Hopeful Expectation

Wordsmithing

2010-04-12T22:04:00.003-04:00

For the last several months my days have been hectic. There is very little time for quiet reflection or writing. And I often waste what little free time I have trolling about on the internet. Facebook seems to have a voracious appetite when it comes to my time.

I miss writing. And ironically, I don't really have the words to say how very much I miss it. If I wrote more, perhaps the words would come more easily.

Family and work obligations often preclude writing. Inertia and self-doubt accompany a host of other paltry reasons not to write. But at thirty-five years old, I'm beginning to understand that life moves so incredibly fast. My God, where does all the time go? If I don't put pen to paper now, when will I ever do it?

I am anxious to write, anxious to get back into wordsmithing. I am anxious to grow as an artist and as a person. I am anxious to explore a host of new possibilities and subject areas. I am determined to consistently put my thoughts in written form. I will embrace the resolve necessary to publish serious and thought-provoking work. I will do this. I will.

Married Life

2009-06-09T00:10:00.002-04:00

I married the beautiful woman with freckles that I wrote about in my last post. Our wedding took place on Sunday, May 10, 2009 (Mother's Day) at the Historic Courthouse in Lapeer. I like introducing her as my wife.

Developments

2009-01-16T20:40:00.002-05:00

Since I last posted in March of 2008, I've begun to love a beautiful woman with a bright smile and freckles. She is loud and opinionated, and shaped like a goddess. Truly a gorgeous wild thing that cannot be tamed. She cooks for me, prays for me, accepts me. Without a doubt, she was completely unexpected, and just what I need.

I find her immensely frustrating at times, but can't really imagine being without her. When I'm not around, other women make comments to her. They say things like, "He's really in love with you." The freckled, gorgeous wild thing replies "Yes ... he is." I know about these conversations because she tells me about them afterward.

We struggle through life together quite happily. Both of us face health challenges at this time, but we face them with each other, and that is so much better than going through it alone.

I get the impression she was custom made for me. God knows I wouldn't have been able to design her on my own.

Believing

2008-03-05T20:36:00.002-05:00

Some things are easy to believe, while others are not. I believe that I will be paid every two weeks, and I spend virtually no time whatsoever worrying about it. But when it comes to issues that are closer to the heart, issues that are more fundamentally important, it's harder to believe.

I do believe in a grand scheme of things. I believe that my paths will be directed if I but ask for it. I believe that the remedy for my unbelief is to ask "help my unbelief." For me these things are difficult to believe, and I am tempted to try to take matters into my own hands. I don't even know what "taking matters into my own hands" would look like, but that's the temptation nonetheless. Sometimes I worry that no one hears my prayers, so I shouldn't spend much time praying them. Sometimes I think that my prayers are really just an excuse for my weakness, and not wanting to "handle the situation."

I have so much respect for the people who have a deep, abiding faith. They steadfastly believe in things that they cannot see. They actually have, and experience on a regular basis, a hopeful expectation that everything (and I do mean everything) will work out in the end. Maybe it won't work out the way they would like, but it will work out.

I'm working on having stronger faith, and believing things with more gusto. A friend told me recently that her whole life changed when she started taking the time to be thankful. She focused on being thankful for everything she could think of, and it changed her perspective. I wonder if it strengthened her belief. I'll bet it did.

First Loves

2008-03-04T23:28:00.003-05:00

During the past few weeks I've gone back to a couple of my first loves: fiction and languages. I purchased three or four novels recently and I got quite a few books on French and Spanish from the library. I'm seriously considering working as a French tutor to make a little extra money.

I agonized over what novels to read when I decided to whet my appetite for fiction. I stood in a couple of used bookstores for a looooong time. One of the bookstores is in Ann Arbor. It's called Dawn Treader Book Shop. It has a skylight in the back of the building, so when I stood there browsing, the sun shone right on me. It was a pleasant experience.

A Thousand Thoughts

2007-12-26T19:38:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas.

What are your thoughts these days? I have too many to list here, but I'll share a portion of the thousand thoughts that have been going through my mind lately.

-- The internet is absolutely marvelous. BUT, it's not as good as having a great conversation over a pint with five of the smartest friends you have. Knowledgeable friends are truly a great resource.

-- Reading the old-fashioned way (with a book) is much better than reading things online. You must hold the book and turn the pages with your own hands. Man has done it this way for over a thousand years, and it's a good method. I believe that if the book is well made, the reader is more likely to have a measure of respect for the text (and the author). If I wrote a book, I'd do my best to make sure that my writing was presented in an acceptable format. No cheap paper with gaudy illustrations on the cover.

-- I want to learn to play poker. Who ever heard of a lawyer who doesn't know how to play poker? My friends have tried to teach me a couple of times. I just sat and pretended to pay attention. I will know how the game is played before 2007 ends.

-- Churches that have candles tend to be nicer places of worship (at least aesthetically).

-- I have decided to begin drinking beer brewed here in Michigan. I was born in Michigan, I have spent the vast majority of my 32 years in Michigan, and by God's grace my bones will be laid to rest and ultimately resurrected in Michigan. It would be wrong for a beer drinking Michigan man to not support Michigan brewers.

-- The rabbits that lived in my backyard have apparently moved away. I only saw a rabbit once this past summer. They were here for about three summers in a row. I'm sorry that they moved on.

-- I'm not a fan of saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." I understand that not everyone celebrates Christmas. But I do, and it shouldn't be a breach of etiquette to say "Merry Christmas." I wouldn't get all bent out of shape if someone wished me a Happy Hanukkah or a Happy Eid. If people don't want to say "Merry Christmas" that's fine. But those who are concerned about being politically correct shouldn't try to re-label or re-package Christmas songs as "Holiday songs." If it's a Christmas song, it should be called a Christmas song. On that note ...

"Then the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.'"

The Gospel According to Luke 2: 10-11

Merry Christmas.

Being Full

2007-10-02T23:54:00.000-04:00

I'm finding that rest is not enough. One also needs spiritual/emotional "nutrition." Receiving the proper food for the soul/mind enables a person to have something substantive to offer. I know the little things are important: reading a good book, taking a walk, listening to the wind blow through tree branches. But this way of thinking, living, being ... it's difficult to embrace.

When I remember to appreciate the little things, I experience satisfaction and a very real sense of being full. I like it.

Mending

2007-08-02T22:15:00.000-04:00

I have not written here in a long time. My days are full and pass more quickly than comfort allows. There hasn't been time to write. I've wanted to, but always planned on doing it tomorrow, and then tomorrow would come, full of distractions, responsibilities, excuses. But every once in a while, things happen and one must write. I've experienced a loss that leaves me shaken, and I don't know what to do except, well ... write.

I make lots of mistakes. I tend to not forgive myself for the ones that I think are particularly odious. That's probably yet another mistake. Every time I think I've learned to be more forgiving of myself, I end up having to re-learn that lesson. I feel like I'm going in circles, never really learning anything except how to be older, but not wiser.

So back to my "loss" ... I feel like Tom Cruise's character in Vanilla Sky when everything just sort of fell apart, and he started yelling "I need tech support!!"

*sigh* Jesus Christ.

Don't worry ... that wasn't swearing. But I guess it wasn't exactly praying either. It was something in between, and I think He won't hold it against me because ... I need tech support.

I can't keep doing what I'm doing. And I can't really even describe what I'm doing because I don't know what I'm doing. Make sense? I need tech support.

I'm thinking I might leave Detroit.

I'm thinking I need to learn to forgive myself.

I'm thinking I need learn to stop saying I'm learning to be hopeful, and really learn to be hopeful.

I'm thinking I need to stop worrying so much.

I'm thinking I need to find more courage.

I'm thinking I need to learn what I want, and who I want, in my life.

There's more to say, but I don't know how to say it. I'm too tired right now. I need a vacation, a change of pace, or both. Probably both. And tech tupport. I really need tech support. You know you need tech support when something happens, and you say to yourself, "Oh no. No, no, no, no .... that's just fucked up."

Everybody needs tech support at some point. Right now I feel like I'm under fire, my communication line is cut, and my reinforcements just got blasted out of the sky. So when I say I need tech support, I'm saying I think the program should be stopped, and re-booted. Or something. Yeah ... or something.

It's like the scene in Aliens when Bill Paxton's character was saying "Game over man! Game over!"

Someone I love told me "Nothing is beyond mending." That's cool, but I sort of need stuff to be mended immediately if not before. Maybe I don't, but that would sure be nice. I'm waiting on someone to press the "restart" button. I'm not even sure what that would mean.

I guess it means I wait in hopeful expectation for the strength to come up with, and implement, a strategy for meeting the needs I mentioned above. I have a full life, with family and friends who love me. But there are things that are missing, situations and hearts that need to be mended.

"Nothing is beyond mending." Let's hope that's true.

The Detroit River

2007-04-29T23:06:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday I drove downtown to catch up on some work at the office. After I parked, I realized that I didn't have the office key. I refused to drive all the way home, and then all the way back. So I decided to take a walk.

I walked south on Griswold Street until I came to Hart Plaza. I saw an Indian (Pakistani?) family speaking Hindi/Urdu/Gujarati or some other language from the Indian subcontinent. It was a large family with elderly people, young adults, and children. I wondered who was a cousin, and who was a grandpa, and who might have been a great-uncle.

Very few people were at Hart Plaza, so I walked all the way to the Detroit River. I was surpised to see that significant progress has been made on the riverfront pedestrian path. I've been hearing about the plans for a three-mile long park along the river, but nothing ever seemed to materialize. I guess they've finally gotten things in gear. I walked east from Hart Plaza all the way to Chene Park. Sometimes I would stop and watch the boats. There were lots of people fishing. I saw a few motor boats zip by, and it seemed like the people in them were in a hurry. I saw two freighters, both traveling east toward Lake St. Clair (Detroit sits at the point on the river that flows east/west; Windsor, Ontario is actually south of us).

I watched the people on the path. Senior citizens out for walk. A woman and three little girls, each on a bicycle. A few couples holding hands. Some people were jogging. When I reached Chene Park, I turned around and walked back to Hart Plaza, then kept going west. I saw a man sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette. He looked pretty unhappy, and I noticed he had a tattoo near his ankle.

I sat on a bench for a while and watched boats go by, and a group of men standing nearby and fishing. A little boy who kept making a lot of noise was with them. I don't remember what he was saying, but I remember wishing that they would make him be quiet. As I was about to leave, I saw a girl that I knew in college. She introduced me to her fiance, and we exchanged contact info.

The rest of my week consisted of meetings, phone calls, and worrying about the amount of work I was getting done. One day last week I called a friend and asked him if he wanted to get a beer. He said "sure," but we just sat at his placed and talked. I was too tired to go get a beer, and I didn't really have any money. I don't think he had any money either.

I will try to take my camera the next time I go to the river. I'd like to post some pictures of the boats.

Dinner with Friends

2007-04-05T18:15:00.000-04:00

Few things give me more pleasure and comfort than dinner with friends. Ideally, the dinner is in someone's home, and rather informal. I like to have lots of people, but not so many that the place becomes crowded. Good food, good conversation, and some good wine. It's great if everyone feels comfortable, and no one has to rush away to this meeting or that event. It's good for people to gather together and share a meal. It's simple but significant, and communal yet intimate.

Below is an account of friends sharing a meal. The meal took place long before any of us were born, and long before the language I'm writing this post in was ever spoken, but I can see this meal in my mind's eye. I see it clearly, and even though I wasn't there, I "remember" it.

"And when the hour had come, He sat down, and the twelve apostles with Him. Then He said to them, 'With fervent desire I have desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I say to you I will no longer eat of it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.' Then He took the cup, and gave thanks, and said, 'Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I say to you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.' And He took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, 'This is My body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of Me.' Likewise He also took the cup after supper, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in My blood, which is shed for you.'"

Luke 22:14-20

Darkness

2007-03-07T22:43:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it is difficult to see the path that lies ahead. I find that this lack of vision is brought about by a darkness. The darkness is made up of a number of things: cluttered minds, unhealthy souls, lack of love, bombardment from the media, and a host of other things. This is my present experience, and I do not like it. In order to find more clarity, more light ... I'm taking a brief fast from radio, newspaper, and television. My use of the internet will be limited to edifying correspondence, which can include posting on this blog. I feel good about this choice.

2007-02-01T21:36:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: This post is not meant to serve as legal advice. In fact, it is not legal advice. If you have a legal problem, you should consult an attorney licensed to practice in your state.

Michigan has seen better days. We make automobiles, but we're having trouble selling them. That means there are more cars on the lots, and fewer jobs in the market. Creditors are prowling about, looking for tender, juicy Michiganders (or Michiganians, if you prefer) to devour.

All jokes aside, being hounded by creditors can be an incredibly painful experience. If you owe a debt, you should pay it if possible. You can rest assured that if your creditor is a corporation, they have every intention of getting their money back. The creditor will file suit against you, and if the debt is valid, they will almost certainly prevail. After a judgment is issued against you, the creditor will attempt to collect. Garnishment is an effective collection tool; in most instances, one must have a court order allowing the garnishment. Some creditors (e.g. the IRS) do not require a court order to garnish.

Sometimes it is not possible to repay valid debts. This is particularly true of disabled people on fixed incomes. If you or someone you know is a recipient of Social Security benefits or Supplemental Security Income (SSI), you should know that this money is exempt from garnishment. I often speak with disabled people who have no idea that, for the most part, this money cannot be garnished. There are exceptions that I will explain below.

A disabled person who has one of the above as their sole source of income cannot be garnished under normal circumstances. An exception to this rule arises if other monies are mixed with the income that is exempt. For example, if I receive SSI money via direct deposit, and it is my only source of income, a creditor *usually* will not be able to get it. However, if a friend or relation gives me a financial gift (let's say $20), and I deposit that money into my bank account, the bank account becomes open to garnishment. Sometimes "mistakes" happen, and creditors successfully attempt to garnish funds that are exempt. If this happens, you must file an objection with the court within 14 days. The onus is on the debtor (i.e. you) to file an objection.

If your sole source of income is exempt from garnishment, you don't own a home, don't have any savings, and you are sure that you'll never work again, you can laugh at creditors who threaten to sue you. But don't laugh so hard that you forget to check your mail for garnishment notices. "Mistakes" do happen, and not every creditor is willing to abide by the law. If you don't have any money, any assets, and you think that you probably never will, you probably don't need to declare bankruptcy.

It goes without saying that you can negotiate with creditors. But never, ever agree to a payment plan that you cannot afford. That'll just make creditors angry, and you'll feel worse about the situation.

Important Things

2007-01-19T18:38:00.000-05:00

We should fully embrace the things that are important to us. Unless, of course, those things are unhealthy. If there is a person, a project, or a hobby that is important to you, you should devote some time to it this weekend. Doing this will make your life a little better, and possibly give you some much needed clarity. If everything in your life is already going well, you can probably extend the life of the "happy season" by devoting time to something you find important.

This weekend, I will spend time writing because my writing is important to me. It seems to make me a better person. I'm not sure how that works, but I believe it is true. I hope that you will take some time this weekend to do something, anything, that you find meaningful and important. Be sure to tell me what your important thing was for the weekend (if you feel like it).

Letter Written in Hospital

2007-01-07T22:58:00.000-05:00

We recently found this letter among my maternal grandmother's things. My father wrote the letter in 1980 during a stay in the hospital. The people mentioned in the letter are various relatives. It is strange to read a letter from almost 30 years ago that mentions people I know. It is also strange to see my 5 year old self mentioned in the correspondence between two people who are no longer alive. All of the people mentioned in the letter are either dead, or very, very different from the way they were in 1980. Lord have mercy ... where have the years gone? How did they pass so quickly?

Vacation

2006-12-24T19:57:00.000-05:00

Last Thursday I was told that I need not report to work again until January 2, 2007. I said, "Really? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, no more work for this year. The stuff you're working on can wait until January. You can come to work if you want to, but no one else will be here."

I also received an email from one of my superiors regarding a task scheduled for December 25. I chose that date for my convenience, thinking that it would not cause problems for anyone. The task is mine to fulfill, and I have remote access to the files in my office (i.e. I can work from my bedroom). Not to mention the task wouldn't take very long.

The email read: "I've noticed you have sceduled tasks for Christmas Day. Please change this. Thank you."

So ... I complied with the directive, and I have no work scheduled before January 2. Now I'm wondering how to effectively use my free time. I think a "to do" list for myself would probably be helpful.

1. sharpen cooking skills by trying a new recipe; must be healthy

2. finish The Brothers Karamazov

3. finish short story for contest and send it to Lansing

4. send copies of at least 3 stories to J, per her request

5. explore at least 3 historic sites in Metro Detroit; take photos

6. finalize plans for winter barbecue in January (we've named the event "July in January")

7. spend some time in quiet reflection, recording thoughts in journal

Where are you from?

2006-12-20T20:17:00.000-05:00

Where are you from? Do you love that place? I hope so; it seems good for a person to love his place of origin.

I am from the northwest side of Detroit. The first house I lived in was north of a neighborhood called Warrendale, and south of a neighborhood called Rosedale Park. My neighborhood didn't have a name; I just told people that I lived close to the big K-Mart on Plymouth Road. My parents owned our house, and the house directly across the street, where one of our relatives lived. Our backyard had two apple trees, two pine trees, a pear tree, a maple, and some other trees that I can't name. Rose bushes on the south side of the yard, ferns and sundry other plants (e.g. a yucca) on the north side, and a vegetable garden on the far east side. We grew tomatoes, peppers, and collard greens. We tried to grow watermelons one year, but that didn't turn out so well.

I think most of the people in my neighborhood owned their homes. One of my neighbors was a bus driver. The lady next to him worked in a nursing home. My next door neighbor worked at Ford Motor Company. One of the guys across the street was a Vietnam vet, and he told awesome stories about the Marine Corps. Another neighbor was a mechanic who worked out of the garage in his backyard. I had a relative around the corner who worked as management in a meat-packing plant. My mom was a manager at K-Mart Headquarters, and my dad worked for the City of Detroit in the Housing Department. At that time, city employees were required by law to reside within the city limits, so my parents never considered moving to the suburbs.

