The Vasectomy…. Continued

Posted on January 10, 2012 by theboeskool

“Nothing but good news….
There is a frog in South America whose venom is a cure
For all the suffering that mankind must endure
More powerful than morphine, and soothing as the rain
A frog in South America has the antidote for pain
That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way I like it….”
–From Senorita With a Necklace of Tears, by Paul Simon

This medicine makes me feel like Charlie Sheen looks.

Alright, so I’ve learned a few things since my little procedure. One of those things is that I don’t type well while taking Percocet. The combination of terrible spelling skills, snail-like typing abilities, and a debilitating case of undiagnosed ADD are usually enough of an obstacle for me to overcome in publishing this blog, but add to that a pretty intense narcotic, and it would take absolutely herculean blogging skills to get this baby done. Luckily, I am up to the challenge. Apparently, I blog with my heart, and not with any other part of my anatomy to which a connection has been recently severed.

You don't want a painful childbirth, Ladies? Maybe you should have thought of that before Eve listened to the snake and took a bite of that fruit....

Another thing I’ve learned is that women LOVE to pick this time in a man’s life to talk about how much pain there is during child birth. You know what? We get it. No one is arguing that a couple of incisions in a man’s sack is anything close to the pain of pushing a football-sized kid through a golfball-sized hole. I watched all three of my kids being born, and to say that it looked painful would be a really big understatement–Like saying that Rick Perry looks like a moron every time he speaks. But here’s the thing: Women are designed to handle pain in that part of their bodies. They spend most of their lives kind of “prepping” for it; whereas guy spend their WHOLE LIVES trying to avoid pain in that area. From the very first experience that a boy has with getting hit in the nuts, the lesson is deeply ingrained in his very being–DON’T EVER LET ANYTHING LIKE THAT HAPPEN EVER AGAIN. EVER.

On the bright side, after things are all healed up, I'll be able to wear short shorts.

Then, next thing you know, you’re sitting on a table with your legs in stirrups and a giant light shining on your crotch, while a stranger checks the job you did shaving and washes your junk. Then, to top it all off, I had to make my way to the doctor’s office to get prepped for my vasectomy! I kid…. It’s definitely weird, though–the whole “Nice to meet you. Please drop your pants and let me check how well you shaved” thing. I did fine, by the way. I didn’t want any nicks, so I just dipped everything in Nair (When I told the nurse that joke, she didn’t laugh either. I figured she just didn’t find me funny, but she explained that it wouldn’t surprise her at all).

I heard it through the vasectomy grapevine (A less successful version of the classic Motown hit) that Dr. Concepcion had performed his own vasectomy, so during the surgery I asked him if it was true. Turns out it is an urban myth. He said that one of his partners did his own, but for some reason it has been attributed to him. I told him that it was probably due to the fame his last name affords him. He asked me to use my significant blogging influence (He’s a big fan of the blog) to put these rumors to rest. So there you go.

My peas are definitely frozen.

All in all, everything went really well. I didn’t have any Valium, but the wife still gave me a ride home. The part that hurt most was the giant needle going in and poking around to numb things up. The whole procedure only took about ten minutes. He even showed me the section of the vas deferens that he removed–I guess to ease my mind that he was just faking it. The recovery process has been slow, and things are a little more sore today than yesterday. I’m not sure if things are bruised or if it is frostbite, but I’ve got everything I need to heal up the right way: A real nice jock strap, Two bags of peas, Prescription narcotics, and a wife who loves me enough to refrain from calling me a sissy for not being able to handle the pain.

Posted in 3) Bathroom Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Vasectomies, Jock Straps, and Concepcion

Posted on January 8, 2012 by theboeskool

Disclaimer: My wife is in no way responsible for the contents of this blog entry. Any embarrassment for a person or persons as a result of reading the following words should be directed at its author, and not its author’s wife. My wife is way, WAY classier than this:

Tomorrow is a day like any other day….

Except that tomorrow, I will shave my genitals, I will have a section of my vas deferens removed and cauterized by a man named Dr. Concepcion (no joke), and then I will spend the rest of the day with a bag of frozen peas on my crotch…. Okay, I guess that last part isn’t that unusual.

The owners of this restaurant have some big wontons….

There are a lot of funny things about the process of getting a vasectomy. How do you choose the right person for a job like this? I happen to be the sort of person who chooses a doctor based on how appropriate his or her last name is for the specialty of medicine that they practice. For example, if I was choosing a podiatrist, I might be inclined to see Dr. Walker. Problems with an enlarged prostate? Let me introduce you to Dr. Paul Freely. And his associate Benjamin Dover. However, going to a Urologist named Dr. Richard Chopp does not exactly fill me with confidence…. so I made the choice to have the surgery that will render my boys ineffective done by a man named Concepcion.

There are dozens of us. DOZENS!!!!!

I started talking to people who have survived this procedure. There are a lot of us out there. Some described the surgery like one might talk about getting a cavity filled (in your tooth)–no big deal at all. In and out, so to speak…. Others didn’t have the same sort of luck–Their vasectomy resulted in a slow recovery or months of sensitivity (not the good kind). It made me a little nervous, and when I get nervous I usually start making jokes. When I went in for my consult, I thought about wearing my nevernude cut-off jean shorts (that I got for Christmas this year) under my pants for the exam. When he asked if I had any questions, I asked if the plastic Viagra display in the room was made to scale or “If it was supposed to be that big.” For some reason, when people don’t laugh at my jokes, it makes the jokes funnier to me. Great name, but not a great sense of humor, that Dr. Concepcion….  Since he didn’t laugh at that, I decided to refrain from any sort of “take me to dinner first” sort of joke during the exam. He did do me the honor of closing his eyes as he checked me out. I appreciated that, so I returned the favor and closed my eyes as well. It was…. awkward.

Imagine a ho’s what…. Oh, imagine a HOSE. Got it.

Just having the surgery, I have found out, is not enough to insure that there won’t be a sixth Boeskool, as there may still be a few swimmers hanging around in the works. The doctor told me to imagine a garden hose (I did), and he likened it to how there is still water left in the hose even after you have turned off the spicket. He told me that after the surgery, I was going to have “drain the garden hose” (so to speak) about 15 times before things are all cleaned out. But I have been assured that, when explaining this situation to the wife, it is alright to embellish the number of times it will take, as well as the time frame for the cleaning process (We have 5 days to get this done, sweetie).

This is what my face feels like every time I say “jock strap.” Not just the smirk, but the smarminess.

Also, now I have to buy a “jockstrap”–It’s hard to even type that word (let alone say it) without making a face like someone from Jersey Shore . Seriously, who named that device? I have made it this far in life without having to buy a jockstrap, but now…. here we are. They tell me that my trusty old boxer-briefs are not going to cut it after Dr. C cuts it, so now I have to track one of those down for the healing process. I wonder if they have them at Play-It-Again-Sports. I really don’t even get how they work. It seems like it’s just a pair of assless tighty-whities. What purpose does not having anything covering your ass in a pair on underwear serve? Seriously. Does it not do the same job with another piece of fabric covering your crack? Somebody explain this to me….

But I digress.

So one good thing is that the surgery isn’t super expensive. The lady who schedules called and said it was going to be $930. This is still way more than I planned on paying–I figured that having this done is way cheaper for the insurance companies than us having another kid, so they’d probably pick up most of the cost. I once cut my heel in a K-Mart parking lot and they sent me to the emergency room to get it fixed…. One band aid and one tetanus shot later, I was charged $1200–so something like this could definitely cost a ridiculous amount of money. Kind of like if you spend $40 getting a leak in one of the tires on your car patched, you’re probably going to spend an arm and a leg removing a section of tubing connected to your car’s balls…. er, ball bearings. After spending about 5 minutes trying to figure out why it was going to cost this much, the lady goes, “Oh, well you could also just come in and have it done in his office instead of the surgery center and you will just be charged a $50 co-pay. It’s the same exact procedure.” Really? You’re telling me about this second? Do you have a lot of people choose to pay $930 instead of $50? I blame this on Obamacare….

