Juxtaposing Pejorative Conventions

Sitting in class, he found himself amazed how the successful application of the words juxtapose, pejorative and convention made it abundantly clear these people were serious scholars.  Try as he might, over the course of a lifetime he never would discover non-academics offering such tidbits of wisdom as, “Ghetto simply meant neighborhood.  It only became pejorative in the 20th century.”  Or, “I was just thinking about the ridiculous modern conventions which require us to see differences where there aren’t any.”  Or, “More than simply two women having coffee together, the author juxtaposes timeless love with unsustainable passions of the flesh.”

These scholars, in their own right, were a group deserving marvel.  They believed they would boldly lead humanity to the Utopian future that always sits ripe for the picking, if people would only reach for it.

Returning from a brief break, he happened upon a group of these beings that had surrounded his chair with the never-ending favorite discussion topic of Americans–diet.  Quelling his nausea, he sat down and calmed himself with the reminder that the subject usually provided uncommonly hilarious statements, most often centering around rationalizing some form of a stunning lack of discipline.  These intellectuals didn’t disappoint.  Below is a record of the dialogue.

“Yeah, I tried doin’ the whole cook-everything-for-the-week-on-Sunday-to-try-to-eat-healthy-during-the-week thing.  It just didn’t work.  I ended up wasting a lot of the food.”

“Me too.  I always start the week off strong, but by Wednesday I get bored with the food.”

“I agree.  What I didn’t like was having to thaw things.”

Thawing.

More proof that the saying was true–“If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.”

Thank The Doctor

For Paul.

Like any pilot, he feared hospitals.  Any fool knew the buildings themselves were stable and not prone to injure their inhabitants, so he knew his fear must have been generated by something inside the buildings.  It was.  For this pilot, the doctor was the root of the fear.  The doctor was the one person who could take away, without him having any say, what he worked so hard to achieve–the wonder of flight.

He couldn’t help but notice that his fear was never lonely.  The other pilots feared the doctor too.  More than that, he noticed that even some civilians feared entering those sterile buildings and visiting this flesh expert.  “But what would give the civilians pause?” he wondered, now distracted by the thought.  Quick as lightening, the horrible truth revealed itself: doctors were omnipotent.

He wondered if they knew.  Perhaps they did, then again perhaps they didn’t.  Prior experience told him that this wasn’t exactly the kind of information that should be shared lightly.  Who could he tell?  If doctors didn’t know their power, upon being told, they might begin to abuse it.  But if they did know?  Wow.  What a benevolent group of individuals they were!

More than soldiers, more than policemen, more than politicians, more than clergy, it is doctors that hold this life ransom.

“Take this,” they say, knowing full well its a crap-shoot.

“Do that,” they command, never feeling resistance.

“You’ll live,” they pronounce so matter-of-factly that the recipient of even the worst boo-boo’s spirit is lifted.

“You’re going to die,” they deliver, never betraying whether this is good news or bad.

Truly more powerful than the caped crusader himself, these lab-coated demigods hold all of life’s keys.  With a sure-grip they hold humanity’s heart in their stable hands.  And yet they choose not to squeeze too tightly.

He realized, then, that it’s okay to be afraid.  But he knew he should also be grateful.  He should be grateful that these quiet professionals choose to meekly implement their duties with reserve.  He wouldn’t allow himself to consider the other option; it was too terrible.

So go on being afraid, it’s justified.  Just the same, never forget to thank the doctor.

LinkedIn All-Stars Discover Bosses Furious

Earlier this year LinkedIn celebrated its tenth anniversary.  With ten years under its belt, the Silicon Valley tech giant has finally fallen prey to researchers.  The findings aren’t pretty.  Among a newly released 500-page report there are some notable discoveries:

  • 63% of LinkedIn Users report spending time each day to see if the infinite scroll really is infinite.
    • Of those users, 25% admit feeling “genuinely disappointed” when, upon reaching the end, they read “There are no more updates at this time” instead of congratulations for beating the game.
  • 84% of Users have achieved All-Star Profile Strength.
    • Of those Users, 100% believe they are more likely to receive a promotion within the next 6 months because of it.
      • Of those Users, zero worked in companies whose promotion decisions factored in their employee’s LinkedIn Profile Strength.

And most damning,

  • After not having the heart to crush their employee’s hopes and dreams and tell them, “No, browsing LinkedIn is not what I’m paying you to do,” 100% of Bosses spend at least 10-minutes wishing for the “good ol’ days” when employees earned their pay.

