Thursday, April 30, 2009

Matt Chandler Page Updated

In light of several new messages and interviews that have popped up recently, I have updated the Matt Chandler Resources page.

If you happen to come across the Matt Chandler page and have a link to something not posted here, please leave a comment and email me so I can add it to the list.

Monday, April 27, 2009

California as a Final Resting Place: The Ridiculous Notion that Roller Coasters Were Not Engineered With Death in Mind

California as a Final Resting Place for Cliches

California as a Final Resting Place [One Year Later (I would love to disappear and grow a beard)]

California as a Final Resting Place: Two Years Later: The Cheese Blends

California as a Final Resting Place: Four Months Too Late



“Mr. ---------, I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long.”

“I’m sorry?”

“….”

“….”

“Sorry to make you wait, sir.”

Noting the already three occurrences of the word sorry in this still embryonic conversation, I decided to jump the rails and take a shortcut to wherever this was going.

“Who is this and what do you want?”

“I apologize again, Mr. ---------, for the inconvenience.”

Apologize now, he says.

“No, but what inconvenience? I’m at home. I was just eating a sandwich. I’m basically in my underwear. The only inconvenience here is the incessant apologizing. Now why am I talking to you?”

“Sorry again, sir. My name is Mortem Posthelwaite, I’m with the magazine Ink, Inc. We’re a small independent college independent literary magazine.”

“Excuse me, but which is independent?”

“Umm…I think both. Hold on.” There was the clank and clutter of a telephone receiver being held to shoulder under the pretense of muting it and voices in the background signifying some sort of confused/ing conversation over institutional dependence. “Yes, both, sir.”

“Okay.”

“But again, sir, I’m with the magazine Ink, Inc. We are an independent literary magazine, and your novel The Cheese Blends has recently come to our attention. We were wondering if you could answer a few questions concerning the book.”

Before he could finish his sentence, I had before me a page of Googled information concerning this Ink, Inc., and within me a set of serious suspicions concerning the legitimacy of this whole thing. The magazine did not seem to exist.

“Yeah, sure. Do you mind, Mr. ….”

“Posthelwaite.”

“Yes, Mr. Posthelwaite. Do you mind if I ask what possibly independent university you are a student of?”

“You mean, ‘of what university are you a student.’”

“Excuse me.”

“Nothing. Sorry, sir. Umm…I attend [mumbling + weird crunching sound of something grating against the mouthpiece of his phone]--U.”

“I’m sorry, what was that again?”

“[Same]--U.”

“Ah.” I pretended to hear him.

It should be explained here that I was, when this phone call arrived, still basking in the minor success of the now-published The Cheese Blends. As it turned out, going with Option 2[*], worked to my benefit, and a handful of pages landed in the hands of one Mr. Arthur Pubeleasheir (or Mr. Art Pube, as he is sometimes not-so-affectionately known in certain rogue publishing circles), a moderately wealthy publisher of moderately readable books which have been systematically rejected by other, “mainstream” publishing houses. Mr. Pubeleasheir came back to me on the street corner that very day and offered to publish my book based solely on the three pages I had given him as he passed. Six months later, the book hit the shelves, published and distributed by PageByPage Books, a division of Read-to-Yourself-In-Public, Inc., which was, itself, owned by Viacom.

The point is the book was out, I had made a little money off of it, was now trying to enjoy my turkey and pepperoni sandwich at 2:30 on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, basically in my underwear, now having to pause my new DVR so as not to miss the upcoming ballistic elephant video on World’s Most Shocking…, but was being interrupted by this ---- of a reporter whom I had serious suspicions about.

“Okay. So what do you want to know.”

“[Again, fumbling, cluttering, clanking, etc.] Okay, Mr. ---------, let’s begin.”

“Let’s.”

“Let’s start with inspiration. Inspiration being the thing that all artists need to be inspired. What was your inspiration for writing this book?”

“I ate too much cheese and suffered several painful bowel impactions after which point I sued the figurative pants off of a third-rate chain restaurant whose niche was different types of cheeses, all of which were available plain, fried, or melted depending on your appetite and whether you wanted to shell out an extra sixty-five cents for something to dip your fried cheese into, or an extra four bucks for something to dip into the melted cheese. And again, I litigated the place basically into the ground for doing irreparable damage to my colon area, which is the reason that my aforementioned sandwich that you are interrupting is cheeseless. But you already know all of that.”