Goodbye, old friends.

Anyway, I guess I’m a little nervous. I just want everything to go smoothly. There are a few horror stories online, plus I’m pretty sure I’m way more fertile than the average Joe–If I don’t cover my mouth when I cough, someone’s getting pregnant. The doctor asked if I was the sort of person who gets nervous easily. I was like, “Ummm, why?” He said that if people get nervous, sometimes the scrotum (I know, I know, but we’re all adults here) contracts, and he needs things to be a relaxed as possible for the surgery (otherwise, he’ll have to give me some valium, and then I can’t drive myself home). I said, “I’m not really the nervous type, unless I have to give a prepared speech, so as long as we don’t do that during the surgery, we should be good” (he didn’t laugh at that either). After I got done laughing, I said, “No, seriously, I’m usually pretty relaxed about these sorts of things, but I can’t say for sure what’s going to happen–sometimes my scrotum has a mind of its own.” Not even a smile….

Alright, wish me luck. I’m off to buy a jock strap. If you think of it tomorrow, say a prayer for calm and steady hands, for the remembering of skills and training, and for clean tools. If you want, you can also say a prayer for Dr. Concepcion….

Stay tuned for an update!!!!

Posted in 3) Bathroom Humor | Tagged , , , , , | 12 Comments

Daniel LaRusso, Lloyd Dobler, and Jesus

Posted on January 5, 2012 by theboeskool

That face says, "I sure hope he tries to knock me out with his face, or this is never going to work."

There you are…. Looking up at a cheering crowd, in the middle of the All-Valley Karate Tournament, standing across the mat from the same prick that, just a month or so earlier, forced a kiss on your super-hot girlfriend at a country club while you watched from the kitchen–resulting in the double humiliation of having a bunch of rich, white people laugh and point at you, as well as getting spaghetti sauce stains on your Members Only jacket and your one nice shirt. You spent this night kicking ass to an incredibly ass-kicking song called You’re The Best, but just a few minutes earlier, your best friend (who happens to be a Japanese handyman and Veteren of a foreign war) just rubbed his hands together really fast and then fixed your sprained knee. Now, here you are, one point away from winning the tournament and beating that jackass Johnny Lawrence, who has been warned for targeting your injured knee. Your knee is throbbing now–you can barely put any weight on it. You think back to the words Mr. Miyagi spoke about the crane kick…. “If do right, no can defense.” You raise your arms and your injured leg. Somewhere, on the sidelines, you can just feel Mr. Miyagi nodding in approval. The referee restarts the match, and inexplicably, Johnny tries to knock you down by hitting your foot with his face. Ali with an i runs to to you (wearing that cute little grey sweater with the preppy yellow Polo collar peeking out, just to remind you that she lives in The Hills), Johnny hands you the trophy and confesses that the better man won with the words “You‘re alright Larusso,” Mr. Miyagi smiles, and you feel no pain….

Little known fact: In the original cut of Say Anything, the song that was playing in this scene was Lipps Inc.'s "Funkytown." It didn't test well.

Hallelujah, I am a sucker for a good underdog story. Whether it’s Rocky or the Hickory Huskers overcoming insurmountable odds in a sporting event, or whether it’s a Lloyd Dobler or Ronald “Donald” Miller winning the love of the girl that they have no business getting, or even movies like Braveheart and Gladiator that are filled with war and blood and death. From 300 to Star Wars, from Cool Runnings to Rudy, from The Shawshank Redemption to The Lord of the Rings Trilogy…. There is something about the story of THE UNDERDOG that resonates in all of us. Some think this is an American thing–that our affinity for stories about people overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds comes from our national story–but I think it is so much deeper than that. I think it is that thing that the writer of the Biblical creation story described as being “created in God’s image.” It is what the Quakers describe as being “That of God in Everyone.” We love the underdog because we’re like God. And God LOVES the underdog.

When my kids are on the swingset and I tell them, "No, but I'll give you a Shoeshine Boy," they never get the joke.

Sure, sure. I know–God loves everybody. But if you’ve ever read the Bible (and paid attention), it’s clear that God has a special place in his heart for the underdog. He picks this obscure people-without-a-nation as his chosen people. Then he sets up a fight between a kid (David) and this giant warrior named Goliath (by the way, the Best Pre-Game Prayer Ever happens in Hoosiers when, before the Championship, the Pastor prays, “And David put his hand in the bag and took out a stone and slung it. And it struck the Philistine on the head and he fell to the ground. Amen.”). Then, of all things, he sends a carpenter in on a donkey, talking about “The last shall be first” and “The least of these.” Then, just when you think it’s over…. You’re The Best starts playing in the soundtrack and the stone is rolled away. Awesome.

I like to talk about arrows that point us toward the existence of God. These “arrows” are not any sort of cold, hard proof (no one really has that), but they are just things that point us in the direction of God. Or at least point us toward a sort of “God is out there somewhere.” There are quite a few of them for me: Music, Laughter, Love, The Universe…. there are a bunch. Our human, innate rooting for the underdog has always felt to me like an arrow that points toward the creator.

My wife has her Justin Timberlake, I have my Elizabeth Shue....

What possible evolutionary purpose could this love of the underdog story serve the human animal? In nature, the strong survive and it works out for everyone, because then they have little, strong babies. With us, we look at Rocky standing in front of Apollo Creed, and it’s clear that Apollo is smarter, better-trained, and in better shape. Apollo SHOULD win, but we root for the guy who doesn’t have much of a chance. Who would be interested in watching a story about a guy who won the fight he was supposed to win? Nobody, that’s who. Imagine The Karate Kid told from the point of view of Johnny Lawrence, the highly favored returning All-Valley Karate Champion whose girlfriend got stolen by some cocky, scrawny kid from New Jersey. The only reason anyone’s watching THAT movie is to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth Shue….

Okay, fine, I’ll watch it, but I’m at least waiting until it hits the dollar theaters.

So, the next time you tear up watching Rudy getting carried off the field at Norte Dame, think of God rooting for the kid with the sling. The next time you get the chills seeing a lowly moisture farmer save the universe while saving his father’s soul (that’s Luke and Vader, for those shameful few who don’t know the reference), think about why that story is so awesome. The next time you turn into a blubbering idiot watching Forrest Gump bring Jenny breakfast in bed as she is dying of AIDS, think of Jesus washing the disciples feet (Judas’ included) just before he was betrayed and killed. Or maybe even consider why it is that you feel like crying while watching THIS and think of the Quakers’ “That of God in everyone” as the tears roll down your face.

Or don’t. Whatever…. Either way it’s awesome.

Posted in 1) Jesus, 5) Not Quite Sure | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Ron Paul and the All-Important Christian Vote

Posted on January 2, 2012 by theboeskool

Tomorrow, a part of this great country will do their part to determine who will represent the republicans in this year’s presidential election. It is a state whose decision could change the course of history; A state with its finger on the pulse of a nation (notice the racial demographics); A state whose very name is synonymous with American political ideals…. Iowa. These Iowa Caucuses will go a long way in determining who will have the opportunity to lose to Barack Obama this November.

This baby's freedom to eat my face ends where my right to not have my face eaten begins.