Finally, the researchers noted first, that despite these findings, employees generally felt that they were more productive because of LinkedIn and second, that more research should be done to validate their findings.

1 + 1 = 2. Right?

Tony was a nice enough looking guy.  A new member to Gold’s Gym, he sat across from me with a look of genuine interest.  He, the student.  Me, the teacher.

He liked to laugh.  I could tell that right away.  That was always a relief when starting the process.

“We’re going to start by using what we call the 10-10-10.  Ten exercises, ten workouts, ten times.  While it seems easy, and not very manly, we need to start somewhere and this is it.”

“Okay, sounds good…  I really want to know about about dieting too,” Tony furthered the conversation.

“What questions do you have?  I’m kinda particular about diet advice.”

“Well, I guess I just want to get my six-pack back.”

“That’s it?  That’s simple.  No bread, no fruit, no dairy.  If you’re on a budget, spend all your money on protein powders, tuna, and rice.”

“Really?  It’s that easy?”

“Yep, I’ll tell you how much rice to eat a day, and you can eat as much tuna and protein powder as you can afford.  The fat will be gone in no time.”

“That’s cool.  When I have my six-pack back, the hair on my stomach will go away too, right?”

“Huh?”

“When I had my six-pack, I didn’t have any hair on my stomach.  And the bodybuilders that are all ripped in the magazines don’t have any hair.  I just figured that being that muscular prevented the hair from growing.”

“Uh-huh.  Well, unfortunately, in this part of the country, at this time of the year, no, that isn’t the case.  You’ll have to shave like the rest of us.”

The Building Block

Greetings!  How’s everyone doing this morning?  It is great to see you today.  Let me say that I know you’re taking a risk by attending the first-ever sermon of this church.  Thank you.  Before we get started, I want to take stock and simply remind you that I love you and I’m glad you decided to show up this morning.  What’s that?  Yes sir, even you.

I love you because you are.

Alright, I feel pretty good today.  How’d you like the music?  Pretty great, no?  I love those songs we sang today.  I love that we always sing four songs.  Did you notice how the first three songs crescendo’d and then we ended on a slow one?   Yep, that’s on purpose.  The music director put a lot of effort coming up with that formula.  Oh, I suppose that’s not entirely true.  He’s just doing what he grew up doing.  The point is, it works.  Who isn’t in the mood for a message of hope?

Okay then.  How much time do I have?  By my guess you’re expecting about 30-minutes in your seats, you’ll be happy if I wrap-up in 20, and you’ll give me a 10-minute grace period if I’m on a roll.  Sound about right?  Okay, now that we’re on the same page, let’s get to it.

Jesus.  The reason for the season as they say.  History tells us he existed.  At least as much as any person of history existed.  The truth is, though, there’s not much support for his existence outside of the bible; John the Baptist actually receives more pointed attention.  Oddly enough, this strengthens his message in a way.  That’s the beauty of it.

Okay, before we can go anywhere, the inescapable question each of us must answer is this, “Can I trust another person?”  Like all of you, I was born a trusting human.  Then one day I was hurt.  One day someone broke my trust.  I don’t remember who did it or any specific moment that it happened, but I’d put money on it having been one of my parents.  Or maybe both of them;  it’s really just a numbers game.  People hurt each other.  The people we’re around most will likely be the people who hurt us the most.  In either case, for many years afterwards, I unconsciously, then consciously, chose to not trust anyone else.

“Can I trust another person?”  Like any great question, the best part about this question is that you are the only one who can answer it.  No one can answer it for you.

So I’m going to continue talking for a bit up here, and I’m hoping you don’t think it is a waste of time.  More than that, I’m hoping that you find that you’re glad you came.  I say this to emphasize that in the end you determine you’re level of involvement.  These are big questions; questions that are not to be taken lightly.  You’re an adult.  No one can make up your mind for you.

Do you know that I’m not even going to say anything new today?  That’s right.  There’s nothing new to say.  You’ve heard the message many times before.  I just happen to be part of a group of people who think it is worth repeating.  And by your being here this morning, I take it you don’t mind hearing the good news again either.

So what do you think?  Can you trust another person?

I’m going to take a risk and tell you that I believe that if we’re all human, if we’re all made of the same parts, then the way I feel must be similar to the way you feel.  And if you’re like me, that means that you are silently screaming out in answer, “Yes!  There’s nothing I want more than to be able to trust other people again!”  That’s what goes through my head most of the time.  The remaining time is spent longing to be able to trust myself again.