The vast majority of boys in our neighborhood played basketball. This was an important skill that garnered respect. Those who couldn't play well (like myself) were often ridiculed, especially if they claimed to have skills and actually didn't. Fortunately, my family owned the portable basketball rim that was used, and some of the best athletes were relatives of mine. It also helped that I never claimed to have any athletic prowess. Sometimes the Vietnam vet would play basketball with the kids. He had epilepsy, and one time he had a seizure in the middle of a basketball game.

When I was very small, I walked about six blocks to my elementary school. I watched Batman (with Adam West) every morning before school. The ending of each episode had me sitting on the edge of my seat wondering "How the hell will Batman get out of THIS one?" When Batman was over, it was time to start walking to school. On the way home, I had to walk past a house where a huge German Shepherd called "Magnum" lived. Magnum always barked, and I was always afraid he would jump the fence. I heard that one time, he actually did jump the fence, but I wasn't around that day.

My house faced west, so my front porch was great for watching sunsets. I remember watching butterflies fly around in the front yard; I hardly ever see them anymore, except for the boring little white ones. And I think those are moths. There was a squirrel that lived between my house and my next door neighbor's house. He had broken hind legs, and he was very unfriendly. I remember that it was difficult to fly a kite in my neighborhood because there were too many trees.

My father had a second job doing home improvement work. Sometimes he would take me with him when he did a job. Painting, window installation, roofing, or some other type of construction. I saw neighborhood after neighborhood after neighborhood. My dad pointed out houses that his uncle built after coming to Detroit in the 1920's. I saw buildings on the east side, the southwest side, the northwest side, ... you name a Detroit neighborhood, I've probably been there. And downtown was great. I was fascinated by the Penobscot Building with its big, red, blinking bulb on top. The Renaissance Center was so ... shiny!

When I moved to Ann Arbor for college, I met people from all over the world. Many of them would not even consider coming to the neighborhood that I described above. A lot of the white people seemed to feel this way. My classmates said things like "Oh my God ... is it ... SAFE?" Kids from the Detroit suburbs would often add fuel to the fire: "My parents grew up in Detroit, and their old neighborhood is NOTHING like it used to be! They've totally let the city go down the tubes." One time, my French instructor from Beirut belittled Detroit for being dangerous, and basically said she couldn't understand why anyone would ever want to go there.

Hey ... everybody is entitled to an opinion. It just never occured to me that someone from war-torn Beirut would feel at ease saying that Detroit was a shitty place. I guess it is for many people. That has not been my experience.

I am saddened by the struggles my community faces, and I never try to deceive people about what Detroiters have been facing for the past few decades. I just hate to see people make patently untrue statements about a place they've never experienced, discourage other people from experiencing it, and thus exacerbate the problems of Detroiters.

Yeah, yeah ... I know. You took the Ambassador Bridge from Windsor, and when you got to the Detroit side, it just looked AWFUL!!! Have you ever taken the tunnel? Take the tunnel next time, and you'll see another part of the city. Don't be afraid. We've even gotten over the fact that you drive an import ;)

For more information about my corner of the world, click this link:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosedale_Park%2C_Detroit

Mundane Things

2006-11-27T22:00:00.000-05:00

Look at a photograph and study the "unimportant" details. The details that are unremarkable are so easy to miss, yet essential. But for those details, we would see a different picture. I believe it's the same way with our lives. Here I offer a "snapshot" of my life, and list some mundane details for your reading pleasure.

* Sometimes I see a young man sitting across from me on the bus as I ride downtown. He is one of the few black men I see riding the SMART Bus Express line. White people, Arabs, Pakistanis, Latinos, black women ... but very few black men. Sometimes I'm the only black guy except for the bus driver. More often than not, my bus is driven by a black woman. The young man who sits across from me wears glasses, khakis, and a collared shirt. He is clean shaven, but does not wear a tie. He is almost always sleeping, so I never get to say "good morning" or ask what he does for a living. I often wonder how he knows when to wake up, and whether he ever misses his stop. Recently I noticed that he has high tech hearing devices in his ears. I wonder if he is almost completely deaf. I wonder if he has many friends. I wonder if he would have more friends if not for his hearing devices.

* There are mice in my attic. I climbed up there and left D-Con packets and traps smeared with peanut butter. A few days later I went up again to see how I fared against the invaders. One trap had gone off, but there was no mouse to be seen. The other traps were untouched. The packets were untouched as well. I think they (one must assume there are more than one) discussed the packets and decided that the poor schmuck who ate the goodies inside last month didn't fare so well. I imagine them saying "That murderous bastard is trying to kill us!!!"

* Last Friday I went to Holiday Market, which is a very trendy place to shop. I thought I would buy a nice bottle of wine, fresh fruit, and maybe some cheese with an exotic sounding name. But when I got there, I saw how expensive everything was. And when I checked my pockets, I only had about $15. I was too proud to purchase a minimal amount of fruit or walk out empty handed. So ... I bought some frozen vegetables, a loaf of bread, and bottled water.

* On the way to work, I always try to get a glimpse of the Book-Cadillac Hotel. It has been closed since the 1980's but is now being restored, with the upper levels serving as lofts. Every day I look to see if I can see any noticeable changes. I can't. It always looks the same. I wonder how it looked at various points in history when people like Al Capone, Jimmy Hoffa, and President Kennedy were guests.

* I have maps on the walls of my office. One of them shows all the countries of Africa. The other day a middle-aged client looked at the map and said "Oh! I didn't know Egypt was in Africa. Isn't that something!" She seemed truly impressed, and quite pleased. I said, "Yes, it absolutely is."

Perception / Reality

2006-11-03T20:23:00.000-05:00

Remember that saying "Perception is reality"? It seems so very true to me. But what happens when our perceptions change? Has reality changed? I'm not sure that reality is necessarily constant or static, but I do hope that there are some aspects of reality that never change.

I've been thinking a lot about my own religious beliefs for the past few years. When I write "thinking a lot", I mean assessing. For reasons that are difficult to explain just now, I've been thinking about a lot of issues that I never thought about during my years as a fundamentalist, evangelical Protestant. These "new" issues color my worldview, shake up personal theories, and sometimes cause a considerable amount of frustration.

I have dozens of questions which cannot be answered to my satisfaction. "Where is the Church, the very Body of Christ?" "How can two people allegedly know the Truth with absolute certainty, and embrace theologies that are diametrically opposed to each other?" "Why is healthy intimacy so elusive?" "Why do some people have such awful, awful lives when they've done all they can to have good (or simply decent) lives?"

Some people have answers to these questions. I used to be one of those people. My answers often began with "The Bible says ..." or "As a Christian, I believe ...." Today I'm MUCH more likely to say "I don't know. I really don't know." I still believe in Jesus, but I have less to say about Him. What words could express my connection to Him? If I quoted a Bible verse to describe it, which version would I use?

I had a religious experience at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City last year. And I had another at the beginning of this year in Lansing, Michigan. I didn't see anything extraordinary during either experience, but each time, I felt convinced that God was near. It is very difficult for me to write about these experiences because, as I wrote above, I saw nothing extraordinary. I only felt something extraordinary, and as I struggle to find the words to describe those experiences, I doubt that you would "get it." Maybe if we spoke in person, but not by reading a blog post.

I believe that both experiences are connected to my previous experiences: attending a church with a very strict Protestant, dispensational worldview; being diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, and losing health insurance shortly thereafter; finding myself at a Catholic university, surrounded by very smart, very devout Catholics; wrestling with a bar examination ... the list goes on and on.

My faith is shaped (at least in part) by my perception of reality. I suspect my perception is shaped by a host of things, one of them being my experiences. I'm guessing it's the same way for you. I believe this phenomenon shows how two people who call Jesus "Lord" with love and sincerity can have vastly different understandings of what it means to live as a Christian.

I used to be very concerned with prohibitions: don't look to works for salvation, don't fornicate, don't use profanity, don't drink alcohol (one drop leads to drunkeness!), don't watch R-rated movies, don't engage in worldy activities (i.e. things that are really fun), don't smoke, don't ask a woman out unless you have "serious" intentions, don't dance, don't vote for ungodly politicians (i.e. pro-choice), don't ask non-Christians for advice ....

I was defining my faith, my very self, my reality, by things that I did not do. That's a really shitty way to live. It got really old, really fast, and by the time I was twenty-six, I felt like I was fifty-two. Well, I felt the way I imagined a rather unhappy, fifty-two year old man would feel.

Today I try to put my faith into practice with a "to do" list: be kind to people, pray with sincerity, tell the truth (and remember to be tactful!), defend those who can't defend themselves, listen intently to what others have to say, eat more vegetables, allow people the chance to get close enough to really know you (even when it's easier to remain aloof), give hugs to people you love, cook for people you love, drink beer (in moderation) with people you love ....

My choices and my characterizations of choices shape my reality, my perceptions. My more recent approach to living as a Christian is easier, and more fulfilling. It works for me, and I feel ... right. I am thirty-one years old, and I feel not a year older.

The World Series

2006-10-19T00:25:00.000-04:00

In 1984 the Detroit Tigers won the World Series. I sat in my parents' room with my dad and watched our team win on television. My dad shouted, "We won! We won!!!" and we saw the crowd rush the field. It was an electric feeling. I was nine years old.

Sixteen years earlier, the Tigers won the World Series against the St. Louis Cardinals. My family attended one of the home games. My older brother has fond memories of the Series, and when he told me about the experience, he mentioned that in 1968, he was nine years old.

When we realized that we were both nine years old during our respective World Series, we sort of shared a moment. We don't share moments very often, so this was pretty cool.

Both my brother and I will watch the 2006 World Series with, of course ... Hopeful Expectation.

Go Tigers!

Filming a Movie

2006-10-04T23:57:00.000-04:00

When I went to work yesterday, there were barricades and police cars along Fort Street. Oops ... I had forgotten; someone was filming a movie. I asked security if I could walk on the sidewalk since the barricades were only in the street. He said "Sure, you can walk on the sidewalk."

When I left work, the sidewalks were blocked too. A crowd had gathered. A police officer told me "If you want to cross the street, you'd better do it now." I think I might have been in the way of a shot. I walked a block out of my way to Lafayette Street, and called my buddy to tell him they were filming. As I was walking, I passed two men who looked like they might be part of the movie crew. Guy Number One said "Are you flying out of here tonight?" Guy Number Two said "I don't know. I'll talk to Ian and see if Mike wants us to stay."

I told my buddy on the cell phone "Quick ... google the movie and see who "Mike" and "Ian" are. They've gotta be important if they determine who flies out and who stays."

Our impromptu Google search revealed the "Mike" is director Michael Bay. "Ian" is producer Ian Bryce. When I got home I looked up Michael Bay because this is the second time he has chosen to film in Detroit in the past couple of years. He also filmed part of The Island on Fort Street.

Oh ... I'll bet you want to know what movie they were filming. Are you ready? You sure?

Transformers. Right outside my office baby. And yesterday was nothing compared to today. Today we heard explosions and a bunch of extras screaming as if they were being attacked by a giant robot. Apparently the crew filmed in two Detroit locations. One in the heart of downtown (where I work), and the other at the Michigan Central Depot, the once magnificent, now abandoned landmark on Michigan Avenue.

When I went out for lunch, I saw Michael Bay walking around telling crew members what to do. I recognized him from his picture on the internet. I wanted to stay and watch the filming, but I was afraid my lunch would get cold. Plus it started to rain a little.

I can't wait to reconnect with my old hero Optimus Prime.

Annie Dillard

2006-09-20T21:33:00.000-04:00

Annie Dillard is a writer who asks the same questions that I ask. I first heard her name years ago, but I never seriously looked at her work. Last Saturday, I went to the library and found her book For the Time Being. I can hardly read it because ... it's too rich with thoughts like my own. It's unsettling to meet a stranger in the pages of a book, and feel like you already know her. It's also comforting to know that someone out there asks the same seemingly unanswerable questions.

When I read her words, I feel ashamed of not writing more. I feel anxious and afraid that time is short, and I won't be able to write enough to tell my story. I feel motivated, compelled to find the right words, right now, and put them down on paper.

Community

2006-09-06T22:47:00.000-04:00

I wish that I had a small, cozy house on a lake. Ideally, I'd be able to look out my window and see my neighbor's house, but it wouldn't be too close. Just out of earshot, maybe. Ideally, the people who lived nearby would be friendly, and they'd read all sorts of good books. They'd come over to dinner, but they wouldn't stay too long. They'd leave after they helped me do the dishes. They'd say things like "We have some stuff to take care of at home, but if you want some company later, give us a call."

I value community, but I also value my space. This is one of the reasons blogging is appealing: one can reach out, but there is very little intrusion. You "see" and "talk" to people on your own terms, as often or as little as you like. Click the "delete" button, or minimize a window, and just like that, you've ended a conversation. Of course, the courteous person will write "gotta go, talk soon" right before signing off, but all the same, there's no one in your face demanding attention.

Life is filled with pros and cons. The gains experienced by interacting with others via the internet sort of pale in comparison to the benefits of dealing with flesh and bone. When you need a hug, an email just ain't enough. But if your favorite conversation partner has strong B.O. or spits when he talks ... instant messenger is a nice little tool.

If I had to choose, I'd choose real people, in real time. Most of us would, right? So why don't we spend more time with real people?

*sigh*

Because real people are difficult. They are annoying. They expect you to look at them when they talk to you, and they want you to really pay attention to what they are saying. They have feelings, and when your hurt their feelings, you're likely to feel bad. You feel compelled to try and avoid hurting feelings, and that can be a lot of work. Sometimes I don't want to deal with any real people. I just want to sit at my desk, with my computer and my can of Coke, and read or write whatever I want.

I am trying to find balance. I want to be the type of neighbor who has plenty of stuff to do, but is still willing to make time for a friend.

Proximity

2006-08-29T00:47:00.000-04:00

With whom do you share your secrets? The little silly secrets that reveal who you really are, like ... the reasons why your favorite (song, book, photo, etc.) is your favorite. It's one thing to tell a person what your favorite song is, but telling him why ... that's altogether different. For me, sharing on that level entails a another level of closeness. The proximity is different.

If you share your best poem with someone, and that person says "Wow, that's a really good poem!", you feel good. But if you share the poem, and the person looks you straight in the eye and says, "Can I please have a copy of this?" you can probably rest assured that they understand the poem, and by implication, you.

It's a wonderful thing to be close to someone, to be understood.

Enough

2006-08-11T20:27:00.000-04:00

I'm tired. Very tired. But I'm glad to say that my fatigue is primarily physical, and my mind/spirit are, for the most part, at rest. I've been too busy to be a worry wart lately.

The new job is nice. Nice people, nice office, nice restaurants nearby where I can have lunch. I feel like this is a far better time than what I was experiencing when I was lying awake at night wondering whether I passed the bar exam, or whether I would be able to fix my car, or whether I would be able to afford a doctor's visit. I still worry about those things, but the pressure is greatly diminished. I am grateful to have enough. Enough money, enough time, enough space to just breathe a little. I am still poor, but I don't feel utterly drenched in poverty anymore. It feels so good, so very good, to have enough. Words can't express how great it feels to buy a sandwich, fill up my gas tank, or pay a bill with the knowledge that I'll probably be able to do the same things next week. I'm overwhelmed at the thought that, for the first time in ages, I have enough.

Maybe I had enough before, but it didn't feel like it. The sadness and anxiety were ... suffocating, deafening, always present in one form or another. There was the occasional ray of light in the form of a friend or relative but ... damn, things were rough.

Now I really feel like I have enough. Not a lot, but enough. This gives me peace, and helps me ... you know, remember who I am. Or at least remember who I want to be.

I hope you and those you love have enough. If you can have a lot and still be the person you want to be, that's really, really great. I say that without any sarcasm or preachy agendas. I understand that "a lot" and "enough" are relative terms. But I seem to be at my best when I have "enough" as opposed to "a lot."

James Dobson

2006-07-21T15:12:00.000-04:00

Dr. James Dobson, host of Focus on the Family, made me angry. He recently interviewed Ambassador Paul Bremer about his work in Iraq. Dr. Dobson asked how harmful it would be if the United States were to "cut and run" from the situation in Iraq. He used that phrase repeatedly, and used it to suggest that those of us who believe the United States should not be in Iraq are cowards.

Dr. Dobson has been around long enough to understand that reasonable people can disagree over complex issues (or simple ones for that matter). At the very least, he should be honest enough to abstain from mischaracterizing the views of those who disagree with him.

I believe the U.S. should withdraw from Iraq as soon as possible. I believe this for a number of reasons, but the primary reasons are:

1) We shouldn't have invaded in the first place. Remember how we went to find weapons of mass destruction?

2) Despite how awful his regime was, Saddam was a stabilizing force in the region. His regime was secular, predictable, and most importantly, contained. In his absence, religious fanatics have gained a great deal of influence, and no one knows what to expect besides more kidnappings and suicide bombings and power outages.

3) Al-Qaeda had no significant presence in Iraq during Saddam's regime. Now that he is out of power, al-Qaeda makes its presence felt on a regular basis.

4) Forcing regime change by military force sends the wrong message to the international community, particularly when you claim to be doing it because the leader is a brutal dictator. If the United States is truly committed to promoting democracy through forced regime change, SURELY it is planning to invade Zimbabwe and overthrow Robert Mugabe. I could list the other dictators that the U.S. is surely planning to overthrow, but this post would become very, very, very long.

5) The war in Iraq bears some striking similarities to the Vietnam Conflict, where thousands upon thousands of Americans lost their lives, or were physically and emotionally maimed, only to find out that their sacrifice didn't really make that much of a difference. At least not in terms of what the United States claimed to be doing (i.e. halting the spread of Communism). The vast majority of thinking people understand that we should have left Vietnam long before we did. Actually, we never should have gone there.