The polls show Ron Paul about 3 percentage points behind Mitt Romney, which means that Ron Paul is going to win the Iowa Caucuses, because people are not crazy about Mitt Romney. And because people who like Ron Paul are crazy. Not “crazy” as in insane–not all of them, at least–“crazy” as in a “People who like Ron Paul REALLY freaking like Ron Paul” sort of way. And every single one of them will cast their ballot for Ron Paul. As will the four people they brought with them who each have loved ones (of non-voting age, obviously) that are bound and gagged in a crawl space somewhere. Next to shelves and shelves of canned goods, venison jerky, and bottled water. That are next to multiple laminated copies of the Constitution which are stylishly displayed above a fireproof gun cabinet.

Yet another crack in the Liberty Bell....

I like Ron Paul. I like his stance on some issues (legalizing marijuana, for example…. but that’s for another blog post). I like his consistency–even about the issues with which he’s consistently misguided. And I get the draw: It’s fun to talk about liberty versus tyranny with every stinking issue. “What, you’re not a fan of liberty?!?! Why don’t you just go back to England, King George!!!!” Also, it’s easy to be a libertarian: Government is bad–we get it. Problems with the economy? Too much government. Problems with terrorism? We need less government. The Earth is getting too hot? Smaller government. Having trouble finding matches for your socks? Big government’s fault–the free market will figure it out.

"I want to believe" that Ron Paul has a chance to win the Republican Presidential nomination. It's just that he's not a republican....

As for the hubbub over the “racist newsletters,” I don’t think Ron Paul is racist. I think he believes (like every politician does) that when it comes to his own ideology, the ends justify the means. Back in the days before The Tea Party (after the actual Tea Party) and before Glenn Beck was rallying to restore honor, being a libertarian wasn’t nearly as chic. When those newsletters went out, people who would listen to fringe ideas like the ones Ron Paul was peddling were the sort of people who already believed that the government created AIDS to kill the aliens that God sent to live inside of gay people–The kind of people Agent Mulder occasionally got his info from. Anyway, back then he was selling his ideas to anyone who would listen. Now, after a war that has been waged against anyone who hates us (that has gone on three years longer than World War II), ridiculous national debt, and the financial crisis, libertarianism is borderline mainstream.

Now the people whom he needs to listen to him are Christian Conservatives. And how does one do that? That’s right…. Start talking about abortion (Like he does here). The thing is, for the US Libertarian Party, their official stance on abortion is this: “Recognizing that abortion is a sensitive issue and that people can hold good-faith views on all sides, we believe that government should be kept out of the matter, leaving the question to each person for their conscientious consideration.” Ron Paul gets around this by saying that he is personally against abortion, but is not in favor of a federal law making abortion illegal–that it should be up to the individual states. I don’t get this split. So it is okay for a smaller state to take away a person’s liberty, but it isn’t okay for a nation-state to do it? Does this make sense?

The thing about Ron Paul’s world view that I find the most misguided is how selfish it feels. I find it compelling how so many people who reject any ideas of evolution seem to end up embracing a sort of every-man-for-himself, survival of the fittest, social Darwinism when it comes to the topic of a society’s role in taking care of each other. Here is a quote by Elizabeth Warren:

“There is nobody in this country who got rich on his own. Nobody…. You built a factory out there? Good for you! But I want to be clear: you moved your goods to market on the roads the rest of us paid for; you hired workers the rest of us paid to educate; you were safe in your factory because of police forces and fire forces that the rest of us paid for. You didn’t have to worry that marauding bands would come and seize everything at your factory, and hire someone to protect against this, because of the work the rest of us did. Now look, you built a factory and it turned into something terrific, or a great idea? God bless. Keep a big hunk of it. But part of the underlying social contract is you take a hunk of that and pay forward for the next kid who comes along.”

"Republicans: We work hard so you don't have to." Because all Democrats are lazy, lazy pieces of shit.

And really, there are A LOT of people out there who need help. And yeah, I know there are also a lot of people out there who take advantage, but there are many people who actually need the help of the state to survive–through no fault of their own. When asked what should happen to a 30 year old man with a good job who doesn’t have health insurance and has an accident and goes into a coma, Ron Paul says, “That’s what freedom is all about–taking your own risks. This whole idea that you have to prepare and take care of everybody…” (he trailed off during the applause, but he shook his head as if the thought taking care of each other was nonsense. You can see the video here. You may have already seen it–It’s the one where people cheer the idea of letting the man die). I think Ron Paul’s response to this question was a direct quote from the Bible. And it wasn’t where Cain was told that he was NOT, in fact, his brother’s keeper–I think these words were written in red.

Don't tase me, Bro.

Ron Paul’s actual response to the “let him die” question was to say that this is the responsibility of the church–much like the response of many of my churchgoing friends (who are relatively new fans of Ron Paul) would be to my above sarcasm. And I completely agree: Taking care of people in need, caring for the sick, helping the poor, setting the prisoner free–This sort of thing should be the Church’s job. That’s if the Church looked anything like what Jesus had in mind. Because if those people’s needs are left to be filled by the church as it is right now in America, I’ve got news for you: Those people are completely. Screwed. The church is way too concerned with electing Christians, keeping their assault rifles, and passing laws to make sin illegal to worry about you and your hospital bills.

So to those of you who are hoping for some sort of Christian Libertarian revolution, my advice would be to wait until Church actually starts looking like Jesus. Until then, I don’t think God cares if the hungry kid is getting fed by a church food drive or by government-issued food stamps–He just wants the kid fed. My other advice to you would be to not ask Ron Paul any questions about Israel…. You probably won’t like the answers.

Posted in 1) Jesus, 2) Politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Miracles, Mentos, and Booty Dancing in Church

Posted on December 5, 2011 by theboeskool

When this is the most exciting part of Church, something is horribly wrong.

The Church I grew up in was about as far away from “charismatic” as you could get. Nobody ever made a noise (other than the OCCASIONAL throat clearing), and you didn’t raise your hand even if you had a question. I can clearly remember that awkward feeling after a soloist would sing this amazing song, and then everyone collectively felt the urge to clap, but no one dared, lest we commit the “sin” of appreciating someone other than God. Church was pews and hymnals and silence, and then it was an endured sermon that was limited to 20 minutes (on the long end)–A boring mix that was broken up at regular intervals by the occasional Freshmaker pulled from my Mom’s purse. I would try to make those Mentos last me as long as I could by trying to delay the gratification that was biting down. As soon as you bit down, you knew those things were gone, but as long as you didn’t chew, that sweet flavor could last a few minutes.

WE HAVEN'T HAD ANYTHING BUT COCONUTS TO EAT FOR THREE MONTHS!!!!

Then I moved to Nashville. The first Church I ended up at had people dancing. DANCING!! So I figured, “When in Rome….” I learned very soon that booty-dancing was not acceptable Church dancing (However, in my defense, she was DRESSED like she was ready to do a little booty dancing). I was fine with some of the outward expressions of worship, but some of it was just annoying: Like I always seemed to end up sitting in front of this dude who would whisper “Jesus” over and Over and OVER. I always wanted to turn around and tell him, “I’m pretty sure this is the actual definition of taking someone’s name in vain.” And there was something I didn’t buy about all the hand raising–It was like they were on an island trying to flag down a plane. “Seriously? You cannot all be this excited about this song. It’s not like God only answers the prayers of the ones who try the hardest to get his attention.”

Alright, you got me.

And I always hated it when the leadership was like, “Alright, now let’s all do THIS (whatever the “this” happened to be), but it was especially annoying for me (with my pews and hymnals past) when we were supposed to raise our hands. It felt like trying to force something I thought was supposed to be spontaneous. But at some point, the Pastor said something that resonated with me. He said, “Raise your hands–Just as a sign of surrender.” And I thought to myself, “I could use a little surrender right now.” My hands went up, and something came down–a barrier, a blessing, a peace that passes understanding–I’m not sure. It’s hard to explain, but it was real.

