Buried Treasure

I can't figure out why Blogger is making indent in weird places. Oh well. Do your best to follow along.


I was digging though some boxes in my laundry room yesterday and - lo and behold! - I found the long lost Speculatory* Essay and Poetry Series.

These poems and essay sprung forth from two overly creative yet bored spirits while they were trying to stay awake in US 301, Comparative Civilization.

For our first selection, I offer an essay penned by yours truly. It is quite clear I was inspired by a riveting discussion on the events of turn-of-the-century India. I was doing an admirable job of taking notes when my classmates and collaborator, Brad, leaned over and asked, "What if your mom had named you Gandhi?"

If My Mother Named me Gandhi

A Speculatory Essay

If my mother named me Gandhi, I would probably resent her and count the days until I turned 18. Then I could legally change my name. I don’t really mind it, but the spelling trips people up. I might go with something like “Gawndee” or “Gondi.” I dunno, something phonetic. For the sake of simplicity, I’d change my middle initial to “R.” and my last name to “Jones.”

I would have a lisp and a turquoise ring on my finger.

I would wear peasant homespun wraps as I went on about my Gandhi-licious life. I would usually wear boxers underneath my peasant homespun wraps, and go commando on occasion. I’d wear sandals and occasionally I would get rocks stuck under my feet. I’d seriously consider adopting shoes that not only give me more ankle support, but kept the rocks out. Maybe some Sketchers.

And, just like my namesake, I’d espouse the concepts of ahimsa (non-violence), satyagraha (civil disobedience) and dharma (right conduct).

With a name like Gandhi, people would expect me to be different. This would be reflected in my computer usage. I would own an iMac, which is very computer-like. I’d also be really Internet savvy. You should check out my blog.

I’d be a born leader. At my high school in South Africa, I’d be elected homecoming King and would be a candidate for prom king. I wouldn’t win though because I would wear a homespun peasant wrap to the dance instead of a tux. People would laugh but it’s OK ‘cause I’d have a hot date. I’d also be co-captain of the cricket team.

I’d secretly love Monty Python movies but I’d be obliged to reject them in public as a holdover of British hegemony.

There’s a good chance I’d be Hindu. Because I’m Hindu, I probably wouldn’t like the Punjabs because they’re Muslim and they want to take Kashmir away from India (which, by the way, is a plumb). I would, however, really like to say the word “Punjab.” Punjab. Try it! Punjab. Punjab. Punjab!

I would really like frozen pizzas and taquitos. And rice. And gellato.

If I were named Ghandi, I would walk softly and carry a big stick. Actually, I’d walk softly and carry a cattle prod. I’d only use it in self defense though. Like, if this Buddhist was all up in my face was like “Hey Gandhi!” I’d be all like “Eat this, Buddhist!” And then I would shock him.

You’d think my best buddy would have a name like Jawaharlal Nehru but you’d be wrong. His name would be Bob. He be an Assyrian Christian and would work in a pickle factory. We would go to the Putt Putt course in Calcutta on double dates with our respective girlfriends. They would both look hot in their saris and I would want to kiss my girlfriend. I wouldn’t though because my dinner would give me bad breath and stupid-head Bob wouldn’t give me an Altoid. I’d want to kill him for that but that would contradict amhisa. Dag nabbit!

Another negative aspect of being named Gandhi is that I’d most likely be bald. I’d probably have really bad sunburn on my noggin. I’d look funny too; it’s really hard to pull off the bald look if you’re not black. Now, if I were a black guy named Gandhi… well, that’s another essay.

Just because I’m named Gandhi (or Gawndee or Gondi), people would assume I’m poor. But no, I’d be rich. Filthy rich. My homespun peasant wrap would be make of the finest silk from Bombay. That’s right baby, it’s all about the Benjamins. I make it rain. I’d have a private menagerie in my back yard. It’d have an elephant, a giraffe and monkeys. I’d be a lot like Michael Jackson only I wouldn’t be a pedophile or a pop star. Or insane.

My toenails would be exceptionally long and lo, the peoples would travel far and wide throughout the subcontinent to catch a glimpse.