There are more reasons, but in the interest of saving time, I'll end with this:

If the United States is serious about maintaining its status as a superpower while simultaneously promoting democracy around the globe, it must engage in fair trade with, and offer financial assistance to those nations that are serious about embracing democracy. The United States must not rely solely on military might because it drains resources, chips away at the public morale, and makes our nation less open to the dialogue that always, always, always accompanies truly free speech.

There are only so many soldiers, and they are best used for defense rather than regime change. They are best used for protecting democracies rather than trying to force democracy upon people who aren't ready for it, or who simply don't want it. So yeah ... I think we should bring the U.S. presence in Iraq to an end.

But back to Dr. Dobson, who boils my arguments down to the phrase "cut and run." I find this so troubling because he is allegedly one of the most prominent Christian leaders in modern America. Dobson claims to be on a mission to strengthen families by using sound Biblical teaching. He is an accomplished author who claims to want to do God's work. He speaks about Jesus all the time. And yet ... he seems to be characterizing my views in a way that seems so typical of Karl Rove.

I'm disappointed.

Books

2006-07-19T14:21:00.000-04:00

Stepping into a room full of books at your disposal is a wonderful experience. But there are other things which make the experience even more amazing. Natural sunlight is always a plus. The quality of the books makes a difference too. If the books are old, but in good condition, there is a subtle historical vibe: you are aware (maybe only in the back of your mind) that hundreds, perhaps thousands of hands have turned those very pages. Perhaps someone held that very book fifty years before, and sat in the same spot, enjoying the same story. And your one connection is that book.

Sometimes I notice handwriting in a book that says something like "Lois Henderson 1706 Park Lane" and I'm tempted to drive by the house to see if it's still standing. Sometimes I notice names written that are "ethnic", and this gives me an idea of how long ago it was written. Certain neighborhoods haven't been Polish or Jewish or Irish for many decades.

I notice the font, the style of the illustrations, whether "William" is abbreviated to "Wm." I notice the smell of the books, and whether the tops are dusty. I notice the other people who are browsing, and if a person has hair that is gray and unruly, and he wears collared shirts and eyeglasses, I assume he is a professor. I never chat with the other browsers; I assume they are like me, and wish to be left alone to enjoy the books. If they wanted to chat they would have brought a friend.

An old book store with used books is a sacred space where almost everyone is alone, but not lonely. For me, the loneliness seems to stay outside the walls of the book store. I feel comforted by the presence of so many books, and the sounds of pages turning, or the sound of an old wrinkled professor coughing.

If I can find a chair in a fairly quiet area of the book store, near a window, I feel like I am experiencing a foretaste of Heaven.

A Small Gift

2006-07-10T20:36:00.000-04:00

The other day one of my co-workers brought his wife and children into the office for a visit. The children were friendly and well-behaved. They were excited to visit their dad at his office.

As they were leaving, my co-worker and his wife began to chat with another adult in the room. I sat at my desk and listened quietly. One of the little boys walked up to my desk, and while pointing to a bright green box, asked "What's that?"

I told him it was Scotch tape. I picked up the box to open it, but decided not to because I have plenty of tape left in the dispenser. I said "It looks like this, only it's in the box." I made sure he could get a good look at the tape in the dispenser.

The other adults wrapped up their conversation, and the family began to walk out of the office. A pair of little eyes were still fixed on my tape dispenser. So ... as soon as mom and dad turned their backs, I snatched off a piece of tape, and handed it to my new friend. I waited until the parents weren't looking because I thought they might say something like, "You don't need that" or "Tape isn't a toy." I sort of expected the little boy himself to look at me like I was crazy, or ask "What am I supposed to do with that?"

Instead, he reached for it eagerly, and once he had it, ran to catch up with his family.

I was happy, and he was happy, all over a piece of Scotch tape. Go figure.

Picture in the Paper

2006-06-23T23:37:00.000-04:00

This picture was taken the day I was sworn in as an attorney, and made the front page in the local newspaper for lawyers. My good friend from high school served as my sponsor, making a motion before the court on my behalf. As you can see, one of us is 5'6, and the other is 6'5. He had quite the growth spurt after ninth grade. I remember asking "What the hell did you eat over the summer?" If I had been more savvy, I would have asked, "Can you get me some?"

Seize the Day

2006-06-20T13:43:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I feel like my life is like water in a cup, slowly being poured out, bit by bit. It is a painless process, but it hurts to find that there is less water in the cup. Time flies by quickly. Yesterday was Christmas, only it wasn't yesterday. It was six months ago. One half of a year has gone by ... less water in the cup.

I wholeheartedly embrace the concept of living in the "now." It is wrong to let our eyes dwell longingly on past events, and it is equally wrong to always look forward as if better days are always ahead of us. Those who can live their lives now, embracing today with enthusiasm ... those are the folks who've mastered the art of living.

I know without a doubt that I'm right about this. Failing to embrace the present is a mistake, and a horrible one. No problem can be solved, no joy can be fully embraced, unless it is addressed in the present. This does not mean it's wrong to have fond memories. This does not mean it's wrong to look forward with expectation (check out the name of this blog). But it does mean that life is meant to be lived, not wished for, or remembered. Past and future are secondary aspects of life; the present is primary, and always with us. It must be handled with care, in much the same way that one must keep his eyes on the road while driving.

But I find it so difficult to embrace the "now." I am always looking forward, or always remembering. I find that my days slip easily into the past without having been lived with enthusiasm. Shame on me. I hope this is not true of you, but if it is, shame on you too.

Carpe diem, and damn your lethargy, your regrets, your unjustified inhibitions. Carpe diem, and live your life. Live it today, with certainty and well-founded joy. Tomorrow will take care of itself if you live today as it should be lived. And you'll see yesterday more clearly, for what it really was.

Carpe diem.

Saturday

2006-06-11T03:14:00.000-04:00

I'll share a slice of my life. On Saturday, I ...

-- Spoke to S via phone about studying for the LSAT; he said he will definitely take it in the fall.

-- Sat alone at the dining room table for a long time. I was depressed, and couldn't concentrate on the letter I was drafting.

-- Ate lunch with J and E at Fiddler's Hearth. I had Bangers and Mash, and a Coke with a slice of lime.

-- Took a walk around campus, and ran into Bill Kelley at the Grotto. He currently serves as Deputy White House Counsel, but he used to be a law prof at Notre Dame. I'm pretty sure he could not remember my name, but that's okay ... I take solace in the fact that I can say my former teacher works at the White House. I think that's super cool even though I am not a Republican.

-- Did research on sentencing law in Michigan for an article I'm writing.

-- Watched a chipmunk scurry across the parking lot as I walked to the mailbox.

-- Walked past V without saying "hello" as he planted flowers. I am tired of always greeting him first, and then having him reluctantly say "hi." Sorry V ... today you get the middle finger. I'm tired of the passive-aggressive shit. And quit looking into my living room through the window.

-- Killed a spider that was crawling on my pants as I sat on the couch.

-- Got into an argument where I started yelling and stabbing the table with my index finger for emphasis.

-- Ate chicken & garlic pizza for dinner as I watched the last episode of Big Love.

So there you have it ... a slice from my life, labeled Saturday, June 10, 2006.

Discipline

2006-06-04T15:20:00.000-04:00

Do you remember when you learned to color inside the lines? Can you recall what it felt like to remove the training wheels from your bicycle? What about the first time you sat down at the piano, or with your guitar, and sight-read a piece of music with some measure of fluency?

These moments of mastery are almost always the result of discipline. You sacrifice time and energy, working toward a goal, often without a sure promise of success. You concentrate. You study. You train your fingers, your eyes, your ears to work in concert with one another. You persevere. Your dismay at repeatedly failing matures into a genuine and abiding appreciation for the art or science or craft.

One morning, you awake and realize that you have become a master, and yet you have so much more to learn. You realize that you can learn by sharing your knowledge with others, and helping them reach their potential. So the beautiful process of discipleship ... embracing discipline as a means of discovery and mastery and fulfillment, continues.

This has been my experience with writing and music. The more I learn, the more I begin to see that others are far more gifted than I. My learning enables me to recognize (and appreciate) the gifts of the prodigy. When I see a child with the gift of wordsmithing, or a man who has never taken a music lesson in his life, but still plays the piano beautifully ... I feel obliged to share what little knowledge I have. I want to say "I can teach you to read music, not because you need it, but because the world of music needs your gift. We need you to put the music in your head down on paper."

I wonder if the Twelve had this sort of exerience with the Teacher. Matthew was probably able to tell Jesus about taxes and accounting. Simon could tell Him about fishing. But when they saw who He was, did they feel an even greater sense of appreciation for their own disciplines? Did Simon think "Ah ... so God is a fisherman!"? Did Matthew realize "Caesar can have his, while God can have His, and neither is robbed!"? Did God use the discipline of following, listening, teaching, and learning at Jesus' side to enlighten them? I think so.

True disciples are humble, not through their own efforts, but because they are able to see things for what they really are. They experience things as they are. I can listen to Rachmaninoff's work, and I can appreciate it to a certain extent. I think when I have the discipline to teach myself how to play one of his pieces, I will appreciate it so much more.

Sensory Overload

2006-05-24T21:46:00.000-04:00

I feel bombarded by television, radio, cell phones, and yes ... the internet. There is so much information at my fingertips, but most of it seems pretty worthless. Do I need to know that there was another bombing in Iraq, or that (surprise, surprise) the government of Iran wants to wipe Israel off the face of the earth?

I know the answer is "yes." But the information tends to make me feel an unsavory helplessness. I guess I could write my congressman and my senators, but I honestly don't think that would help much. I'm really not even sure what I would say.

What is there to say? Could I say anything they haven't heard before?

These days, I tend to think that "no news is good news". Instead of reading about what other people are doing, I try to get out of the house and do something myself. I drink my coffee, take long walks, read essays or thoughtful fiction. These activities are far less glamorous or interesting than anything we'd read or hear about on the news. But I feel a little less helpless when I take a walk, write a letter, or cook a good meal.

My walk through the woods seems much more relevant to me than a bombing in a town on the other side of the world. Especially since I cannot help the bombing victims with their severed limbs and shattered lives.

Some days all I can do is use the limbs I have, and try my best to keep my own life together.

Maleness, Manhood, Masculinity, Machismo

2006-05-15T21:04:00.000-04:00

I know it when I see it, but I find it difficult to define. It consists of more than working with tools, enjoying sports, and silent displays of strength. Displays of values like courage, or a willingness to protect don't suffice either. Some of the most feminine people display those qualities. Hmm ... it more of an attitude? A posture? If nothing else, it is a list of don'ts:

Don't hold your books/binder up by your chest; hold them down by your side.

Don't put your hand in front of your mouth when you laugh.

Don't hold a cigar between your thumb and index finger; hold it between your middle and index fingers.

Don't sit in a chair with your knees together.

Don't allow your hand to hang limply from your wrist.

Don't giggle. Laugh or chuckle instead.

Don't gossip, especially about romantic relationships.

Don't discuss women's fashion. If you absolutely must, do NOT do it enthusiastically.

Don't tell your male friends they hurt your feelings, even if they did.

Don't ever ask a male friend "are you mad at me?" Ask, "what's wrong?" if you absolutely must.

Don't show weakness, fear, or hesitation. If you absolutely must, minimize them as much as possible.

Yes, some of the items on this list seem ... silly, petty, inconsequential. But rest assured, they are "markers," indicators of sexual orientation as well as status within a same-sex peer group. I will not argue that the items on this list display some sort of inherent logic, or seem particularly rational. They are merely the result of my observations, and I am willing to admit that things may be different in other parts of the world. In fact, I am curious to see if that is the case. I am also willing to admit that some of these items may be the result of a dangerously unhealthy view of masculinity in particular, and personhood in general.

My Mail

2006-05-15T20:38:00.000-04:00

Applicants for admission to the Michigan State Bar receive a "greeting letter" which they are required to file with the court system. Filing costs $25, after which the applicant is asked to sign his/her name in the attorney roll book of his/her county. The Wayne County roll book is very large, very old, and looks like a Book of Spells or a tome from The Never Ending Story.

The clerk took my original letter, and gave me a copy. It looks like ... well, a copy. I asked her if I was supposed to keep the original. She said "No, I keep the original. You get a copy." And she wore an expression that indicated she has had this conversation before, maybe a thousand times. Anyway, the text of the letter is below.

Michigan Supreme Court
Board of Law Examiners
Michigan Hall of Justice
P.O. Box 30104
Lansing, MI 48909

May 5, 2006

TO THE COURTS OF RECORD OF MICHIGAN, GREETINGS:

The State Board of Law Examiners, pursuant to the statute in such case made and provided, has examined applicant

[my full name here]

of Detroit, MI and has found this applicant to be of full age and possessed of sufficient learning in the law, moral character and ability to enable this applicant to properly practice as an attorney and counselor in the courts of this state.

This applicant's admission to the Bar of this state is therefore recommended.

THE BOARD OF LAW EXAMINERS OF MICHIGAN

Timothy J. Raubinger,
Assistant Secretary

Masculinity

2006-05-15T00:26:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about masculinity for the past few days. What does it mean to be masculine? How is it different from femininity? Is there a masculine way to hold a tea cup? Is there a manly way to bake cookies?

I'll ask more questions and rattle off thoughts/pontifications. Later. I'm tired right now. It's been a long day, and I need to go to bed.

Hot Topics

2006-05-07T20:00:00.000-04:00

I'll share my thoughts on a few "hot" topics.

Illegal Immigrants: My stance depends on why they came over. If they came seeking asylum, then I say "welcome." If they came to do hard work in order to have a better life, and they were unlikely to gain entry through "the system" ... I understand that. If they came to sell drugs or traffic women, they should be prosecuted and/or deported.

The National Anthem in Spanish: As long as it expresses the same ideas as the original, cool. Can we get an Arabic version? I'm not even kidding.

Gasoline prices: *sigh* I don't know if I even want to tackle this one. I started writing, so here goes. The current situation shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. We have the technology to harness other sources of energy. Detroit knows damned well how to produce fuel-efficient vehicles. But it won't. Why? I honestly don't know. I guess the shot-callers feel too much has already been invested in the SUV to switch gears. Plus, the boys in the oil industry are doing just fine. JUST FINE. NEVER BEEN BETTER.

Congressman Patrick Kennedy: My prayers are with him. I hope he gets the help he needs, and gets back to work on behalf of the people of Rhode Island as soon as possible. I also wish talking heads weren't so eager to kick a guy when he's down. For crying out loud, the man went on TV and told the whole world that he's got a drug problem. Let the folks in Rhode Island decide what they want to do about that at election time. I'm talking to you, Ann Coulter.

Ann Coulter: I'll address you directly. Why are you so mean? Seriously. I can't believe you're really that way. It has to be an act. It's for publicity right? It's your "angle"? Please, tell me that's what it is. If it's not just an act, I feel kind of sorry for you. No one in his/her right mind would want to hang out with you, or be your friend. When you constantly attack people, or ruthlessly criticize them, it makes you ugly. When you act that way, no one cares that you went to The University of Michigan Law School, or that you got really good grades there, or that you've sold a bazillion copies of your books. They just nod and grin in your presence, hoping that you'll leave them alone, and not verbally attack them. But inwardly, in their heart of hearts, even when they wish they didn't, they think that ... well ... you're a bitch. I'm not trying to be mean. "Shrew" wasn't the right word. "Jerk" didn't suffice either. If you stop being so mean, maybe a larger number of intelligent, concerned citizens will take your views seriously. I'm almost sure of it.

TomKat: They've got some issues. But don't we all? I hope the baby grows up to be healthy and happy.

Brangelina: I'll address you directly. Thanks for speaking/acting on behalf of people in developing nations. I hope your kids grow up to be healthy and happy.

Bar Exam

2006-05-06T13:43:00.000-04:00

By the grace of God, I passed. Thanks for your prayers.

The Church

2006-05-05T12:28:00.000-04:00

Who is the Church, the Body of Christ? As a Protestant, I was taught that it is comprised of all who have saving faith in Jesus Christ, regardless of denomination or creed. Those who accept this view believe that the Church is comprised of Methodists, Lutherans, Roman Catholics, Pentecostals, and all others who have accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior.

I understand the Roman Catholic teaching to be that those Christians in communion with Rome make up the true Body of Christ; those Christians who are not in communion with Rome are "brothers in Christ," yet not part of the Body of Christ. The Catholic teaching on the Church is further complicated (in my mind, at least) by the teaching that the Eastern Orthodox churches are schismatic, but still have a valid priesthood due to unbroken Apostolic Succession.

The Orthodox seem to have the narrowest view. They view the true Church as being comprised of those who embrace Eastern Orthodoxy. The various churches (Greek, Russian, Romanian, etc.) within Orthodoxy are more properly called "jurisdictions" for the Church is one, varying only in language and custom, but united in faith and doctrine. Rome is seen as heretical (not merely schismatic), and Protestantism in all its forms is merely an outgrowth of Rome. The Orthodox make a distinction between the Church and the "company of the saved"; God will determine who falls into the latter category. The "heterodox" may be saved, but it is only by the grace of God. This is also true of the Orthodox, who receive His grace via the sacraments.

I have read Catholic and Orthodox thinkers describe the Protestant view as "believing in an invisible Church." More recently, I read an article which took issue with this description, saying that some (most?) Protestants believe in a Church that is quite visible, and yet has more than one valid historical manifestation.

Visit a few blogs and you will see that the identity of the Church is, for many thinking people, a hotly contested issue. You'll see angry diatribes, protests filled with emotion, and carefully crafted arguments. The writers hurl words at each other, words like "clearly," "obviously," and "ignorance." Put them together, and you can make a sentence that will make some people think you are very smart: Obviously, your ignorance is steeped in Protestant traditions that stem from Luther's heresy. That's not a direct quote, but it mirrors the type of statments I've seen.

I wonder if people can get so caught up in being part of the true Body of Christ that they forget to behave as Christians.

Barbie's Man

2006-04-26T17:48:00.000-04:00

I always knew Ken was a punk.

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-johnson20feb20,0,6750514.story?coll=la-news-comment-opinions

Pessimism, Optimism, & Realism

2006-04-23T18:16:00.000-04:00

Today I spoke with a good friend for a long time. He told me about an excerpt he read from Lincoln's Melancholy by Joshua Wolf Shenk. Apparently, the excerpt discussed Lincoln's pessimism, his ability to see things as they really were, and his ability to act accordingly. My friend believes that pessimists often see a thing in its entirety, rather than simply seeing the "bright side" continually. He thinks they have a tendency to weigh the "pros" as well as the "cons".

Hmph. I thought that trait belonged to the realist rather than the pessimist. But I'll be honest: sometimes I don't know where to draw the line between the two modes of thinking. I hope that I am a person who is optimistically realistic. You know, open to success without being a fool.

The realist is willing to acknowledge that there is a point at which an endeavor must be classified as "successful" or "unsuccessful". I suspect the pessimist reaches that point rather early, and throws in the towel. The optimist may also reach that point early, giving the nod of approval prematurely. Or, the optimist may refuse to make an assessment, thinking "It's early yet ... I have to give this more time," when in reality, the project is doomed to failure.

And the realist ... his eyes are focused on the goal, he walks the tightrope as best he can, telling himself "I can do this, I just know it." If he fails, or gets distracted, or simply decides he wants something else instead, he has the presence of mind to make an informed decision to stop. He stops (this is somehow different from quitting), and while discouraged or dismayed, he is not defeated. The world can rest assured that it will hear from him again. He'll be back with another plan, another goal, another dream on the cusp of fulfillment.

A wise woman once told me: "There has to be a part of you, deep down inside, that will always be okay, no matter what." She explained that this is how we avoid utter ruin in this life. We hold fast to that part of ourselves that no one but God Himself could ever diminish. And God would do no such thing, because that part is precious. It enables us to know Him and others made in His likeness. It is that part which enables us to be known in the truest sense.

I think the realist is in touch with this part of himself, and is therefore balanced, able to make the necessary adjustments in his life.

I am struggling to be a realist, constrained by neither self-doubt nor foolish aspirations.

Blogging

2006-04-19T00:09:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I listened to a radio broadcast about blogging. I think it was a BBC news show, but I'm not really sure. Anyhow, they said that blogging was an activity that is increasing in popularity, and that for some religious people, it is a spiritual exercise. A form of prayer. That description struck a chord with me, although I do not often describe my blogging in that way. I mean, how can a word like "blog", which sounds so ... stupid and technological and just plain "made up" be associated with prayer? I don't know, but it is. In my own mind as well as the minds of the folks at the BBC.

Hopeful Expectation is my second blog. The first one isn't really worth mentioning; I think I posted about three times. I remember setting the blog up, and putting a lot of thought into developing a theme. I was really excited by the whole idea of putting my stuff on the internet, and allowing complete strangers to read it. I decided not to tell anyone that I had a blog because I didn't feel like I knew what I was doing. For some reason, I had this idea that a blogger should "know what he is doing." As I write post number seventy-something for Hopeful Expectation, I can honestly say: "I don't know what I'm doing."

I suspect I stopped writing the first blog (at least in part) because I told a good friend about it. I broke my rule about not telling anyone. Her response was "How come you didn't tell me you had a blog?" I felt her question was a rebuke. I felt embarrassed, and I didn't really know what to say. I tried to explain that my blog hadn't "found its voice" yet. I said that I wanted to figure out what the blog was really about before I told people about it.

We had this conversation near a rocky beach, standing on a boardwalk littered with LOTS of seagull droppings. I could hardly walk without stepping in it. It was cold, and right around the time we started to have the conversation about my blog, it started to rain. And my friend was visibly unhappy with me. So at that moment, blogging became too much work. There was too much shit to walk through. Cold winds and gray skies, along with a friend's hurt feelings ... I just quit writing. It wasn't very good anyway. Honestly.

Hopeful Expectation is a prayer of some sort. For what? I'm not sure. I guess it depends. I'm not entirely happy with it, and I only talk about it with some reluctance. The people who eat and drink with me, ride around in my car, and see me face-to-face on a regular basis tend to know little or nothing about this blog. It's a little difficult for me to articulate why that is. I know I don't like to pray aloud these days. Talking about my blog would seem sort of like praying out loud, or baring my soul. Yeah ... but why not to the people who already know me? Maybe I think they would know too much if they read my thoughts.

Sometimes I'm not a fan of blogging because I think my writing time would be better spent developing/perfecting stories that can be sent to a publisher. I know a few writers who are debating about blogs, and they offer compelling pro/con arguments. Without going into too much detail, I will say that I've found blogging to be a useful tool. It helps me sort through my thoughts, which is something that needs to be done if I am to write.

Last week I started a story that I feel good about, and I do believe it will find itself on a publisher's desk in the near future.

Perfect

2006-04-15T17:12:00.000-04:00

The weather in Detroit is perfect today. Absolutely PERFECT. So I cannot blog now; that would be wrong. If your weather is as nice as mine, get away from your computer right now, and go outside. Fire up the grill, take a walk, work in your garden. Anything, as long as it's outside.

I'll catch you after my outdoor adventure is over.

Mother and Child

2006-04-12T22:24:00.000-04:00

A photo of my grandmother holding my Uncle Oscar, c. 1935. She married my grandfather right after high school, and must have been about 21 years old in this photo. Notice the Easter basket and bunny. Uncle Oscar grew up to become an electrician for the U.S. Navy, married a lady from the Virgin Islands, and fathered six children in Boston. Grandma had another baby in 1936, and that baby eventually became my mom.

This is my favorite photo of my grandma. She looks proud to be a new mother.

2006-04-12T00:05:00.000-04:00

I found this excerpt today. I think it's interesting in light of some of my thoughts in yesterday's post. The author is Michael Hopkin.

Besides dating our most recent common ancestor, Rohde's team also calculates that in 5,400 BC everyone alive was either an ancestor of all of humanity, or of nobody alive today. The researchers call this the 'identical ancestors' point: the time before which all the family trees of people today are composed of exactly the same individuals.This recent date is not really surprising either, Rohde says. Anyone whose lineage survived for a few generations was likely to have descendants spread all over the world. At the identical ancestors point, then, our ancestors came from every corner of the globe, although those from far afield are unlikely to have made a significant contribution to our genetic make-up.Nonetheless, the results show that we are one big family, Rohde says. As he and his colleagues write: "No matter the languages we speak or the colour of our skin, we share ancestors with those who planted rice on the banks of the Yangtze, who first domesticated horses on the steppes of the Ukraine, who hunted giant sloths in the forests of North and South America, and who laboured to build the Great Pyramid of Khufu."

See the entire article at: http://www.nature.com/news/2004/040927/pf/040927-10_pf.html

Recent Thoughts

2006-04-10T22:39:00.000-04:00

I feel like I haven't communed with the blogosphere in a while. In other words, I ain't seen y'all in a minute! If you don't get that, don't worry; it's ... urban. I'm too tired to translate.

At this very moment I am enjoying a bottle of Miller Genuine Draft. It is "brewed from the finest hand selected hops and choice roasted malts." That's Miller's way of saying "our beer is good." And it is. It is indeed. For cheap beer.

I haven't written much lately because I've been super busy. But I have spent a great deal of time thinking about a TON of stuff. I think while I'm driving, or while I'm working, or while I'm in the shower. I'd like to share some of my thoughts from this week before I go to bed:

1) Isn't it strange how we can have a great deal of affection for people we've never met? I have pictures of my grandfather, whom I never met, and ... I feel this affection for him. I miss him, in the truest sense of the word. I really did miss him, because he died before I was born. My father told me "I'm sorry my daddy never got to see you. He would have loved you." Southerners tend to call their fathers "daddy" even after they have become adults. My father was, among many other things, a southern transplant.

So yeah ... it's a little strange for me to have this "love" for a man I've never met. My grandfather yes, but still in many ways a stranger. All I have of him are photographs, stories, my last name, a Y chromosome.

Do you wonder what your ancestors were like? I mean, what they were really, really like deep down on the inside? If they were pirates, were they pirates because that's what they wanted to be? Or did they believe that was what they had to be? If your ancestors hail from the British Isles, do you wonder if your great-grandfather to the "nth" degree was a lonely Roman soldier who fell in love (or lust) with a Celtic woman with blue tatoos on her face? Do you wonder if he wrote a letter in Latin to his mother back in Italy saying "My firstborn looks and acts like a Celt, but, oh ... I wish you could see him. You'd love him."?

Do you wonder if your ancestors traveled on the Silk Road? Did they study the Q'uran at Timbuktu? Were they proud descendants of Hebrews who converted at the time of the Spanish Inquisition? Did they lose all of their siblings to the Black Death? If you don't wonder, I do. I wonder about your family as well as mine. Maybe your family and my family are the same. Maybe politics, class, religion, or skin color made our family go in separate directions. I don't know, cousin. Do you?

2) I thought a lot about my future. Man ... talk about scary! I thought about buying and owning a home. What must it feel like to look out a window, and see your own gorgeous backyard garden, and think "Those damned rabbits keep eating my cabbages!"?

How would you pick the house? What if you couldn't find the perfect house? Would you have it built? Not me ... most of the new houses are cardboard monstrosities, four variations of the same theme, in subdivision, after subdivion, after subdivison. How sad. Would you build it yourself? I guess I would, except ... I don't know how. I'm not good with tools, or measurements, or wiring, or anything that requires my hands. Well, I'm a decent drummer, but that's a different sort of thing.

3) I thought about love, in all its forms. Remember Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis? Love can be selfish. How can we be sure that ours is not? Mine often is, and sometimes I think there's not a thing I can do about it. And when my "love" is selfish, what am I missing? Is my mind darkened? My heart? Sometimes I am selfish toward God, inwardly shouting monosyllabic words like, "NO!" and "MINE!". Just like the angry little toddler who is so defiant, yet so dependent.

I had more thoughts, but it's time for bed. If I keep writing, this post won't make any sense at all. Good night.

Peace

2006-04-02T01:25:00.000-05:00

Earlier today I was agitated, frustrated, unable to concentrate. It was a most unproductive morning, and all I accomplished was a trip to the bank. I spent the early part of the afternoon ranting and raving on the phone about someone who offended me, and feeling pretty unhappy about my life in general. I felt unbalanced, out of step, just plain wrong. Yeah, everything was wrong. I don't know why. I have some ideas, but those theories are not for this blog. Not today at least.

I feel better now. I feel at peace. I think it's because I spent a lot of time talking to people who love me, and they allowed me to vent. After I ranted and raved, at two separate times during the day, I felt better. Relieved. I realized that some of what I was saying was wrong. It was inaccurate as well as morally wrong. I was just angry, that's all. The deep seated, abiding, furious kind of anger that's not always apparent, but boils to the surface every now and again.

It's the kind of anger people have when they wish that their lives were very different. It's the kind of anger that immobilizes, and makes it difficult to do what is necessary make a life move in the right direction.

But late in the afternoon, the anger went away, or at least subsided. I left the house, bought myself a coffee, read the newspaper. I did a little "people watching." My friend came and sat with me for an hour, and chatted about work and the people in our lives. Then we walked around outside, under the guise of finding a place where we could have a beer. Every time we came to a bar, he'd say something like "It's too crowded in there," or "I don't want to pay that much for cover, do you?". So we'd keep walking and talking, commenting on people, window displays, or whatever came into our heads.

It was cold outside. The crisp, clean sort of cold that's not uncomfortable, but makes you walk a little faster. It was entirely pleasant, and I felt thankful for my friend, and for all the other people in my life.

At one point I thought about the last woman I was with, and how after a long, pointless argument, she'd lean across the table, put her hand on my arm, and say "Baby, I don't want to argue with you about this."

She'd always look straight at me when she said that, and wouldn't let go of my arm until I nodded, or said "okay," or gave some other sign that we were on good terms. It was understood that we could pick the argument up at a later time if there was really a need. Most of the time there wasn't.

I told my friend that was a tough act to follow, and he agreed. He said that my ex was really great, and that he wished we could have made things work. Ordinarily, his comments would have made me sad, but tonight I just remembered her love, how it sustained me through rough times, and still sustains me in some ways. I became a better person because of her.

On the way home, I listened to a broadcast about a study of Alzheimer's Disease being done at a monastery. During one interview, a nun could not remember how long she had been a nun. She couldn't remember how long she'd been having trouble with her memory. She remembered that she was 75, but didn't seem sure.

I was tempted to turn it off because I have three relatives with Alzheimer's. But I kept listening, and I heard a doctor speak with compassion about the struggles that his patients have. I listened to people talk about how hard it was to see loved ones lose memories. One nun mentioned a prayer that asks God to take our memories (I'm guessing for His use or glory), and how one of the nuns couldn't say that part. She wants to hold on to her memories. The people interviewed were sad, but I also sensed that they had a certain measure of peace.

Well, I have a certain measure of peace tonight too. I'm not angry right now, just a little tired. I feel loved, and hope that tomorrow I'm able to show some love. It's the sort of thing you can't keep to yourself. Not if you expect it to thrive.

Good night. Shalom.

A Gorgeous Day

2006-03-31T01:25:00.000-05:00

Today was gorgeous, with sunny skies and warm weather. I saw my youngest niece for the first time since Christmas. She turned four last month, and is more talkative than before. A few minutes after I got home, I heard this exchange in the other room:

My mom: "Hop in the bed. Go on, get up there."

My niece: "Can we watch cartoons while we go to sleep?"

mom: "No."

niece: "I want my mommy."

mom: "She's not here right now, so Granny will have to do."

niece: *half-hearted crying* "I want my mommy."

I understood this to mean, "I want to watch cartoons." Within a few minutes, both were asleep, and the house was quiet. The house was very bright because so much sunlight was coming through the windows.

I just relaxed and enjoyed the atmosphere. Sunlight. Having other people around, but not having to make conversation. I enjoyed a silence that was full rather than empty if that makes sense.

I'm hoping tomorrow is just as pleasant.

Fools

2006-03-29T01:17:00.000-05:00

I believe there's some credence to the old saying "It takes one to know one." So, I'll refrain from calling anybody a fool in this post.

Charles Taylor, former President of Liberia, has been charged with crimes against humanity by a U.N. backed war crimes tribunal. More specifically, he is charged with directing soldiers to hack off arms, legs, ears, and lips of civilians. He is also accused of using children as soldiers, and other heinous crimes I don't feel like describing at the moment.

Mr. Taylor holds an economics degree from an American university. He was trained in guerilla warfare in Libya. He escaped from a U.S. prison by using a hacksaw, and knotted bed sheets. No ... really. Then he returned to West Africa, orchestrated a coup, and became President of Liberia. So I think it's safe to assume the guy has a brain and is willing to use a gun. I think we can also assume that he isn't fond of prison, and is willing to take steps to avoid being there. While we're at it, let's admit that he's politically savvy, and has a knack for mobilizing people.

Last week, Nigeria finally agreed to bring his asylum there to an end, and hand him over at the request of Liberia's current president, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf.

Ok, here's the funny part. Well, actually it's not funny. It's so ... frikkin sad I could just ... vomit.

Last weekend, Nigeria said that Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf was free to send agents to take Mr. Taylor back to Liberia.

President Johnson-Sirleaf said that would be unwise, as Mr. Taylor's presence in Liberia could destabilize the region. She suggested that he be sent to Sierra Leone, where the war crimes tribunal sits.

Nigeria said that Mr. Taylor was not a prisoner in Nigeria, and would not be taken into "custody" by the Nigerian government.

One official involved in the process said that the matter of how to transport Mr. Taylor to Sierra Leone would be figured out in "two or three days."

Ok ... so you see where this is going, right? I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I could see that Mr. Taylor wasn't about to suffer any serious consequences as a result of Nigeria's decision to end his asylee status.

As of today, nobody knows the whereabouts of Charles Taylor. He has "disappeared."

Nigerian Information Minister Frank Nweke said that Nigeria's President Olesugun Obasanjo was "shocked" to learn of Mr. Taylor's disappearance. Shocked? Yeah, shocked. Shocked.

A college educated, guerilla trained, escaped convict who is wanted for crimes against humanity disappeared when his asylee status was revoked without placing him under guard. And it was publicly stated that the situation would be worked out in "two or three days." Read: "Run, Charles, run!! You've got at least 36 hours to pack your bags. Here's a hacksaw, and a few extra sheets just in case you need them."

Olesegun Obasanjo was "shocked." Nigeria's Information Minister has got to be kidding. No, probably not. That was his official statement.

I wonder if he takes us all for fools. Sometimes it takes one to know one.

Love Poems

2006-03-27T23:03:00.000-05:00

Let's write love poems. No, not to each other. Write yours, and give it to the person that you love, or like. Or you can just put it in a safe place and save it for later. Here's mine:

Rest here in the crook of my arm,
relax yourself in my embrace,
remember this moment always
your very presence gives this place
permanent registry within my mind
unnatural ability to confine
our hearts, our very essence,
together in a life-giving,
rhythmic dance.

Rest here in the crook of my arm,
let me relax in your embrace,
remind me of this moment always
never remove your presence from this place
this redeemed realm within my mind
which resonates with warm echoes
of your voice, your touch, your smell.

Rest here in the crook of my arm,
relax yourself in my embrace,
I'll recall every detail, the perfect particulars,
the finer features of your face
from this moment to the next
as time passes, seasons change,
and we grow old together.

Words, Words, Words

2006-03-27T00:09:00.001-05:00

This weekend was filled with words. I talked on the phone, I emailed, I "mingled" with acquaintances and strangers. I gave two people advice (I hope it was good; I think it was).
Right now, I'm a little tired of words. But I need them to write this post. The irony.

Words tend to carry weight when spoken by a loved one. I will share some words that I carry in my memory. Sometimes they come back to me as I lie in bed waiting for sleep to come, or when I sit in silence at my desk. They are stirred up from the recesses of my mind as I iron a shirt or shave or drive to the grocery store. These words are heavy with meaning/significance (at least to me) and I think I will carry them with me for the rest of my life.

"I didn't care if you were a boy or a girl. I just wanted you to be healthy." --Dad

"I wanted a little girl." --Mom

"You and that temper!! You get that from your mother's people ... they're all like that."-- Dad

"You're acting just like your father."-- Mom

"Always be good to your mother." --Dad

"Don't talk to your father that way." -- Mom

"What did your daddy tell you about using hand signs!!" -- Mom (when she saw me give a neighbor girl the bird.)

"Stop digging in your nose. Go wash your hands!" -- Ms. Green, kindergarten teacher, in front of my entire class.

"French kissing is when you suck on her tongue, and she sucks on your tongue." -- B from sixth grade.

"How come you don't hold my hand anymore?" -- S from eighth grade

Sixth grade substitute teacher: "Does anyone know what the saying 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free' means?"
My sixth grade classmate: "No, but I know what masturbation is."

"They're all God ... Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It's like Kool-Aid. You need water, sugar, and Kool-Aid mix. You mix them all together, and then you've got Kool-Aid. It's the same with God." -- some guy in my Boy Scout Troop.

"Oh my God!! Oh my God!! Is he okay!?!??!" -- some teenage girl after I got kicked in the eye at Tae Kwon Do when I was about ten. It honestly didn't hurt much, but a bunch of people ran over to pick me up from the floor.

"I really want to be at prom with you, but I just think we should each have our own dates." -- K from 12th grade.

"I saw that." -- college friend who caught me looking at her chest.

"Will you just ... RELAX?!!??" -- same college friend the first time we made out.

"I can't believe you asked me to be your girlfriend while I was sick with the flu." --same college friend after she became college girlfriend.

"I'm so very proud of you." -- Mom

"I'd trust you to represent me in court. I wouldn't trust just anyone." -- J from law school

"You're beautiful ... seriously." -- KT senior year of college

"I can spell Mississippi. *rapidly* M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I!!" -- my nephew

Saturday Night

2006-03-25T19:50:00.000-05:00

I hope you're doing something fun tonight. After all, it is Saturday night. I'm going to the Barrister's Ball, and will be wearing my bow tie. I usually have to tie it about three times before I get it right.

Well, enough blogging. Time to prepare for Saturday night. Please do the same, and whatever happens, enjoy.

Multiples

2006-03-23T19:37:00.000-05:00

My brother and sister are twins. My dad's sisters are identical twins. My mom has a brother and sister that are twins. My first cousins are fraternal twins, and they have older sisters who are ... triplets!!!

Anyone care for a stick of Doublemint gum? *badum bum krrrrssshhh*

Remember those commercials with all the twins chewing gum while skiing, swimming, or riding roller coasters? Aah the 80's. Anyhow ...

I can tell my nephew is brilliant because when he was a toddler, he saw twins, and said "Oh look, a pair of duplets!" As far as I can tell, duplet (pronounced "doo'-plet") is a pretty rational word choice. I'm not sure it's in the dictionary though.

Blue Like Jazz

2006-03-21T00:10:00.000-05:00

Tonight I sat and talked with L. She just returned from a trip to Japan, and brought lots of cool souvenirs to show me. She also brought a couple of Japanese snacks for me to try. One was chocolate with green tea flavoring. You have to wait a couple of seconds to taste the green tea, but it's definitely in there.

We talked about a bunch of different things, and at some point I said something (I can't remember what it was), and she said "Oh! That's in Blue Like Jazz." I hadn't heard of it, so she went on to explain that it's a book.

The title was easy for me to remember because I'm a drummer. When I was growing up, my teacher made me study lots of jazz. A few years ago, I sat in with some guys at Baker's Keyboard Lounge; it's the oldest continually operating Jazz club in the world. I told the piano player, "Don't make me do a solo. I'm not really comfortable with that."

He said, "Naw baby. That's how you learn."

I said, "Seriously, don't make me do one."

He gave me a funny look and said, "We'll see."

When I got the chance to go on stage, the band started playing a tune I didn't know. I decided I wouldn't worry ... I had made it clear that I wouldn't/couldn't/shouldn't solo. I was doing an okay job of faking it as we played; I figured the audience wouldn't be able to tell, but the other musicians on stage would know. They wouldn't make me solo.

Wrong. I was playing, and all of a sudden, everybody else stopped. The other people on stage were all looking at me. I realized I was supposed to be "trading fours" with the others. "Trading fours" means four bars (measures) of drums, then four bars of piano, then four of drums, then four of bass, then four of drums, etc. I caught on to trading soon enough because I understood the basic concept.

But ... I didn't know the melody. I had never heard the tune before.

Jazz is about improvisation. But the spontaneity falls within a framework. When you have a drum solo, you're supposed to sing the melody in your head, and make the drums "sing" the melody too. The best jazz drummers can play melodically, even though snare and toms don't sound off in C, E, or G.

It was awful. I didn't know how long we were supposed to trade fours. I lost count. I started doing a roll, and looked at the bass player. I started nodding at her, wanting her to play. She looked really confused, agitated. She finally realized I was lost, and started playing, and nodding to everybody else. I remember looking out into the audience, and seeing a couple of faces that had a most memorable expression.

It was the look people wear when they're thinking "WTF is that kid doing up there?"

I felt like crying. I couldn't get out of that place fast enough. Talk about having the blues.

So, Blue Like Jazz was an easy title to remember. The author is Donald Miller. That name made me think of Donald Byrd, the trumpet player.

Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller. I can remember that without writing it down. It's about Miller's understanding of Christian spirituality. I plan to read it soon.

Anonymous Commentators

2006-03-18T18:11:00.000-05:00

The other day, after coasting from one blog to another, I came across some pretty mean spirited comments. These comments were left on a blog that discussed (vigorously, I might add) what appears to be a growing trend among conservative Lutherans. They are taking a more serious look at Eastern Orthodoxy, and apparently some other Lutherans find this offensive. Some of you may remember that I first visited an Orthodox parish at the suggestion of a Lutheran pastor.

Anyhow, I think most of us who read blogs with any frequency are sort of used to comments that are a little ... tactless. Sometimes it's difficult to decipher the tone of the comment; we have different senses of humor, different vocabulary, different backgrounds that shape our understanding of what should or shouldn't be offensive. I've seen some folks get offended when no offense was intended, and it took a few comments back and forth to straighten the mess out.

That's not what I saw on the blog discussing Lutheranism/Orthodoxy. The comments were patently offensive and mean. Whoever wrote it was being decidedly rude. But that's not the part that I find so troubling. The thing that is most troubling for me is the fact that the hostile comments were posted anonymously.

I realize that not all bloggers use their real names. A screen name provides a certain measure of anonymity. But when one posts using the name "anonymous", the person posting cannot be distinguished from any other person who posts as "anonymous."

While some people post anonymously to protect their privacy, others do so because they are weak and don't have the courage to make a statement, and stand by it. If you purposefully insult someone without provocation, and then can't find the vertebrae to stand by what you said and identify yourself ... that's sort of sad. It suggests you are a small person, with flimsy character.

Never mind the fact that the debate was about Christian theology. I sort of expected some sense of charity to accompany the discussion. You know ... as in "we disagree on some significant issues, but we all love and belong to Jesus, so we'll treat each other with some respect."

Fatigue

2006-03-16T17:59:00.000-05:00

For the first time, I deleted one of my posts for this blog. It was a draft actually; it never actually became an official post. But I'm a little traumatized nonetheless. I tend to keep things I write, no matter how stupid they seem. I tend to believe most pieces can be redeemed in some form or fashion at some point. But today, I'm tired. Physically and mentally.

I've been subbing at a Christian school this week. Not every day (I can hardly imagine doing it that frequently). I realize that I no longer have the patience for children that I once had. I feel like I've sort of lost my knack for teaching. Most specifically, my knack for classroom management. I can still do it, but I'm just so exhausted afterward.

We all know the routine: subs usually get dissed. Good kids aren't going to do anything really bad, but I mean, come on! What was your mindset when you walked into a classroom, and saw that your teacher was absent? What's the first thing that crossed your mind when you saw the unfamiliar name written on the chalkboard, and saw the unfamiliar adult sitting at the desk normally reserved for your teacher?

As a student, my first thought was "Hell yeah. It's time to par-tay!" And if we were lucky enough to have a sub on Friday? Sheeeeit. That was a three day weekend.

Unless ... you were unlucky enough to have one of those crazy subs who: a) actually wanted to be a real teacher, or b) used to be full-time teachers, but retired or something. Those types were always difficult to handle. Sometimes they were worse than the actual teacher.

Is that what I've become? No, no. That can't be right. I'm too cool for that. I'm fun. The kids like me. I'm just structured, and really want them to learn instead of wasting time. I think. I hope.

Whatever I've become, I spent today saying things like:

"Someone's still talking ... I'm waiting. *pause* I'm still waiting. *pause* I can't give directions until everyone's listening."

"Everyone should be in his/her seat."

"David is ready, Caitlin is ready, Anthony is ready, I'm ready ... but some people are touching their neighbors, or out of their seats, or writing notes. So we'll just have to wait."

"Put your heads down. It's too noisy. I guess I won't be able to read you a story after all."

I've said things like this over and over and over today; I'm so tired I could scream. Or just go to sleep, and it's not even 7 pm yet.

Questions

2006-03-13T14:45:00.000-05:00

What do you want? What's the deepest, strongest desire of your heart of hearts? Does it motivate you, drive you forward? Or does it preclude growth, while slowly turning you into something unbecoming or even horrid?

What do you yearn for? Is it something that you must leave behind when you die? Apart from your desire for it, is it good for you?

Is it a person, a place far away, or something completely intangible? How much does it cost, in dollars or slivers of personhood? Will you lie for it? Tougher question: will you tell the unabridged truth for it?

Will you say "Odds be damned, I will have this" and stand face to face with God, and wrestle with Him for it? Or will you just ask Him for it, and if He says "no," be willing to shrug your shoulders, and move on to the next adventure without holding a grudge?

March 10

2006-03-10T19:50:00.000-05:00

Today's date in history:

Yours truly was born prematurely at Oakwood Hospital in Dearborn, MI. I weighed in at 3 lbs, 6 oz. Doctors told my father that my mother could not handle another pregnancy, and that it would be fortunate if either mom or I survived. Expecting both of us to survive was considered unrealistic.

Mom and I were separated because she had a fever; they put me in an incubator. No one was allowed to hold me except for hospital staff. Only two visitors at a time were allowed to come and look into the nursery unit through the glass window. My older sibs didn't want to wait, so they would sneak up the back way. By taking the steps up to the seventh floor, they could avoid walking past the nurses' station where visitors were supposed to sign in. Once they got to the nursery, and looked through the glass, I was easy to spot. I was the only black baby in there.

A trailblazer from day one. Not really, but you know ... it's fun to spin it that way.

Mom survived, and obviously, so did I. Mom was released from the hospital first; I followed some weeks later. My grandma had come up from Chattanooga to help out, so that made things easier for my family.

I get such a kick out of looking at the pictures from that time. Everybody looked so young, with afros, and sideburns, and shirts with big collars. And oh yes, pants with funky plaid patterns and bell bottoms. I was just a tiny, tiny person, wrapped in blankets.

Everything and everyone has changed so much in the past thirty years. I wonder what things will be like thirty years from now.

Zeal

2006-03-09T16:24:00.000-05:00

Some nations are stuck in the mire of poverty and violence, never really moving forward in the areas of human rights, democracy, or quality of life. For a long time, I thought the answer was education, but now I am not so sure. One of my former professors explained that the situations in developing countries are far more complex and difficult to assess.

He said that when the problem solving is focused primarily on education, the people who become educated leave as soon as they can. They work hard, save their money, and take the first opportunity to move to the U.S., the U.K, Australia, or Canada.

Then I began to think in terms of a two-pronged attack on the ills that plague developing nations. How about focusing on education and economic development simultaneously? I thought, "yes, that should do the job."

Unfortunately, there is another factor that must be considered: culture. Culture is shaped by the educational level of the masses, and it is shaped by economic conditions. But the situation is complicated by the fact that culture also plays a major role in determining how the masses define education, and it determines the prevailing economic philosphy (or philosophies).

Talk about circular! Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

Does the culture of Nation X preclude competitiveness in a global economy? Does the culture dictate that suffrage for women will never become normative? Or does the constant stench of poverty and despair mean that the people of Nation X are always fed up, agitated, living on edge, and therefore prone to violence? I guess it just depends on whom you ask, and when you ask. Republicans say one thing, and Democrats say another. We have to be mindful of the fact that a party may change its tune when it no longer has control of Congress or the White House. Find the requisite number of lobbyists, and ... voila! ... instant policy change.

Let's see ... education, economic development, culture ... what are we missing? Ah, I know. We haven't considered health and environmental issues yet. *sigh*

I haven't read enough. Some of the stuff I've read, I can't understand. And I've never even set foot in a developing nation, so I wouldn't really be sure how to apply whatever I learned.

Thinking about these issues makes me really believe that the men who wrote the Constitution really had a clue. I think they understood that in order for a nation to meet its potential, the people had to have a meaningful role in the process of governing. They understood that the people needed to be free to speak their minds publicly, without fear of reprisal from the government. They understood that the system they were setting up was flawed, and would probably be subject to much needed change at some point; so they strove to create a document that was both flexible and durable.

A good foundational document is a good start. But that's just the beginning. Do the people embrace it? Do they hold its ideals close to their hearts? Are they willing to face extreme hardship or even death so that the ideas espoused can be brought to fruition?

As far as I can tell, the answer to these questions is more likely to be "yes" when the document is a creation of the people, is implemented by the people, and functions for the people. That's what happened during the seminal stages of the United States. The overwhelming majority of movers and shakers really believed that the Revolution was good, right, and necessary. They were true believers, zealots.

Who can extinguish the fire that burns within a zealot's chest? It seems that more often than not, the flame is not even quenched at death, but instead, is passed on to another, someone even more eager to bear a glorious burden.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2006-03-07T20:49:00.000-05:00

I interviewed today for a position as a substitute teacher. It's not my first choice for a job, but ... there are bills to be paid. Plus, I sometimes miss teaching. It'll be good to stand in front of a chalkboard again, at least for a little while.

While I was waiting, there were two little girls standing nearby. I think they were third or fourth graders. One girl was with her mom, and the other stopped by to visit. I think parent-teacher conferences were being held because I saw a few parents waiting around. Anyway, I didn't have anything to read, so I began to eavesdrop. Here's what I heard:

Little Girl A: "Do y'all have jobs in your class?"

Little Girl B: "No."

Little Girl A: "We do. We have a bunch of jobs. And they're fun too. We get to clean up the classroom, pass out the papers, wash the chalkboard ..."

Little Girl B: "Oh! Yeah, I got two jobs. How many you got?"

Little Girl A: *gesturing with her hand* "I got four jobs, girl." She really emphasized "four", and had this look which I took to mean: that's a whole lot of responsibility.

A few minutes later, Little Girl A, who has far more jobs than I, began to flip through a magazine. The cover had a picture of Congresswoman Carolyn Cheeks Kilpatrick, D-MI. Her mother said: "That lady on the cover ... that's the mayor's mother."

Little Girl A: "Oh yeah ... what's his name again?"

Mom: "Kwame Kilpatrick."

Little Girl A: "Yeah, I didn't vote for him."

Our Paths

2006-03-06T18:39:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about the "journey of life" lately.

My life runs along a path, with twists and turns, portions that run smoothly downhill, and rocky stretches that are up the steepest inclines. Sometimes it feels like I can see for miles ahead, and other times, there are branches, boulders, or tangled roots that hinder my steps and block my vision.

During difficult portions of the journey, I get exasperated. I think to myself, "Jesus Christ! Every single time I get through a rough patch, there's another one a few yards down." And then I wonder if I was cursing or praying when I said "Jesus Christ!"; sometimes it was definitely a prayer, and sometimes it was something more akin to cursing.

When it's the latter, I feel bad. I tell God that I didn't really mean it, that I'm just really tired. I tell Him that I really need His help, and that I can't take this journey by myself. I never really hear Him say anything in response. Instead, my situation changes. Sometimes dramatically, but more often it's quite a subtle change. There are times when the change takes place immediately; other times it takes a long, long time. I remember one situation took years to become tolerable.

I guess we're all pilgrims on this journey. Your path is your own, and no one else can walk it for you; the same is true for me. But if our paths happen to run parallel to one another, or even better, actually cross, let's be sure to share some words of encouragement with each other.

Comfortable Shoes

2006-03-04T18:09:00.000-05:00

M and R flew out to Michigan last week from NYC. During dinner, we talked about stereotypes, and M mentioned the stereotype about lesbians and comfortable shoes. I said, "what do you mean?" She went on to explain that a lot of people associate lesbians with comfortable shoes because a high percentage of lesbians are feminists, and feminists often refuse to be burdened by high heeled shoes, or other uncomfortable clothing for the sake of fashion. I hadn't heard that before, but I was willing to admit that it made some sense, if not complete sense. After all, we were talking about stereotypes.

I thought about women who wear comfortable shoes. M wears comfortable shoes. I think she said that people assume she's a lesbian. She's not, and as far as I can tell, she has a happy, heterosexual household with R. I like M a lot, because she's ... real. I think this is one of the reasons she prefers comfy shoes. I can't imagine her walking around in heels. I've decided I really appreciate women who wear comfortable shoes. I'm not dissin' the ladies who wear heels; I'm just saying that I really appreciate a woman who can find a fashionable or stylish pair of truly comfortable shoes. To me, that's a sign of being well grounded.

Today, I sat in my favorite coffee shop and read the newspaper. There were two women sitting nearby, but they weren't sitting together. One woman kept getting up from her table and walking past my table. She had on high heels, and they were loud and her footsteps made my table shake. She got up a bunch of times within the span of ten minutes, and it was driving me crazy. She seemed agitated, and there was something different about her. I couldn't put my finger on it. She was sort of pretty, but I found her features a little distasteful or something. It's difficult to explain. Anyway, the third time she got up, I was really curious about her. Why was she stomping around in those heels like that? And why was she pretty, but ... not pretty? Then I saw the adam's apple. I'm about 95% sure it was a dude. Yeah, some dude was stomping around in heels, breaking my concentration as I tried to read.

The other woman sat quietly reading a book. She was really pretty, and had a cool haircut. Kinda artsy, but not exactly alternative or flamboyant. She was reading the book pretty intently, and then she'd sort of look up and think for a couple of seconds. I do that too; I think about the passage after I read it. I tried to see what book it was, but I couldn't see the cover. I also couldn't see her feet. Yeah, I started to wonder what sort of shoes she was wearing. Were they comfortable? Or were they heels? I had a feeling they were comfortable.

I had about a million empty sugar packets on my table (you know me ... I like a little tea with my sugar), so throwing them away was the perfect opportunity to get a glimpse of those feet. Like a true professional, I gathered the empty packets in my hand, stood up, and casually walked over to the trash can. On the way back, I got a good, long look at her feet.

Comfortable shoes. Totally comfortable. And stylish.

That's hot.

A few minutes later, she got up and started putting on her coat. As she was walking past me, I said "Ms., what's that book you were reading?" She smiled.

Comfy shoes: "It's a collection of short stories by Tolstoy. They're actually pretty long stories."

Me: "Are they good?"

Comfy shoes: "Oh yeah. I love them. Have you heard of Tolstoy?"

Me: "Yeah, but I haven't read him."

Comfy shoes: "I'm taking a Russian lit class, and it's really good. We read Dostoevsky too."

Me: "I'm reading The Brothers Karamazov now. But I can't finish it. I always feel like I need to take a break from it, and pick it up in a month."

Comfy shoes: "Yeah, it's pretty involved. But you should read Tolstoy's stuff."

We said a couple of other things, but I could tell she had to go, and I wasn't trying to be the annoying guy in the coffee shop who keeps chatting when you don't want to chat. I've met a few of those, and pretty women meet them all the time; I wasn't going to allow myself to become a statistic. So I said, as pleasantly as I could, "Okay. Thanks." Comfy shoes smiled, waved, and said she'd see me around.

January 1974

2006-03-03T22:38:00.000-05:00

Mom and Dad cutting the cake. Dad was rockin' the blue suit with red trim. This picture was taken two days after his 50th birthday. Mom was still in her 30's. Yeah Dad!

Road Trips

2006-03-02T23:24:00.000-05:00

When I was little, we drove to Chattanooga every summer to visit my mother's relatives. This trip almost always took place in late July or early August. We'd drive south on I-75, making our way through the southernmost part of Michigan, and then began the long trek through Ohio. Ohio seemed to last forever; it seemed like one cornfield after another. The landscape begins to change right about the time that you get into Kentucky. You begin to see hills, and after a while, you start feeling your ears pop. Mountains. Not big ones, but where I'm from, there aren't any, so it's a big deal.

When we crossed a state line, my dad would say "You're in a whole different state! Do you feel any different?" I'd tell him, "Yeah, I think so."

The best part was the animals. We'd drive past a farm, and my mom would say "Look Anson, horses!" Or, "Do you see the cows?" Man, that was a big deal. One time I was really tired, and needed to take a nap. I told my parents to wake me up if they saw any cows or horses. They said they would. I woke up a couple of hours later, and asked if they saw any horses. My dad said "no." I asked if he was sure, because you know, he was driving. And sometimes my mom would fall asleep. I hated to think that maybe he was too busy driving, and mom was sleeping, and I missed the horses. Mom said she didn't fall asleep, and that if she had, it was only for a little while. And my dad assured me that he had been looking, and didn't see any.

I felt like they didn't know what the hell they were doing, you know? Sometimes they'd be talking, and not really looking out the windows properly. Dad would be driving looking at the road, and my mom would be reading or crocheting while she talked to my dad. I mean ... come on. You can miss a number of animals carrying on like that.

I realized I had to stay awake to make sure we didn't miss any. When I saw horses or cows, I'd tell them where to look. If my dad wasn't really paying attention, my mom would say something like, "Anson wants you to see the horses, Pete." And he'd say "Yep, I see 'em."

It was a good thing I could stay awake for so long; they probably would have missed a bunch of animals without me.

Detroit

2006-03-02T00:06:00.000-05:00

I love the neighborhood at Seven Mile Road and Woodward, where Chaldeans have settled. The Chaldeans are Iraqi Catholics; they speak Arabic, but also have their own language, Aramaic. Jesus spoke a dialect of Aramaic, and Chaldeans refer to this fact with pride. Unfortunately, it is a language in danger of becoming extinct.

Drive east down Seven Mile, and you'll see signs written in Arabic. I can't help but wonder how many of the people used to live in Baghdad. I wonder if some of them never lived in modern cities before, but lived in tiny villages instead.

If you drive down Warren east of the Southfield Expressway, you'll see signs in Arabic there too. But the merchants in that area are Muslims. I think some are Iraqis, but others are from Lebanon or Yemen. I'm not sure; I should ask someone. Anyway, I like to hear the old men greet each other and say "As-salaam alaikum." Peace be with you.

If a non-Muslim or non-Arab walks into a store and speaks Arabic, the merchant is likely to be surprised. I can say a couple of sentences: "Do you speak English/Arabic?" and "Please speak more slowly." A Lebanese clerk told me my Arabic was difficult to understand; he said I sounded like I was from Morocco. As I'm writing this, I remember that the guy who taught me the phrases studied Arabic in Morocco.

I like Greektown too, but it seems more "touristy." I don't think anybody's actually from Greece (their parents, sure ... but not them). And I never hear anybody speaking Greek. *sigh* I guess I can't have everything.

Politics

2006-02-28T19:27:00.000-05:00

I often think about how the world could be a better place if politicians did certain things and abstained from other things. Here are a some of my ideas. I believe they may be helpful to those politicians/leaders who are people of integrity, and wish to make a contribution as public servants. Contrary to popular belief, these people do exist.

Campaigning
This is essentially an art that cannot be mastered by everyone. Also, it can be more difficult if you are unwilling to lie or be pimped by interest groups. But these obstacles can be overcome if you are intelligent, highly motivated, strong, and charismatic.

Campaigns are driven by money. If you don't have it, you can't run. Plain and simple. Local races tend to cost less, so for this (and other) reasons, I would advise starting at the local level if you are a novice. In order to raise money, you must be willing to ask for it. You must not be ashamed to knock on doors, make phone calls, and send emails all for the sake of your campaign. If you are a person of integrity, and actually have a sound platform, you can ask for money with confidence. Many people will say "no", but many will actually contribute if they agree with your platform.

Personally, I'm a fan of asking for relatively small amounts from a vast number of people. But depending on the demographics of your social circle(s) and the community where you seek to be elected, you may be able to go straight for the "ballers" or key players (not to the exclusion of others with less money). When you ask for money, you should be willing to say exactly what that money will be used for, and once you have the money, it must be used for that purpose.

When donors give you money, you must thank them. If you thank them in writing, sign by your own hand. If this is impossible because of volume, I suggest signing a percentage with your own hand. This is particularly important when dealing with older voters who remember a world before email.

If you have fundraisers (and you should have fundraisers), make sure you speak to every single person in attendance. Thank everyone for making it a success. Even if it's not really a success, thank everyone for making it a success. This means any elected officials who came to endorse you, any donors, your family, your friends, the wait staff. If you are fortunate enough to have many, many people come to your fundraiser, it will be a challenge to make personal time for all of them. But you should do your very best to meet all of them. You should appoint someone to be in charge of your time. You need this if you are not good at ending conversations gracefully. This person should say "I'm sorry to be rude but I have to get [candidate X] over to thank some more guests." You should in turn look perturbed, but acquiesce to your manager's demand. Graciously apologize to the person with whom you were speaking, and move on. If you say "I'll talk to you some more later," you must not forget.

Media
If the media become interested in your campaign, this can be both a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing if they like you; if they dislike you, you're in for a hell of a ride. I think it's best to start with the assumption that the media are curious about you, but undecided as to your qualifications. You must give them reasons to like you. This can be accomplished by being courteous in person, returning phone calls, and saying "thank you for speaking with me" when the interview is over.

If you are dealing with unscrupulous members of the media (and trust me, you will deal with them sooner or later), you must never become visibly angry or be rude. Especially if they have a news camera or any sort of recording device. Never, never, never believe a journalist who says "this is off the record." It's not. Seriously. Whatever you say will turn up in a newspaper or magazine, and people will read it and believe it. If you become visibly angry at a reporter with a news camera for stalking you, or lying to your staff to get close to you, or simply for asking stupid ass questions, guess what portion of the exchange will end up on the evening news. Exactly ... it'll be you, looking like a ranting, raving lunatic. Editing machines, baby. Remain calm, cool, collected, and charismatic at all times. This is hard. You may have to practice behind closed doors.

If you need to practice, have your staff do roleplaying exercises with you. They should pretend to be hostile journalists, or competing candidates. They must ask you all the toughest questions you could possibly encounter. And you must come up with answers. Practice this until you are comfortable. If you cannot get comfortable answering tough questions, then you probably shouldn't be involved in politics.

Speaking of tough questions, there is a special category that deals with scandal. Tough questions on policy are one thing, but if you have a potential scandal attached to your name, you need to take special precautions. If you don't know what I mean by "scandal", ask yourself what's the worst thing you've ever done. Ask yourself what's the worst thing that one of your friends or relatives has ever done. You must assume that this will be made an issue in your campaign. And you must have a response. If you were young and irresponsible when the indiscretion took place, make that clear to voters. And make it clear that you learned from the experience, have matured, and have moved on.

Make it clear that your character is intact today, and that you currently have something of value to offer your community. Make it clear that you are the very best candidate for the job right now. If you're not the best candidate, get out of the race; you don't deserve the job. Voters don't care so much about what you did twenty years ago, as long as they believe you're currently the best person for the job. Don't let the media or other candidates smear your name without a fight.

If you're indiscretion took place recently, make sure those closest to you know about it as soon as possible. Don't let your spouse find out by watching the evening news. Don't let your kids hear at school. Tell them face to face, and if they want you to quit running for election ... you might just want to do that. Put the needs of the people who love you first. If you can't decide between losing an election and losing your family because of some scandal that's probably your own fault, you don't need to be an elected official. We already have enough hollow men at the local, state, and federal levels.

Anyhow, if after being told about the indiscretion, those closest to you give you the green light, tell the media that you're sorry for any shame or disappointment that you've caused your loved ones, and thank them for supporting you and continuing to believe in your character. Then go on to say that you never could have overcome those past challenges without their help, and their support makes it possible for you to be the very best candidate for the job. Make it clear that you and your family have moved on. But keep in mind that "moving on" may be extremely difficult if your indiscretion was of a criminal nature, and the statute of limitations hasn't passed.

I have a bunch of other ideas, but this post is becoming far too long. I'll end by saying candidates should remember that they are seeking to be public servants. It's a highly demanding job worthy of respect; not everyone can do it, but it needs to be done. Most people who take the time to vote understand this, and will at least give you a chance. Now get out there and earn some votes.

Storm

2006-02-26T17:44:00.000-05:00

Let's write haikus. Here's mine:

Great rolling thunder
rumbles across the night sky,
and rain drops descend.

The Space Between Love and Choice

2006-02-23T19:19:00.000-05:00

My friend is reeling from a break-up. Maybe "reeling" is too strong ... he's adjusting. He was on the receiving end of the break-up, and I can tell that in some ways, he thinks it's for the best. But I sense sadness, a sense of loss. A couple of us met him at a bar that we like, and the three of us talked about women, what they expect of us, what we expect of them.

The conversation was another variation of a constant theme, one that changes ever so gradually, almost imperceptibly, as we age. The vocabulary and the situations have changed since high school, but I think the essence of the conversations was the same. Our words focused on meaningful companionship with a woman. We wondered aloud: How does one achieve it? How can one sustain it? What does one do when he loses it?

Our answers varied depending on our religious/philosophical beliefs. My friend is a deist. He believes that marriage is a practical matter; it provides a safe, consistent environment for children, and allows individuals to pool resources. In his eyes, it's an institution that's good for society, and love has very little to do with it. He said, "True love never lasts anyway. It can't."

This made me think of a couple of chapters in The Road Less Travelled, by M. Scott Peck. I mentioned the book, and asked if he'd read it. He said, "That book was my father's bible. I've read that shit about ten times. So yes ... we're discussing the difference between love and cathexis. I'm saying cathexis does not last." I said I wasn't so sure. I described another friend's grandparents. They got married as young people, had six children together (lost one in infancy), and seemed truly, truly happy fifty years later. They weren't just companions; they were into each other.

My friend explained that things were different back then, and that they had probably lost their virginity to each other, thus prolonging the cathexis. He seemed to be implying that people who have had more than one partner cannot enjoy that sort of sustained romantic happiness.

I don't really believe that. At least I don't think I do. I see what he's saying, though. The feeling of being "in love" does seem sort of evanescent. A number of evangelical writers talk about love being "a choice" or "a commitment". They keep singing the same refrain again and again: "Marriage is hard work. It's tough!" Yes, that seems to be true. But I find the whole "love is a choice" argument to be lacking. It seems almost ... trite. It's as if they believe humans have two mutually exclusive options in terms of sexual relationships: a) be madly in love (and rest assured that it won't last for long); b) choose to be committed despite lots of hard times to come. It's as if they believe that lucky married people start off with the first, and prudently understand that it won't last; they get to have some joy before they have to roll up their sleeves and get down to hard work for the rest of their lives. What about the unlucky married folks? Well, they knew what they were getting into, and didn't miss out on much because, hey ... being in love only lasts a little while.

I think it's a lot more complicated than that. I can't explain it though. My guess is that the space that's left after the feelings of being in love disintegrate should be filled with ... I don't know if there's a word for it in English. A deep and abiding friendship that propels/demands intimacy. It's that "thing" that makes a man think "I don't understand her, and she's a real pain in the ass sometimes, but ... I sure hate it when she isn't around." It's a feeling, a force, a phenomenon that makes a man want to be ... better, but not just for her. He wants to be better for himself; her being around just sheds more light on the subject, and puts things in perspective. This "thing" or phenomenon or whatever it is, that fills the space between "being in love" and consigning oneself to determined commitment, seems to be an unlikely blend of trust, respect, admiration, and physical attraction (not an exhaustive list).

It seems to manifest itself differently in men and women, but of course, that's a generalization. From what I can tell, it's very elusive at times, and tends to pop up when least expected, thriving among individuals who have healthy souls and minds. Who can understand it, much less explain it?

Psalm

2006-02-21T23:48:00.000-05:00

You are my portion, O Lord; I have said that I would keep Your words.
I entreated Your favor with my whole heart; be merciful to me according to Your word.
I thought about my ways, and turned my feet to Your testimonies.
I made haste, and did not delay to keep Your commandments.
The cords of the wicked have bound me, but I have not forgotten Your law.
At midnight I will rise to give thanks to You, because of Your righteous judgments.
I am a companion of all who fear You, and of those who keep Your precepts.
The earth, O Lord, is full of Your mercy; teach me your statutes.

Psalm 119: 57-64

Dedications & Quotations

2006-02-17T11:11:00.000-05:00

I was flipping through a copy of The Screwtape Letters yesterday. I noticed that it is dedicated to J.R.R. Tolkien, a Catholic who was instrumental in Lewis' journey toward faith. And the pages preceeding the letters include quotes concerning Satan. One is by Luther, chief among protesters. The other is by Thomas More, a lawyer and dedicated Catholic apologist, who ultimately lost his life for opposing Henry VIII's marital indiscretions. More is now considered the patron saint of lawyers.

Luther and More seemed to dislike each other because of their differing religious views.

I think the use of statements from members from "competing" theological traditions was a statement in and of itself. I can't remember the quotes verbatim, but they said essentially the same thing. I'll try to remember to post them later. It seems that Lewis is pointing out that both Luther and More, despite their differences, were agreed in their assessment of their common adversary, the devil.

Writing

2006-02-14T09:44:00.000-05:00

The other night I was thinking about how much I love to write. A couple of my closest friends have encouraged me to get motivated and put the pen to the paper. It's hard though. It takes discipline. I promise myself that I will work hard to produce some quality stuff once this bar exam is over. I have lots of essays rambling around in this head of mine.

I've been thinking a lot about David, that Hebrew shepherd/poet/warrior who lived so long ago. I wonder if he sat around with his closest friends, shared his thoughts, and then heard them say "You should write that down, man. Really ... you should." I wonder if he got sick to his stomach after killing Goliath, or if he got sick to his stomach every time he killed someone. How could killing ever become easy for a poet?

Busy-ness

2006-02-10T18:23:00.000-05:00

I don't have much time on the internet these days. I'm still not telling most folks who know me about this blog, so it's kind of a challenge to get online and write without being found out. But since I like living on the edge, I'm typing as a friend sits across the table from me. Keeping my fingers crossed that she doesn't get out her seat and take a peek at the screen.