Before I go on, let me make this very clear: I DO NOT know how God works. I don’t know how prayer works, I don’t know how miracles work…. I don’t know how ANY of it works. Some people (cessationists) think that “signs and wonders” ended a long, long time ago. Cessationists believe that the gifts of the Holy Spirit (gifts like speaking in tongues, prophecy, and healing) ceased early on in Church history. For some reason, the (seemingly) less spectacular gifts (teaching, serving, giving, mercy, etc…) are still in effect. People over the years have argued a lot about this issue–Churches have been split, people have been killed…. Even Facebook friends have been de-friended! It’s surprising how many problems have started because people are “certain” they know how God works.

The down-side of getting healed is you lose the sweet parking.

I get the problem: If God really still heals people, then what do you do when you pray for some kid’s cancer to be healed and it doesn’t happen? Is it my fault? Is it the kid’s fault? Is it God’s will for that kid to die? I mean, if the kid gets healed, then, you know…. Terrific. It’s the times (and there are many of them) when God doesn’t do what you asked him to do where things get a little tricky. I get how it would be easier to just decide that miracles just don’t happen anymore.

The wheel on that chair never worked very well anyway....

It also gets tricky if you believe that God still speaks to us. Most cessationists believe that the Bible is the only way that God still speaks to us–That the Canon is closed. Because what happens when some joker starts telling everyone God said people need to give him their money for a piece of cloth that has been prayed over? Or that God told him to run for President? Or that God told him to go to war in Iraq? Of course, things also get a little tricky when people try to explain away parts of a Book that seems to okay slavery, forbids women in places of leadership, and even tells people to do crazy things like love their enemies, forgive people their debts, or even to sell your things and give the money to the poor. But really, What kind of a fool would do something like that?

Word to the wise: If you search for "Booty dancing" on Google images, make sure you're not on a work computer. In it's place, I present a picture of Chachi Arcola.

I don’t have all the answers, but it seems to me that anyone who believes that we can/should pray, and that God actually listens and responds to those prayers,  should also believe that miracles happen. These people who believe that God doesn’t still do miracles or speak to us–Do they believe that we can ask God for things? Because it all seems pretty miraculous to me, no matter how “small” the prayer that was answered. Whether its getting out of a speeding ticket or safety on a trip, whether its finding a wallet or a loved one finding Jesus, whether its a kid getting a part in a school play or a kid getting healed of Leukemia–It all requires the God of the universe acting in our world in some way (a.k.a. “A miracle”). Why pray if you believe that miracles have already ceased ? Or is there any other prayer than “Thy will be done?” Or will God be more likely to answer me if I whisper “Jesus” 172 times in a row while the guy in front of me is booty dancing in church?

A lot of questions….

Anyway, (for the third or fourth time, now) I don’t know how it all works–this God stuff. The logical part of me wants proof–Show me the before and after photos, let me see the medical records, let me touch the holes in your hands…. Well, I don’t have proof, but I do have a story. A testimony, if you will, coming from a sceptic of the miraculous. And here goes:

A few years ago I had a… let’s call it an “experience” with the supernatural. Stuff started happening that didn’t really fit comfortably into my worldview. These missionaries from another religion came to my house, and I invited them in thinking “I am going to tear these guys a new one” (theologically speaking). I was very confident in my own knowledge and my debating skills, I judged them as naive and misguided, and I went away from that discussion feeling kind of…. dirty. Now this part is hard to explain, but for the next week or so, I felt tormented. Whenever there was quiet time, I would hear voices–like a whole bunch of voices talking at the same time (I know how it sounds). The voices were accusatory and attacking. The closest thing that I can compare it to is the sound of voices flying around my head angrily asking me, “Did God REALLY tell you to not eat of this tree?” It was freaking me right. Out. Demonic, spiritual, psychotic, whatever…. It was scary.

Phillip's first experiment with snake-handling did not go well....

So I talked about it with a guy I trust, and he goes, “Have you tried asking for forgiveness for judging those people who came to your house?” …. I hadn’t thought of that. So I tried it. Later that night, as I was driving to go meet my wife at the grocery store, I prayed. I talked to God. I was genuinely sorry for being such a jackass to those young men, and I asked for forgiveness. And something amazing happened: Peace. And quiet. Now, it should be noted that I am not a “speaking in tongues” sort of guy. Never have been. But as I drove along in that car, something welled up inside of me, and I started singing. I sang a song with no words (I didn’t have any), but if you had been there, there would have been no mistaking the fact that it was a song of thanks and praise, sung to the kind of God who listens to his kids when they ask for help.

"Who's the master?"

This story, up until now, may or may not seem particularly miraculous. But when I got to the grocery store and told the wife about my drive, I felt like Bruce Leroy at the end of The Last Dragon, when he has that golden glow around him. We were in the produce section, and there was a fly buzzing around us as I told her. The fly landed on my arm, and as soon as it touched me, it died. It fell to the ground, twitched a couple times, and died. As I looked at that dead fly, a voice said to me, “They’re like flies to me” (clearly speaking about the sources of the voices that had been attacking me. It wasn’t audible, but I can hear it when I remember it). My hair on my body stood on its end for about a half hour.

Now, it might have just been that particular fly’s time to die–Flies die every day. And yeah, I know…. A fly dying is not the same as a kid being healed of cancer. But this whole thing showed me in a very real way that God will do what he will do–regardless of the limitations we put on him (like gender specific pronouns). When this happened, I wasn’t really comfortable with any of it–Not the idea of demonic influences, not the singing of songs with no words, not the dying fly, not the reassuring voice of God letting me know it’ll be alright…. None of it. But one thing I’ve learned about God is this: Just when we think we’ve got it all figured out, God seems to like to remind us that we don’t. So now I’m more careful about the limitations I try to put on the creator of the universe. Whatever your beliefs about the supernatural, I think this is probably wise.

Posted in 1) Jesus | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Gospel Choir and High-Fiving Strangers

Posted on November 30, 2011 by theboeskool

I don't know who these guys are, but chances are I've served them some pizza.

The days of trying to answer the question “Who sings this song?” are over. It used to be that you would hear a song being played at a restaurant, someone would ask that question, and a cool thing would happen: People would start talking. Sometimes it was just the people at the table, but if you couldn’t figure it out, sometimes the discussion would spill over to the people around you. “Excuse me, person sitting at the next table–Do you know who sings this song? It’s like Bread, or Kansas, or America, or some crap…” (It was America, by the way). Then, the server would go ask the bartender, who (if, for some reason, he didn’t know who sang it) would ask some regular who, turns out, used to play bass for America 30 years ago. The server would come back with the answer, and your table and the table next to yours would celebrate a small victory. With high-fives, shared cake and shots… I miss high school.

Things are different now. If you want to know “who sings that song,” you click on SoundHound or Shazam or something, you raise your phone up in the air, and moments later you find out that it was some dude named David Essex. You also have the title, the artist, the year it came out, the lyrics, a link to the Youtube video to watch him gyrate like an idiot (at around the 1:50 mark, he gets particularly funky), and the option to buy the song on iTunes or Amazon.

"Siri, how many calories are in a Rolo McFlurry? You know what, Siri--Nevermind...."

I’m starting to miss not knowing the answer to things. Most of us carry around a device that, within moments, can provide us with the answer to any question we can ask it. Is anybody else blown away by this fact?!?! Seriously–The answer to any question…. And we carry it around in our pockets. “What time does happy hour half-priced drinks start at Sonic?” “Where is the nearest cupcake store?” “What are the directions from Sonic to the cupcake store?” “What are the symptoms of diabetes?” The thing is, now, instead of having to ask someone else for help (and go through the annoyance and delay of human interaction), we just ask the magic answer machine in our pocket. And don’t get me wrong–sometimes it’s awesome! I enjoy being able to look up answers to questions that are bugging me, and as long as I have cell service and a little bit of battery-life, I will probably never be lost while driving again. Really though, this is just one more thing that makes us not need each other anymore. And that’s kind of sad.