Sometimes I’d foolishly get involved in a “dissing match.” I’d hold my own until the other guy said “Oh yeah? Well your momma named you Gandhi!” I’d act like it didn’t bother me and I’d come back with “Well you’re a stinkin’ Punjab!” We’d call it a tie but we’d both really know that he won. Despondent, I would go home and cry into my pillow and make very personal, private entries into my Hello Kitty© Diary:

Dear Diary,
I feel so worthless. I hate my name. Why did Mom have to name me Gandhi? Dad wanted to name me Harvey. That would’ve been so much better. I hate my mother. Maybe I’ll get to go on Oprah and tell her I hate her to her face. Either way, I think I’m going to develop an eating disorder.

But, in the end, I’d still love my mom. She did, after all, carry me for nine months and give me life. I’d send her a Mother’s Day card:

Dear Mom,
You’re the best. Say Hi to Dad for me.

Your loving son,

Gandhi

*Yes, I am quite aware that "speculatory" is not a word.

Two New Movie Reviews

FYI, my reviews of Get Smart and Wanted are up at A Rough Cut.

Ridin' Dirty

I should have seen it coming. Heck, even Chamillionaire tried to warn me. But did I listen? Nooooooooooo.

“Brian,” he said,
“Police think they can see you lean;
You tint so it ain't easy to be seen…
They see you rollin'
They hatin'
Patrollin'
They tryin' to catch you ridin’ dirty.”

After 6 and-half-hours driving and with nearly 400 miles under my belt, the red and blue strobes of a Missouri Highway Patrol cruiser appeared in my rear view mirror.

The Trooper was very polite and I was too since

a) I knew it couldn’t be anything major and my cruise control was set at 70 and
b) I’d be that way regardless.

Turns out my windows are illegally tinted. He tested it (I wonder how much of my taxes went toward providing each state trooper a window tint tester) and apparently my tint allows only 15 percent of the light in and the legal limit is 35 percent. I explained that I bought the car with the tint already on and it hadn’t been a problem in the three years I’d been in the state, but he gave me a ticket any way. $83. Plus, I have to pay to have the tint removed.

While I am certainly annoyed that I have to drop $83, I even more annoyed that a piece of dark glass ruined my perfect driving record. If I were going to blemish it, it should at least be for going 125 while running from the cops and stashing the dope or something.

I’m still going to claim it’s perfect, because it doesn’t count against my license and it doesn’t affect my insurance.

In the end, I guess I should thankful he didn’t write me a ticket for being white and nerdy.

That and he didn't find the kilo of coke in the trunk.

SBC 2008 Week In Pictures

OK, so none of these really have anything to do with the SBC. Too bad.



My hotel: The Crowne Plaza at Union Station. It is still a working train station.


The hotel was full of these plaster "mannequins." To me, they looked like the mummies from the Mt. Vesuvius eruption. Or ghosts.



Plaster sailor lighting a cigarette. This is looking out my room door. The train cars have been converted into suites.



The RCA Dome: the home of the Indianapolis Colts. It was right across the street from my hotel.



The Indianapolis Motor Speedway... Home of the Indy 500.



I spied a few pace Corvettes doing laps. I have no idea how fast they were going.



Rounding Turn 4 in the bus.



Pit Road and The Pagoda.



The Start/Finish Line. Originally, the entire 2.5 mile track was paved with 3.6 million bricks (hence its nickname, The Brickyard. The original paving bricks are under the asphalt, except for this 9-brick strip at the Start/Finish.


Coming into Turn 1.



Our driver kept it under 220 mph. In the time it took us to complete a lap, an Indy car would have lapped us seven times.



To enter/exit the Museum parking lot, you have to drive under the track and the grand stands.



The idiots from Fred Phelps' "church" were there to protest. I just don't get it. Thankfully, there were just two of them and even the secular press ignored them.



Huh?

SBC 2008 Day 5 - Tired and ready to go home

I'm tired and ready to go home. Indy is a nice place to visit and (and probably not a bad place to live), but I'm ready to go home. I have a meeting with a source manana at 9, so I should be able to skidaddle on toward home around 11 or so.

All of my snarky comments relate to photos I took and I don't have my card reader with me so I can't post just yet. Look for it on Friday. Topic to be covered include: Southern Baptist fashion, protesters, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and my roommate's razor.

Don't turn that dial!

SBC 2008 Day 4, continued - Try the Wisconsin Burger

For lunch today, my boss, associate editor and I went to the Weber Grill. You'd think a restaurant owned by a grill manufacturing company would serve up some good food and you'd be right.

I had The Wisconsin: a half-pound burger with Wisconsin cheddar and smoked bacon. The burger had the most gorgeous grill marks and so did the bun. Dee-lish.

SBC 2008 Day 4 - There's One Thing. One Thing.

My roommate came in this morning at 2. He had told me he was planning on arriving at 12:30, but because he was running late and because he’d forgotten that he was crossing into the Eastern Time Zone, he was later than he expected. I stayed up waiting for him, so I’m a little drowsy this morning.

Before we turned out the lights, Mr. Roommate (a freelancer who is a pastor in St. Louis), fished out the room service menu. “I just can’t get going when I’m away from home without eggs first thing in the morning,” he said, as he proceeded to place a room service order for 7:15 a.m. of two eggs over easy, toast, hash browns, milk and coffee. I was more than a little bit shocked, but I didn’t say anything because I was falling asleep and didn’t feel like giving a lecture in stewardship.

I’m always very conscious of my spending when I’m staying/eating on Missouri Baptists’ tab. If I had my way, I’d be staying in a Motel 6. Whenever I dine out while on convention business, I’m very careful to never eat anywhere I wouldn’t eat at if I were paying for it myself. Do I want to eat at Ruth's Cris Steak House tonight, of course. I just can't justify spending Missouri's CP money that way. I don’t care if Mr. Roommate normally does order room service when it’s his credit card number on the bill, it’s just not cool to do it when you’re spending little old ladies’ tithe. Especially not when it’s $15.97 for a plate of eggs plus the tip, and especially not when it’s being posted to my expense account.

At the moment I’m in the press room and it’s a pretty cool set up. There’s probably seating and tables for 100 media members plus a bank of printers and closed circuit video feed from the convention floor. We’re also issued radio headsets so we can listen to the audio from the convention floor if we want to, or we can turn it off and write in peace. The radio broadcast isn’t top-notch and all the voices are tinny. It’s like listening those old recordings of Hitler. Without the book burnings or the Jew-killing.

Of course this headphone thing also means I can plug into my laptop and listen to iTunes instead of the preaching/business sessions…

Ha! In line with my earlier comment on stewardship, they just ran a video promoting stewardship. It was set to Pink Floyd’s Money. I promise. Rock on, SBC. Rock on.

And from Pink Floyd we roll right into the Gaithers. I’m not knocking the Gaithers (I’ve met and was very impressed by Gloria), but how can they follow Pink Floyd?

Holy crap, now they’re playing from City Slickers. What kind of convention is this? [Note: did anyone else realize that Jake Gyllenhaal played Billy’s son in City Slickers?]

SBC 2008 Day 3, continued – And who do I make this out to?

No, this isn't really the author of The Baptist Way.

Today was pretty uneventful. It’s just the Pastors’ Conference, which means I’m pretty much off duty. I more or less cruised the Exhibit Hall looking for the good swag, and, to be honest, this year’s crop isn’t that great. I snagged a few nice pens and a crappy OBU mini Frisbee and that was about it. Oh, and I entered a drawing for an iPod Nano.

My only assignment of the day was to shoot (with a camera, not a gun) a professor from SBU signing his book at the bookstore. The sad thing was NOBODY was buying his book. There was another author sitting next to him and she was quite popular. I guess there’s just not a huge market for The Baptist Way, even at the SBC. I felt really sorry for him. Heck I would have bought his book if I didn’t already have it for my polity class last fall. After about 20 minutes he persuaded a woman to buy a copy for her husband and I was able to snag the pic. Thank goodness.

It rained for a good portion of today, which isn’t good news for most of Indiana. It also hailed, which makes me wonder if Mr. Valet Parking Man parked my car in an indoor garage. Hmm.

At 6 I trekked across down to the Marriott to meet my boss and associate editor for a dinner hosted by the Association of Baptist Newspapers. To answer your questions, no, we are not an exciting or dynamic group of individuals and yes, we do have fashion sense rivaling that of retarded spider monkeys. My favorite is the super-short tie that doesn’t make it 2/3 of the way to the belt buckle (which, according to GQ, is the proper resting place for the tip of a tie). To answer your next question, yes, I was probably the only one there with a subscription to GQ (not that you would be able to tell by my style, but at least my tie looks decent). Then of course there’s my editor who rocks the bow-tie, complete with the wrinkled cotton suit.

My hotel (no, I’m not in the Hilton anymore ☹) is housed in the old Indianapolis Union Station and it is still a working Amtrak station. It’s really cool and has two trains of about five cars each that each house suites. It’s pretty suite. Sweet. Sorry. I’ll post some pictures tomorrow.

Ta ta for now!

SBC 2008 Day 3 - Most Embarrasing Moment

Fresh on the heels of that latest post...

There can't be a much worse in life than seeing the valet parking attendant driving away as you realize you left the CD player on and it was playing Miley Cyrus.

Dude, that CD totally isn't mine. A friend made if for me. You can call her. Seriously, call her. You can use my cell. Dude. Come on. Dude. Dude.

SBC 2008 Day 2, continued - And Don't Fiddle With the Radio Pre-sets!

I could get used to this whole valet parking thing. I feel like I'm pulling up to the country club in my Caddie. The tossing of the keys to the valet is the key (ha! key!) to the whole thing. It's integral to nailing that if you want to pull off that Country Club Baron feel.

Don't scratch the paint, Boy. Here's a quarter. You take care of me, and I'll take care of you.

SBC 2008 Day 2, continued – Bud, not Buddy, Lee for President

The cold hard truth is that Southern Baptists are a pretty monochromatic group of folks. To put it another way, there aren’t many chocolate chips in the cookie and, for better or worse, those few that are present stand out.

That’s how I’m able see the back of the head of a massive black man across the hall and know it’s Bud Lee. No, not Buddy Lee. Bud Lee. Actually, Bud does sort of look like Buddy with his big round head. But I sincerely doubt Buddy Lee could ROCK “His Eye is On the Sparrow” like Bud.

A traveling evangelist/musician with a mountain of a lisp, Bud is one of the few black men to ever set foot into my local church (twice, once in Missouri and once in Oklahoma) and one of even fewer to take the pulpit. Either way, Bud and his wife Barbara have an uncanny ability to walk into a 99.9 percent white congregation and not only do they feel at home, but the white folks don’t feel any residual guilt for the sins of our fathers. That’s a pretty amazing feat, considering the denomination’s past.

It isn’t hard to see that racism played a role in Southern Baptist history. I mean, it’s the Southern Baptist Convention. There’s got to be a reason it’s not the Northern Baptist Convention and slavery seems likely culprit.

In the years before the Civil War Baptists in the South began to break away from the national group (although it was a significantly looser group that anything existing today) over the issue of whether or not their missionaries should own slaves. After all, it’s in the Bible, therefore it must be OK. Of course, the Bible also preaches that God loves the whole world, regardless of race, and sent His son to die for their sins, but never mind that.

Even after the war, when Southern Baptists acknowledged they couldn’t own slaves, there was of course still widespread racism and segregation (although to be fair, this was a problem far beyond just Southern Baptists... including northern abolitionists).

(Southern) Baptists more or less followed the overall societal feelings on racial equality (I'm sure the SBC was fairly represented among the protesters at Little Rock Central High in 1957). This journey culminated in 1995 when the Convention overwhelmingly passed as resolution officially apologizing for the role racism and bigotry played in our history. (Fun note: I was actually there, in Atlanta, when it passed. OK, actually I slept late that day and was awoken only when the hotel caught fire… it’s a long story.) Fittingly, this happened on the 150th anniversary of the SBC. A few excerpts:

WHEREAS, Our relationship to African-Americans has been hindered from the beginning by the role that slavery played in the formation of the Southern Baptist Convention; and…

WHEREAS, Many of our Southern Baptist forbears defended the right to own slaves, and either participated in, supported, or acquiesced in the particularly inhumane nature of American slavery; and…

WHEREAS, In later years Southern Baptists failed, in many cases, to support, and in some cases opposed, legitimate initiatives to secure the civil rights of African-Americans; and…

WHEREAS, Racism has led to discrimination, oppression, injustice, and violence, both in the Civil War and throughout the history of our nation; and ...

WHEREAS, Racism has divided the body of Christ and Southern Baptists in particular, and separated us from our African-American brothers and sisters; and…

WHEREAS, Many of our congregations have intentionally and/or unintentionally excluded African-Americans from worship, membership, and leadership; and…

WHEREAS, Racism profoundly distorts our understanding of Christian morality, leading some Southern Baptists to believe that racial prejudice and discrimination are compatible with the Gospel; and…

Therefore, be it RESOLVED, That we, the messengers to the Sesquicentennial meeting of the Southern Baptist Convention, assembled in Atlanta, Georgia, June 20-22, 1995, unwaveringly denounce racism, in all its forms, as deplorable sin; and…

Be it further RESOLVED, That we apologize to all African-Americans for condoning and/or perpetuating individual and systemic racism in our lifetime; and we genuinely repent of racism of which we have been guilty, whether consciously (Psalm 19:13) or unconsciously (Leviticus 4:27); and…

Be it further RESOLVED, That we ask forgiveness from our African-American brothers and sisters, acknowledging that our own healing is at stake; and…

Be it further RESOLVED, That we hereby commit ourselves to eradicate racism in all its forms from Southern Baptist life and ministry; and…

Be it finally RESOLVED, That we pledge our commitment to the Great Commission task of making disciples of all people (Matthew 28:19), confessing that in the church God is calling together one people from every tribe and nation (Revelation 5:9), and proclaiming that the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is the only certain and sufficient ground upon which redeemed persons will stand together in restored family union as joint-heirs with Christ (Romans 8:17).

Yeah, it IS just a bunch of words and as we all learned in Sunday School, one’s walk says a lot more than it’s talk. As a demographic group, I’m not sure how we’re walking, because as a white guy in a white church in a white town in a white state, it really doesn’t affect me. Convention-wide, nearly 10 percent of SBC churches (by congregation, not membership) are a majority of minorities. That actually seems pretty good for a group formed specifically because it wanted to keep a minority in chains. The modern KKK can’t really say they've "grown" that way.

Personally, I must admit that regardless of my faith, I have a few prejudiced and racists threads running through my body. I don’t like it, but there it is. If I avoid a certain side of the street because I see five young black men in downtown KC, I tell myself that my racism is perfectly justified and based in fact or at least probability. Still, that isn’t anywhere near right and that attitude (even if it were justified... heck, it is downtown KC) only serves to perpetuate racial segregation.

I don’t think I’m that bad on the racism scale. The first black person I ever remember seeing was LaVarr Burton on Reading Rainbow, a positive representative any race would be proud to claim. During my two trips to Africa, there were many times I was surrounded by hundreds of Africans while I was the only white within miles and I felt perfectly at home. Of course, slight inklings of racism began to creep in as soon as we landed in Atlanta, so maybe my prejudice is based on something other than pure race. Not that that makes it a positive behavior.

All that to say this: I speak for all Southern Baptists when I say, we're seriously not OK with Barack Obama.

Bud Lee for President!

SBC 2008 Day 2 - ... And Some, Evangelists

It never fails to infuriate me that the ratio of services to the perceived luxury of a hotel is an inverse one. I can go to any two-star Drury Inn on the planet, get free (fast) wireless, a hot breakfast with bacon, eggs, sausage, do-it-yourself waffle bar and free parking AND a complimentary USA Today all for $67. But once you’re forced to stay in a “classy” place in a major city, you end up paying $22 a day for parking, there is no Internet available and “breakfast” consists of a banana and an old bagel. Seriously, people, come on. Serenity now!

OK, my heart rate is coming back down.

As I checked in last night I saw a drunk dude passed out on one of the hotel’s sofas in the lobby. He was still there as of 8:49 this morning.

Today my only assignment is to write a few grafs on the third preacher of the morning during the annual meeting of the Council of Southern Baptist Evangelists (COSBE… Cosby… get it? HA! Cosby!). You know you’re hard-core if you attend the SBC Annual Meeting. You’re a step up if you attend both the SBC and the pastor’s conference the day before. You’re among an “elite” few indeed if you’re up for the COSBE meetings the Saturday and Sunday before that! There’s maybe 800 people here this morning, compared with the 9K expected for the SBC annual meeting. I’m not saying the COSBE guys think they’re better than the rest of us or that anyone is in any way Pharisaical, I’m just pointing out that you must have tons of free time and a LONG attention span if you make it to all three.

I’ve set up camp outside the ballroom, and it’s a good thing too, because I just missed/escaped the obligatory “turn around and rub your neighbor’s shoulders” moment. Darn.

On a slightly more serious note, I do have a great respect for these men and women who have answered God’s call to be vocational evangelist. Sometimes these folks get a bad rap because we tend to associate them with people like Oral Roberts, Benny Hinn and Joel Osteen. Being an evangelistic isn’t a bad thing (usually... see the man pictured above). Ephesians 4:11 more or less says that God appointed some to be teachers, some to be pastors, some to be prophets, some to be apostles and some to be evangelists. That’s a good thing, because that’s not my gift.

Back to the petty stuff: I hate it when people tell jokes and then say, “you’ll get that one later.” No, I “got” it now, it’s just not funny.

Probably the worst thing about being a Christian (you don’t get to start many sentences that way) is that there’s a good chance you might some day be associated with lame Christian t-shirts. I just saw an example on an 11-year-old kid:

SAY TENNIS ACE
TEEN KING LYRE

The ONLY way this shirt MIGHT be acceptable would be if you’re a 15-year-old Christian who plays tennis, likes Shakespeare but can’t spell. If you don’t meet ALL that criteria, you need to go back home and change into an orange shirt that says Jesus but looks like the Reese’s logo.

SBC 2008 Day 1 - The First Running of the Indianapolis 466

Today’s drive was relatively uneventful. I left around 12:30 this afternoon and headed east.

I had a Chicken Bacon Swiss from Arby’s at Kingdom City and it was delicious, even though I forgot to have them hold the honey mustard. This became even more of a problem when a six-inch long and honey mustard-soaked strip of bacon fell out and plummeted through space toward my white shirt. It was then, at 1:12 p.m. at mile marker 151, that God Almighty reached down from His throne on high and carefully guided said strip of bacon to rest lightly along the length of my seat belt. I was able to pick up the strip and wipe down the seat belt without incident. Just one more reason why you should always buckle up.

I mostly listened to Harry Potter XII on CD, but also sprinkled in some talk radio and a Robin Williams comedy album. Robin, dude, seriously, lay off the cocaine. Seriously.

About halfway through Illinois, I saw a sign saying I-70 (the interstate that conveniently runs from Indianapolis to pretty much my front door) was closed due to massive flash flooding. This meant I had to take a detour 62 miles north to I-74, then from there I came into Indy from the north. It added 107 miles to my trip. Oh well… more mileage for me!

When I finally made it into Indy, I was swept into one hoppin’ down town. Wow. Indy knows how to party! I made my way to my hotel, fought my way into a parking spot on the street and went inside to check in. Once inside, I found out the good folks at the Indianapolis Crowne Plaza had oversold their hotel so there was literally no room in the inn. No problem, I’m flexible. They were very apologetic (they should be), and offered to put me up in hotel down the street at their expense for the night. So, now I’m living it up with two king-sized beds, kitchen, living room and plasma screen TVs in Suite 406 at the Indy Hilton.

I just realized I lost an hour due to crossing into the Eastern time zone. Dang it. Tomorrow is going to come early.

SNL was a re-run, but it turns out it was the one LeBron James which means it had the I Ran Digital Short. HI-LAR-I-OUS. I don’t automatically laugh at everything Andy Samberg does, but this one is pure genius.


Tomorrow, my only assignment is to cover a preacher at 9:45 a.m. and then I’ll have the rest of the day off. Here’s hoping!

Off the Wagon

Last night I fell off the wagon in a big way.

After nearly six months of sugar-free sobriety, I fell prey to the siren song of regular, non-diet, Dr Pepper and bought a 12-pack. And it was soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo worth it! That first sip sent literal shivers down my spine as those 23 distinct flavors threw the party to end all parties in my mouth.

Actually dealing with Diet DP hasn't been that bad, but wow what a difference you notice when you get just the smallest taste of the REAL stuff. This is what imagine good crack to be like, only much less expensive and not so crack-like. Sure, crack gives you buzz (or so I hear), but I can't imagine anything topping the kick I get from pure, bubbly goodness that is Waco Gold (sugar included).

It's so good, in fact, that I would do anything for non-Diet DP (or love for that matter)... including that.

Bottoms up!