Candy, Toilet Paper, and Halloween Cleavage

Posted on October 31, 2011 by theboeskool

It started out as all great evenings do: With a plastic Spiderman mask, a rubber band, and some red and blue Underoos.

Really? Candy Corn? Did I wrong you at some point in the past?

I loved everything about Halloween… Walking out into the crisp, Fall air with nothing but a cheap, plastic pumpkin with a handle to throw the candy into. The “real” candy (aka the mini name brand candy bars–you got your Milky Way, your Snickers, your Three Musketeers, your Twix, your 100 Grand, and your Kit Kat) were gone within the first day. Then you had the stuff that might make it to day two: Your Baby Ruth and your Butterfingers, your Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and M&Ms (both underwhelming Plain and disappointing Peanut), your Mounds, and to a lesser extent, your Almond Joy. Then you have your third tier candies: Your Blow Pops, your Bit-O-Honey, your Nestlé’s Crunch, your Tootsie Rolls and Tootsie Pops (with their urban legend of getting a free sucker if your wrapper had a star on it that no kid ever actually took advantage of), and your Dots. Then you had the leftovers: The no-name hard candies, the Dum Dums, the Smarties, the slap-in-the-face that was Candy Corn, and those piece of shit peanut butter things that were wrapped in black or orange wrappers–only people who truly hate children ever gave these things out.

"Yes, Ma'am, this is a real beard. What's my costume? I'm dressed as a man who won't egg your house if you give me a few of those candy bars."

As we got older, I and my friends got more and more efficient at candy collection on Halloween. It became less about the costumes and more about “the haul.” Plastic pumpkins were replaced with pillow cases–KING SIZED pillow cases. The costumes needed to be lightweight and aerodynamic, and those plastic masks, with their two small nostril holes and mouth slit, no longer provided adequate air flow for the kind of high-impact, cardiovascular workout we were going to go through. We prepared for this night like one might prepare for a marathon–There was stretching involved, and even talk of “carbing up.” One Halloween, I had a stroke of genius: I decided I would go as a werewolf, but then underneath my mask, I would spike and color my hair. Then at the houses with top tier candies, I would remove my mask and return to the door dressed as a “Punk.” By this time, most of us were nearly 6 feet tall, and occasionally we got the old, “Aren’t you boys getting a little bit old for Trick or Treat?” It was answered either with a kind “We’re tall for our age” or a terse “Don’t make trouble, Ma’am.” The answer would depend on what tier candy they were providing.

When we were finally too old for Trick or Treat, Halloween turned to a night for pranks–usually involving toilet paper. One night, we decided to TP (this is what we called it. Some might call it “roll”) our Vice Principal’s house. He was also our soccer coach, and our track coach, my girlfriend’s dad, and even though he was well into middle-age, I think he was a former All American in the 400 and he was faster than any of us. Midway through the TP-ing of his yard, he leapt from the garage and yelled something unintelligible. None of us had much experience with charismatic churches, but we all identified this utterance as “speaking in tongues,” and we were all temporarily blessed with the gift of interpretation. Loosely translated, it had to do with us “getting out of his yard” and being “little sons of bitches.”

"He has a skinned knee, and a bruised ass and ego, and a Lego mark on his heel. HE"S GOING INTO SHOCK!!!"

We ran like gazelles–literally leaping over hedges and fences and vehicles like they weren’t even there. When I jumped into the back of the pickup truck, it was already going about 20 m.p.h. I was halfway in when the truck shifted from first to second gear. The tires screeched, and I fell out and landed squarely on my ass, bounced two or three times, and was back on my feet and into the truck like nothing even happened. I still don’t understand how I could have done this. If I step on a Lego these days, it takes me a few minutes to recover. I fell out of a moving truck and was back on my feet and running immediately. If this kind of thing happened to me today, I would have had to have been life-flighted out of there.

"I'm going as a bumble bee... only like a really slutty bumble bee...."

Now Halloween has turned into figuring out what a “detective disguised as a pirate” would look like for the boy, deciding that our daughter is too young to dress as a “Vampire Princess,” and dreading the time when every girl’s costume has to involve cleavage in some way. Seriously, when did Halloween (for girls, at least) become about dressing up like a slutty version of things? Everything’s slutty now–Slutty nurses, slutty cowgirl, slutty referee, slutty Abraham Lincoln…. I’m not sure what that would look like, but I’m willing to bet it involves thigh-highs and a push-up bra (I’m laughing as I write this because I’m imagining the Google searches that will now lead people to this blog).

The starkest difference between the high school version of me and the current version of myself might not be the ability to bounce back from injury–It might be my annoyance with Halloween cleavage. Either way, one thing is clear: I am getting old.

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Old Yeller, Forrest Gump, and Other Things That Make Me Less Manly

Posted on October 27, 2011 by theboeskool

Okay, if I keep writing these long posts, this is going to start feeling like work instead of feeling like creativity and fun. This one should be shorter (ding!).

Apparently, riding the dog like it's a small horse is FROWNED ON IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT!!!

I have cried three different times this evening. This is not that unusual for me, actually. I’ve got a condition that doctors refer to as “being a complete wuss.” The first time was while watching a documentary called Unknown Donor about a man who had been a sperm donor for years and fathered many kids. The film followed some of the kids as they met their half-siblings and even met the donor/father (you can watch it for free HERE until October 28th). The second time was while watching a really stupid marriage proposal video on a plane. It was so awkward and dumb, but something about the real emotion that the girl showed made me tear up… I’m not proud. The third time was watching a clip from The Color Purple that a friend posted on my facebook wall. I have never seen the movie (not proud of this either), but watching one 6 minute clip had me blubbering like a kid who just finished reading Old Yeller. After having to kill his own dog. By bludgeoning it with a copy of Old Yeller. Given to him by the old lady from Titanic.