Even Kenyans like this song.

The other day, my friend pulled out his iPhone with earbuds connected and wanted me to listen to something. He was there when we were trying to figure out who sang “Ventura Highway” (We figured it out by Googling the words “Alligator lizards in the air”), and a day or two later, he showed up with the song on his phone. It sounded so good that it took me about 45 seconds to realize the recording I was listening to was actually him. He had recorded the whole song into his iPhone. All the parts–the guitars, the bass, the drums, the harmonies, the shakers–and it sounded surprisingly good. It was really impressive–the phone, the programing, his ability to play and sing all the parts and make it sound so good, his drive to get it done–All of it.

While considering the impressiveness of that recording, I started thinking about gospel choir. I went to a college without a lot of diversity. That’s very PC…. we were mostly a bunch of white people, but the non-white people had a way of making it onto all the brochures for some reason. Anyway, while I was there a gospel choir started. I wandered into one of those gospel choir concerts, and watched as a gangly Dutch girl with strawberry blonde hair (who ended up marrying my roommate’s brother) stepped forward from the group, let go of any self-consciousness, and sang her heart out while a giant group of swaying, clapping, mostly white kids leaned back to hit the high notes. It was clear to the audience that we were all worshiping together (and we all “knew” that worship was to be reverent and reserved), but this normally quiet group of Christian Reformed onlookers could do nothing to keep from standing, clapping, and joining the group in a leaned-back, close-eyed, nearly-shouted song of praise.

I joined gospel choir the following semester.

It's 2:30 in the afternoon.... I should probably put some clothes on.

I think that in many ways we have turned into a bunch of people laying down tracks by ourselves behind closed doors when we were meant to be part of a choir, giving a live performance. We are reaching into our pocket to find the answer when we were meant to find it with the help of the dude at the next table. And it leaves us feeling strangely empowered while increasingly isolated. The audience rarely stands up to cheer a recording, and I can’t think of a time that I have high-fived a stranger after Googling an answer to a question.

Not to make this political or religious (that would be so unlike me), but maybe this phenomenon has something to do with the feeling that I get from people lately that demonizes social programs, or unions, or asking more of people who have more…. It’s a feeling that speaks of bootstrap and curses talk of community. It’s a feeling that focuses on “You don’t work, you don’t eat” as fact, and dismisses “Whoever has two tunics is to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise” as metaphor. It is a feeling whose “community” ends at their own front door. It is an all-important “I,” when what we desperately need is a giant “WE” (not Wii). Guess what–If my kid goes to a great school because of where I live and five miles down the road a school is failing, then WE have failed those kids.

Maybe what we need is more choirs. In the choir, stronger voices can carry the weaker ones. If someone’s off key, they can listen to the group to find the pitch. Sure, there are leaders who are keeping time and there are times for soloists, but The Choir is the thing. Maybe we need more bands. Aerosmith is way bigger than the sum of its parts, and Steven Tyler should know this by now. Maybe we need less drum tracks and more live drummers–Somewhere out there is an out-of-work egg shaker who’s occupying legislative plaza or something. And maybe we need to leave our phones in our pockets every once in a while when we have a question without an answer. You might make a friend, you will almost certainly have more fun, and we might all end up feeling a little more connected. Plus, you never know who’s sitting at the end of the bar–especially in this town….

Posted in 4) All Of The Above, 5) Not Quite Sure | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Makeup, Baldness, and The Bearded Lady

Posted on November 26, 2011 by theboeskool

About a year and a half ago, I wrote a facebook status that said, ” I have decided that makeup is stupid. For a girl to think that she is not pretty unless she has a bunch of crap on her face is a tragedy.” Then I topped it off and made it worse by leaving a comment that said, “And high heels are dumb too.” People were… umm, how do I put this? Not happy. Since I have started this blog, I have been considering whether or not to revisit this topic (one of the reasons I started a blog was to talk about things that aren’t as suited for facebook). Then today I walked into a school and had to see a second grader wearing eye-shadow, lipstick, and blush (I don’t know…. Blush? Rouge? Whatever the fake red crap is called that gives your face that healthy, flushed, “I’m sexually excited” look). Anyway, this kid looked like a total tramp. It did NOT look good on him…. Obviously, I’m joking–girls are the only ones that are forced to worry about this BS.

Here we see a toddler dressed in Julia Roberts' whore outfit for the movie Pretty Woman. Lay off, they give out REALLY big trophies.

I am no stranger to pissing people off with the things I write–I have been doing it fairly regularly on facebook for about 4 years now (speaking of which, facebook has about 750 million active users now…. Can we go ahead and call “facebook” a word so it doesn’t get underlined in red every stinking time I type it?). I am not writing this to piss anyone off, and I’m not writing this to tell anyone that they are bad person or doing anything wrong. I am writing about this issue because it is something that I am passionate about and I believe really needs to be changed. I believed this before I had two beautiful daughters, and I am even more passionate about it now. <–That being said, if you are sending your second grader to school with eye-shadow, lipstick, and blush, you are a bad person and you are doing something wrong.

I thought it looked good then, I think it looks good now--Even without spending $100 on highlights....

First let me say this: My wife uses makeup. And I love her completely. Come to think of it, I don’t think I know ANY female who doesn’t use makeup. Zero. So if you’re reading this and you’re a woman, there’s a chance I’m alienating you a bit. I do not think that any use of makeup, in and of itself, is inherently a bad thing. Sometimes makeup looks cool–I get it. But if you can’t go out of the house without putting on makeup, then you have a problem. You have a problem like a junkie has a problem, like a bulimic has a problem, like a pack-a-day smoker has a problem. And if you actually believe that you NEED makeup–that your face is horrifying without it–you should know this. You’re wrong. You are believing a lie. It feels true, but you are totally believing a lie. Your face is beautiful without anything on it, just like your feet are beautiful in sneakers, just like your hair is beautiful even if your cut is so four years ago.

Here are a few statistics about girls, body image, and the “beauty industry”:

  • One out of every four college-aged women uses unhealthy methods of weight control—including fasting, skipping meals, excessive exercise, laxative abuse, and self-induced vomiting.
  • Teen girls who read magazine articles about dieting were more likely five years later to practice extreme weight-loss measures, like vomiting after eating (University of Minnesota, 2007).
  • At 17, the average girl has seen more than 250,000 commercials aimed at her looks (Harris Interactive Poll, 2007).
  • A Harvard University study showed that up to two thirds of underweight 12-year-old girls considered themselves to be too fat. By 13, at least 50% of girls are significantly unhappy about their appearance. By 14, focused, specific dissatisfactions have intensified, particularly concerning hips and thighs. By 17, only 3 out of 10 girls have not been on a diet – up to 8 out of 10 will be unhappy with what they see in the mirror.
  • According to a 2004 study by the Dove Real Beauty campaign, 42 percent of first- to third-grade girls want to be thinner, while 81 percent of 10-year-olds are afraid of getting fat (for an interesting article, click HERE).
  • Nearly 11.7 million cosmetic surgical and nonsurgical procedures were performed in the US  in 2007
  • The World Health Organization estimates that around 4000 children die every day from water borne diseases. What does this have to do with make-up, you ask? Well, in 2004, Americans spent $12.4 billion on cosmetics, an amount of money that is 33% larger than the amount needed each year (in addition to current expenditures) to provide water and sanitation for all people in developing nations.
  • Abercrombie & Fitch sell a padded bikini swimsuit top. For seven-year-olds.

Damn it. Seriously–Damn this to hell.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people?!? Pigtails?!?! That is SO 2008....

There are a lot of things swirling around in my head about this issue. There is the issue of little girls being sexualized by the beauty and fashion industries. There is the obscene amount of money that is spent on something as superficial (literally and figuratively) as cosmetics. And then there is the frustration about the acceptance of this system as one that is “fun” instead of harmful by the vast majority of otherwise intelligent women. I don’t know where I want to go with this–It’s all connected in one big mess of makeup, fashion, trends, beauty, sexuality, conformity, gender and power. I just want to yell a thunderous, echoing “THIS SUCKS!!!!! from the top of a mountain, and the closest thing I have to a mountain is this silly blog.

But this is a problem that has to be solved by women–it won’t get better because men finally get more enlightened. A lot of the things that women do to “make themselves more beautiful” are done to impress other women. Who comments on a pair of new shoes? Not guys. This is not something that men have to give women–I believe it is something that women have to take. But what do I know, I’m just a man, right?

This is my future plan for my beard. Luckily, all of the energy that used to go toward growing hair on my head is now focused on my beard.... Alright, my beard and my back.

Well, I started going bald when I was about 17. Once, while running off the basketball court during an away game in high school, a kid in the stands yelled, “Hey look! That guy’s going BALD!” Later, a junior on our team asked me, “Are you really going bald?” and I said, “Yeah, my hairline is receding.” He said, “My dad is bald–I would KILL myself if I started to go bald” (Thanks, dude…. Lucky for me, I don’t have to rely on your personality, you jack ass). Then came college. I think I became afraid that if I cut my hair I would lose it forever. The result was a stringy, windblown mess that didn’t fool anyone. One day I went in to get my hair cut and told the girl to “just take off a little bit” and, God bless her, she goes, “Sweetie, you know that if you cut your hair short it will look like you have more, right?” Finally, I was like “Who am I kidding?” and cut it short. I bought a $15 pair of clippers, made peace with my baldness, and I’ve cut my own hair ever since. Even with my new-found peace, there were still times that sucked. I once met a girl at a bar while wearing a cool winter hat. We kissed that night (very unlike me, but it was significantly harder to resist my charms when my baldness was concealed), and then later she took my hat off. She was noticeably disappointed. Things didn’t work out. Which is for the better–because who wants to end up with the kind of girl who makes out at a bar with a guy she just met?

Women wearing makeup every time they leave the house is kind of like a bald guy who can’t go anywhere without a hat.

With the wife, I waited to take my hat off until after she said, “I do.” She looked concerned when I suggested we add “For hairier or for balder” to our wedding vows, but I distracted her by asking to remove the “For richer” from “For richer or for poorer.” Anyway, she went through with it. Ironically, she got both: I am both balder AND hairier. Bonus, right?

Yeah, I know--She has makeup on. Turns out it is a lot easier to find a picture of a woman with a beard than it is to find a picture of a woman with an afro with no makeup.

And this isn’t the result of some vendetta I have against societal ideals of beauty because of hurt feelings over my own baldness. I promise–I got off easy compared to what girls have to go through. I have a giant beard that I can wear to work and still be taken (somewhat) seriously. In today’s society, for a girl to let go of their binds to makeup would be almost as drastic as if she showed up with a beard. I, as a man, can’t do much, but here’s what I try to do: I try not to jump on the bandwagon of praise when people are all “Whoa, where are you going–all done up?” just because extra makeup was put on (and, conversely, I probably do try to compliment more natural looks). I try to recommend movies like America The Beautiful or Chris Rock’s Good Hair as much as I can. I keep Barbies out of my girls’ hands and remind then every day that they are so beautiful–regardless of what they have on. And I try to keep yelling from whatever mountain I have about how much this sucks. If we all start yelling together, maybe we can make some noise.



Posted in 5) Not Quite Sure | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and Golden Calfs

Posted on November 19, 2011 by theboeskool

The future is now.

Not too long ago, the wife and I both got smart phones, and they are now firmly implanted as part of our lives. Annoyingly implanted—I love it and I hate it. Every once in a while, I realize just how addicted I have gotten to my phone. I recently went to the Sprint store (by the way, thanks a lot, Sprint, for coming out with the iPhone now that I’m already locked into this Android for a year—you scoundrels) and was without my phone for about 10 minutes… I reached in my pocket for it about 6 times. I laughed at myself for forgetting, but each time it got a little less funny. It’s mostly the “down time” that gets me. Like if I’m by myself waiting for someone at a restaurant, or even if I’m sitting at a traffic light that I know is going to be about 3 minutes—I can’t even remember what it’s like to sit on the toilet without something in my hands. A phone, I mean…

I'm aware of how cheesy this is, but still. Also, I just realized the haircut I just gave my son is very similar to this mom's haircut.

Bil Keane, the creator of Family Circus, died recently. Now I have never been much of a fan of Family Circus—Even as a kid, it was always a little too vanilla for my taste (I’m much more of a Calvin & Hobbes sort of guy), but there was one comic I read as a kid that stayed with me. This one had someone (I think it was the mom) praying a prayer where the only things in the prayer were things she was thankful for. Then, above them, (in a classic Family Circus sort of way) there were a bunch of angels who were working an old-school telephone operator’s board—connecting call lines with headsets on—and the angel that got that “call” had this happy/shocked look on her face. She started bragging to the other angels that she had a person who wasn’t asking for anything. An actual prayer where the person praying didn’t want anything other than to express her gratitude and thankfulness. The angels had a little celebration… I sometimes think of that cartoon this time of year.

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I love Thanksgiving. I frickin’ love it—the food, the family, the football, the fighting—All of it. It is precious to me. From the way the stuffing mixes with the turkey, to the way the levy breaks on the mashed potatoes and the gravy flows into your green bean casserole but you don’t mind at all, to the way you know you’ll regret eating one more bite, but you know there’s football on and there will be time to digest…. I think that the preciousness of Thanksgiving to me is the main reason I hate “Black Friday” so much.

Makes me hungary for a golden steak....

Thanksgiving is not a starting gun. We have got so many things to be thankful for and one little holiday to celebrate it. Does the day celebrating America’s decadence, consumerism, and bowing to the golden calf really have to be placed right next to Thanksgiving? I mean, the food has barely settled, and in the middle of the night people are getting trampled and sent to the hospital trying to save $20 on a BlueRay player. It almost seems like Black Friday has been intentionally placed next to our one day for  thanks–“Alright, that’s enough contentment for one year! Now shop, monkeys! SHOP!!!!”

It was like this, only sexier.

When I worked at Camp, there was a little ice cream shop called “The Scoop” that we would go to for a special treat. The people who worked there were so kind, and their cones were giant—Nobody needed more than one scoop. One Spring, they started construction on a Dairy Queen about half a block away from The Scoop, and we were mad. It was a small little town, and we figured this spelled the end for our precious mom & pop ice cream shop. We would drive by and yell things at that Dairy Queen that would get a guy arrested post 9/11…. Black Friday positioning itself right next to Thanksgiving is like that stupid, corporate Dairy Queen setting up shop right next to The Scoop.

My sister-in-law and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on everything–If we’re appetizers, she’s more quinoa salad, and I’m more Ruffles and french onion dip. Anyway, she just sent out a message to the family about Thanksgiving Dinner that I think is brilliant. She expressed her desire for us all to be “fully present,” and asked if we would go on an “eDiet” for Thanksgiving day—meaning leaving computers and smart phones out of the mix. SO AWESOME. I didn’t need any more convincing, but she even quoted Jerry Seinfeld  in making a case for why this would be a good idea. I think she and Jerry are really on to something.

