I hope you know what you're doing . . .

I’m going to write briefly about something that’s on my mind and my heart at this moment. I don’t plan on elaborating too much.           Yeah, right.

I just skimmed through my roommate’s copy of Christianity Today that arrived in the mail. I’m not a huge fan of this magazine. I’m not a huge fan of other Christian magazines I’ve read, either (Relevant comes to mind), but I’ve not been able to really put my thumb on the reason, or actually reasons, since whatever they are, I’m sure they are many.

Well, I believe I’ve identified one of the reasons. So much of these magazines seem to be focused on either trying to re-think or re-approach any given topic in Christianity, OR on debating why we shouldn’t re-think or re-approach any given topic in Christianity. Overlapping with that, 90% of the articles are about, in one way or another, “How should we, as Christians, view this issue?” or “As Christians, we need to view this issue this way. . . . “

Now, I’m not really a theological scholar, and I’m certainly not a glistening example of a well-lived Christian life, but recently the thing that Jesus has been pressing into me on is that I need to have a relationship with him. And really a relationship, not “relationship” in Christianese; a relationship in the way I have a relationship with my father, or my close friends, or the way I will have a relationship with my wife someday, etc. In (very, very slowly) doing this and trying to line up with and go where He’s leading me, it seems that “where I stand” on any given daily issue is given to me by Him. My mind has been changed so much in the last 6 years on the things that I used to think Christianity was about, not by reading books by renowned Christian authors or by hearing good, convincing sermons, but by the Holy Spirit. (Of course, that being said, there have been a great deal of issues on which I began to question and/or completely change my old views on, only to later read a book or hear a sermon that lined up with my changed view.)

So it seems to me that all these Christian journalists are running the wrong race: telling all of us, and themselves, what social or personal issues we should focus on as Christians. This especially seems like the “wrong race” to me when it’s pretty apparent that lots of these people have a list, short or long, of pet issues that they spend all of their efforts trying to reconcile with and advance through Christianity, and it doesn’t appear to me that they’ve spent much time really seeking what God says about it. But, of course, I can’t really be the judge of that.

Like I said, I’m not a scholar, and in terms of a maturing Christian, I’m the 2nd grader still wearing diapers and playing with his Little Tykes toys, but I was excited to put my finger on one of the things that rub me the wrong way about those magazines. I’d like to conclude by saying that I won’t look through another one of those magazines, but I know I’m going to.

I’ve had the pleasure of viewing the intros and sometimes full episodes of the cartoons I enjoyed pre-1990, but none of them brought back that feeling of awe that overcame me like when I just watched the intro to MASK. MASK was quite possibly the coolest concept for a 30-minute toy advertisement (aka 80’s cartoon) ever: there are the good guys, MASK, led by Matt Trakker, and the bad guys, VENOM, led by Miles Mayhem, and they all have these huge mechanical masks and drive these normal-looking vehicles that change into assault vehicles. Wow. Even names like “Matt Trakker” whisk me back. I had the tow truck that turned into a moving turret gun, and the Pontiac GTO that turned into a tank.

A lot of them turned into tanks, I think. I know there was a minivan that split in half and launched a jet. A kid that lived across the street from me in the summer had that one.

The visuals from this short intro may have returned me to first grade for a few fleeting seconds, but it’s the lyrics that most deeply moved me:

Masked crusaders
Working overtime, fighting crime
FIGHTING CRIME!
Secret raiders
Who will neutralize as soon as they arrive
AT THE SITE!
Trakker’s gonna lead the mission,
(?) Expect from gods of supervision (?)
(muh-muh-muh-Mask) MASK!
Is the mighty power that can save the day
(muh-muh-muh-Mask) MASK!
No one knows what lies behind their masquerades
(muh-muh-muh-Mask) MASK!
Always riding hot on VENOM’s trail
(?) ‘Cause in the laser raids (?)
Fly away!

Pure poetry.

One other thing I remember is that the logo was absolutely impossible for any non-savant 6-year-old to draw. One time in Mrs. Hagerman’s class I was trying to draw it while she was teaching math or something, and she got frustrated and made me stand in front of the class as she sat in my chair and said, “Fine Braden, if you don’t want to pay attention, you teach the class!” and all the kids laughed at me when I said I wanted to go home and started crying. I didn’t much care for Mrs. Hagerman; I really could have used a ‘57 Chevy that turned into a 6-wheeled all-terrain vehicle to escape that day. And blow up her car, while I was at it, too – if I had known which one was hers.

I’ve found the longer I go without writing, the harder it is to come up with stuff to write about. So, I’m writing this to just keep the wheels turning. Let’s see . . .

Last night I had this dream where people kept stealing my car out of this parking lot, but returning it late into the night. This happened for several days in a row, and every time it would happen I would get frustrated that I managed to forget to lock my car again. At one point my brain changed my car from my current 2001 Honda Civic into my old 1991 Geo Storm. I kept considering calling the police, but couldn’t work up the motivation. Eventually I showed up late at night when my car was returned, and it was propped up on the parking block with the hood open. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew that everything vital was still there. I went into this nearby coffee shop and started laying down the law on this barista (because I knew that she worked for the evil guy behind taking my car), and we started battling for my keys. I fought especially fiercely because I was fueled by my frustration at the inappropriate nature and narcissism of those scantily-clad baristas in those coffee stands (for the record, this barista was fully clothed, but I knew somehow that she was still one of them because she looked just like the airhead girl in the news story I saw on the subject yesterday). I emerged victorious from our squabble and stepped out from the coffee shop to face the evil guy, but he hadn’t arrived yet and I awoke before he was there.

Those are good dreams to wake up from, because you eventually realize, “Oh, hey, my car isn’t being stolen! Or at least I don’t think it is. Maybe I should get up and check. Nah. I’m tired and it’s only 4:30.”

I saw an article on Yahoo yesterday that talked about the Duggar family in Alabama, which has 17 children and the 18th one on the way. I read the article, rolled my eyes, thought about how I have wanted a big family someday, but by “big” I meant like 4 kids . . . and then something almost set me off. The story was rated by readers as 2 out of 5 stars. “Oh, no! Say it isn’t so!” Well, to understand why I had to quickly grab my composure again so as not to venture down a path of irreparable furry for the whole day, you have to understand all the things I’ve seen, heard, and discussed over the last couple of years relating to large families.

I think it was the Duggar family in the summer of 2004 when they had their 15th kid, and I heard the mom and dad being talked to on the radio. Well, some lady called in and was calling them horrible human beings. Why? Because they have so many kids. Because they’re adding to the population and therefore causing more pollution and using more resources and (she didn’t really say this) making more Republicans. Man, that lady made me mad, especially when she said that she had two children, “To replace my husband and I.”

It was probably, again, when the Duggars had #17 that it was in the news (as it clearly always is – develop some modesty, people, please!), that a co-worker of mine went off about how horrible it was that they could get away with that. She cited a bunch of reasons similar to the lady I just mentioned, but then went on about how everyone needs to adopt and stop pro-creating for like 40 years. Some of you have heard me rant about this co-worker before, so know that she’s a quack, but she’s not alone.

I enjoy web comics, usually ones that reference old video games and comics. I found one that I liked for a bit until I saw a strip that showed one of the two main characters walking by an SUV with one of those “Our Family” decals on the back window. You know the ones: with the stick figures of mom and dad and all the kids and the dog and cat? Well, the family depicted in this comic apparently had 4 or 5 children. The main character wrote a note on the SUV and walked away satisfied. The note read “This should help” and had a condom taped to it.