No, I'm fine. I just have something in my eye...

I can remember being a kid and learning early on that boys aren’t supposed to cry. Every once in a while, a boy would cry at school–like really break down and cry about something–and it was so shameful that the only way we could help him was by not making eye-contact. But this moratorium on crying was mostly about getting hurt. At some point, all young men agree that it is no longer acceptable to cry because of hurt feelings or pain. While playing basketball at school, I once got kneed in the solar plexus and got the wind knocked out of me so bad that I seriously thought I was going to die. Faced with the end of my young life, my thoughts were not of my loved ones, my unrealized dreams, or what was going to happen after I died–I remember not being able to breathe and saying to myself, “Just don’t cry. Just don’t cry. We’re probably not making it out of this alive, but just in case we do… There are people around. Just don’t cry.”

Alright...You hold your elbow, you lovingly drape yourself on his shoulder, and you push up the sleeves of you sweater. Perfect! That's rock & roll right there, boys.

At some point, it becomes alright to cry because of love–but even then, you didn’t want there to be people around. I can clearly remember lying on my waterbed listening to a tape of I Want To Know What Love Is by Foreigner about 10 times in a row because it spoke to me about a girl I loved. Tears fell down my face as the gospel choir singers came in and it all felt so true: “I seriously DO want to know what love is. And I seriously do want YOU to show me…. ‘And I know, and I know…. I know you can show me!'” Then I’d wait the 45 seconds or so that it took to rewind the tape and listen to it again…. I’m about 24 years removed from lying there, feeling the truth of my emotions as I listened to that song, and I can still feel it.

I’m not sure exactly when I stopped caring if people saw me cry, but it was sometime in college. I’m betting that it’s easier to cry as a guy going to a liberal arts college in Michigan than it is for a guy going to an SEC school. Maybe that’s why it’s a lot harder for me to identify with guys who went to schools down here–they’re still observing some of the playground rules I left behind in college. I can remember going to see the movie My Life with Michael Keaton and Nicole Kidman. If you haven’t seen it, it’s awesome. It is the story of a man who finds out he has cancer around the time he finds out he is going to have a son. He doesn’t expect to live to see his son, so he videotapes lessons for his son to see after he’s gone. There were four guys and and one girl in our group, and at one point in the movie I looked down the row and saw that we were all crying like a bunch of idiots–all of us except the one girl. Then THAT made us laugh, but we were still crying, so the combination of the laughter and the crying sounded to the rest of the theater like four college-aged men violently sobbing in a movie theater. The silhouettes of people turning around to see who was making all the noise did nothing to restrain our tears….

If you are not crying at this point in the movie, check for your pulse. Because you're dead.

Now, here I am–A grown man, with three kids and a wife, who can barely get through an episode of Scrubs (that I’ve seen six times) without tearing up at the end. Or reading that stupid I’ll Love You Forever book to my kids–when the old lady sneaks in and rocks the man “back and forth, back and forth…” (spoiler alert) AND THEN SHE DIES!!! I mean, give me a break. Thing is, it’s getting worse. I have had to pull over a couple of times because StoryCorps on NPR had made me a danger to myself and others.  Now, if I try to even tell someone about something that made me cry, I find myself fighting back tears. If you want to see a fun trick, watch me try to tell someone about that scene in Forrest Gump when he finds out he’s a dad and he looks at Jenny and says, “Is he smart, or is he…” and his chin starts to quiver. I seriously can’t do it without my eyes getting glossy. It’s ridiculous. I’m just typing about it and my computer screen is blurry.

So yeah, I guess I’m kind of a sissy when it comes to crying, but I’ve come to terms with it. I mean, what do I care, right? So what if I cried while watching Titanic. And so what if I cried after it was over. And so what if it was on the way home from the theater. That’s one of the nicest things about being married–To have someone who really knows you, sees you tear up watching a commercial for a department store, and loves you anyway.

Just thinking about how lucky I am makes me feel like crying….

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Mormons, Muslims, And Mitt Romney

Posted on October 25, 2011 by theboeskool

You know how when people say, “I don’t want to sound racist, but…” you can be sure that the next thing out of their mouth is going to be about as racist as something can be? Well, I don’t want to sound offensive, but….

Mitt Romney, proudly showing how many hours it has been, and he has yet to contact his physician.

Man, that Mitt Romney is a good-looking dude, right? He looks like he just walked off the set of an erectile disfunction commercial. He just looks presidential. And he really knows his stuff! He has executive experience, as he was a really popular and effective republican governor of a democrat-leaning state. He is a successful entrepreneur with a JD and an MBA from Harvard Law and Harvard Business Schools. In each one of the republican debates, Romney has come out on top (or at least near the top) and hasn’t made any big flubs. He leads the in the polls…. It’s like he is some sort of machine, sent from the future, whose sole objective is to be the best possible republican candidate. And yet, for some reason, the republican establishment keeps looking for someone else to be their party’s nomination (first Bachmann, then Perry, then “Oh please, God!!” Chris Christie, and now Herman Cain….). I wonder why that is…. No I don’t.

For better or worse (usually worse), religion has always been connected to politics in American. In 1973, Roe v. Wade only intensified this reality. The issue of abortion has been used for many years as a litmus test of a candidate’s Christianity (regardless of a candidate’s respect for life in any other area), and without the support of the giant number of Christians out there who believe that it is their duty to vote Christians (read “republicans”–some get these terms confused) into office, the political landscape in this country would be drastically different.

He doesn't look as much like an ED spokesperson, but here he explains another troubling side-effect.

Four years ago, the candidates’ religion once again played a prominent role in our national elections as Barack Obama’s professed Christianity was attacked. His home church (A Christian Church) and it’s pastor Jeremiah Wright were attacked as being non-Christian because of some seemingly anti-American things he said from the pulpit–As if being critical of America is proof of apostasy. By the way, Wright’s sermon where he said the words “…not God Bless America. God damn America” had many things in common with Martin Luther King, Jr.’s speech that he gave to striking garbage workers in Memphis just before he was killed where he said America is going to hell. Here’s a quote (just in case you don’t click on the link): “If America does not use her vast resources of wealth to end poverty, to make it possible for all of God’s children to have the basic necessities of life, she too will go to Hell.”–MLK

Idiots with Photoshop--The high price of free speech.

There was also a direct attack on Obama’s faith in Jesus Christ. People believed (and still believe) that he is secretly a Muslim, and that professions like the one he made HERE were simply lies that he told in order to get elected. No American president has ever identified himself as an adherent of a specifically “non-Christian” religion–No Atheists, Jews, Buddhists, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs… And almost all of them were Protestant. Barack Obama, as evidenced by his name, his skin, and his father’s faith, was branded by many (almost all of whom had an opposing political ideology) as a secret Muslim. And do we really want a non-Christian in the White House (or a non-white in the Christian house, for that matter)???

The LAST thing we need to be doing is giving THIS guy more money.

Now, I get it. I understand wanting to vote for people who are like you. Some even have the misguided notion that the way that the Kingdom of God is going to show up on Earth is by getting as many Christians into places of power (especially in business) as possible. I considered myself pretty enlightened about the whole separation of Church and State issue during the last election, but even I admitted that it would have been hard for me to vote for Obama if he were a Muslim. I’m not sure why. I haven’t figured it all out, but now I seriously don’t care. I had hoped to see some more drastic changes from the policies of the past, but the president can only do so much. I’d rather have an atheist running the country who cared about the poor and oppressed (here and all over the world) than have a Christian trying to establish an economic policy that puts an even larger share of the resources in the hands of the rich.

Which brings me to the reason for writing this post: Mormons are not Christians. I’m sorry– I’m not making any judgments about Heaven or Hell or anything like that, I’m just saying that empirically, the Mormon religion is way closer to Islam than it is to Christianity. Consider this: They both have a founding prophet who received visits from an angel that led to revelation of a book of scripture (The Qur’an and The Book of Mormon); they both have special reverence for, though not worship of, their founding prophet (Mohammed and Joseph Smith); they both reject the Christian doctrines of Original Sin and the Trinity; and they both believe that if you do not belong to their religion, you are going to Hell (of course, that’s true of just about everybody). One main difference is that Muslims believe that Jesus was a prophet (just not the main prophet), and Mormons believe that Jesus was one of many gods. Oh, and that Satan was Jesus’ brother.

I'm not anti-Mormon. I'm anti-THIS Mormon.

I love Muslims and I love Mormons. This is not anti-Mormonism–Mormons, by and large, are amazing, moral, kind people who do a lot of good in the world. I am way more offended by Mitt Romney’s economic policies than I am by his religion. And here’s the thing: He’s going to be the republican nominee for president. I am writing this to remind those of you who could never have voted for Barack Obama because you believed (wrongly) that he is a Muslim that Mitt Romney makes no secret of his Mormon faith. Also, to those of you who believe (wrongly) that Christians are called to put as many Christians as possible in places of power (you know who you are), I wanted to remind you of your convictions.

It seems pretty simple to me. I mean, Bill Maher gets it, and he’s and Atheist!

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Sacrificing Our Children to the Nation-State

Posted on October 19, 2011 by theboeskool

It's surprisingly cheap for me to feel good about myself--I "ate fresh" AND helped out a soldier. "Out of the way, people! Three heroes coming through--Me, the soldier, and my sandwich."

Not too long ago, while I was guiding the sandwich artist in the creation of my Subway sub, a man in a military uniform walked in. Man? I suppose he was a man…. If he wasn’t in a uniform, I would have called him a kid–He couldn’t have been more than a year or two out of high school. Anyway, I decided (for some reason–probably more for me to feel good about myself than to “thank him for his service,” whatever THAT means) to buy his meal. It was no grand gesture–I mean, $5 footlongs is a great time for a Dutch man to buy someone’s meal (way better than when you’re at Stoney River)–but it reassured me that I was a pretty good guy as I handed the dude at the register $10 and told him to use it to pay for the soldier’s meal. It might not have even gotten paid for–The employee might have thought that I was giving him a tip, because his English (as it seems is often the case with Subway employees) was limited. Either way….

This sort of thing happens at the restaurant every so often: A stranger buying a soldier’s meal or buying a round of drinks. It always seems like a nice gesture, but when I think about all of the things these young men and women are forced to deal with, it also feels very hollow. “Thank you for giving four years of your life, seeing friends and strangers die, and most likely coming home with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder–Have a beer.”

This is the way God feels about us.