There is a connection between pulling out a cell phone during Thanksgiving and Black Friday’s horning in on the Thanksgiving Holiday–It’s a kind of irreverence. Have you ever looked around recently at a get-together of family or friends and noticed one of those moments where more people are looking at screens than looking at each other? Every once in a while, we have “game night” at our house. It’s basically just a bunch of friends sitting around and trying to make each other laugh. Sometimes, if we’re laughing hard enough at people’s stories, we might not even make it to games. There have been many times when a whole room full of people have had tears rolling down their cheeks and struggled to breathe from laughing so hard–It’s like a drug. These times of community as precious to me as a Thanksgiving meal.

If I ever stand in a line this long, it had better end up me watching Simon & Garfunkle in Central Park. With special guests, U2.

So, if we could–even if it’s just for one day–let’s spend our time looking at each other instead of a screen. Let’s have our conversations be spoken and not texted. Let’s speak to each other, and speak nothing of sales or deals or waking up at 3:00 AM to stand in a line. Let’s drink in the increasingly rare time that is spent with family, with all its joy and frustration and sweetness and disfunction. And for the love, if you take a nap, let it not be so you are awake enough to make it to Target at midnight…. Let it be for the old-fashioned reason–A tryptophan-laced food coma and a soft couch.

So in the spirit of Bil Keane and Family Circus, I submit this Thanksgiving prayer:

God–Thank you! Thank you for this home-made food that didn’t require someone else to work on Thanksgiving and force them to miss this special time with their loved ones. Thank you for actual conversation with family and friends instead of the lesser relationship and counterfeit community that is Facebook. Thank you that my knee doesn’t hurt right now (whenever I hurt it, I think about how I wish I was more thankful for all of the time that it works perfectly–like today). Thank you for being a God who loves us, despite how shitty we can be to you, to each other, and to ourselves. And thank you in advance for answering “Yes” to the prayer I prayed yesterday, when I asked you to help the Lions win. 

GO LIONS!

Amen.

Posted in 1) Jesus, 5) Not Quite Sure | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

How To Not Be A Jack Ass

Posted on November 16, 2011 by theboeskool

My readers may find this hard to believe, but I don’t know everything. Sometimes it takes a while for news like this to sink in, so I will provide you with the natural pause that is a new paragraph….

Bad spellers of the world UNTIE!

There are actually quite a few things I don’t know. For example, I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut a lot of the time–in groups, it is harder for me to NOT talk than it is for me to add my two cents. I know very little about Asian literature, history, and culture. And I don’t know how to spell worth a carp. If it wasn’t for spell check, this would barely be readable (or is it -ible?). I also don’t have a complete understanding of the rules to racquetball…. There are a lot of things of which my expertise is limited, but there is one area that I am definitely an expert: People who are stupid when it comes to dealing with servers at restaurants.

I have had a job as a server (part-time, at least) for about the past 10 years (Wow. Has it been that long? That’s just dumb). That may sound kind of depressing and sad for a man like myself (a college graduate with above-average intelligence, a killer body, and mad blogging skills), but it has actually been such a blessing. It allows me to work my day job (working with kids) while affording me and my family some simple luxuries. Like food. And I’ve met some amazing people. Really–it has been a huge blessing, and in the meantime, I have learned a lot of stuff about the “service industry” that I didn’t know before. I shall now share some of my expertise (I totally tried to spell that with a C) with you….

"It looks like that cake has got some oreo crumbles around the bottom. Wow. That looks really good. I can't even remember the last time I had some cake.... What's that? Don't mind if I do."

CAKE–People like to go out to restaurants for their birthdays. Many of these people bring cake with them. Here’s what you need to know: If you bring cake with you (or, to a lesser extent, cupcakes), you need to give a piece of that cake to your server. If you don’t, you are an awful, awful human being. What kind of a person eats cake in front of someone and doesn’t offer them a piece? An awful one–that’s what kind. And if you have half a cake left, if you really want to be cool, you will offer it up to the staff. When this rarity takes place, the servers take the cake to a secluded place, surround the cake like lions around a wildabeast carcass, and experience five minutes of pure joy. When this happens, I celebrate by pouring myself a 64 oz. stein of ice cold milk and drinking it carelessly, letting the milk strain through my beard and run down my neck–like my ancestors before me.

"Nope, we don't. We do, however, have UNsweet iced tea and sugar. No? Just water? Probably just as well--Looks like you've had your fair share of sweet drinks."

POLITENESS–I don’t care if you have a thirst like you just smuggled sponges in your mouth out of the Mojave Desert, if a server greets your table and you answer by curtly stating your desired beverage, you are being a prick. The question, “Hey, how are you guys doing today?” should never be answered with the words “Sweet Tea” (And on a side note, two things about sweet tea: 1. I realize we’re in the South, but “sweet tea” doesn’t rhyme with “white tie.” And 2. I know it seems this way, but we didn’t decide to not have sweet tea just to piss you off–it was just an added bonus). When your server comes up to your table, look at them. Maybe even smile or speak. Later, when you’re asked the question “Have you decided what you’d like?” don’t lie. If you say yes to that question and then give a seven second vocalized pause, then you were lying. You’re a liar. Shame on you. Then, when it comes time to answer the question “What would you like tonight?” if you answer that question by silently pointing at the menu with your pinky finger, you should have to wear a scarlet “A.” For ass. Also, if you shake the ice in your glass, snap your fingers, or touch your server in any way in order to get his or her attention, you are not nice. Go home and make yourself some Mac & Cheese.

PATIENCE–Be patient. That should go without saying. Here’s an example of what NOT to do: When your server drops off your checks at your table, instead of insisting that he or she take your card RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT, go ahead and wait the 45 seconds until everybody else at the table gets their card out. Otherwise, you make them run your card, come back, and then make another trip to run the rest of the cards. The only time this sort of thing is acceptable is if you leave immediately after getting your receipt. Immediately. In an ambulance. If you make me make two trips and then sit there for another 15 minutes, you will be wearing a scarlet “A.” For adulterer.

"Would you mind asking your child to not throw food onto the gentleman at the next table?"

KIDS–Kids are great. I have three, and I love them. We take them out to eat all the time. Here is what I don’t do: I don’t let my kids run around in a restaurant without their shoes on. I don’t let them lick the top of the parmesan cheese shaker, or pour out cheese all over the table, or open the Splenda packets and pour them out on the table into lines that they snort through a straw like little messy, miniature Charlie Sheens. Here is what I do do (hehe): If my kids throw a bunch of crap on the ground (like noodles or those little teething poofs or an actual bunch of crap) that my server is going to have to clean up, I make sure I leave that person an even bigger tip than what I normally would. Which brings me to my last one….

"That sounds good. I'll have that."

TIPS–A lot of people know that most servers only make about $2.17 an hour, but what many people don’t know is that servers have to tip with every meal–and we don’t get a choice. We tip out the bartender, the hostess, the food runner, the busser…. Usually it totals about 3-5% (some places as much as 8%). What this means is that if you stiff your server on a $50 tab, your server is actually losing about $2-3 for taking care of you. I don’t care if you bite into your hamburger and pull a severed human finger out of your mouth, don’t take out your disappointment with your food on your server. And if, for some reason, the restaurant buys your food, leave your server a decent tip–you just got a free meal. And speaking of free meals, if someone picks up the tab for the whole table, offer to leave the tip. Conversely, if you are the person who decides to be generous and pay for the whole meal, allow the other people to leave the tip–this is so much better than getting sticker shock and leaving a 10% tip to your server because you weren’t planning on paying $120 for dinner, but you decided to act like a big shot. People who do this deserve to wear a scarlet “A.” For anus.  And lastly, if the server adds an automatic gratuity to your check, it is because they have have to–not because you looked like you weren’t going to tip well. Don’t be offended, and don’t act like you were going to leave so much more if the tip wasn’t already added. You weren’t. Anyone who would say that was just looking for a reason to leave a crappy tip. If you really were feeling like leaving more, there is a little line on your receipt where you can leave an additional tip. Go right ahead… I didn’t think so.

Posted in 3) Bathroom Humor, 5) Not Quite Sure | Tagged , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Money, Debt, and Indentured Service

Posted on November 12, 2011 by theboeskool

For some reason, there were no pictures on Google Images of socks and paper clips together, so, for your enjoyment, I have included a picture of David Hasselhoff as Knight Rider.

We are basically a country of indentured servants. We agree to a system where the poor (who are the vast majority) are forced to ask those who have more than enough to loan them money at interest in order to acquire the non-essential luxuries that they desire–Extravagancies like a college education and a roof over their head. But here’s the thing: Money is not real. We give it its value by agreeing as a society that it has value. If we decided that socks were the new currency, that would be how I would pay for filling up my gas tank–I would slide some socks into that little tray to give it to the lady behind the bullet-proof glass, and she would hand me my change in paper clips–per our new social contract.

When you're Yanni, it's alway Movember.

I have been struggling with this post for a few days now. It started out with my thoughts about debt–College loan debt in particular. Then it became about debt in a larger sense, and how America has woven debt into its plan for its citizens in order to keep them working like good little workers. And then today, I had to stumble upon an episode of This American Life called “The Invention of Money” (Here is the story. I would rather you listen to it than read one more word of this blog… Actually, I would rather you do both). This amazing and interesting story about how money is basically fiction did nothing to tighten the focus of this stupid blog entry. So now I’m completely lost in marco-mode, sitting here in my underwear on the couch listening to Yanni on Spotify, with 1500 words below this introductory paragraph that are basically a bunch of one-sentence thoughts–any one of which would be plenty for a blog entry of its own. This is not a blog topic; it’s a book. But now I have too much written down to not try to make sense of it all, so here goes….

Around 1 B.C.,  Roman author named Publilius Syrus said, “Debt is the slavery of the free.” So now I’m thinking–If money isn’t real, then debt isn’t real either.

So here’s what has struck me recently: It costs poor people more for things than it costs rich people. And here’s the kicker: That extra money that the poor have to pay? That money gets paid to the rich people. Let’s take the two examples of education and owning a home. If you want to go to college (The average for public colleges is a little more than $10,000/year, and the average for private colleges is $28,500/year, so let’s say $20,000/year for 4 years) and your family has the money to send you to college, it costs about $80,000. If you don’t have the money and you have to borrow, after you pay it back it could cost you an extra $20,000-$40,000. Same goes for paying for a place to live, except that paying off a $150,000 mortgage over 30 years will end up costing you about $250,000 compared to someone who has the money to pay it off right away.

"A fifth kid?!?! Just have him lay down sideways in the back seat...."

Now sure, I know that college isn’t everything. There is a giant list of people who go on to do great things who never went to college or who are college drop-outs (here is a list of drop-out billionaires), but the point is that, to kids, it is presented as the only way you’ll ever get a job. We’ve all played The Game of LIFE–If you take the short-cut and skip college, it’ll save you about 6 spaces, but every payday you and that thin little pink wife you’ll meet in a few spaces are going to get screwed. Of course, it doesn’t put you $20,000-$80,000 in debt to take that first right turn….

Basically, we’re all just a bunch of indentured servants. We go into debt to get some letters behind our name (and, admittedly, to learn some stuff) so that we can get hired so that we can pay off our newly acquired debt. Then, if we’re lucky enough to get a job that allows you to pay off your college loans (by the way, student loan debt in America is expected to top a trillion dollars this year–that’s a pretty big liability), we buy a house (It’s either that or throw your money away paying rent to someone who is rich enough to own apartments) and go into debt again. All of the sudden, it’s very important that you be a good employee and toe the line, or you could lose you job and your ability to pay back your mortgage debt (though it looks like you might owe more than it’s worth). Also, if you lose your job, you lose your health insurance–Another chain around the ankles of free men and women.

Okay, here’s how things work in America right now:

  1. If your family is poor, chances are you live in a poor neighborhood.
  2. If you live in a poor neighborhood, chances are you probably are going to a crap school and getting a crappier education (Unless your parents can afford to send you to a private school–which they can’t, because they’re poor).
  3. If you’re lucky enough to graduate from high school (with an education that increasingly pushes the burden of that year’s education to the next year’s teacher), you are informed that “a Bachelor’s degree is more like a high school diploma now-a-days” and if you want any hope of success in the world and getting a good job, you need to go to college.
  4. Turns out college is expensive, and you and your family can’t afford to pay for it. Because you’re poor. So now you need to “make the investment” of going into debt in order to insure bigger gains in the future.
  5. When you graduate (with an average $25,250 worth of debt–That’s quite a hole to dig out of), you figure out that what they said about “a Bachelor’s degree is more like a high school diploma” is actually true, and there are surprisingly few jobs. Maybe at this point you decide to go back to school (and more into debt) for a master’s degree–again, no guarantees. Or….
  6. Maybe you get a job. Maybe you’re lucky enough to get a job that supplies health insurance. Don’t lose your job, though. Be a good employee, or you’ll lose your job, your health insurance, and your ability to pay off your debt.
  7. Now you’ve got the choice of either pissing away your money to live in an apartment, or you can go even MORE into debt by borrowing money (in the form of a mortgage) in order to supposedly make your monthly payment (that we each need to make in order to have a roof over our heads) to yourself instead of to a landlord (Unfortunately, by the time you’ve paid off your $150,000 mortgage, you will have actually paid about $250,000 on your house–that is now probably worth $125,000).
  8. Congratulations! Your kids live in a crappy neighborhood and go to a crappy school! (Rinse, and repeat)

"Capitalism didn't do this... I hit my eye on a door knob."

This sounds nothing like freedom to me. This sounds more like a system that is set up so that the things a person needs in order to succeed are out of his price range, so he is forced to make a choice: Either you play by their rules and become indebted to the rich for a huge portion of your life, or you for forfeit your chance to become one of the ones who is lending and making the money. This doesn’t sound like a just society. This sounds like a fraternity hazing. Or a Nigerian inheritance scam. Or a battered woman staying with the man who beats her because it’s all she knows.

"My strategy works--As long as we don't all do it at once. If that happens, we're all screwed.

Then, if you don’t pay back your loan on their terms, they tell you that your credit rating is bad. Guess what–Your credit rating is basically just a number by which they rate how well you play by the rules of the people with the money. Imagine what would happen if we all just said, “You can take your credit rating and shove it up your ass.” Who would they lend to if we all had 520 credit ratings? Or, there’s the other side of it. What if we all took Dave Ramsey’s advice and lived modestly until we were out of debt? If either one of these things happened, the American economy would collapse. Think of how many people (whose jobs are dependent on the interest being paid by the poor to the rich) would be out of a job! And where would all of those companies be without Black Friday?

The Bible has some interesting (no pun intended) things to say about usury. When God spoke to Israel about lending at interest (especially through the prophets), it’s referred to as an abomination, and put in the same category as adultery, bribery, and extortion. In contrast to the person who takes usury and exploits the poor, Ezekiel 18:17 describes a righteous man who “helps the poor, does not lend money at interest, and obeys all my regulations and decrees. Such a person will not die because of his father’s sins; he will surely live.” Every time, God seems to be saying, “How dare you? How dare you exploit the poor in this way?” Then we’ve got to deal with the fact that Jesus tells us to pray saying “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.” The word that is translated as “debtors” actually means “a person who is indebted to you.”–not a trespasser, not simply a person who has sinned against you—a debtor. It’s easier to say “I forgive you” to someone who has insulted you than it is to say “I forgive you” to someone who owes you money, but this “financial-debt forgiveness” is the word that Jesus used.

And the thing is, money is not real—that should make it easier for people to forgive debts. Money is fiction–love is real.

Posted in 1) Jesus, 2) Politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments