Thanksgiving Manifesto

No, I haven’t talked to you much lately – mostly because the nature of blogging requires one to come across in self-assured pomposity (even when proclaiming doubt), and lately I have been feeling anything but self-assured.  Having two teens (or teenager-like beings) in the house will do that to you.

However, I thought I’d throw you all a curveball and post something longer than a Twitter post.

Let me first say that I give thanks to God for all things.  I don’t deserve a bit of it, and I spend a good amount of time in wonder that I have been bestowed with such bounty – in material things, in love, family and friendship, in purpose.  In a truly just world, I would have none of it. 

God is good, all the time.

However, in the deep breath before the yearly holiday craziness, I’d like to address the controversial issue most pressing in my mind:

Dressing or stuffing?

Now, I try to address issues of food from a utilitarian point of view, because, according to my faith, I have been freed from having to ponder the morality of every food decision I make.  Being programmed otherwise, I still struggle with seeing certain foods as ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

(As an aside, the only good thing that comes out of the fact that many people view food choices from a moral point of view is that often we get to see naked or near-naked skinny women protesting the eating of this or that animal.  Being a fan of the female form, who am I to argue with that?  Although I would prefer meat-eating naked protesters, because meat eating produces, for me, the ideal female form, beggars can’t be choosers)

Anyway…even our doctors seem to approach our food choices from a point of view that sure sounds like morality to me.  But, I digress.

Yet, this is one food issue in which I am willing to take a moral stand.

Let me be clear:  stuffing is an abomination.

It dries out the turkey, it introduces harmful bacteria, and it’s a serious misuse of breadcrumbs.  And I’d really rather not stick my arm up the inner cavity of a bird any more than I have to.

Dressing, more specifically cornbread dressing, is one of the greatest foods ever created.  Done right, it is moist but not soggy, flavorful but not pungent, and compliments the turkey perfectly.  It’s good as a leftover, and I even like it cold, right out of the refrigerator.

It is by far the best use for the spice sage.  In fact, besides fried chicken breading, I can think of no other decent use for the strong green spice.

Anyway, since I wish you and yours the happiest of Thanksgivings, of course I hope you have a day filled with cornbread dressing and sweet tea.

I will be having turkey tomorrow, so if any of you lovely vegan ladies would like to come to my house to protest in the buff, my 13-year-old son would really appreciate it.  I’ll even make a batch of green beans without animal fat for you (even though that, too, is an abomination.  Crunchy cooked vegetables?  Weird.)

Seriously, I hope all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Butt Out, Mr. Mayor

I have a message for the Mayor.

It’s no secret that I am a political conservative, and I’ve never been afraid to speak my mind, even living in a moderate city and council district. I am slightly to the right of my neighbors, although you know as well as I that West Meade is not exactly a breeding ground for firebrands either way.

And yes, I voted for your main opponent, but you were slowly growing on me, until lately.

That being said, if you are actively recruiting an opponent for my Metro councilman, Emily Evans, even a conservative one, you are going to have a fight on your hands.

And you will lose.

Oh, you might get Belle Meade, and no one knows what will happen in the other neighborhoods in the 23rd council district, but you will find that West Meade, especially West Meade Park, is pretty darned pleased with Emily.

For her handling of the development of the Etherly property alone, she deserves high praise. She succeeded where so many others before her had failed, even though one of the negotiating partners in the Memorandum of Understanding had openly supported her opponent in the previous election. And the other party, the WMPNA, was shell shocked and suspicious after so many attempts to develop the property into something not good for the neighborhood.

I do not agree with Emily Evans on everything, but even on those issues of disagreement, she makes a compelling argument for her side. I wasn’t too mad about the storm water fee, for instance, because Evans convinced me of the need.  (This is why it’s good to have a blogging councilman)

In all other things, she has proven to be the a very competent, responsive and compassionate representative. Even though Evans is called a progressive, she governs as one who understands the district she represents.

You have no idea how refreshing it is to hear an elected official explain the situation at Hillwood High  without demagoging it either way.

Let me be clear…

If we in the 23rd district wish to kick Evans out of office, we’ll do it ourselves. (See: Eric Crafton)

Heck, one day I might even run for the seat. But, I would NEVER do so against the best councilman I’ve ever had.

Butt out, Mr Mayor.

We Will Become Monsters

Welcome to the future.

http://www.katu.com/news/26119539.html

http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/115736/Sin-bins-for-worst-families

You Won’t Find It

WARNING: BRUTAL FRANKNESS AHEAD.

The worst, most heartbreaking thing to come out of the emerging scandal surrounding state senator Paul Stanley, is the revelation that many if not most male legislators act like the session is one big frat party with the female interns.  From an intern’s email to Post Politics:

What I can also tell you is that almost every man up there feels entitled to look, touch, and flirt with any female in that place, regardless of whether she is an intern, lobbyist, guest, etc.

I was shocked when I heard about this, but not really. The ego that exists in most men up there is enough to make me sick. There are people that you respect and admire who wouldn’t think twice about giving you a good up and down look in the elevator.

I had been given looks, creepy smiles, and strong drinks made by those very legislators who are probably laughing right now at all of this, those hypocrites. most of them married, too.

I’d like to talk to the men of of the state’s Capitol Hill, especially the ones who hang their hats as social conservatives. 

This is wrong.  It has to stop, now.

No, I’m not going to wag my finger at you about sin, the commitment of marriage, and prayer.   I could, and probably should, but I’ll leave that to others.  You are political animals, though, so let’s talk about your behavior politically, shall we?

Certainly you know that with every revelation of bad behavior, small minded people with an agenda proclaim very loudly that our worldview is invalid, or at the very least that we do not have any right to pursue any legislation that advances that worldview (not recognizing that they do the very same thing themselves with different values).  Since nobody likes a lech,  and the world does not share our view of human frailty and forgiveness, you lose any high ground you might have had.

But, let’s go a little deeper, OK?

If you are a predatory person, if you glare and grope and improperly propose and otherwise act like a jackass toward women in your office, just stop reading now.  I have nothing to say to you, and I hope you are exposed and lose your position as soon as possible.

But, for the rest of you, whole truly struggle with temptation and unfortunately sometimes give in to it, I’d like to talk about that temptation.

First off, know that simply having the temptation is not a sin.  It isn’t a personal failing.  Christ was tempted, after all.  Too many Christian men think that, because we are Christians, when a temptation comes along we should be able to extend our hands Gandalf-like, say some incantation like “the power of Christ compels you!”, and the temptation will go away.  When it doesn’t, they view it as a personal failure, and give in.

In my experience, this is not how things work.  I can only tell you my experience.  I have been married for 22 years, and I have managed to not only stay faithful to my lovely wife, am blessed to have a thriving, soul-sustaining marriage.

Yet, I am no eunuch.  I understand temptation.  I understand the psychological confusion a man feels when a beautiful young woman is friendly with him.  And I understand the darker temptation, where thoughts unbidden come, where availabilities are considered, where the thoughts almost consume you.

But God did not give me a magic wand to wave while chanting “Away, evil temptress!” (which isn’t really fair anyway to someone who’s just being friendly, anyway).  No, I was given a more powerful gift: the ability to see things as they are.

First, this kind of temptation is never really about sex, it’s about ego.  It is so incredibly gratifying, especially as a man gets older, to think “this beautiful young woman is interested in ME!  She finds ME attractive!”  Trust me, this allure is almost impossible to resist for a man.  Our main need, no matter what anyone else says, is to be considered Good Enough.  Worthy.

When this happens to you, do me a favor.  Go home, strip down naked, and look in the mirror.  What, are you in your late 30’s?  Your forties?  Fifties or even later?  Look at yourself, then do it again.  It should become clear, even if a young, beautiful woman really is flirting with you, that it’s not YOU she’s attracted to.

Oh, she might be attracted to your power.  Or maybe your charisma, or your money, or what she thinks you can do for her. 

But, there is no way, outside your current position, this young girl could be chomping at the bit to have YOU. 

Just look at yourself.

Do you think she stays up at night, fantasizing about your bald spot?  Although she’s surrounded by hard-bodied young men at school, do you really think ear hair is what turns her on?  That she can really, really relate to your stories of the Frampton concert in 1977?  That she prefers a flabby belly and disappearing butt?  Do you really believe that she thinks it’s cute the way your breath whistles when you take out your partials?  Really?

No, if a young woman is flirting with you, or just being very friendly, you can be rest assured that it isn’t because she’s just got to have YOU.

You ain’t all that.  Maybe at one time you were, but that ship sailed long ago.  And that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

If you give in to a sexual temptation, you will not find the validation you are looking for.  It’s hard to admit, but it’s all an illusion.  You may be a great guy, but you won’t find what you are looking for, deep down, by pursuing a woman young enough to be your daughter.

Your emptiness will only grow more profound, and that’s after you’ve destroyed everything you hold dear.

You will not find the validation you are looking for.  If you can strip things down to the harsh realities, you can overcome temptations that are sure to come along, some real, some just a psychological misunderstanding.

And the amazing thing?  God has given you an incredible gift.  Your wife, unlike some 20-something who doesn’t really know you, actually does want YOU.  She has been given eyes to see you as you are and still want you, even love you.  It is there you will find some of the validation you are looking for.  And only God can give you the rest.

So, if you have been participating in this circus, and you aren’t evil and lecherous (just tempted), I’m begging you, stop this, now.  The young women in your midst are not there to hook up with you.  NOR DO THEY WANT TO.

See things as they truly are.  Be a real man.

Trouble

If you watched last week’s incredible Open championship (that’s British Open for Americans), you most likely saw this advertisement, currently my favorite.

I don’t know, it just seems to capture the spirit of the age.  My reaction is visceral.  I love the song (“Trouble” by Ray LaMontagne), and the imagery of the dog and his unease just speaks to me.  It’s almost hard to put into words.

It’s rare that one feels he is seeing A Truth when viewing an advertisement, but, on some level I don’t understand, I know I am. 

There’s something eerily beautiful about this ad.

Of Life And Waterbeds

Today, Lintilla and I celebrate our 22nd wedding anniversary. As time passes counting the years, marking the milestones becomes an ever-increasing source of wonderment.

It does not escape me that I was 22 years old the day we wed. That means that this time next year, I will have spent more time in my life with Lintilla as my wife than without. That just feels right to me, because my heart cannot imagine any other way to be. I know at one time I was something else besides her husband, but I can no longer fathom such an existence.

That kid, that lonely, silly, unfashionable, hyperactive young man was not me – just a child using my body until I could become “me”. That transformation began when I stood at the front of Blakemore United Methodist Church with my bandmates beside me – and looked down the aisle.

Approaching was an old man who really didn’t care for me much; his face was a mixture of sadness and frustration. To his credit, he followed through with grace and dignity.

On his arm was my best friend- only different. This woman who was “one of the boys”, who had spent so many nights with me and my friends drinking beer at The Boro, shooting pool at Amy’s, participating in belching contests while we hung out at my brother’s place watching movies – she walked down the aisle, looking comfortingly familiar, yet different.

She was stunningly beautiful. Not that I hadn’t consered her beautiful before, but this?

A part of me, deep down, leapt for joy upon seeing her, in spite of myself trying to look cool.

So many years have passed since July 10, 1987. It’s a little disturbing that most of that time is now considered “history”; it is disturbing to me that even the 90’s are now considered “a long time ago”.

We’ve seen three stock market crashes, four recessions, five presidents, the reported death of liberalism, and the reported death of conservatism. The Berlin wall fell, China ascended. Japan went from ominous financial power to just a fellow troubled country. Our country’s biggest threat dissolved into nothing, and a threat we really mostly didn’t see coming wiped out 3,000 lives and destroyed part of the NY skyline.

Nashville grew, and grew and grew. Changes came: the area of town that used to be known for salvage stores (we bought our first furniture at Turrentine’s) is now a kind of local ethnic United Nations. (I consider this an improvement!)  Downtown went from a place you didn’t go at night unless you wanted to catcall the hookers, go to an “adult” theater, and step over bums, to a thriving core filled with annoying urban hipsters (part of me preferred the hookers and bums).

It used to be that for sports, you went to a Sounds game, or to TSU or Vanderbilt, else you travelled to Knoxville.

Now, Nashville not only has hockey (HOCKEY!), but an NFL team. The freaking NFL is in Nashville. And our team went to the Superbowl in its first “real” season in town.

As a city, we’ve gone collectively from wanting to be Memphis, to wanting to be Atlanta, to wanting to be some combination of Portland, Oregon and Charlotte, NC.

Lintilla and I have gone from two young people making minimum wage, starting out in a 700 square foot apartment in Murfreesboro, with a waterbed from Wonderful Waterbeds in Hickory Hollow (remember that place?) and not much else, to two second-shift state employees living in Paragon Mills, to buying our first house (back to Murfreesboro!), eventually getting a bed with a real mattress. We’ve had horrible auto accidents, and even more horrible family losses.

We’ve “moved back home”, accepting the whispers that we couldn’t make it on our own, knowing we were really doing so to take care of an ailing old widow.