I would really love to write about Coretta Scott King's funeral, and how/why Bill Clinton received that much applause. I'd like to talk about why the audience was so tough on George Bush, Sr. and why one of the speakers felt it was okay to diss the President when he was less than twelve feet away. I have lots and lots to say about that stuff, but ... no time. I guess I could make time, but then I'll be all moody and anxious about not using time wisely, etc.

It's all about the bar exam, hoss. I feel pretty good about it today. This is the last stretch ... I'm kind of shocked at how quickly time passes.

Happy Friday to you and yours. Don't drink and drive. If you do, you are being an idiot. And I will work extra hours to sue the hell out of you for any damage that you cause once I get the coveted law license. I mean that; I have a thing about drunk drivers.

Bad Dreams

2006-02-09T12:39:00.000-05:00

The other night my friend woke me up, and said "you're having a bad dream." Apparently I was calling out for my mom. I felt a little bashful about that. Funny ... I don't really remember the dream.

Michiana

2006-02-06T14:17:00.000-05:00

I am in South Bend, Indiana. It's good to be back in the old law school neighborhood. But I was sad to see that they've changed some things since I've been gone. Some houses were demolished to make "improvements" in a road, and the intersection is ... different. There's a little median just north of the intersection, and the road curves now. It was just a normal two-lane road before. I saw that a bunch of trees have been cut down for another road. It reminded me of that scene out of Lord of the Rings when all the trees were being destroyed by the Orcs.

The locals call this region "Michiana". South Bend is about eleven miles south of the Michigan border. One cannot purchase alchohol on Sundays in Indiana, so it's common to drive up to Michigan for a case of beer. One must also be careful about the change in time zone; this part of Indiana doesn't switch to daylight savings time. So if you're catching a movie or a play in Michigan, you have to make sure to clarify the time zone. One time we drove about 30-40 miles to an artsy cinema in Michigan, and when we got there, the movie was half over. The lady at the counter said "Oh, you guys must've come from Indiana. It started at 7:00 Michigan time."

I would not want to live in South Bend permanently, but I am glad to be here now. My time is my own, and I am being fairly productive. There are lots of good places to take walks. And I get to visit stores, restaurants, cafes I haven't been to in a while. I realized I've missed Michiana.

Orthodoxy

2006-02-01T23:54:00.000-05:00

I first began to seriously consider Orthodoxy last summer after a few emails and a long discussion with a Lutheran pastor. The pastor belongs to the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod (LCMS), and is a traditionalist. He embraces liturgy, and holds fast to many of the teachings of Luther, including the perpetual virginity of Mary. Yeah, Luther believed in that; I've heard that Calvin did too, but don't quote me on that. The pastor's theology/methodology causes some tension with the LCMS, which has begun to lean more in the direction of other mainstream protestant groups. While still theologically conservative, they are finding less and less use for the liturgy, and the sung liturgy in particular. Anyhow ...

I asked the pastor "If you had to recommend a place to worship other than your church, where would you recommend?" He said "If I were not a Lutheran pastor, I would become Orthodox." And thus began a long conversation. He recommended that I visit an Orthodox parish which happens to be very close to my house. I've been, oh ... maybe 4-5 times. It is an experience that I think every Christian should have, at least once. Especially if they can find the Divine Liturgy in their native language. If it's in Greek, Serbian, or Arabic, and you don't speak those languages, you might just end up enjoying some good music and incomprehensible chanting.

Orthodoxy is foreign to me. I find so many aspects beautiful, but strange. I disagree with some of the theology, but more often I find that I just don't understand the theology. The Orthodox use terms like divine energies, and theosis. They ask the saints for intercession, but most of the saints aren't the ones with whom Westerners are familiar. Not that I feel comfortable asking a saint to intercede for me in the first place.

Orthodox theologians seem to be irritated (offended maybe?) by the language used by western theologians (i.e. Roman Catholics and Protestants). Here's an example: regarding the efficacy of the crucifixion for man's redemption, the Orthodox position seems to be that "Christ's crucifixion was not a payment of the debt of punishment that humans allegedly owe to God for their sins." Instead, they embrace the notion that "Christ's self-offering to his Father was the saving, atoning and redeeming payment of the perfect love, trust, obedience, gratitude and glory that humans owe to God, which is all that God desires of them for their salvation."

I can't say that I really see a substantial difference between the two positions, but the Orthodox seem to see an important distinction. I wonder who feels equipped to articulate the difference between those two positions, and to weigh the difference in terms of importance.

I suspect that the difference isn't terribly important, but I still want to understand it. I long for clarity. I'm realizing that I like rules, and predictable results. Things are safer that way. Or at least more comfortable.

I see shades of gray, and lots of them. It seems like Truth should be either black or white.

Listening

2006-01-30T23:39:00.000-05:00

I would like to be a better listener. I've been thinking about that for years, but I often forget. A good conversation stirs up a ton of ideas in my head, and I want to talk them out. This helps me develop, sort, understand those ideas.

Listening is sometimes difficult. It's difficult for a number of reasons, but the one that stands out in my mind right now is this: after listening intently to someone, he expects you to say something when he's done talking. But sometimes when I truly listen (I'm more likely to do this if it seems the topic is really important to the other person), I don't know what to say. Sometimes the topic is so ... "big" that my mind hasn't had a chance to process it. Other times, the speaker's comments give birth to emerging ideas, I want to talk them out, and it seems like I wasn't listening. Maybe I wasn't. It's hard to tell sometimes. You think you know what someone was saying, but then you find out you don't. Did the person speaking even know what he was saying? What if he was simply developing the ideas as he spoke?

I will try listening more. When I don't know what to say in response, maybe I'll just say "Let me think about this some more. I can tell you what I think after I sort through some ideas." I've done that a few times in the past. I sort of felt like thinking about the issue(s) for a while would breed some sort of enlightenment. I don't think that really happened ... I just had something more substantive to say. I guess that is a form of enlightenment.

Six Hours

2006-01-28T21:55:00.000-05:00

I studied a little more than six hours today. My brain hurts. T said he would study 12-13 hours. How is that even possible?

Jurisdiction

2006-01-27T20:38:00.000-05:00

Maybe if I write this on the blog, it will help me remember. I tend to think hard about the stuff I post.

Federal subject matter jurisdiction can be explained by two theories: 1) diversity jurisdiction and 2) federal question jurisdiction.

Diversity jurisdiction exists where the plaintiff and the defendant are domiciled in two different states, and the amount in issue is greater than $75,000. If one of the parties is a corporation, the corporation must be considered a citizen of the state in which it is incorporated and the state in which it has its principal place of business. Pesky corporations! A corporation is like a person ... except it can be in more than one place at the same time. But moving on ...

Federal question jurisdiction exists where the case or controversy at hand is properly addressed by federal law rather than state law. In other words, "The district courts shall have original jurisdiction of all civil actions arising under the Constitution, laws, or treaties of the United States." 28 U.S.C. 1331. There is no longer an amount in controversy requirement for federal question jurisdiction.

So there we have it, in all its glory. I hope. At any rate, the time has come to close the books, and go out for a gin and tonic. Happy Friday to you and yours.

Letters

2006-01-26T23:27:00.000-05:00

I love reading letters. The really old ones are the best. The other night, I read one addressed to my father. It was dated January 20, 1976. The letter is from a judge, James Del Rio, who I believe was a childhood friend/acquaintance of my father's. It basically thanks him for serving as a juror, and asks him to encourage friends, family, and neighbors to serve when summoned. Judges in Michigan are elected, so I suspect this fact played a role in the Honorable Mr. Del Rio's taking time to write a former juror. The jury pool is selected from the body of registered voters, yes?

I keep most of my letters in an old shoebox. It's actually a pretty big shoebox, so there are a lot of letters in it. I think the oldest ones go back to seventh grade. Letters from my uncle (they were soooo long!), letters from classmates, letters from penpals. Some are elaborately folded, almost like origami. Others have frayed edges ... obviously the result of being ripped out of a spiral notebook. Still others aren't letters in the truest sense, but simply slips of paper with a girl's name and a telephone number. No, they probably are letters in the truest sense ... why else would they have ended up in the shoebox reserved for special letters?

oh, oh ... flashback: Ninth grade, the day I switched English classes rather late in the semester. I went into the new class, was assigned a seat, and started doing the assignment. Everybody was already working or reading silently. I noticed a girl sitting a few rows over, who was reading a really thick paperback novel (she was done with the assignment). I don't remember what the book was, but I remember thinking it looked like a good book. Something a smart person would read. So as soon as I finished my work (I think I hurried to finish), I started talking to her about the book. Then when the bell rang, I made sure we kept talking about the book as I walked with her to her locker (which wasn't near my locker). I remember she was putting her stuff in the locker, and she was really short. So she had to step up into the locker to reach the top shelf where she was putting her books.

I was running out of stuff to say. You know, the "window" was closing. So I just said, "Can I call you?" When I said that, she was facing the locker, one foot on the bottom ledge, one hand reaching up toward the top shelf. And when she heard my question, the hand froze. Briefly, but long enough for me to be able to tell. And she just sort of shook her head 'yes', before she even turned around. She wore a pony tail; I remember it sort of danced around when she was shaking her head. Crazy ... I remember that vividly. I haven't thought about that day in a long time.

I called her, eventually asked her to be my girlfriend, she said "yes". We talked about books a lot. We were an "item" for the rest of ninth grade, and remained friends for a long time after that. Last I heard, she became a doctor. Anyway, I remember her handwriting was very neat and feminine. But with very bold strokes. I think she used exclamation points more than necessary. Not that that's a bad thing.

Some Thoughts

2006-01-24T23:28:00.000-05:00

My brain is bursting with ideas, things to write about. But there just isn't enough time. Errands to run, stuff to read, phone calls to make. I will share some thoughts from this week:

a) I took a long, hot shower the other day. I stood there under the water for a while with my eyes closed, just sort of enjoying the steady water sound (is it called 'white noise'?) and the heat. I opened my eyes, and there were sunbeams coming through the bathroom window, and right on into the shower. We don't have a curtain; our shower has glass doors. Anyway, it was cool to watch little particles of water dancing around in the beams. Mist in sunbeams looks the same as dust in sunbeams. I've been taking showers in this house for years, and I don't ever remember seeing sunbeams in the shower. Timing is everything.

b) I feel a little bad about not telling more of my friends about this blog. I started to mention it a couple of times, but I refrained. I know some people will be offended or hurt. Feel left out. Don't take it that way guys. The blog is an attempt at self-expression, something to get me writing regularly. I'll tell you about this eventually, or you'll find it on your own, or ... I don't know, you'll know when you know, and that'll be the right time. The important thing is that I'm writing, right?

c) Ok, last thought. I'm getting pretty tired. I thought about words a lot this week. Sometimes I choose the wrong ones. I mean, to me they are the right ones, but I suspect my word choice is often offensive or unsettling to people. I don't mean to be offensive, but I do purposefully try to avoid using "Christian speak". I understand it to be a linguistic/cultural phenomenon by which religious people "sanitize" their conversation rather than engage in discourse that is truly pure.

For example, people say "Karen, bless her heart, she just [insert gently disparaging remark here]." But they really mean "That Karen ... what an idiot. She just [insert abrasively disparaging remark here]." I know that being tactful is important. Decorum has value. But sometimes, the way the hoi polloi say something is the way it should be said. At least if the "common" term more accurately conveys the meaning.

I guess that in order to be direct, tactful, and avoid "Christian speak" (which I think is almost inherently bad, btw) one must know his audience/listener.

Dreams of Napoleon Dynamite

2006-01-22T20:41:00.000-05:00

I had a bunch of dreams last night. Actually, the dreams occured early this morning (I know because I woke up to go to the bathroom, and the dreams happened afterward). I had a dream about my dad. I was driving some type of station wagon, and my father's ashes were in some sort of sealed package in the back. I was worried about spilling the ashes. This is strange ... my father wasn't cremated.

I had a few dreams about posting on this blog. Topics kept running through my head. It was some time after 5:45 am this morning. Pretty odd, huh? Napoleon Dynamite ran through my head as well; I rented it last night.

Napoleon was a great political consultant. He believed in his candidate (Pedro) even when the candidate didn't believe in himself. He was able to say "Heck yeah, I'd vote for you" like he meant it. And he did mean it. He crafted a powerful message for Pedro to send out: If you vote for me, your wildest dreams will come true. That's pretty corny, but most political slogans are. And he was ready and willing to face ridicule and rejection in order to save the front man; he danced alone on stage, in front of the whole school, for his boy Pedro. Who wouldn't want a friend as devoted as Napoleon Dynamite?

And we can't forget Kip. Talk about a butterfly emerging from the cocoon. All I can say about Kip is this: by the end of the movie, he put the "angsta" in gangsta. For real.

Overall I enjoyed the movie. I laughed out loud a lot. But some scenes were ... painful. Napoleon was so awkward. I knew kids like that in high school. I tried to reach out a couple of times, but it was just too hard. It seemed to make everybody uncomfortable: the awkward kid, the other kids at school who thought 'what the hell are you doing?', and me.

One kid I had a bunch of classes with never said anything. Ever. To anybody. I called him a couple of times to find out what the homework was, and he gave me the assignments. I tried to chat, but it was like pulling teeth. I told him, "Thanks man. I'll give you a call. Maybe you can hang out with us." And then I forgot to call him. When I remembered, I didn't feel comfortable to talk to him in school. He'd never really look at you when you spoke to him, and his answers were as brief as possible. So yeah, I invited the guy to hang out, and then we never hung out. Damn ... that probably just made everything worse in his mind. Or maybe he didn't want to be bothered in the first place. He just seemed really alone. Even the teachers wouldn't call on him.

Dude ... if you happen to read this, I'm sorry we didn't hang out. We should have. The fellas and I should have tried harder to get you to come along. We could have made room for you in that rusty, beat up, 1981 Ford Fairmont that I used to drive.

Well, I hope that your life is good, or at least okay all these years later. Mine is good. I didn't see you at the ten year high school reunion, but I've heard we're having a fifteen year reunion. You should come.

My Hero

2006-01-20T16:34:00.000-05:00

This is one of my favorite people. I dubbed her "Stinky Binky" (don't bother to ask ... it rhymes. that's all I've got for ya). "Stinky Binky" devolved into "Stinky Bink", which in turn became "Bink." Bink is a playwright, lawyer, and my personal super hero. She has a New York accent, so when she says "orange" or "Florida" I laugh (but not out loud). She is one of the most hopeful people I know. I want to be just like her when I grow up.

What's He Doing?

2006-01-19T12:14:00.000-05:00

What on earth is God doing? My path twists and turns, diverges, seems to loop around and bring me back to the same spot. I'm lost. I don't really know where to go from here. I can't stand still ... but the steps forward (are they really forward?) are painful or monotonous. Sometimes they are both.

The other night I told my friend "I don't think God hears me." She said, "That's not true." When I asked how she knew that wasn't true, she said "Because I see Him in you." Okay. Sure. I guess. I don't feel Him though. I see His work surrounding me (in nature and via art for the most part), but ... that's sort of an intellectual thing. I want to feel it in my heart, in my gut.

Well. The house is silent. There's lots of sunshine pouring through my bedroom window. My twisty, zig-zag path has a bright spot. Seems like it would be sinful not to enjoy it.

Captain Hygiene

2006-01-18T22:58:00.000-05:00

One of my nephews with a pretty friend. Last year, during a visit to Michigan, I saw him cheerfully walk out of the bathroom. I asked "Did you wash your hands?" (I hadn't heard any water running) His reply: "Uh ... I ... don't know how to do that."

Riiiiiiiight.

So I took him back into the bathroom, and said "Go ahead and wash your hands, man." And he actually pretended to not know how to do it! The Force is strong with me, so I didn't fall for such a simplistic Jedi Mind Trick. Hands were washed, with adequate amounts of soap.

Despite his habits regarding cleanliness, "Captain Hygiene" appears to have at least a modicum of success with the ladies.

Winter Morning

2006-01-18T11:55:00.000-05:00

This morning I got out of bed and opened the shutters to let in sunlight. I was surprised to see snow covering the lawn, the front walk, the tree branches outside my window. I went outside to shovel the walk, went on to do the driveway, and then I stood and admired the view.

I saw nothing but white stillness for blocks. I was the only person shoveling snow. Unfortunately, I didn't have a camera. Could've taken some cool pictures.

Bar Exam

2006-01-17T06:24:00.000-05:00

Last night I shaved the beard; it was time. This morning I'll shave again, and put on the black suit, and one of the conservative blue ties. I'll wear the black dress shoes ... the ones that I purchased after saying "I'm looking for a dress shoe. Black. Conservative." When I purchased them, I knew they were right because there was absolutely nothing trendy about them; they are part of a "corporate" uniform. They are the type of shoes which belong on the feet of a man wearing black, navy, or charcoal grey.

So today I'll look like a lawyer. And it will be the first time I've had that look for some weeks. I think I was avoiding that look for some reason. Not sure why. A while back, I met a friend for coffee, and when she saw me, she said "you look like a lawyer." And that upset me. I thought "I just want to look like Anson."

I'm sporting the dreaded "lawyer look" again because I'm going to a funeral. I'm likely to see a few old friends whom I haven't seen in years. They'll say things like, "I heard you're a lawyer now." And I'll say "Not yet, God willing I'll be one by this summer." The people who know me best will ask "How's studying going?" And I'll almost certainly lie and say "Good!" Or if I'm feeling concerned about honesty, I'll say "It's coming along."

I'm studying for the bar exam. For the second time. I haven't been able to put that in writing until this point. So there, I said it. I mean typed it. The whole thing is sort of a big deal in my mind. It's a two day exam, it's expensive, it's in another city. Testing conditions are rather uncomfortable (too hot or too cold), and you sit with hundreds of other people who are stressed out, and sort of cranky. And everybody knows that some people are going to fail. The last time I took it, there were a lot of personal obstacles: my mom was seriously ill, I had just gone through a breakup, I didn't have any money, etc. Now six months later, there are still a lot of personal obstacles, so ... I'm sort of regretting that I signed up for it again. Not really. I don't know.

Anyway, it's sort of hard to think/talk about. Some days I feel pretty overwhelmed. Not so much this morning. I feel tired, anxious, ready to crawl back into bed. But not exactly overwhelmed. I have the feeling I'll work hard today after I get home from the funeral (many days I don't work hard; I sort of think a lot about working hard, and then get exhausted).

And I won't bristle if someone happens to say I look like a lawyer. I believe this is evidence of some sort of progress.

Good News

2006-01-16T09:07:00.000-05:00

I got a phone call last night. Some relatives are expecting. This means a brand new niece or nephew. I cast my vote for a nephew.

Huzzah!

On Knowing Another

2006-01-14T23:19:00.000-05:00

Of late I've had more than one conversation about what it means to truly know another person. I received an email this morning which mentioned the issue. And I had a sort of pseudo-epiphany about the topic within the past few weeks. So, I guess that means the topic deserves a post. Here goes.

I suspect that one of the fundamental purposes for human existence is knowing another. Some wise Christian wrote that man's purpose is to "know God and enjoy Him forever." I think I agree. But what does it mean to know another human being? And does this knowing, this communion with another person(s) enable us to know God more fully? For me, the latter question seems easier to answer. I think the answer is "yes". Humans are social creatures; we can only know ourselves in relation to others. And how can one even begin to know God if he doesn't have an inkling about himself?

But back to knowing another human being. I spoke about this concept a couple of weeks ago to a friend. He expressed doubt as to whether he really knew his girlfriend, despite having been with her for years. I said, "You can't know everything about another person. Even after a lifetime, you still wouldn't know everything. And I'm not sure you'd want to. You'd want to still be discovering something."

Who can know me fully? Who would want to know me fully? What does knowing someone fully really mean?

I like to imagine that life-partners (what traditional religious folk call "spouses") come closest to knowing each other fully. I suspect a good mother can know her child fully, for a time at least. But in terms of adulthood, life-partners come closest to knowing each other fully. They share their thoughts, ideas, living space, bodies.

When a man knows a woman he is [becoming?] familiar with what CDs she owns, her spending habits, whether or not she likes tomatoes. He has some sort of understanding as to whether she is willing to kill big spiders, or hunt them down, and then do the whole "catch and release" thing. He grows acquainted with the smell of her hair (washed and unwashed), see how she flosses (or doesn't), and has a clue whether she likes to talk during. At some point it becomes clear to him whether she'll tolerate cigarette smoke, and whether she'll tolerate people who say unkind things about Arabs. He learns if she's a person who asks "Do I look fat?" or asks the more sophisticated (and dangerous) "Can you tell I've gained weight?" *FYI guys, those are the same damn question. Don't be a fool.*

But after knowing all those tidbits, and thousands of others, can the man rest assured that he knows her fully? Nope. Two reasons come to mind immediately. 1) She's a human being and human beings are very, very complex. 2) If she's a healthy person, she's continually growing and changing, and what may have been true six months or a year ago, may be obsolete info today. Oh look, I just though of another one ... 3) If he's a healthy person, he's continually growing and changing, and this will by necessity change at least some of his perceptions of her.

So where does this leave us? The life-partners, the two who can fully know each other, and hopefully experience the "mystical oneness" I mentioned a few posts back ... should they be discouraged? Eyes downcast? Weary? Anxious about possible missteps? No!

*slap*

Did you not catch the name of this blog? This leaves us with hopeful expectation. We can look forward to a never ending process of getting to know another. In so doing, we ourselves are pruned. Shaped and made stronger. More able to have meaningful relationships with ourselves, and with God.

I think this phenomenon exists in all healthy human relationships. I believe the relationship between partners is where it is most clearly observed, and in its most acute form.

Fridays

2006-01-14T01:56:00.000-05:00

Hey. Thanks for visiting. I'm glad people read this blog.

Anyhow, I'm sitting at my desk enjoying silence and a glass of ice cold Coca-Cola. Today was a good day in that it was busy, but not too busy. I got up fairly early, studied a bit, worked a bit. I had four double cheeseburgers and an order of fried clams for lunch. White Castle. Yeah, it was disgusting; I couldn't finish it. Then, I went to my favorite comic book store, and browsed. Right when I thought I wouldn't be able to find anything, I saw ... a new copy of ElfQuest by Wendy and Richard Pini! Issue 1 of 4, titled "The Discovery". ElfQuest was the first comic I ever purchased as a kid (at least as far as I can remember). Kinda corny but hey, it's got sentimental value, and the concept is pretty interesting. Apparently, they're selling fast because one of the guys at the counter asked "Is that the last one?". It was actually the second to last.

Drove back to the house, studied some more, and then had dinner with EG at Famous Dave's Barbecue. He told me RK and AG are both engaged. RK's met his fiancee on eHarmony, and AG met his fiancee at work. EG gives both ladies a "thumbs up".

It was a good Friday. I think most of my Fridays are good. In fact, last Friday was great. It's truly my favorite day of the week. No work/school the next day. Everybody at work/school is in a good mood because they've got plans for the weekend. Movies often come out on Fridays, and if you give people notice, they're almost always willing to do something on Friday night. It's just an all around great day.

Panic, Thoughtfulness, and Tact

2006-01-13T00:24:00.000-05:00

I have a bunch of things I could write about tonight, but I'm having difficulty making a decision. Some topics are a little too complicated; I don't have the energy right now. Still others are not quite ripe for sharing. Writing about any of the topics could mean a long post, and one has to be in the mood for that sort of thing.

I had a number of interesting conversations today. One guy told me about having a panic attack earlier this week. Another told me I was a "very thoughtful black man" and that he hoped I didn't intend to practice law. I guess lawyers aren't supposed to be thoughtful. Anyway, the panic stricken one felt that having panic attacks indicates a lack of mental health, and seemed somewhat embarassed. I told him there was nothing to be embarassed about, and that everyone close to him understood. He is a thoughtful (i.e. introspective) person, and a lawyer ... is this a lethal combination which leads to panic attacks?

The tactful one (you know, the one who remarked that I'm black) meant no harm. I've noticed he says what he thinks, and when it doesn't sound right, he tries to explain. That usually doesn't help too much, but I appreciate the fact that he tries. He seems lonely, and expresses a great deal of enthusiasm when meeting people. A little too much maybe. I think this rubs some people the wrong way.

"Scalito"

2006-01-10T17:40:00.000-05:00

The Honorable Samuel Alito sat before the Senate Judiciary Committee today and answered questions. He is called "Scalito" by some because he seems to embrace the jurisprudence of conservative Justice Antonin Scalia. My guess is that most observers expected "friendly" questions from Republican Senators, and "hostile" questions from Democratic Senators.

But it's more complicated than that. Senators are highly intelligent, articulate, motivated people. When they make statements (or in this case, ask questions) they intend to send very clear messages to friend and foe alike. Their utterances are recorded, parsed, relayed, and ultimately show up again twenty years later to determine someone's political destiny.

I don't think there's anything Judge Alito could say that would make Ted Kennedy vote for his confirmation. So why does the Senator from Massachusetts bother to ask questions? Well, it's his job. But beyond that, his questions, his tone of voice, his commentary that he inserts before asking the actual question ... these all send messages to constituents and lobbying groups. They need to know that the Senator will continue to look after them as he has been doing for so many years. And the opposition needs to know that he is a force, an opponent not easily cast aside.

Similarly, I don't think there's anything Judge Alito could say that would make Lindsey Graham vote against his confirmation. But Senator Graham used the cross-examination method of questioning. He asked leading questions, and actually seemed somewhat hostile toward Scalito. He even interrupted him, and said in a rather severe tone "I disagree" as Scalito attempted to answer a question. He asked a few questions like "Are you aware of any case where U.S. forces were required to release enemy combatants before a conflict ended?" and "Do you agree that our nation has been continuously engaged in armed conflict with terrorists since 9/11?"

The leading questions gave me pause. Especially the one about whether "enemy combatants have rights under our constitution". I honestly don't know what an "enemy combatant" is (or what body has the authority to define the term). I think it's a combatant acting without the express authorization of a nation/state. I think then they'd have to say "military personnel" or "soldier" and we'd get all wrapped up with the Geneva Convention and whether or not torture is allowed. But last I heard, they were debating over the definition of "torture" as well. The NGOs seem to think it's one thing, and governments who practice it seem to think it's something else ... far, far worse than anything they do.

But back to Senator Graham's line of questioning. Maybe I'm too much of a conspiracy theorist, but typically cross-examination is used for a hostile witness. The leading questions are used to get that person to say exactly what you want them to say. I think Senator Graham asked particular questions, and phrased them in a such a way as to give the impression that holding persons for indefinite periods of time without charging them is okay, because we are in "a state of war" and the Constitution does not protect "enemy combatants". And his severe tone with Judge Alito was proof that he wasn't going easy on him. We are to accept the questions at face value.

Sorry ... I can't. Just like I can't accept the notion that there's nothing wrong with Michael Jackson. The people who listen intently to the Senate Judiciary Committee's questions, and accept them at face value, are the same sort of folks that let their kids go to slumber parties at Neverland. Either they have lost their minds, or they are highly, highly, unethical.

I just hope Scalito remembers to be just after he's confirmed. And don't give me any yick-yack like "it's not about doing justice, it's about properly interpreting the Constitution". Don't gimme that sullbhit!! The Constitution is only valuable inasmuch as it allows justice to be served. Freedom of Speech, Separation of Church and State, Separation of Powers ... they all mean nothing without the underlying concept of justice.

Good night, and good luck.

Four Special People

2006-01-08T22:26:00.000-05:00

These are some relatives from out west. During their last visit, the oldest two allowed me to play a video game with them, but I was promptly told "you're not doing it right." They are very knowledgeable about dinosaurs, helicopters, rocks, seeds, and action figures.

An Old Photograph

2006-01-05T16:11:00.000-05:00

Photo of my mother (c. 1950). She's about fourteen years old in this picture. The inscription reads "Because I love you." She cannot remember to whom it was addressed, but thinks it may have been my grandfather. This photo was in a relative's photo album; now it sits in a frame on my desk.

A Daily Ritual

2006-01-04T02:55:00.000-05:00

I've forsaken a daily ritual for about a week. My last shave was six or seven days ago, and my face itches. But I think I'll let the beard grow. I've been back and forth about it lately. Especially now that it's in that "awkward stage". Stubbly, itchy, downright uncomfortable. And I think it sort of makes me look a little unkempt.

My father's facial hair was thick, thick, thick. Toward the end of his life, the hair on his chin and lower cheeks was white. My mom had asked him to grow a beard. He refused ... said it was too uncomfortable. She was so enthusiastic about the idea because she'd seen him with a short beard once when he was bedridden from an illness. She thought he looked "soooo handsome" with a beard. I was always curious to see what he looked like with a beard. Ultimately, the two of us sort of ganged up on him, and begged him not to shave.

I think we got him to abstain from shaving for about a week. Maybe a little longer. That's when I saw the thick white stubble. It reminded me of those older, tougher heroes in westerns. The guys who are old, but not ... elderly. Still strong enough to crack open the can o' whip-ass when folks get out of line. Dad shaved it off. He said, "I'm sorry. I just can't stand it, my face is so uncomfortable."

My beard isn't as thick. One of my brothers has a nice, full beard. Another brother has hardly any hair on his face at all. I'm somewhere in the middle. I seriously doubt it will grow any fuller with age; at 30, I'm just about done with puberty. And about eight months ago, I found a gray hair on my chin. A couple of weeks ago, I saw that another is beginning to turn gray. Maybe I'll be fortunate ... maybe the beard will turn white as I age.

The last time I wore a beard, it received mixed reviews. My sister strongly dislikes it. Mom seems to like it, but seems a little saddened that it makes me look older. A couple of ladies at work gave me compliments. A couple of ladies from school asked me to shave it. One buddy of mine said "Dude, what's with the terrorist look?" All this feedback came after I'd had weeks to let it grow out. I think at this early stage, I don't look so much like I'm growing a beard. I look more like ... I'm not shaving.

*sigh*

Yeah, that's a good way to describe it. When a man has thick facial hair, and he stops shaving, people ask "Oh, you're letting the beard grow, huh?" When you don't have thick facial hair, people ask, "How come you're not shaving?" It's a tough row to hoe y'all. Tough.

Well, however we choose to characterize this little project of mine, I ain't shaving. I'm tired of the daily ritual. The razor burn. The switching to electric instead of disposable. Shaving for ten minutes, and then looking in my rear-view mirror to find that I still missed a spot. And don't get me started on the ingrown hairs! So ... I'm done shaving for a bit. My face needs a break. And it's cold in Michigan during the winter. So the yeas have it; we're growing the beard. Or not shaving, if you prefer.

The Lord of the Rings

2006-01-02T16:36:00.000-05:00

In January 1979, I served as ring bearer in my big sister's wedding. I cried because some guys named Frodo and Sam kept trying to take my precious away from us. Filthy, nasty, hobbitses!!

Mystical Formulas

2006-01-01T23:51:00.000-05:00

This afternoon, I went through some old emails. I found one I wrote about the traditional Christian understanding of marriage. Included were two "equations" that I felt illustrated a mystical truth.

a) Christ = Head = Husband = Male
b) Church = Body = Bride = Female

The two can be understood as working in tandem to illustrate spiritual truths being made manifest via the marital relationship. Christian marriage is a picture (would my Orthodox friends say 'icon'?) of the relationship between Christ and His Bride, His very Body, the Church. Viewing it this way forces talk of headship and submission. It cannot be avoided if the analogy is true. This is an unpopular view, and with good reason. It falls far short of explaining a profound mystery (not that humans can really explain such things, but we can try).

This is the most narrow definition of marriage I have encountered: a lifelong, monogamous, heterosexual relationship, with a hierarchical structure thrown in for good measure. Are people who embrace this view sexist? Are they homophobic? Sure, some of them. But others see a burden of chastity (not to be confused with celibacy) equally shared by all: married, single, gay, straight, male, and female. In other words, they believe Christians who are not married must abstain from what is appropriately called the "marital act." And I think the more thoughtful ones understand headship and submission to be attitudes that operate within the context of a oneness that defies logic; two become one, and yet each retains individuality. I suspect husbands can only exercise a healthy "headship" when they serve as primus inter pares, mustering all the courage they can to figure out what the hell it means to be "first among equals" when there can be no majority vote. Marriage is, after all, a partnership of two.

I don't know. I really don't. I'm a bachelor with old sweaters and far too many books. No cats though ... yet.

A Little Family History

2006-01-01T01:58:00.000-05:00

Undated photo of my father and grandfather. The taller gentleman on the right is my grandfather. If you look closely, you'll notice he only has one hand. The other was amputated after a hunting accident when he was about 12 years old (c. 1910). At least one of his grandparents was a white slaveholder from Giles County, TN. Hence the pale skin.

Consigliere

2005-12-31T01:15:00.000-05:00

A good friend told me about a very difficult situation he's going through. I listened, and tried to listen some more before speaking. He said he had chosen his best friend (a guy named C) to serve as consigliere as he navigates through these troubled waters.

I don't envy C. His is a difficult task. Does a consigliere get support staff? They never do in the movies.

The three of us sat down to dinner together. We had Italian, no pun intended. I chimed in whenever I felt it was appropriate. I started not feeling so great, and I wondered if it was stress. It might have been; these days I'm feeling like I did at the beginning of last summer. That was a stressful time.

Television

2005-12-29T23:33:00.000-05:00

I was on television tonight. One of the local news crews interviewed me about a fundraiser we had for a family I've known for years. Their mom died of a sudden heart attack, and the teenage daughter found her mother's body when she came home from school. My friends scheduled the fundraiser to coincide with the closing of our favorite karaoke bar. It's closing due to the fact that the block were it's located was recently annexed by a town with a ban on the sale of alcohol by the glass.

I didn't want to be on TV. In theory, I think it's cool. But every time I encounter a news crew, I say something stupid, or I start stammering, or they ask me a question to which I don't know the answer. I tried to get out of being on TV tonight, but RMJ and RB insisted that I was the "spokesperson." And the camera guy and the reporter stood there looking at me. So ... I took one for the team and allowed myself to be filmed. I don't think I said anything stupid. I didn't stammer. But of course, they asked me a question and I didn't know the answer. I hate when that happens. When I saw my mom she asked, "How come you didn't tell me you were gonna be on the news?"

Oh, almost forgot. When the server brought my bill, she said "Your first drink was paid for by the big guy over there." I thought "big guy" referred to the owner, to whom I had just been talking. Nooooo .... "big guy" was actually a reference to some big guy sitting at a table in a back corner of the bar. I decided against going over to say "thanks"; you know ... didn't want to give him the wrong impression. In an effort to not seem ungrateful, I waved in his direction as I was saying goodbye to my friends. It was the most masculine wave I could muster. I don't think he saw me as he was talking to someone.

Well, just in case the big guy ever reads this, I want to say: "Thanks for the drink big guy. Hoss. Bro. Amigo. Partn ... wait, not partner. Definitely not partner."

Coffee

2005-12-28T01:33:00.000-05:00

My friends and I sat in "Oreo Formation" as we drank coffee.

The Road Less Traveled

2005-12-27T02:12:00.000-05:00

I started reading The Road Less Traveled today. It's pretty amazing in my opinion. Funny ... I was just talking about discipline with one of my friends, and that appears to be a major theme of the book. I'm so bad at delaying gratification; I think my life would be easier if I learned to prioritize my commitments, and use my time wisely. I agree with Dr. Peck: this is a natural outgrowth of self-love.

JV sent me a sweet email today that was very encouraging. I had mentioned that yesterday during breakfast, SR said something that upset me a great deal. It made me worried, and very sad. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

J and K had a baby girl. She was born one day early. J said he'd send pics when he got the chance.