Today, to start this relationship off right I simply want to share with you that I believe there is hope for us.  I believe there is hope for us, but like a fire, this hope needs fuel.  This hope-fire won’t start unless each of us deliberately carry some wood to it.  Any boy scout will tell you that a fire needs three things.  Fuel, oxygen and spark.  We need to bring the fuel.  Now, nobody needs to do any heavy lifting; instead like any fire, this fire must begin with tinder.  Tinder is the smallest of fuels: twigs, leaves, lint, paper, mostly twigs.  And the metaphorical twig that you need to carry is making the decision to trust a certain someone.

I know.  I know, I know, I know.  Believe me I know.  2000 years is a lot of time.  The people who have professed Jesus to be trustworthy have really mucked things up.  I also know that today, there are still beliefs circulating in His name that strain an educated mind.  That’s not what I’m talking about right now.  Right now I’m talking about sifting through the entirety of history until only Jesus of Nazareth remains.  What did he say?  What did he teach?

He taught that people, each of us, make mistakes.

There are a whole lot of synonyms for “mistakes”, like “sin”, that carry a lot of baggage.  Maybe in the end it will prove valuable to keep the word and the baggage.  Today, I’m asking you to let go of the baggage.

We make mistakes.  And we’re going to keep making mistakes.  But Jesus taught that if we simply acknowledge our imperfect status, we will inherit what he called “the kingdom of heaven.”  Stay with me for a minute.  Remember, this is a man who really walked the earth.  He lived in a context.  The people he preached to understood what that phrase meant.  Today, it is not so simple.  Is there a heaven?  Is there a hell?  Fun questions, but not appropriate to today.  Today, I am concerned with another part of this “kingdom of heaven” that he talked about.  He taught that it exists both in the future and right now.  Right now, here in the present, the kingdom of heaven is attainable.

So what is the kingdom of heaven?  I have no idea.  I don’t.  Jesus had a hard time defining it.  He’d use parables.  He’d use metaphors.  Here’s my favorite.  “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field.  When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.”  I love it because I can’t figure out why the man would hide the treasure after finding it.  Every once in a while I get glimpses of why he would do that, but I’m sure that I would have just taken it and ran.

Speaking plainly, I think of achieving the kingdom of heaven as being able to transcend this life.  Transcend meaning to go-beyond this life, to rise above the petty problems and realize the situation with a full awareness.  But I don’t really know.  All I can offer is that there is a certain peace that I have only ever felt when I trust that Jesus was right.

That’s it folks.  That’s all for today.  In a moment we’ll sing a couple more songs.

If there’s one thing I want to be clear about it is that this church is going to be based on action.  We’re going to have these weekly services which will follow the format you’ve seen this morning: music, preaching, music.  They’ll always be that format.  Different perhaps than other churches is the fact that there will always be a meal afterwards.  Jesus seemed to almost always be eating when he was teaching, so we’re going to mimic that.  Also, to emphasize that while sharing the good news is our mission, almost equally important to me, because it appears to have been to Him, is fellowship–so I’m capping this particular church at 200 members.  That’s plenty of people to fellowship with.  If we get bigger than that, the way we’ll know it’s for the right reasons is because one of us else will step up to lead another version/branch.  Jesus told his followers to share the message, but if people reject it, move on.  If we never have more than the 30 of us here this morning, that’s fine with me and I’m not going to fret about it.  This isn’t about numbers, it isn’t about buildings.  It is about people.

Lastly, it won’t always be me up here.  Anytime you want to share, just let me know and we’ll get you on the calendar.

This is real life folks.  The only one we get.  I think it’ll be more fulfilling to live it with each other.  If you agree, stick around for the meal and maybe come back next week.

Music Director – lead us in something that’ll immerse us in an introspective mood.

Tomorrow’s Post

I’ve seen this technique used by other bloggers.  Writing in italics let’s you know that it’s me speaking and not…me.  Either way, I like it.  It’s just a short post today, as I want to get to work on tomorrow’s post now.  Tomorrow is for me.  If I succeed, it may be for you too.  I’m going to challenge myself to be vulnerable in a way that I have never been.  It is my version of ‘be the solution, not the problem.’  

As some of you can tell, recently I have been attending church.  It’s the first time in nearly a decade.  I never stopped reading and thinking about the whole concept while I was away, and now that I’m back, I’ve discovered that there are some tenets that are difficult to accept.  In voicing my criticisms, I feel like a whiner, a critic.  That’s got to stop.  Tomorrow’s post then, will be my ideal sermon.  The trouble is that it isn’t coming as easy as I’d like it to. I have realized this is a very, very personal business.  How does one reveal to others one’s most intimate beliefs?  I don’t know but it sounds like fun, so I’m going to try.  Hope you enjoy.

(Normal posts (ha) will resume Thursday if this isn’t your thing).

What Would President Obama Think About Me Not Liking Him?

I don’t like President Obama.  Can I still admit that even though in doing so I might offend a “sizable group of people?”

Here in the purple state of Colorado, expressing this opinion–my opinion–gives me pause.  It can be difficult to tell if I am speaking to someone who agrees or vehemently disagrees.  Discovering the answer is always an adventure.

Here’s why I don’t like the president:  The president pretends to not know his own influence.

From the moment he took office, it was made known that he would be a very accessible president.  “Ask him anything and he’ll tell you,” they said.  The unthinking American loved his openness.  His openness surely attracted positive popular sentiment.  But make no mistake, it is a very calculated move on the president’s part.  Think about it.  What would happen if your boss started voicing that he or she really liked a particular camera…right around Christmas time?  What would happen if your boss started describing how much he or she disliked the color blue?  In my experience, in the first situation the boss would likely be given that camera as a gift at the company party; in the second, the color blue would be avoided in the office where possible.

The credible boss, the boss with high character understands the economics of his or her language.  He or she understands that there are only so many hours in a day and many things have to be attended to.  The boss knows, therefore, that he or she cannot afford to communicate for forever.  They have to offer their guiding leadership eloquently, and rely on an able-bodied workforce to carry out the plan.  This happens every day.  Even the most micro-managing boss has limited time–thankfully–to communicate all that he or she wants to.

Likewise, when a president offers his opinion on something, it starts a chain reaction.  Decisions are made based on the opinion.  Take this together with the way our country’s political sphere has unfolded–the president being viewed as newsworthy celebrity rather than public servant–and there is a problem.

Bob Costas attempted to use his power to persuade the Washington Redskins owner to act.  So far, it has been ineffective.  Bob Costas is a virtual nobody.  He is a talking head.  Generally a pleasant to listen to talking head, but he is as effectually powerless over another man’s actions as the next man.  The same is not true for the president.  No matter what he’d like us to believe, it is not just “his opinion.”  And he knows it.  But he pretends not to.  He pretends like he really is one of us.  He isn’t.  It’s categorically impossible.  The us he is attempting to fit in with know their place.

For example, I know that this blog will have no appreciable effect beyond providing momentary pleasure for no more than 10 people.  It’ll receive 1-2 ‘likes’, if that.  More likely, it will irritate some people and be a stumbling block to my professional possibilities as I’m publishing it on LinkedIn.

Don’t buy this argument?  Just wait.  History will prove my point.  Like the boss receiving a camera for Christmas, the Redskins will change their name.  When they do, to deny the president’s influence will strain even American credulity.

In the end, I really don’t wonder what President Obama thinks about me.  I just want him to stop pretending that his opinions are inconsequential.  I want him to stop using his limited time to weigh-in on ridiculously un-presidential matters.  I want “more work, less talk.”  Is that too much to ask for?

What do you know?

Do you listen-in on conversations?  Do you hear the same things I do?  Do you hear yourself talk?  If, like me, you answered “yes” to these three questions, do you ever continue down the rabbit role and analyze the conversations?

I do.

42 words and a few minutes ago I intended to write, essentially, a sermon about how all that each of us do is talk ourselves up, a sermon about how all we really say is,  “I know better than (fill in the blank).”  That seems silly now.  Instead, I’d like to simply share.

By now, most of you have guessed correctly that I am an American thirty-two year old white male.  A constant criticism I have received most of my life is that I am a know it all.  While I was a hot-shot special operations Air Force pilot, I happily let my profession answer the accusation.

I’ve been without my proof-is-in-the-pudding profession for a year and a half.

How do I answer the criticism now?  Yesterday I took the “integrity test” at a Labor Ready storefront in hopes of being able to work for pay soon.  The fella next to me asked the receptionist if he could use his “dee-ooh-see card” as his second form of identification.   Unfamiliar with whatever he just said, I looked towards him.  He was presenting his wallet for her to see.  In his wallet behind the protective plastic, he had a Department of Corrections ID card.  The picture was of him in the orange jumpsuit that America loves to see on TV.

Until yesterday I would laugh really hard each time a friend wittily observed that too many people are “educated beyond their intelligence.”

Yesterday, beginning with the alternating tobacco/marijuana smell that infused the air as I waited with others for the receptionist to return from a break and ending with the sight of the orange jumpsuit, I confirmed what I’ve secretly suspected all along:  I don’t know shit.

I do like to write though.

Overrun The Runway

He hadn’t flown in a couple of years now, but it was time to renew his flight instructor certificate.  The process involved reviewing a series of lessons and special interest items before taking quizzes to demonstrate mastery of the material.

As he didn’t really plan on flying again, he was doing this strictly to “be prepared.”  He had worked hard to get the certification, and didn’t want to lose it if he didn’t have to.  Who knew?  Maybe he’d change his mind in the future.  Regardless, the point is that he reviewed the data with curiosity, rather than practical application.  The thing about aviation, the thing which he loved–and missed–the most, was the dedication of all involved to “doing it right.”

The noteworthy finding this time was the conclusion that overrunning the end of the runway on a botched takeoff is safer than trying to force an aircraft to fly.  He loved it.  What a metaphor!  You see, he knew that a major reason pilots would choose to force an aircraft to fly was to save face.  That’s it.  Overrunning the runway on takeoff will inevitably lead to embarrassment–though likely not much else.  And if there has ever been a group of individuals who would rather die than suffer embarrassment, it is pilots.

As he knew, as the reader knows, forcing the metaphorical aircraft to fly in grounded-life won’t cause death.  But it does cause drama.  And who among us doesn’t know someone who would rather create drama, than suffer embarrassment?   He tallied how many times in recent memory he tried to “force the aircraft to fly.”  How many times had he crashed and burned in life because he didn’t want to suffer the embarrassment that would have followed if he would’ve just put on the brakes and let his momentum peter out?

He’s asking us, “How many relationships could be deepened–or healed–if we made the decision to “overrun the runway” every once in a while?”

Blonde Guy Joke

The three men sat, legs dangling over the unfinished building’s ledge.  It was lunchtime.  Diaz opened his lunch to discover a burrito waiting for consumption.  He lamented to his friends O’Shay and Jones, “Man, I hate burritos.  Everyday I open up my lunch, and everyday there is a burrito.  In fact, I hate burritos so much that if I find a burrito in this thing tomorrow, I’m jumping off.”  Surprisingly, this little rant did not rattle O’Shay and Jones.

O’Shay opened his lunch next.  Dejected, he cried, “Are you kiddin’ me?  Corned beef and cabbage?!  Again?  I’m with you Diaz.  If I find this in my lunch tomorrow, I’m jumping off.”

Smiling happily, Jones unwrapped his lunch.  It was a bologna sandwich on white bread.  “I can’t believe it.  How many years have I been eating bologna on white bread?  I’m with you fellas.  Tomorrow, if this is in my lunch again, I’m jumping.”

The next day, the lunch buzzer sounded and the three men went to the edge of the building to eat.  Always first to go, Diaz opened his lunch.  A burrito.  “Well guys.  My word is my bond.  I said I’d jump, so I’m jumping.”  O’Shay and Jones didn’t talk much after that, instead they occupied themselves with their meals.  Upon opening his lunch, O’Shay looked resignedly into Jones eyes and said, “Well Jones, I hope you have more luck than us.  I’m staring at corned beef and cabbage, yet again.  It’s time.”  And off the ledge he went.  On his own now, Jones went about opening his lunch as normal.  “I guess I should have seen this coming,” he said.  “Bologna on white bread.  Diaz…O’Shay…wherever you are, it looks like you don’t have to wait long to see me again.”  And off the ledge he went.

Their wives decided to combine the three funerals into one since the guys were nearly inseparable while alive.   It was a nice service.  Brief, but nice.

Now, the wives heard through the grapevine what other construction workers had overheard their husbands say.  Diaz’s wife spoke up first.  “If only he would have told me he didn’t want anymore burritos, I would’ve made him something else.”  Next was O’Shay’s wife.  “I know what you mean.  He had never complained about his lunch before.  If I would have known he was sick of corned beef and cabbage, I would’ve made him something else.”  The two women looked inquisitively into Jones’ wife’s eyes.  Did she have the same remorse?  The same guilt?  Barely able to find the space between sobs to squeeze out the words, she finally said, “He packed his own lunch!”