I'm not known for being PC, but I am an educator and I'm trying to watch my mouth [er, fingers], so I gotta take it easy.): Both of your parents must be LD, because you sure are special.

Ok, it's funnier in the original, what can I say? The winner gets the first annual Barney Rubble's Daughter-In-Law Award.

Have a gay old time!

We thought it would be funny...

Ok, that's the last time we'll channel Alan Funt in this blog. But I make no such promises concerning the royal 'we'.

But considering that this blog gets so few hits - besides those Sociology Ph.D. candidates researching the infamous and nefarious 'No hollerback, girrrrrrrrrl/Bananas' song (Yet what they really got was a bad joke. Shhh, don't tell nobody!) - I thought that this might be a safe place for this assignment. I'm looking for the stupidest - read, funniest or most inane (or at least upsetting) - comment left on your blog. If you don't have a blog, you can quote from someone else's, but in either case, I need to see a tag, we need to be able to see your source. Let me explain this just a bit: By funny, I do not mean an inside joke. We all laugh at the inside jokes on our blogs and often at the inside jokes of someone else's conversations, but 1) there are too many, 2) they are not transferable. Two, if you need to, provide some context. Remember, a joke is all about deliverance on context. Set-up, pop. But if the said comment just irritated the mess out of you, we should also know why.

And in saying 'we', we are merely speaking of our readers and - mostly - ourselves.

The winner will be announced by this Friday and will receive 1) notoriety, 2) the Bananas Award via the ever-efficient and extraordinary USPS. (Please don't let it be Christine. Why, oh why do you have to live in another country?)

Get to it people, It's clobbering time!

Poems Post

Ok, no poem of the week. Sorry. I'm into some heavy reading and thinking, so hopefully, my young ones. Soon. Very soon.

But, some archives:

One Day We Shall All Be Free. One of my first spoken words. And the first of its type to be performed.

Constructs. Ahh, for b-ball and bbq.

Phoenix. A little more typical one.

Mom I Need My Two Dollars! Speaks for itself, don't it?

Where We May Find the Space of Doubt was accidentally the beginning of Poetry Week.

More posts later. Keep warm. You are loved.

Childhood Meme(nto)

Thanks a lot, Ms. Revolt(ing).

Ok, this is probably the easiest meme I've ever seen, in terms of questions. Answers? Now, that may be a different story. Unless you cheat.

Name your 5 favorite childhood memories:

1) Tasty Freeze
Ahhh, ice cream in the summer. When I think of how poor we were and cheap my father was (more on that later), I can't believe we ever went to Tasty Freeze (Actually, I don't remember if we did. Maybe I just went with my youth pastor in 6th grade.), let alone bought Breyers most the time. A tradition I continue to this day.

2) Chuck E. Cheese
We never went for my birthday, and I was too old to enjoy the ball room, but pizza & video games? All in the same place? Toy Story almost made me want to cry, watching it again.

3) 'Look at these.' (The punch-line of a girls' joke that i didn't understand was a girls' joke until much later.)
And, years later, I confound innocents the world over. Just not in the same way.

4) (You knew I was gonna say this one) Government cheese.
We honestly were dirt poor. In terms of strict economics, we were dirt farm poor. Thank God for WIC and government cheese and peanut butter. And coupons, lots and lots of 'em that my dad spent half his waking life saving, storing, counting and using. The devil gets the credit for powdered milk, though.

5) Michael Jackson. (I just deleted a joke, cuz it was too nasty and there's no way of doin' it w/o being nasty. But he was a hero, until that less-than-magical night when I went to camp Neverland and he....) 'Nuff said. No, I grew up loving pop music. All sorts of sentimental, schloppy, goofy, Tiffany, NKotB, Debbie Gibson, Madonna, Elvis, Beatles (early stuff), Chuck Berry, Lionel Richie, Little Richard, Prince, that song, "Lady in Red." Oh, and thanks for reminding, Timi, Bon Jovi. And Stryper. I spent an entire summer dropping quarters into 1944, The Battle Over Midway while Jackson's "The Way You Make Me Feel" played in the background at the Pizza Hut. Never grew tired of that song. It was my soundtrack.

As far as who's next:
Pikachoo, I choose you!
Whoever switched over from www.lookingcloser.blogspot.com.
Whoever switched over from Micah's World.
Whoever switched over from the collective (Cee barnes, A-damm!, Ga-bee-NO, and !Timi-huh?!)
And last but not least (because she's the only real person) Destiny.
Hey, I see y'all! Don't try to hide. Ain't nowhere to hide, I'll track you down.

It'll be a yellow and black attack.

Honestly.

Roots, pt. 1

Together with my assistant pastor's wife, I dug up old, useless ground and weeds in early April, tilled the soil - which was very, very rich and dark - and watered the ground in anticipation of new sod. When it arrived in the late morning, we remarked at how lovely and green and strong it was. And we laid it down. Ms. D - as we call her, not caring much for calling anyone by two whole names around these parts, even the pastors get the initials - carefully laid the sod and attached the pieces to each other while I merely kept things wet as the sun approached its pinnacle on top of the sky.


And we expected great things. For once in recent memory, the short parcel of land directly in front of the church would be green, and lush. We would have to mow it twice a week, it'd grow so large and lush and wonderfully green. We would match with many of the other properties in our respectable, residential neighborhood. We could begin working on that awful red metal box to the north of our converted office building, the old train box car that functions as both our weight room and eye-blight.

But, a remarkable thing happened. Or rather, didn't happen. Someone dropped the ball. I don't know who, I'm not sure why. The lawn was watered, but not often enough, and not long enough. All things may have worked out fine if we had received rains in early May. Or late May. Or June.

Total accumulation reached nary an inch, though.

By late June, early July, nearly all area grass is an ugly shade of brown. The local high school, which usually caresses a large parcel of land (by Chicago standards) in greenery, has been abdicated by Mother Nature. All that remains is a very shoddy of hay. I started having nightmares of Arizona. This afternoon I went to my brother's for the first time since March. I noted the lawn, which, for the most part, was green. He watered the lawn in front and back every day (at least every day they were in town), sometimes twice. But still, there were those patches of light brown dryness.

What I learned through this, however, is that the deeper the roots are, the more alive the plant is, the more of a chance it has to survive - for it can draw from more resources. I've learned that the work of rooting is hard and consistent work, but it is not fully dependent on the worker, it needs the help of the full environment. I've also learned that if those roots aren't in place, it can be easily lifted.

Obviously, I'm not just talking about sod here.

I've always felt separate. My auntie is full-blooded Puerto Rican, but she was raised in the US, in an English-speaking household. She never learned Spanish. But because she's so dark, when I was a child, I thought she was black. I also thought it a common thing. I figured that every family had people of different colors in their household, such as my dark brown grandma. My Korean and Turkish neighbors, my Greek and African-American and Jordanian and Mexican and Indian and Eastern Virginian and Guatemalan ("Watermelon?" I innocently asked.) classmates and playmates were all part of the cultural and colorful mix. I didn't understand why people were looking strangely at me as I walked with my disheveled, curly head (looking a good five inches larger than it should be) and white skin bedrocked by freckles to the right of Yvonne and her oblivious nervousness (an ordinary trait of hers). I just figured they were jealous.

I sometimes wonder if that's not the case. My exoticness is a license, I guess, to act a bit different, to be looked at and treated differently. It's only natural, though. A twitch of sorts in contemporary society, something of which everyone, including myself, is somewhat guilty of - self-consciously or not. And, although I don't feel exploited or treated wrong, general comments leave me feeling askew, whether they originate from a friend or no. I'm in or not because I'm not, or because I am.

But I think more often, I'm not.

Armaggedeon Countdown Begins...

The Garbage Pail Kids Movie is coming out on DVD.

It's been nearly twenty years since those of us with so little taste that we hung up their stickers all over our rooms, doors, garbage cans, clothes, folders, school work, little kin, etc. were actually reviled by the supreme lameness of the movie. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles the Movie was Orson Welles compared to this mess.

Nijas in a half-shell. Turtle Power.

Now, the next time y'all tease me about Michelle Williams, there's more where that came from.

Trivia: Corey Feldman played the voice of Donatello in 2/3rds of the TMNT film trifecta.

cooties

things i can't understand,
freeness, newness, ampersand
the way of a woman with a man

the way she touches the hands
the sweat drips brow, and
puruses fingertips to tend the land

finds merely solely the chasm
warm undue, warm too fast
rome's raided, sword in hand

Ok, It's a semi-joke. In that, this poem's definitely not done. It's in pre-production. But it is fairly real and true.