I get so furious about that stuff that I sometimes wonder if I over react a bit. Yes, I said “sometimes wonder.” In this age of “live and let live” social theories, the taboo-ing of believing in universal truths, and supporting just about any sexual lifestyle imaginable, we have people who are viciously against two people wanting to have tons of kids. I think the Duggars are nuts, but I wouldn’t ever think that their decision to do this was wrong, especially since they are all from the same two parents and every kid is in a loving home and well cared for. The people against this sort of thing almost always admit happily that the genuine reason is because of how (they think) it affects their lives. This further supports my view that Liberal vs. Conservative is a bunch of crap and they’re (we’re) all the same because it’s not about the issues; it’s about our approaches to those issues and where are hearts are. Maybe I’ll write a book about that someday.

There are couple of other smaller things that bug me in regards to things said or assumed when it comes to the Duggar family. The first is how so many people hear that they’re from Alabama and think, “oh, well that makes sense.” Why? That could actually open up a whole other discussion on how the East and West Coasts wrongly dismiss the South and Midwest as worthless and dumb.

The other thing that gets me is really just a fallacy in logic, and I noticed that I was guilty of this a couple postings ago. When a couple has several children, or has a few really close in age, people tend to make comments about the “active” sex life that couple has. Really? Do you honestly think that this man and woman have sex any less or any more than any other healthy married couple does? A child doesn’t mean that they had sex. A child means that it worked.

Ugh. Anyway, I need to go so I don’t get fired. One last thing – to the Duggars: Keep having kids so you keep annoying these annoying people! Thanks.

I’m planning on writing a rant on something here in a second, seeing as I have no other constructive way to use my Wednesday night, but in the meantime I wanted to share with everyone and anyone that reads this blog my recent re-vamping of my profile page on my high school reunion site. I think it’s even funnier. Here is the link, and it should work because I turned off the privacy setting. If it doesn’t work, please please please tell me so I can figure something else out.

The photo is, in reality, from 1986 or 1987, and is my parents Milton and Debi, my brothers Gavin and Nathan, and myself.

Only one person – ONE! – bothered to point out that my last picture (which was actually Brandon Feicho and Tim Reeves on Halloween a few years ago; 2005 I think) wasn’t actually me. And when I challenged her observation, she never responded. meh. So that confirms once and for all that I’m really just entertaining myself with this stuff, and I’m okay with that.

More and more things keep coming to me for my 10 year high school reunion. It’s not officially planned yet; they’re still trying to get the date set, but a website has been put up where each person can go create a little profile, write about what they’ve done over the last 10 years, name their spouse/partner and children, and post some pictures.

It’s almost like everyone inflated. But talking about how your former classmates got fat in 10 years is a tad cliche. I’ve gained a few pounds, myself. I was no more than 130 lbs. when I graduated, maybe as low as 120; now I weigh about 176, and that’s after losing nearly 10 lbs.

So let’s skip the weight thing and move on to some other peculiar observations that I have about this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Some of those girls married / are dating some geezers. My goodness. That guy looks my dad’s age, <name removed for confidentiality>! And <name removed for confidentiality>! Holy Cow! Got a thing for the Class of 1974? Well, hope they’re happy.

Life changes quick. I remember working at Kohl’s in late 2000, and <name removed for confidentiality> walked in to say hi. She and I knew each other in high school, I remember having a crush on her at one point, but “school mates” is really the only relationship we could claim. Well, she had apparently just been to my parents’ house looking for me, and my mother directed her to Kohl’s. I took a break and stood outside with her and had a cigarette and talked. It was strange because, as I said before, we weren’t exactly close friends in high school, and we hadn’t seen each other since graduation. She proceeded to confess all kinds of stuff to me, such as her cocaine addiction, how she’d just ended a relationship she was having with a married man, etc. Well, now I see that she’s been married since 2002 and has two kids. Maybe I was the “confession booth” for her to begin anew?

These people are rabbits. Okay, fine, maybe that’s an insensitive statement as many of these bundles of joy who are already over the age of 6 were most likely not planned, but more than a handful have 3 kids already! We’re 27 and 28, folks! 30 is the new 20 my rear.

Springfieldians are like yo-yos. Even those who got out went back. Of the 50-some people who have created profiles (out of 250+ in the class), 30 of them live in or around Springfield, Illinois. Maybe they have stronger family ties to that town than I do; who knows?

I may have changed a lot physically, but I don’t get the top prize. Randy Newtson. You win, my friend. When I saw your photo, I wondered why you would put up a photo of your 55-year-old uncle, but then I realized it’s just you. You probably also win the prize for going from full head of hair to completely bald the fastest. I have friends my age who are balding, but you got that done quick! Good work!

People die. Aw. The sad one for next-to-last. I met Lindsay Logsdon my first day of 5th grade, and she and I never got along until late high school, at which point we just mutually ignored each other. In college I became close friends with one Clint “Skippy” Davis, who turned out to be Lindsay’s cousin. I’d see her on occasion at Davis family events such as Skip’s sister’s high school graduation, and we’d reminice about Mr. Clark, our 5th grade teacher, and so on. By 2000 she had a son and was engaged, but in December 2000, Skip informed me that she had run off a road in her car and hit a telephone pole, killing her instantly. It’s really a strange thought that she’s gone. However the sobering one was when I went to the “In Memoriam” section of this Reunion web page and saw Chad Anderson’s name. I’m still in disbelief. I had countless art classes with him from 7th grade all the way up to the end of senior year. He hung around with the rockers and the druggies, but he was still really cool and kind of popular, and was really nice to those of us who didn’t fair so well in the social arenas. He always cracked me up, too. And apparently he died from causes of which I am not aware on July 27, 2001 in western South Dakota, where he had been living. How crazy is it that he didn’t even see 9-11?

I ain’t giving these people nothing. Don’t get me wrong; I have no intention of being rude or mean. But I have not been in regular contact with anyone from this group of people since graduation. I got that diploma and I found a new circle of friends, and have had several different circles since. I’d see some of them from time to time, but never to the point that we buddied up. I will find it hard to believe that I would be in the top 10 of very many “Where are they now?” lists, since I was just that weird guy who wore ties to school every day our senior year. And I don’t really care all that much. It’s all behind me and God has put me elsewhere. So . . . my profile is as follows:
Current location: Seattle, WA
Spouse/Partner: As if.
Occupation: Desk Jockey
Comments: I invented PostIt Notes

and then the following picture:

With this caption:

“I’m the one on the left . . . no, the right. . . . no . . .”

Man, I’m funny. Thanks for the idea, Brandon.

Animal rights activism is silly to me. Not because it’s a bad thing to protect animals, but because those extremists are glowing pillars of what it means to have your passions confused and unguided.

What brought this to my head was a Wikipedia article I stumbled across about some female shock rocker from the 80’s who died before 1990. She was apparently known for near-pornographic performances, violence against men, heavy drug use, self mutilation, and passionate animal rights activism and veganism. I mean, seriously? How much of your life is spent destroying things? Has anyone noticed the contradiction here?

And what about that lady who protests the circus by sitting naked in a cage? Lady, you clearly don’t know how to protest. See all those men? They couldn’t care less about those tigers; they just want to see some boobs.

I once read an interview with an activist for PETA. She was asked if she thought that it was wrong to force her views as an animal rights activist down the throats of those who were not as passionate or who didn’t see things the same way, and she said, “No. Was it wrong for African Americans to stand down white racists in the 1960’s?” Wow. What another great example of the point not being the way  you fight, but what you’re fighting for, lady.

Well, my break’s over and I don’t want to get fired. Maybe I’ll expand a little more on this when I have more time.

So back in 2000 in the spring I was visiting Champaign, IL (specifically U of I) to visit this girl I was kinda sorta seeing. We went to the mall and walked around and went into this candy store. While we were in there, looking at all the fun confections, I began to notice the music playing over the store’s speakers. The song sounded familiar, but not. I recognized the melody, and the words were lining up, but the instrumentation and vocalization was so different that I was having trouble placing it. Finally I realized what it was: “Zombie,” by The Cranberries, except it was done with soothing strings, a piano, and a female voice that was almost Dolores O’Riordan, but much much smoother and less chaotic.

Then the next song started. It was acoustic guitar. Again, the notes sounded familiar, but for some reason my mind was wanting to hear them more . . . aggravated – like the way I was hearing it being played was too uniform, correct, and spot-on, and the way I was remembering it was wilder, with more accidentals and bending notes. Then the vocals began, which was a very calm male tenor, “God damn you half Japanese girls, you do it to me every time,” and then I knew it: it was “El Scorcho” by Weezer, except this wasn’t Weezer. At least I didn’t think it was Weezer . . . that could have been Rivers Cuomo singing, but he was singing peacefully, along with the peaceful notes.

I looked at the girl I was kinda sorta seeing to see if she noticed, too, but she was focused on some Jelly Bellys or something. I still asked, “Are you hearing this?” and she looked at me, letting me know she wasn’t. So I turned and there was this other girl in the candy shop just a few feet away, and for some reason her facial expression made me think that perhaps she knew, too.

“Are you hearing this?” I asked. “It’s like all these songs but their done without accidents and not messing up the guitars!”

And the girl looks at me and said, “Yeah, it’s just candy, I guess. You’ve got to get excited about candy,” and then walked away.

I turned back to the girl I was kinda sorta seeing to see if she had just heard that, but she had moved on to candy ropes or something. I’ve been puzzled about that response, now, for 8 years.

If you know me you know that I worked at Steak ‘n Shake for 3 and a half years in Carbondale as a server. In that amount of time, one gets to know their coworkers like family, the store layout like the back of your hand, and gets to accumulate lots and lots of stories. Here are a few.

No, the more infamous one

I waited on table 4-2 at lunch where two ladies sat, who both appeared to be in their 50’s. They ordered their Diet Cokes very enthusiastically, so when I returned I shared with them that my mother was also a Diet Coke fan, but my father had just told me days before that she was giving it up. “Oh, how could someone do that?” one of them asked in a light tone. Now . . . what I meant to say in response was, “I know, it’s like Whitney Houston giving up cocaine!” Mildly funny, yes? Well, what I actually said was, “I know, it’s like Oprah Winfrey giving up cocaine!” I didn’t catch what I said until after about 10 minutes, at which time I brought them their food and corrected myself. They were polite but not all too amused. (Author’s note – my mother’s consumption of Diet Coke was, in reality, nowhere near any level or on any level that could realistically be compared to a cocaine addiction, or to any addiction for that matter. She did not obsess or over indulge.)

Excuse me! I did not order these!

Our fountain area was often a mess. Please do not start screaming about it being unsanitary, because it was very sanitary (most of the time), but the toppings, such as chocolate chips and nuts and oreo crumbles, would sometimes fall into the metal cups, and when we were really busy our fountain guy wouldn’t rinse out those cups for each new use, he’d just use it again. And why shouldn’t he? He just made a vanilla shake 2 minutes ago; it’s still good! But when that happens, you run the risk of a chip or two falling into those cups and making into a shake that wouldn’t otherwise have one. I always see that as on the same level as getting an onion ring when you order your fries at Burger King: bonus! Well, a lady sitting with her young daughter at 3-3 ordered a shake at the end of her meal one day, as many people do. I believe it was a vanilla shake. When she was about half way done with it, I went to drop off the check, and she stopped me, “Excuse me, but I found a chocolate chip in my shake.” “Great!” I’m thinking, but she proceeded, “What if I was allergic to chocolate? Thank goodness I am not! I could have been seriously harmed by this.” Well what can I say, “Sorry?” I didn’t offer to make her a new one because 1) we were busy, 2) she was mean and stupid, and 3) sometimes I felt spiteful and would subtly let it out on my guests. I left and later on she flagged me back to her table, “I found two more chocolate chips in my shake! I did not order any chocolate chips for my shake! That is why I ordered a plain vanilla!” Wow. “Um, sorry still?” Well, she was livid, didn’t tip me, and complained to my manager, who I believe said something like, “Okay, ma’am, I really don’t see what the big deal is.” Yeah! Go Shane!

Gender Confusion

There was this large group of sporty, high school-aged girls who came in and sat at 6-4 with their coach and a couple chaperons, and one young boy, the same age as the girls. All the girls had long hair in ponytails, the boy had short hair and was wearing a ball cap. I took drink orders, going clockwise starting from my left, and when I got to the young man I asked, “and what would you like my good sir?” The coach quickly jumped in, “she’s a girl.” So I coolly said, “Oh, I’m sorry, what can I get you to drink?” I took the order, went back and got the drinks, delivered them, took their food orders, entered them into the computer, and then went into the back to ball up in embarrassment.

Okay, dude, seriously, I don’t feel bad about that because how the heck am I supposed to know?

There was this heavy guy, about my age, maybe a little younger, and a young boy who looked to be about 11 or 12 wearing a hockey jersey, a ball cap, glasses, and had his hair cut short. I assumed it was his little brother, and I thought it was really cool because I have a brother that’s 5 years older than me, and when I was that age I’d buddy around with him everywhere. Seeing them sit at table 6-1 brought fond memories and warm feelings. I went to the table to take the order and asked, “What can I get you, young sir?” And the kid gave me the dirtiest look, and the big guy said, “That’s my girlfriend dude.” I apologized calmly, took their order and went back to the back to yell in the cooler before bringing their drinks. They didn’t leave me a good tip.

In light of getting two – count them: TWO! – requests to post something new on my blog, I’m whipping up something quick and scatter-brained here so I can spend time brainstorming on bigger ideas.

My now ex-roommate Ben got married this last weekend, and his ear-to-ear grin was even bigger, it seemed, that whole day. I looked darn good in my suit, by the way. Well, after the wedding I managed to find some friends to go see the movie Iron Man, which was fantastic. Seriously, it’s one of the best superhero movies out there. I would rank it in the top 5:

1. Batman Begins
2. Spider-Man 2
3. X-Men 2
4. Unbreakable (it counts!)
5. Iron Man

Actually, I’m not sure how concrete that list is for me. Okay okay, we’re going to say that Batman Begins is no question my favorite, and Spidey 2 and Iron Man are currently tied for 2nd, and then those others fall in somewhere else.

As the credits were rolling Saturday night, I made the comment to my friends, “Boy, I’m glad I didn’t get married today! Because I totally wouldn’t have been able to see Iron Man!” And then one of my friends responded, “Yeah! You know what Ben’s doing right now? Not watching Iron Man!!!“

That’s classic. Some of my favorite jokes are the “my friend just got married, let’s call and text him and tell him our plans for the evening and ask if he wants to come” type. I don’t think it will ever get old to me. Ben was smart because he waited to change his cell number until right before the wedding. Smart. That makes him a spoil sport, but it was smart.

I told some of these stories and jokes to some co-workers yesterday morning as we stood at the copier. I also mentioned that I like making those jokes, and one lady said, “Oh, haha. That’s funny, and you don’t get to do it too often. At least until they get divorced and you go to their next wedding.”

Excuse me? Bacon powder? That’s so rude. And I don’t care if it’s a comment based on statistics or made as a result of a still-bitter and cynical life because your three marriages failed and you’re only 40. I also am putting aside the fact that I know my friends well (and not just Ben and Teresa; all of my close friends), and I know that they take marriage and their mutual commitment seriously. It’s just an amazing lack of tact to make a “they’re going to get divorced” joke to me just 2 days after they got married. Remind me to not tell you about my engagement, wedding, or honeymoon if we’re still co-workers when it happens. Thankfully, based on statistics, we won’t be.