We’ve felt the sadness and frustration of infertility, and shared indescribable joy as we stood before judge Muriel Robinson on two different occasions, officially adding our two wonderful children to our family.

We’ve felt the pride and joy as our careers advanced, and the fear and despair as we watched everything we had burn to the ground. We’ve experienced all the joys and pains of raising children, planning and fretting, fretting and planning. Most of our days now are a haze of activity, and the time is passing so quickly.

We have seen and been through so much.

Does she get on my nerves sometimes? You bet. Am I a jackass sometimes? Most definitely.

And yet, even today, (even this morning), when she walks into the room, a part of me, a part deep inside that I still scarcely understand, leaps for joy.

When I see my friend, my companion, my lover, my advisor, I cannot help but thank the Lord that He has allowed me to love her all these years, and amazingly, surprisingly, she has loved me. I am certainly not deserving of such a kind, beautiful person as lifetime companion.

I love you, Lintilla. How about another 22 years?

I might even get us a waterbed for our 44th anniversary, if I can find one. Whether we’ll be able to get out of it at that age is another question.

Feel Good Friday: Validation

This isn’t a music video, it’s a short film.  If you have 15 minutes to spare, I dare you to watch it.

Things I Remember Life Before

You know that survey someone releases every year, focusing on that year’s incoming freshmen and the world they grew up in? It has entries like they “have never known life without DVDs” or something like that.

Well, since I am feeling my years,I thought it would be neat to list the things that are commonplace now that I remember life without.  This should freak out the youngins.  Many of these things MIGHT have existed when I was little, their usage just wasn’t widespread enough for me to remember it. 

I remember life before:

• DVDs (and their players)  Heck, videocassettes came and went in my youth.
• CDs
• Microwaves (we warmed stuff up on the stove).  Popcorn was either popped in a large saucepan, or if you were lucky, Jiffy Pop.
• Cable TV.  You watched something on the big three (Fox didn’t exist, and PBS – I don’t even think it was called that back then – was for Grandpa).
• Unleaded gasoline.
• Cell phones
• Drip coffee makers (I remember when Joe DiMaggio introduced the first Mr Coffee in the 70’s). Every now and again you can catch me calling it a “peculator”.
• Airbags
• Remote controls (I remember some of the first ones.  They call it the “clicker” because at one time remote controls actually clicked.  The child’s job in the 70’swas to get up and change the channel.  Or hold the rabbit ears in that perfect spot to get a reception)
• Laptops.
• Whoops, I remember life without home computers.  (Oh, how I loved the TRS-80 and TI-99a when they came out!)
• Auto emissions standards.
• The Chzek Republic, a single country called “Germany”, Kazakhstan and any number of independent nations that were founded or re-founded after the Soviet Union fell.
• Cordless phones.
• The southern Auto Industry
• Working class southern people who vote Republican.
• Rich elites who aren’t Kennedys who vote Democrat.
• FM Radio (OK, that’s not totally true.  But in the early 70’s, NOBODY listened to FM that I knew of.  All the best stations  – WSM, WLAC, WMAK, WVOL, etc were on AM.
• MRIs.  If you got hurt, you got an X-Ray.
• Israel and Egypt at peace.
• The Opry House.  Shoot, Opryland was another thing that came and went.
• Jeans in church
• Drums and guitars in church (that was for those “holy rollers” as my dad called them)
• WalMart (at least in Nashville)

Anyway, that’s a good start.  I’m sure some of you other oldsters could come up with more.  Sometimes, when I tell my kids about my childhood, to them it’s like I lived in a cave or something.

Why I Spent Last Night In The Emergency Room

Yesterday, as I rushed to leave work to pick up my kids from school,  a wave of numbness shot down my left side.  Now, for the last month or two I’ve been having these weird bouts of numbness in my left arm, but this was different.  It was if I had stuck a pin into a light socket.  It was a wave, and for the first time in years and years, it was worrisome.

This went on for about 30-45 minutes.  Every time I turned my head, the wave would shoot down my left side.  Now, I’m the type to ignore illnesses, aches & pains - the men in  my family have some kind of allergy to seeing a doctor.  But this was alarming enough that I called Lintilla, who was sufficiently alarmed to call the doctor, who was sufficiently alarmed to tell me to go to the emergency room.

Wonderful.

On Dancing With The Stars finale night, no less.

I can tell you, the staff at Centennial Medical Center was first rate.  I was triaged right away, and before I knew it, I was in a room in the ER.  They hooked me up to all the beepy stuff, and before long a very personable doctor came in and checked me out.

Folks – from that point on, it was like I was a teenager again.  Even though I told them about the effects I’ve always lived with from being a DES baby, apparently seeing my spine is believing.  They did the CT scan (which was COOL!), and later, the doctor came to talk to me in a tone I had heard 30 years earlier, the first time someone had looked at my spine.

Radiologists and doctors just get excited about my spine.  I’ve come to accept that.  I’ve heard the words “interesting”, “unusual”, “funny”, and now “weird” describing my neck and spine.  The doctor last night said that the radiologist wrote a book in his report.

Apparently, I have a bunch of “C” and “T” vertebrae fused together.  We don’t know about the “L” because they didn’t scan that far down.   But apparently, this problem I’ve lived with my entire life has manifested itself in something called “stenosis” (sp?), basically a crowding out of the spinal cord.  Yipee. 

The doc did remind me what I already knew – because there is no wiggle room in my spine, a good neck whip will probably do me in.  SO no skydiving, skiing, or horseback riding.  There goes my career in NASCAR.  I wonder if this means I can get out of roadie work for the band?    I should probably take advantage.

I’ve always known that a good auto accident will probably kill me where it would only injure others, but the Lord has seen to it that I have been in not a single accident since I started driving (before many of you were born).  I guess He wanted me to hang around to annoy all you good people.  Having jinxed myself now, expect to be reading my obituary soon from a fender-bender on the way home. 

Funny – this past Sunday, I got excited at rehearsal and started banging my head (I’ve also let my hair grow out).  That PROBABLY contributed to my stenosis, so I need to quit doing that  

Of course, they referered me to a neurologist.  Just like when I was a teenager.  Been there, done that.  They’ll tell me there’s nothing they can do, and I’ll just have to live with it.  But not until after they’ve had a big medical staff party, popped popcorn, and gathered everyone around to look at my highly amusing CT scans. 

It’s tough being a celebrity.

Anyway, I know some of you were worried (I made a point of calling my Mom, because the last time I posted something medical about myself on Facebook, she freaked out).  I can say that nothing is wrong with me that wasn’t already wrong with me, except that the condition has now decided to be a real pain in the neck.

Dirty Old Sexist Pig

One reason we absolutely have to stop this not-so-subtle attempt to purge Mexicans from our city:  if our Spanish-speaking neighbors leave, most likely we will lose Telemundo.  And if we lose Telemundo, we lose Muy Buenos Dias.

Shut up.

I get up at 4:45 every moring, and I need evermore assistance to get the blood flowing.  And with some things in life, the language barrier just doesn’t matter.

Lately, I wake up, get a cup of coffee, let Lelan Statom tell me the weather, then flip the channel and take a little time to learn what’s hot in spanish-language music.

If you are up at 5 in the morning, I highly recommend the show.

Speaking of me being a sexist pig, here’s where I reveal a secret that will definitely make you think less of me.  There’s been one thing that has been bothering me about this whole Miss USA, Carrie Prejean dustup (besides the fact that it reminds me that Perez Hilton got famous with no discernable talent). 

It bothers me greatly that the producers of these pageants feel it neccessary to interject “issues” and other things of importance into what is essentially an entertainment show focusing on female beauty.  I’m speaking only as a “consumer” here.

I love and prefer the company of women who are smart and knowledgeable.   I also am not ashamed to admit that I appreciate female beauty.  I am extremely lucky that the woman I married 22 years ago is both highly intelligent and beautiful.

But, as a man, my mind just won’t let me concentrate on both at the same time. 

Apparently, I’m not alone.  According to an article in the NY Times about Miss America’s decline (from 2005):

Broadcasters show data proving that the talent show and the interviews, the pageant’s answers to feminist criticism, were the least popular portions of the pageant, while the swimsuit part still had the power to bring viewers back from the kitchen. 

Sorry.  I know many women get very upset with the compartmentalization that occurs in the male mind, but I really was born this way. 

Granted, some of it is just about context.  When I’m watching basketball, I would be highly upset if someone stuck a microphone in Lebron James’ face and asked him his opinion on TARP right after a slam dunk.  Not that I wouldn’t want to know his opinion, just not at that moment.

But anyway, back to important matters.  Politicians of Nashville, consider yourselves put on notice.  If your actions result in Telemundo being pulled from the air in our city (meaning no more Muy Buenos Dias), I will support your opponents, regardless of party.

Some things are far more important than politics.