“….”

“Don’t you?”

“I, uh,…I, yes, I suppose some of that is common knowledge.”

“Common knowledge?”

“Written about in other articles, other sources, etcetera and so forth and so on.”

“Nope.”

“….”

“The only other existing article about my book is a review in my hometown newspaper, and I had them sign a waver saying there would be no question about nor mention of my bowels.”

“….”

Of course I knew that the Cheese Hut had, some two years ago, shortly after the litigation, and when I began working on the book, employed a small band of vagabondish college-aged indie-music-beard-and-horn-rimmed-glasses enthusiasts with a penchant for groundless snobbishness (but who yet ironically and for a pretty negotiable already low price were more than willing to do this kind of “investigative reporting”) to follow me around and chart my every move. Of particular interest to them was the frequency and efficiency of my BMs. I would see them slipping into public bathroom stalls as I washed my hands. I could hear them in my back yard at night, digging into my sewage system, feel them following me down the pharmacy aisle at Wal-Mart. And now this ridiculous interview.

“Mr. Posthelwaite?”

“Yes. Yes sir. I apologize, sir. But do you mind answering a few more questions.”

“Sure.”

“How have you recovered from this gastro-intestinal, digestion--your personal medical problem?”

“I will repeat: I cannot have cheese on this now cooling toasted turkey and pepperoni sandwich because it would render me rectally wrecked and utterly gutturally incapacitated. That’s how I’ve recovered.”

“[Sound of pen scratching wildly on pad unnaturally close to the phone receiver] Right.”

“[Crowd noise. Screeching. Silence. Crowd noise. Screeching. Screaming] That is ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh. Sorry there, Postagestamp. I’m trying to watch the television and they just showed some seriously disturbing roller coaster footage.”

“Oh. Yes sir. I’m sorry.”

“Again, why are you apologizing? Do you have some sort of personality deficiency?”

“Deficiency? Sir, I--“

“Quiet. Listen. [Again, Crowd noise. Screeching. Screaming] Did you here that?”

“I did, sir.”

“That’s DVR. I can rewind my television.”

“That’s very impressive.”

“I don’t know that I like your tone, there Postalweight.”

“No. I’m legitimately impressed.”

“Well, look, this roller coaster got to the top of its loop--which, let’s just be honest: I can think of no circumstance in any context where feeling like I’m going to die a horribly violent public death could be considered fun--but the thing got to the top of its loop and just stopped.”

“Wow, that’s--“

“But then--that’s not all--then, the front car and the back car both fell away from the rail and were dangling loose, like two ends of a shoe string.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“No one was hurt. You believe that?”

“I do not.”

“I think it’s time that we--the society, I mean; not necessarily you and I, although we would be included--give up this ridiculous notion that roller coasters were not engineered with death in mind. They had to have been built by a sadist or something.”

“Very good, Mr. --------. [Long and awkward pause] Do you have time for a couple of more questions about The--“

“[Click].”




BACK TO POST Passing the novel out page by page on a busy street. See “California As a Final Resting Place: Four Months Too Late.”

Sunday, March 15, 2009

The New Breed of Youth Pastor

...actually this is kind of the old (and one would hope, dying) breed.


Ignatius from travis hawkins on Vimeo.

Friday, February 27, 2009

John Wesley Ford

Mr. Ford was our neighbor and friend whom we got to know right after getting married. He was one of the kindest men I've known, and we're sad to see him go.

Funeral services for Mr. John Wesley Ford, 88, of Monroe, LA will be held at 10:00 AM Saturday February 28, 2009 in the chapel of Mulhearn Funeral Home, West Monroe with Pastor Shane Warren and Pastor Butch Pilcher officiating. Interment will follow at Mulhearn Memorial Park Cemetery under the direction of Mulhearn Funeral Home.

Mr. Ford served in the United States Army during WW II. He was a member of the First Assembly of God Church of West Monroe and the First Assembly of God Church of Farmerville. He owned a gas station and hardware store in Bastrop early in life and later owned and operated two auto repair shops in Bastrop and Collinston. He was loved by many and will be missed by all.

He is preceded in death by his wife of over 50 years, Mary Ford and grand children, Jessica Hubbard and Justin Ford.

Survivors include his wife, Dixie Ford; children, Betty Yarbro of West Monroe, James Ford and wife, Ruthie of West Monroe, Elizabeth Ford of Monroe, Margaret Atkinson and husband, Mike of Fort Collins, CO, Barbara Patterson and husband, Mike of Monroe, Paul Ford and wife, Rita of West Monroe, Emmett Ford of West Monroe, and Stephen Ford of Houston, TX; step sons, Scott Bennett and Stephen Thrasher; thirteen grandchildren; and fifteen great grandchildren.

Visitation will be held from 5:00 PM until 8:00 PM Friday at Mulhearn Funeral Home, West Monroe.

Online Condolences/Registry: www.mulhearnfuneral home.com


Source: thenewsstar.com

Sunday, February 15, 2009

A Failure

"Faith according to our Lord’s teaching in this paragraph [Matthew 6:30], is primarily thinking; and the whole trouble with a man of little faith is that he does not think. He allows circumstances to bludgeon him. … We must spend more time in studying our Lord’s lessons in observation and deduction. The Bible is full of logic, and we must never think of faith as something purely mystical. We do not just sit down in an armchair and expect marvelous things to happen to us. That is not Christian faith. Christian faith is essentially thinking. Look at the birds, think about them, draw your deductions. Look at the grass, look at the lilies of the field, consider them. … Faith, if you like, can be defined like this: It is a man insisting upon thinking when everything seems determined to bludgeon and knock him down in an intellectual sense. The trouble with the person of little faith is that, instead of controlling his own thought, his thought is being controlled by something else, and, as we put it, he goes round and round in circles. That is the essence of worry. … That is not thought; that is the absence of thought, a failure to think."

--Martyn Lloyd-Jones


Source: www.challies.com

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

The full measure of happiness.

"The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness."
--Barack Obama, Inaugural Speech, January 20, 2009 [Full Transcript]

"We know that five men don’t know better than women and their doctors what’s best for a woman’s health. We know that it’s about whether or not women have equal rights under the law. We know that a woman’s right to make a decision about how many children she wants to have and when--without government interference--is one of the most fundamental freedoms we have in this country. We also know that there was another voice that came from the bench--a voice clear in reasoning and passionate in dissent. The voice rejected what she called, quote 'Ancient notions of women’s place in the family and under the Constitution. Ideas that have long been discredited.' Unquote. One commentator called the decision in Gonzales, “An attack on Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s entire life’s work.” And it was. But we heard Justice Ginsburg and we know what she was saying. She was saying, 'We’ve been there before and we are not going back. We refuse to go back.'"
--Barack Obama, before Planned Parenthood, July 17, 2007 [Full Transcript]

"Many Americans see Barack Obama as a kind and compassionate candidate. However, Mr. Obama's compassion does not extend to our most vulnerable members of society--unborn children."
--Political writer Laura Echevarria

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Case Studies in Ignorance: Problems in Traffic Management and Basic Driving Etiquette

To be fair, everyone is prone to bursts of ignorance. I’m sure even Ben Franklin occasionally left home without his wallet, or, without thinking, returned his jug of milk to the pantry as opposed to the fridge.[1] But there is a difference between these small moments of absent-mindedness, of being distracted from the task at hand and as a result mildly messing up something that can be easily fixed, and of being just outright ignorant 24/7 regardless of circumstance or state of mind, and not just being ignorant, but actually enjoying and being proud of being ignorant to the point of flaunting it (the ignorance) like some kind of badge of honor bestowed on you at birth to use at will to ensure that you can get the attention you “deserve” any time you feel you are being slighted. The latter is inexcusable, and ultimately such a debilitating burden on society that it will often drive otherwise sane, reasonable, and Non-Chronically Ignorant people to violence.

For the sake of clarity, I think it would be helpful to set some parameters around the word ignorant and define Chronically Ignorant. Most people abuse ignorant in one of three ways: 1. By using it interchangeably with stupid; 2. By using it in cases where a much stronger word would have been more appropriate; and 3. By assuming that ignorant is always offensive. For the sake of our purposes here it is most important to differentiate ignorant and stupid (abuse #1, above). Very simply: Ignorant implies that a person simply does not know some information, e.g. I am ignorant of thermodynamics. I will allow this definition of ignorant to include the not-knowing of abstract, and/or in-flux, and/or culturally arbitrary things such as social codes, manners, etiquette, common niceties, etc. Stupid, a much stronger adjective, implies that the subject is beyond simply not knowing, and one of two things is taking place: 1. The subject knows full well what he/she should do in any given social context, but refuses to acknowledge the right way to act/react, and instead chooses their own way, which they believe to be superior even though all objective evidence would say that it is not. 2. The subject is somehow physically/mentally/emotionally incapable of retaining and utilizing knowledge of any kind.[2]

Chronically Ignorant is somewhat of a gray area, but basically breaks down like this: There are some individuals who act consistently ignorant on a day to day basis. They never know anything in the world besides the events taking place within 50 ft. of their nose. They never think through any decision, but always act on their first instinct, which is usually wrong. They have an aversion to knowledge (are repulsed by it, in fact), do not want to be corrected concerning anything, do not want to know what is the right thing to do in any given case but instead put in extra effort to make the wrong thing work. And they truly, deeply believe that they are the most important person on the face of the earth, and that everyone else exists to serve them. Basically, Chronic Ignorance is like a consistent display of the symptoms of stupidity without the actual diagnosis. But to be fair, real stupidity is unmanageable; even Chronic Ignorance can be fixed through the teaching and learning of social norms and behaviors.

There are many types and manifestations of this ignorance, and to give an exhaustive list with examples for each would be a much greater task than I am capable of. I simply want to point to the one or two types which have affected me directly as of late, and ponder ways that we (the Non-Chronically Ignorant public)[3] can bring an end to the nonsense.


C.I. BEHAVIORAL CASE STUDY 001:
PROBLEMS IN TRAFFIC MANAGEMENT AND BASIC DRIVING ETIQUETTE

One of the first things they teach you in driver’s ed., and one of the most important things a driver can know, is that you can’t turn left at a red light.[4] This is as elementary as using your blinker when planning to turn, turning on your headlights when it gets too dark to see, hitting your brakes when you need to stop, turning on the heat or a/c as needed, etc. I’m no statistician, but I would guess that turning left at a red light would end in disaster and/or death something like 99.99% of the time due to the fact that the cars driving in a direction perpendicular to yours, those who have the right-a-way, are exercising their right to the road by cruising at or above the legal limit through said traffic light and not expecting to have to deal with some C.I. case pulling out in front of them like they own the world.

If you think all of this goes without saying, I do too--which common acknowledgement makes it all the more ridiculous that I have to say it. In fact, the need to state the obvious to or regarding someone is generally a clear initial sign that you are dealing with a C.I. case of the highest order. There is something about the C.I.’s brain construction or worldview[5] that obscures what is otherwise obvious information. I contend that this is a manifestation of some level of narcissism, i.e. in the case of driving, the person is so concerned with No. 1--their own personal drama, daydream, telephone conversation, money, dog in their lap, kids in the backseat, or whatever--that you, the laws of the land, and society in general take a backseat to their Ego,[6] and may in fact (depending on the level of narcissism we’re dealing with) exist solely to serve that person, their Ego and their drama, daydream, telephone conversation, etc. At any rate, these people’s self-involvement not only keeps them from seeing, but even from comprehending the obvious purpose and necessity of things like traffic laws.[7]

And so I, Joni, and E.K. found ourselves, on the day before Thanksgiving, headed to Biedenharn Gardens to take pictures for Christmas cards.[8] We were sitting at the very busy intersection of N. 18th and Forsythe, trying to turn left off of 18th. (For those unfamiliar with the territory, 18th crosses Forsythe to become Marie Place, so cars are coming from/going in four different directions. To compound the busyness and danger of the intersection is the fact that, when turning left from 18th onto Forsythe, there is no green arrow giving you the right-a-way, there is only a green light, which also gives traffic coming from Marie Place straight over to 18th the right-a-way, making the left turn from 18th difficult.) And as we were sitting there, second in line at the red light, minding our own pre-holiday business, surely chuckling at something E.K. was doing or saying, we began to hear this HONK. I ignored it at first, assuming that there was some sort of exchange HONK going on somewhere in line behind us. I did not know or HONK care if it was a friendly exchange, or a contentious HONK one, but I figured I was safe in assuming that since I was HONK minding my own business and hadn’t committed any traffic offenses HONK on my way up 18th, and that at the moment I was stopped HONK at a red light and therefore incapable of doing anything that could be offensive to HONK anyone, the interaction did not involve me in any way.

The longer we sat (second in line, I’ll remind you) at the red light, the more frequent the HONKing got. Finally, the light turned green, and the truck in front of us had a hard time making the turn due to the heavy flow of traffic coming across from Marie Place. The truck finally squeezed through as the light turned yellow and left me, my nose sticking out into Forsythe Ave., first in line at the red light. And the HONKing continued. It gained in frequency and intensity, the only good thing being HONK that the consistency of the racket enabled me to pinHONKpoint the culprit. It was the S.U.V. directly behind me. A woman--white, middle-aged, upper-middle class--behind the HONK wheel. The light finally turned green, and I, being more careful than I normally would have been due to the precious cargo in tow, eased my way out into the melee in the middle of the intersection, waiting for a good opportunity to make my move.

Now, up until this point I had given this woman the benefit of the doubt, mainly because the thought that she could be HONKing at me for not turning left at a red light in a busy intersection was so absurd as to be beyond either comprehension or belief. I would allow room for the legitimacy of the HONK[9] if I had somehow offended this woman prior to stopping at the red light, but no incident had occurred between her and me. Regardless, she was not holding back at this point. The HONKs were coming rapid-fire, so fast that they were almost forming syllables and words of their own profane language. Finally, I squeezed through the mess, and unfortunately, so did the psychotic C.I. case behind me.

Now, what I did next was not nice, but was, I think, called for, and, due to the fact that it was retaliatory, cannot be considered socially equal with HONKing at a stranger for no good reason.[10] I got in the right lane and simply let off of the gas pedal. I did not touch the brake, but I let the thing go as slow as it would go, refusing to put forth any effort to make the vehicle move. After following behind me at 10 or 15 mph. for a few seconds, the woman finally passed me. At this point, I let it go. I’d had my say, and as baffled as I was by the whole encounter, I reminded my self that some people are just that way. And then, the woman, this insufferably irritable human being, put on her blinker to turn right. Naturally, I got into the left lane to pass her and go on about our merry way. In the process of making the pass, Joni turned to the woman (who is now rolling down her window), and gave her a very animated and well-deserved, “What-is-your-problem?”-type shrug. TO WHICH (and I am using all CAPS here because this is just too unbelievable) THIS WOMAN RESPONDED BY STICKING HER TONGUE OUT AT US, and followed up that juvenile gesture with the more adult, yet getting-pretty-boring, standard old one-fingered salute.

Now, there are several symptoms of Chronic Ignorance on display here: 1. The woman flouted all applicable social codes by not only ignoring herself, but insisting that I ignore an obvious law (which exists in order to preserve the safety of the driving public) in order to do something which would suit her. Which brings us to 2. She was obviously acting out of self-interest. This alone is really only human, but what makes it symptomatic of C.I. in this case is that her self-interested activity infringed upon me, and requested that I put myself and family in danger in order to serve her purposes. And 3. She, a grown woman, stuck her tongue out at us.

Treating this particular type of Chronic Ignorance--that involving fly-by encounters that offer zero opportunity for correction and follow-up--can be tricky to the point of being impossible. It is unlikely that I will ever share the same stretch of road with this woman again, and even more unlikely that if I did, I would even know who she was. So, what we have to focus on in these cases is Education and Prevention. Following are some simple principles/guidelines for educating others in order to prevent occurrences like this from happening again.

1. Set a good example on the road. Too many people drive like maniacs, like a five-year-old playing Pole Position[11] who isn’t tall enough to see the screen, but who drives like a scalded Bat out of Hades because it is just awesome to go fast, showing no regard for the boundaries of the road, or the game’s point system, which obviously does not reward bad driving. This is both ridiculous and ridiculous. Wherever you’re going will be there when you get there, and it will do the world a service if you don’t add to the madness but rather, through your actions, let everybody know that it’s okay to slow down.

2. Do not acknowledge, in any way, blatant displays of ignorance. Our fatal mistake in the case above was to acknowledge this woman’s erratic and ridiculous behavior by driving slow in her lane, and then by giving her the shrug. Had we ignored her, she would have had no opportunity for further offense, nor would she have gotten the last word.[12] To ignore someone’s assault is actually more proactive that reacting with an assault of your own because if there’s anything worse than being cussed out or flipped off, it’s being ignored.

3. Publicly mock bad and reckless drivers as often as possible. This is a very simple suggestion. What it will do is let your friends, family, and anyone else who listens know that people think this kind of thing is ridiculous, because heaven knows that some of them have been guilty of the same things.[13] The hoped-for effect is that the next time they do something ignorant on the road, they will remember your harsh words directed at people like them and feel deep shame and regret over their actions. This will continue until they have eventually broken their own bad habit from not wanting to feel like a jerk anymore.

I realize these are small things, but remember, if we can keep even one person from being a menace to public safety and common sense, we are doing our job.


NOTES

1.[BACK TO POST] As we have all done at one time or another, and yes, I know that refrigerators were not around in Ben’s day. But you get my point.

2.[BACK TO POST] I want to make clear here that I am not referring to legitimate cases of mental handicap. I’m more talking about a nurture thing as opposed to a nature thing, wherein the subject was most likely raised to not give a crap about anything or anyone that was not him/herself.

3.[BACK TO POST] The obvious danger of putting myself in the category of Non-Chronically Ignorant (N.C.I.) is that I run the risk of also putting myself in the category of Arrogantly Competent (A.C.), and if there’s anything worse than ignorant people, it’s smart people who wield their intelligence--or at the least their competence at getting along in society--like some kind of club used to beat the Chronically Ignorant (C.I.) masses into submission.

4.[BACK TO POST] The one exception being if the red light is at an intersection of a one way street with the flow of traffic going left. But this is like Driving 401 information, upper-level stuff that you really only learn through experience.

5.[BACK TO POST] Again, a classic nature/nurture-type quandary.

6.[BACK TO POST] It’s complicated, but capitalized here because in these cases the Ego becomes a proper noun--its own entity to be dealt with separately from the person.

7.[BACK TO POST] Examples of bad driving due to C.I.-related behavior: Not using a blinker, ever; driving below speed limit in left lane; tailgating; not knowing how a 4-way stop works; turning left when the sign clearly says you can’t; driving in excess of 10 mph above or below the legal limit. There are more, but you get the idea.

8.[BACK TO POST] An endeavor which failed due to the fact that yours truly forgot to charge the battery on the camera. It is worth noting that I bought a camera with a rechargeable lithium battery precisely so I wouldn’t have to deal with things like batteries dying at inconvenient times.

9.[BACK TO POST] Much to my wife’s chagrin, I am known to employ the HONK in various types of vehicular confrontations, and on a pretty regular basis. When driving it is one’s only communication with rest of the herd, and let’s be honest--nothing screams “You’re an idiot!” quite like the sweet, bovine-like bellow of a Toyota horn. Point is, the HONK is a useful tool when warranted; when unwarranted it is the cultural equivalent of the glove-slap across the face. Or, to use a more timely example, someone throwing their shoes at you.

10.[BACK TO POST] Did I mention that this psychotic and Chronically Ignorant woman was HONKing at me for NOT turning left at a red light?

11.[BACK TO POST] A car racing video game released in 1982 by Namco. An intentionally anachronistic reference.

12.[BACK TO POST] Now, the “last word” in this case is meaningless to me because, again, it was the sticking out of a tongue, but I’m sure that in her mind this signified a win.

13.[BACK TO POST] Mea culpa. I will refer you back to note 9.