For my day job, one of the things we do is go to Fort Campbell to do presentations for the 2nd and 3rd graders who attend the schools on base. There are six schools on base–Six whole schools full of kids with one or both of their parents sent away to fight. The 3rd graders see our Child Abuse Prevention program (there are high rates of abuse in families on military bases), and the 2nd graders see a program about dealing with deployment and reintegration in their families and getting their feelings out. I have yet to get through one of the 2nd grade shows without tearing up. These kids have to deal with a lot of shit that 7 year olds shouldn’t have to deal with–like ways to handle the daily fear of someone telling them that their mom or dad has died. Or having a father come home from war a different person than when he left….

Anyone who knows me probably knows that I believe that war and Jesus are about as incompatible as Republicans and social programs that help the poor. Today at work while looking up information for a fundraiser, I came across some troubling statistics dealing with suicide in the military. Men and women (but especially men) in the military are killing themselves at record numbers. Please consider this:

  • People in the military are more than twice as likely to commit suicide; four times more likely among male veterans aged 20 to 24 .
  • In 2009, more members of the armed forces committed suicide than were killed in the war in Afganistan.
  • For every death, at least five members of the armed forces were hospitalized for attempting to take their life.
  • And there are many ways to end your life…. These statistics do not take into account soldiers whose deaths are linked with excessive speed or driving under the influence–“In 2008, veterans who served in Iraq or Afghanistan were 75 percent more likely to die in an auto accident than non-veterans and 148 percent more likely to die in a motorcycle crash. Suicide statistics also do not count deaths that are classified as accidental drug-related overdoses.”*
  • And that’s just stats for people who are in active duty–Of the more than 30,000 suicides in this country each year, fully 20% of them are acts by veterans. That means on average 18 veterans commit suicide each day (for those of you who are wondering, about 7% of the population is a veteran).

    Source: U.S. military branches (2001-09) and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (latest figures through 2006) Credit: Adrienne Wollman

If these statistics don’t hurt something deep inside you, they should. And this doesn’t even go into numbers on veterans who come home with traumatic brain injuries, or end up homeless, or unemployed, or even the high number that go on to commit violent crimes. Something has got to be done.

So the government’s response to this epidemic of suicides in the armed forces is to try to provide counseling to the returning soldiers. They get off the plane, and they are asked to check a box that says “I’ve been thinking about killing myself.” These soldiers, trained to be in control, are given the option to say “I need help.” And checking that box will almost certainly delay the reunion with their families that they have been waiting for 16 months for…. It doesn’t seem like a very good plan. Please don’t get me wrong–I think we should be throwing every resource we have at them. Seriously. Spare no expense. But what if the problem isn’t lack of training or lack of support when they come home? What if the problem is war itself? What if we are just not meant to kill–even for something deemed a “Just War” (which, by the way, this war in which we have been engaged now for longer than World War II IS NOT)?

And with it, we'll bring a Walmart.

In the essay Sacrificing the Sacrifices of War, Stanley Hauerwas writes, “No sacrifice is more dramatic than the sacrifice asked of those sent to war, that is, the sacrifice of their unwillingness to kill. Even more cruelly, we expect those that have killed to return to ‘normality.'” When a young man enlists in the armed forces, they don’t want a person who seems eager to kill. They don’t want an army of murderers–Normal people possess an inherent unwillingness to kill. But then they take that young man and ask him to lay that part of himself (that part that is unwilling to kill) down–At the alter of the Nation-State. And then, we ask them to keep the horrors that they have seen to themselves. “Thank you for your service. Please don’t talk about what killing people does to your spirit. Here, let me buy you a round of drinks, shake your hand, and go on pretending like I’m not partially responsible for the demons you face.” It’s tragic.

This piece of art was made with weapons from Mozambique’s 17 year civil war. Plowshares, baby....

We have to do something. And the “We” in that sentence is the church. Hauerwas goes on to say, “The first task of the church is not to make the world more just, but to make the world the world. That claim is but a correlate of the assertion that the church does not have a social ethic. Rather the church is a social ethic.” America might be willing to view these brave men and women as the broken eggs needed to make an Omelet of Democracy (a great name for a band, by the way), but followers of Jesus Christ cannot. When Christians support war (with our words or our votes), we not only propagate the system that births statistics like the ones above, we disgrace and soil the name of Jesus. Jesus–Whose words and actions and life resonate with the world to be true, but whose followers’ willingness to kill (or, more rightly their willingness to have some poor, disadvantaged kid kill for them) convicts the world of nothing more than the Church’s hypocrisy.

One more quote from Hauerwas (I really like this guy): “But through the forgiveness made possible by the cross of Jesus we are no longer condemned to kill.  A people have been created who refuse to resort to the sword that they and those they love might survive.” Amen.

Posted in 1) Jesus, 2) Politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Language, Class, and Shit….

Posted on October 17, 2011 by theboeskool

Shit.

I want to develop a sign that says, "If your dog shits in my yard, I will follow you home and shit in yours."

I’ve never had a problem with the language of the poor. Especially the word “shit.” And then, especially when referring to excrement. For example, I don’t think that saying, “I just stepped in dog poop” is any less offensive than saying, “I just stepped in dog shit.” Tomato, tomato (that expression is a lot less coherent when it’s typed, but you get it–One of them rhymes with potato, the other one rhymes with potato…. Shit). There are just some things that sound better when spoken with vulgar language: “I can’t even walk through here, there is so much shit on the floor.” Or, “I’ll be back in about 23 minutes, I’m going to go take a shit.”

The word “vulgar” comes from the Latin vulgus or “the mean folk.” This isn’t “mean” as in unkind; it’s more of a mathematical mean. The language of the common folk–Not high class, like us. There are a lot of things about language that are meant to separate us from them–“them” meaning the poor and uneducated, and sometimes minorities, who (coincidentally enough) are more likely to be poor and uneducated. And who wants to talk like “those people,” right?

If you never listened to what this guy was saying because of the language he used, you missed out on some really important stuff.

I can clearly remember the first time I said the word “frickin” in front of my mom. It was something simple like, “The dog shit all over the frickin basement (I might be remembering this wrong).” She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, then made a face like “Ahh, choose your battles.” My family always seemed to draw a line between “swearing” and “cursing.” Swearing (where I come from, at least) was just saying off-color words, whereas cursing was saying words or using expressions that involved God in some way. That was, and is, out of bounds–I cringe every time some kid walks into a new room on Knocking Down Houses (what my kids call Extreme Home Makeover) and says, “Oh my GOD!” So we did what every kids does: We softened it to “Oh my gosh.”  When my Grandma was around, she would remind us that Gosh, Jeez, Dang, Darn, and the like were just as bad. Then again, she thought my sister was going to hell for wearing a shirt that said “Budweiser” on it, so…. Yeah. Grain of salt.

I tried to think of jokes for this picture caption, but they were all corny....

One of my early memories of my grandfather is playing pool in his basement. To my elementary school eyes, this man embodied the pool-sharking talent and confident swagger of an older, lankier, Christian Reformed-ier Paul Newman. I watched in amazement as he sunk ball after ball, I’d listen as the ball rolled inside the table, and I wait and watch for that ball to roll into the opening at the one end of the table. Every so often, he would miss a shot. And rarely–very rarely–he would let out his version of profanity: “Corn shucks.” Even at a very young age, I remember thinking to myself, “Paul Newman would have made that shot.” No, I thought “I think that’s how Grandpa swears. I’m 7, and I probably would have said “Son of a bitch” if I missed THAT shot. This is the most pious man who has ever lived.”

On a sentimental side-note, those times playing pool with my Grandpa meant a lot to me. I whole lot. I doubt he knew just how much…. He was just taking twenty minutes to play with his grandson. Take time to play with your kids, y’all. They will remember.

If it's in the Bible, it can't be that bad to say....

Even back then, I made a moral judgment based on his choice of words. But it’s not about the words–It’s about the intent. My dad could say “What in the Sam Hill!?!?” in a way that was way worse than “What in the Hell?” Hell, I can grunt loudly and not even say an actual word and it could be way more mean-spirited than dropping a giant F-bomb. Not too long ago, I was walking through our room in the dark and I stubbed my toe. I kicked a wicker basket that was filled with books about three feet. Across a carpeted floor. Using only my pinky toe. The kids were asleep, but believe me when I say that the stifled, snarling grunt I made was no more morally right than the neighbor-waking profanity that would have exploded from the depths of me were I at home alone. “Shit” or “shucks,” “son of a gun” or “son of a bitch,” “butt” or “ass,”–I don’t think it really matters. I would rather my kids swear like little foul-mouthed sailors than make another kid feel awful about herself using “acceptable” words. The word “ugly” is.

"Don't call that dog 'lifesaver.' Call him 'shithead.'"--I don't want to hang out with people who can't laugh at this.

The thing is: Most of us (not this girl) use language with close friends that we wouldn’t use with people we don’t know very well. When we let our guard down, the people around us instinctively feel safer about letting their guard down. It’s like when your girlfriend farts in front of you for the first time–You know it’s love. Love, or Indian food. So a while ago, I decided that when I’m in a group that doesn’t know each other very well, I will battle this air of pretense with carefully placed casual swearing. I will take this risk of being thought of as an oaf or a buffoon if the reward is people loosening their hold on their veneer of “high class.” Or, I’ll just fart really loud (This may or may not be intentionally for the purposes of group cohesion). Then, if there are guests that actually are so high class that the language of the poor seriously offends them, maybe they will be so offended that they will leave…. And we can start having some fun.

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I Really Don’t Care About “Getting People Saved.”

Posted on October 13, 2011 by theboeskool

The worst part about this kind is that you can never tell if she's laughing at your jokes.

I walked out of one of my schools today and a woman in a Burka was walking toward me. It was one of the ones where everything is covered other than her face–not one of the less sexy ones with the just the eye slits–so I could see her smile when I asked her how she was doing today. She said, “I’m doing very well today. Thank you for asking.” She spoke English very well, but still had a thick accent–I have no idea where from. I think maybe Boston….

As I walked away, I patted myself on the back for my meaningless nicety to a Muslim stranger. “That’s right. I’m a white, American, Christian man living in the South who just smiled at you and said ‘Hello.’ As you can now clearly see, we are not all a bunch of hate-filled prejudiced hypocrites (thought the man who is clearly prejudiced against white, American, Christians living in the South…. Yes, it’s not lost on me–I’m working on it).” Ahh, yes–I’m a pretty good person for loving someone from a different religion–as if my cordial greeting made some sort of difference. I fantasized about her going home and telling her kids about this white guy who showed her kindness today. “I just had this feeling he did it because of how much he loved Jesus,” she would tell them. And then the barriers between our two cultures start to break down…. Way to go, Me!!!

"Thank you for this tract that looks like money, you cheap bastard. I'm now going to see if my landlord will take this in place of my rent payment...."

Seriously, though–As I walked away, I thought to myself that if I actually had the opportunity to get to know her and be her friend, I would have absolutely no interest in attempting to get her “saved.” I was involved in Young Life in college, and I know a bit about telling people about Jesus. I have talked to a lot of people about Jesus–a few of those people have ended up believing that he is The Way, The Truth, and The Life. Some people call this “leading people to Christ” (as if we had something to do with their salvation). This “Getting People Saved” thing looks different for different people: Some people think it’s as simple as saying a prayer. Some people think it involves a “personal relationship” (a phrase that never appears in the Bible). Some people think it’s about “accepting Jesus.” Or repenting. Or baptism. Or even speaking in tongues. Some people think getting saved is all about what happens when we die (getting into Heaven/staying out of Hell), others think it’s more about what happens right now–That salvation is something that is lived out in loving everyone (even your enemies) right now, and working to help and love the most vulnerable people. For others, “being saved” means trying to get as many other people to say the magic prayer as you possibly can (this is the sort of person who leaves a Bible “tract” in lieu of a tip at restaurants). It’s weird–as I get closer to God, I honestly get less and less sure how the whole salvation thing works anymore (from our end, anyway–I get how it works from God’s end). And you know what? I’m not worried about it. God is good.

Listen. If I am kind to a woman in a burka, it sure the hell is not because I am trying to get her saved–It’s because I love her. And It’s not because I hate Islam–If I have hate in me, it’s for the ignorance and fear and enmity that she has probably had to endure at the hands of people who call themselves Christians. This is why it’s so frustrating when Christians paint Muslims as a threat or an enemy. Either Jesus is the real deal, or he’s not. I’m not going to talk anyone into believing in Jesus. Jesus speaks for himself. And a changed heart that is filled with love instead of hate is the most powerful testamony there is. Like Saint Francis of Assisi said,  we “preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary, [we] use words.”

"You want to take a picture? But I just got out of the shower!! Fine..."

It seems like the strategy for many Christians today is one of two things: Either trying to make sin illegal (while calling for smaller government…. Wha?), or trying to tell people (whom they don’t even know) that the things they believe are completely wrong. Muslims, Gays, Atheists, liberals, communists….  People say things like, “The most loving thing that I can do for someone is let them know they are going to hell unless they change.” Really? I can think of a lot of things more loving than that: Inviting someone over for dinner, mowing someone’s lawn while they are out of town, watching someone’s kids so they go out on a date, or maybe even just spending time together, listening to their stories, and laughing together….

"How much money do you think you spend each year on cosmetics?" It's getting late. Here's your hat.

To quote Paul Simon, “You want to be a missionary? Got that missionary zeal? Let a stranger change your life– How does it make you feel?” Trying to change someone’s life who you don’t have any sort of relationship with seems like a bad business model. It has all the genuineness of that moment in a conversation with a stranger when he explains how much money he has saved by buying things directly from Amway…. “Wait, you brought me this fruit basket because you want me to change my religion?” We love people, not because we’re trying to keep them from Hell–We love because he first loved us. It’s got to be about community and relationship. If anyone gets to know me–even a little bit–chances are really good they are going to know that I love Jesus. Unfortunately, that person is probably also going to know that I am sometimes a real jerk…. So that sucks.

Posted in 1) Jesus | Tagged , , , , , | 11 Comments

Good News: It’s someone else’s fault you’re fat!

Posted on October 10, 2011 by theboeskool

This is an actual picture of my high school stomach. I did not simply find this on Google images.

I used to have a six pack–the kind of washboard abs that would startle girls who poked or playfully punched me in the stomach (especially if I saw it coming–“No, I didn’t just tighten it up. It’s always like that…”). Once, before basketball practice, a girl was impressed at how hard my stomach was, and I was like “You could stand on my stomach.” Long story short–Farts sound surprisingly louder when they are amplified by a gymnasium floor and a 120 pound girl standing on your belly…. Somewhere far away, a whale tried to answer that noise.

Now I am giving perfectly good size 34 waist jeans to Goodwill–something that hurts both my Dutchness and my lingering identification of myself as “athletic.” I am no athlete. A little while ago, I pushed a grill that was on wheels about a block up a gentle hill and I was sweating so hard that I had to change my clothes. If I drop something on the ground, I take a moment to evaluate how important that thing is to me before I decide whether or not I’m going to bend down to pick it up (“Do I REALLY need that? I AM just about due for a cell phone upgrade….”). Athletes don’t unbutton their pants to write a blog entry.

"Do you think I should leave the watch on or off?" Let's go with on.

And I can’t just “go for a run.” Even when I was in shape, I could never understand the sort of mindset of a runner. I used to try it, and after a little while I would just start thinking about how good it would feel to stop running. “Why are you running?” my brain would say to me. “What is the big hurry?” Without a reasonable answer, my only response was to walk. The thing is, I LOVE to run when I’m playing sports. When I used to play ultimate frisbee, I was always the one saying “Let’s keep playing.” I would love to get a pick-up basketball game going, or ask the Spanish-speaking guys playing soccer at the park if I could join them, but now there is something other than regular, old out-of-shape-ness keeping me from getting in shape:

Fear.

I’m afraid of hurting myself. I work doing something I really care about for a non-profit (appropriately titled, in that I do not profit, but it does provide health insurance) for my regular job, and then I also work a couple of nights at a restaurant (this job affords me and my family the luxuries to which we have grown accustomed–like a house. Or food.) If I hurt my knee playing basketball or snapped my achilles tendon jumping for a Frisbee, I would be completely screwed. It would probably cost about $5,000 out-of-pocket for hospital costs (even with my insurance) and I wouldn’t be able to work at the restaurant for 6 weeks or so… That could be really bad. I wonder how many other people might be in situations like mine–afraid to exercise. Or how many people there are who got hurt somehow and now they are losing their house–just because they hurt their back or blew out their knee and then they couldn’t work or afford to pay their bills.

2 one pound beef patties with 6 cheese slices and 12 bacon slices, all between 3 grilled cheese sandwiches as buns. On top of cheese fries. The American Dream.

Those are some of the things I was thinking about as I was reading the letters written on this blog that is part of the We Are the 99% movement. People shouldn’t be afraid to play sports–At least not because they are afraid of losing their house. I know we need to eat better, but maybe it’s not just eating stuff like this thing to the right that makes Americans so fat. Is it possible that universal healthcare could actually make people healthier AND bring down healthcare costs? Knee surgery has got to be cheaper than taking care of someone with heart disease.

I suppose it’s not all bad: At least it is easy to find people to film from the chest down when the local news needs a video lead-in about the obesity epidemic–I’m just hoping I don’t recognize my shirt. Or my sweat pants. I don’t know…. Does anyone else just have this constant, deep feeling that we could (and should) be doing so much more to take care of each other?

Posted in 2) Politics, 5) Not Quite Sure | Tagged , , , , , , | 7 Comments

A Common Sense (Non-Religious) Case Against Guns

Posted on October 8, 2011 by theboeskool

Let’s imagine, for a second, that a junkie walks up to you and says, “Give me all your money, or I am going to cut you!” Unarmed, you quickly hand over all your money. You call the police and make a report, and later that day, the police pick up a person matching the description you gave. After identifying the person who robbed you, you watch as the junkie is convicted and sentenced to (depending on the state you are in) anywhere from 48-180 months. No rational person (or judge) would ever justify the use of the death penalty for a crime of this nature.

Not today, junkie....You picked the wrong person to rob.

However…. Now, imagine that the same situation happened to you while carrying a handgun (possibly you are one of the many people who stocked up on guns fearing that the new administration would attempt to limit you right to possess concealed killing devices). After hearing the junkie’s threat and demand for your money, you pull out your gun and put a bullet in his chest, ending his life. This is a perfectly legal response.

Innocent until proven dead.

If there is a case where the death penalty is even a possibility, the accused person is given an attorney, a jury hears both sides, and only the most experienced and tested judges hear the case. These cases last days, weeks, or months, and then juries and judges deliberate for a long time to decide the right thing to do. Things happen this way because you don’t want to make hasty decisions when someone’s life is at stake. So my question is this: HOW CAN WE RATIONALIZE GIVING PEOPLE THE RIGHT TO WALK AROUND WITH A LITTLE JUDGE, JURY, AND EXECUTIONER THAT FITS IN THEIR POCKET?????

The Second Amendment reads “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” (–Is this even a sentence?) This amendment was adopted in 1791 at a time when the best guns (with a skilled user) could fire about 10 bullets in a minute. We now apply the words of this amendment to allow people to possess uzis. What does it mean to “keep and bear arms” anyway? Do we have the right to have a bazooka? Armor piercing bullets? Nuclear weapons? All of these things are “arms.”

Imagine if I invented a device that was basically a button that I kept in my pocket that, if I pushed it, the person who I was looking at fell down and died. Of course, I would give it a safety and try to insure that felons didn’t get their hands on one–only responsible, law-abiding people should have a Kill-O-Matic 3000 (Did I mention that I would call this new means of self defense the “Kill-O-Matic 3000?”). This device would be so illegal, and yet we, as a country, have decided to condone the carrying of handguns whose purpose, when fired, is to kill the person at which it is fired. How does this make sense? It doesn’t.

The pro-gun lobby is so powerful and well-run that to even question the legitimacy of these policies seems “Un-American.” Think about it: If I want to drive a car, I am forced to purchase insurance in case of the event that I injure someone else or someone’s property. Even if I’m a responsible driver and never had an accident, I still need this insurance–just in case. There is nothing like this for people who decide to purchase a gun. Why is this? And this gun show loophole thing? Give me a break. Not to mention the fact that (for some reason) people who claim to be followers of a dude who commanded us to love our enemies seem to be the biggest supporters of gun rights (for a good laugh or cry, check this out  ).

The only hand-held executioner I'm okay with.

The technology exists to allow people to defend themselves without killing someone. Before a judge hears a case where someone could lose their life, he or she usually has to go through law school and get elected or appointed to that position. The only prerequisite for someone to purchase a hand-held executioner? Basically, if you’re not a felon, you’re good to go. And we justify this because of those ancient, cryptic words in the 2nd amendment. Having a law that keeps the government from taking the weapons from a well regulated militia (in order to protect themselves from attack, and also to maintain the ability for said militia to be able to fight back in the event of broad government and military abuses) is not the same thing as allowing every jackass (who manages to keep a felony off his record) to carry a small, efficient killing machine where ever he goes. Seriously, someone explain it to me, because I just don’t get it.

Posted in 2) Politics | Tagged , , , , , , , | 25 Comments

I’ve been known to be critical of Christians….

Posted on October 3, 2011 by theboeskool

It wouldn't shock me one bit to see this man in heaven.

“First, I would suggest that all of you Christians live more like Jesus Christ. Second, I would suggest that you practice your Christianity without adulterating it. The anomalous situation is that most of us would be equally shocked to see Christianity doubted or put into practice. Third, I would suggest that you put more emphasis on love, for love is the soul and center of Christianity. Fourth, I would suggest that you study the non-Christian religions more sympathetically in order to find the good that is in them, so that you might have a more sympathetic approach to the people.”–Mohatma Gandhi, when he was asked how it would be possible “bring India to Christ”

I saw a televangelist the other night who basically laid out a 10 point proof of how Democrats (Barack Obama, in particular) were dragging the United States straight to hell. It was filled with vague innuendo and ambiguous criticism (i.e. “we were promised ‘hope and change recently, but what we got….'”) , but it was definitely a complete anti-Obama tirade (without using his name) and disguised as a church sermon–all in the name of Jesus.

Perry Stone

This one, however.... This guy is my enemy way more than any Muslim. I chose to love him by not driving to Cleveland, TN and kicking him in the groin.

I went to his website and saw a banner advertising an event where you would get a chance to meet Glenn Beck if you sponsored the event–and then I threw up in my mouth a little bit.  In case anyone wants to go, here’s the info. I realized the reason that he didn’t ever use President Obama’s name or refer to democrats or republicans as he railed against big government, even though it was who he was obviously talking about: He wanted to keep his tax-exempt status.

This is so completely disgusting to me.

Now, I am no stranger to hypocrisy. I’m reminded of it just about daily–my own places of hypocrisy that is. We all fall short. But I realize that, in general, people who peddle Jesus on TV are about as gross as it gets…. And I have been thinking more and more about how many local churches and their leadership (down south, especially) truly believe that they are called (part of their calling, at least) by God to lead the people in their congregations to certain political beliefs, parties, and votes. If you believe that God is calling you to preach against Barack Obama, or if you, as the leader of a church, truly think that God wants us to vote Republican, but you refrain from saying so from the pulpit because you don’t want to lose your 501c3 tax-exempt status, you are being a complete hypocrite. Just so you know…. You actually believe that you are hearing from God to preach out against the democratic left, but you refuse to say it–because you might lose some tax breaks. Ironically, the people who are most guilty of this are the same ones preaching that God shows his favor to the righteous by blessing them with riches–An idea which smells thickly of pumpkin spice.

Not this jonah. However, if this story ever gets made into a movie, he is in my top five.

Let me tell you a little story: Once, there was a prophet named Jonah…. God told him to tell Nineveh to stop being so bad, but Jonah lived in Nineveh and believed that Nineveh was a “Christian Nation,” and he had a pretty nice gig going on where people sent him money for books, CDs, and prayer towels–enough money for some really nice suits, a few nice cars, and the biggest flag money can buy. Jonah wanted to say and do what God was telling him to say and do, but Nineveh was giving him a pretty sweet deal where he wouldn’t have to pay as many taxes if he just kept that part of his message under wraps. So Jonah decided he would bow to the will of the Nation-State for the financial benefits instead of preaching (what he genuinely believed was) the word of God. The cool part was that God was totally cool with it!!!

I know, the story doesn’t make much sense, but if I can get Jonah Hill attached to it, I think we can turn a prophet….

Posted in 1) Jesus, 2) Politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Let Your Poo Smell Like Poo.

Posted on September 29, 2011 by theboeskool

I used to like the smell of matches. Now, I can’t smell a match without also smelling the phantom smell of someone’s crap–so that’s ruined. I mean, when you spray lilac scent into a bathroom that you just defiled, you don’t make it smell like flowers. You make it smell like poo and flowers. Which is way, way worse. Now someday I’m going to be walking next to a lilac bush and, instead of enjoying the fresh smell, I’m going to be reminded of that half-bath that was 3 degrees hotter than the rest of the house. And the unsettlingly humidity.

Maybe we should start spraying poo scent in the kitchen...

And sometimes people spray stuff that smells like food. I guess this is the train of thought there: “Okay…. I just pooped, and it smells really bad. This is kind of embarrassing. What am I going to do? Oh, thank goodness–there is some orange/citrus spray that I can spray so one of two things will happen: 1) The next person to walk in here will not be able to smell my poo and be fooled by this fresh citrus scent that they will surely assume is always present in and around the commode, or 2) This new Citrus/PooAir hybrid that I have created will be etched into the olfactory center in their brain, coming back to haunt them someday when someone makes the mistake of peeling an orange in a car.” Can we all just agree to end the practice of mingling (formerly pleasing) scents with the smell of crap?

Which brings me to today, and the most insidious of scents: Pumpkin Spice. I was at a school and told my co-workers I was going to use the bathroom. I was informed that some pumpkin spice deodorizer was found under the sink (it was a small bathroom). Even a good ten feet outside of the door my eyes burned from the thickness of the pumpkin spice.  When I walked in, I noticed that the floor was slippery, but I assumed someone must have just missed when they peed or something. No big deal. The part where I knew something was wrong was when I tried to wipe and almost slid off the toilet seat (I’m not joking in the least). I tried to steady myself with my feet, but I was like a fawn on ice. There was some sort of oily layer covering everything in the bathroom–like a good millimeter of pumpkin spice scent. My first thought was “Something really bad must have gone down here (Or maybe not gone down–on the first try, at least).”

So now this is ruined for me too.

I found the spray bottle, and it was a super-concentrate. “If contents come in contact with skin, immediately wash with soap and water,” it warned. Now I’m standing in a gas chamber of pumpkin spice scent, barely able to keep my footing, imagining that my ass is starting to burn while I vigorously scrub my cheeks. And all of the sudden, I realize that I cannot smell even a hint of poo in the air. I could, however, smell pumpkin spice every time I coughed for the next four hours….

Posted in 3) Bathroom Humor | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments