Category: Culture

  • Special Moments in Marriage

    There are simple joys to marriage that I didn’t count on. They are pleasant surprises, especially since there are common difficulties that I didn’t count on either. My wife and I do not have children yet, so we are still in this quasi-newlywed phase. No, we’re not gooey in public like some newlyweds. But there are times when it just feels great to be a married adult.

    Believe it or not, one of my favorite moments is in church. Heather and I have a special bond when we are in a worship service. She frequently leans her head to rest on my shoulder. I put my arm around her and lean my head a little until it rests against hers. A community of worshippers brings such peace to the surrounding atmosphere that it is the perfect place to find a moment’s rest and truly exhale from the soul. Unexpectedly, we have been approached by women who tell us their teenage daughters watch the way Heather and I express affection in church and those girls delight in it and hope to experience the same some day.

    Friday nights have a whole new meaning to me. Friday nights have always been my absolute favorite time of the week. It is the time furthest from the work week, which means there is no stress of certain responsibilities pressing upon me. Friday night was always my movie night.

    Outside of Siskel, Roeper, and a few other psychopaths out there, I don’t know of anyone who watches more movies than me. That has changed somewhat – I watch most new films at the Dollar Movie Theater three to six months after release so I can save money. I check out older movies from the public library for free instead of visiting Hollywood Video Store on a biweekly basis. I’ve gotten sidetracked, but my point was about Friday nights.

    I love spending the evening with my wife, whether it’s watching tv, going out to a restaurant, or spending the evening at home just focusing on each other. There is something so much more carefree about it than I can imagine my parents experiencing when they were my age. That is what this all boils down to. I think about my parents a lot lately. Partly because my wife and I are just about ready to have children. Regardless, I find myself unconsciously comparing my marriage with what I know of my parents as far back as I can remember. Of course, if I can remember it, that means they already had children. So there are some obvious and unavoidable differences.

    The world was more peaceful even 20 years ago. But I wonder how much differently I feel than my father felt at my age. I wonder how much different was their marriage from mine. I wonder if we are doing as well, better, or worse. Not because I need to win anything, but because comparison is one of the primary ways we mark progress.

    At this time of our lives, where I work mostly from home and my wife drives to work, I love kissing her goodbye each day and loving the fact that she’s only a short 8-10 minute drive away from home. I love seeing her every day for lunch. I love being silly and goofing off around her – especially at those miraculous times when she thinks I’m funny. I love the light-hearted side of marriage so much. In fact, I think it must be more vital than I realized. Just thinking of funny and silly moments lifts my spirits and my heart feels lighter. Heather, if you’re reading this, I think I’m going to be even sillier.


  • Remembering Joy

    I get the impression that I’ve been depressing some of you lately with my criticisms and derision. I realized my tendency to focus upon the negative aspects of pop culture – i.e., those parts I wish to see transformed.

    I could just as well promote something useful every now and then to balance the critique. Not that I will likely do so right now, but I wanted to let you know that I will (see, I’m a reasonable fellow).

    I chose this photo as my immediate icon of joy. I need you to feel a little more of the joy in life if you are to help me make something better of this place.

    I spent several years actively drowning every joyful memory in my life. I was a teenager, doing what ignorant and unprepared teenagers do: I was trying to become someone better than myself to rise to the blessed status of everyone else. I cared for practically nothing else. I made decisions I had told myself not a year earlier I would never make. Why? Because I wanted to belong? Well, yes… but more than that, I made those decisions because I forgot joy. I forgot the pleasure of tackle football in the grass. I forgot the exhilaration of freeze tag in the Fall. I forgot the time spent sitting high up in the trees, peacefully contemplating life.

    None of that mattered, nor did it exist in my recollection. All I knew was that everyone seemed older, more popular, more experienced, and more aware of what it was all about. I focused on the dark things, and it led to cigarettes, hard drugs, seeking demons, and more than my fair share of self-loathing. I lost touch with the real. It didn’t take much, really. The mind is fragile, even though it is durable. I have been thoroughly flawed, but if there ever was one, I am one real man.
    On the other side, I have slowly learned to reintroduce beauty and laughter and peace and joy. I have learned why I need them. I have learned that it truly is goodness, rather than popularity or wealth, that makes my life worth living.

    In all things, remember joy. Collect joys like shiny stones in your pocket. Take them out regularly and enjoy them again. And don’t forget to keep searching for new joys. They’re out there for the finding.

    *Photo belongs to Julie Harris Photography


  • my thoughts on architecture and old buildings

    there’s really no way to describe it accurately. everytime i drive by a vacant building, i wince and yearn to turn the car around, and sign the lease. it’s all that untapped potential. it’s all that space going to waste. it’s so many buildings with lives of their own missing out on the kind of destiny meant for their kind.

    i am the kind of guy who will work for a company located in a historical brick building and loft-like interior. i love the feel of history. those buildings don’t allow stuffy businessmen. suits and ties burst into flame upon entry. it’s a blue jeans kind of world, though your jeans may be black, green, orange, tan, or gray. in fact, they may not be jeans at all. but whatever they are, they announce to everyone else that you are here because you are serious about your art – your creative spark – not your GQ fashion sense.

    but what is it about these walls? what is it in the cracking, slightly corrupted surfaces that lend so much value to a thirsty soul? i do not know. but rooms have souls. at least, they have souls until they are whitewashed, sterilized, and turned into ultramodern embarrassments. give me the ones with soul. with character. with imperfections. give me the old movie theaters. the old hotels. the old taverns. give me rusty, half-missing fire escapes. but let it be real. let it be real.


  • Europe – Thy Name is Cowardice

    This is a reprint of Mathias Dopfner’s editorial. He is the CEO of the massive German publishing firm Axel Springer. It was originally printed in the German periodical Die Welt on November 20, 2004.

    A few days ago Henry Broder wrote in Welt am Sonntag, “Europe — your family name is appeasement.” It’s a phrase you can’t get out of your head because it’s so terribly true.

    Appeasement cost millions of Jews and non-Jews their lives as England and France, allies at the time, negotiated and hesitated too long before they noticed that Hitler had to be fought, not bound to toothless agreements.

    Appeasement legitimized and stabilized Communism in the Soviet Union, then East Germany, then all the rest of Eastern Europe where for decades, inhuman, suppressive, murderous governments were glorified as the ideologically correct alternative to all other possibilities.

    Appeasement crippled Europe when genocide ran rampant in Kosovo, and, even though we had absolute proof of ongoing mass-murder, we Europeans debated and debated and debated, and were still debating when finally the Americans had to come from halfway around the world, into Europe yet again, and do our work for us.

    Rather than protecting democracy in the Middle East, European appeasement, camouflaged behind the fuzzy word “equidistance,” now countenances suicide bombings in Israel by fundamentalist Palestinians.

    Appeasement generates a mentality that allows Europe to ignore nearly 300,000 victims of Saddam’s torture and murder machinery and, motivated by the self-righteousness of the peace-movement, has the gall to issue bad grades to George Bush…

    And now we are faced with a particularly grotesque form of appeasement. How is Germany reacting to the escalating violence by Islamic fundamentalists in Holland and elsewhere? By suggesting that we really should have a “Muslim Holiday” in Germany.

    I wish I were joking, but I am not. A substantial fraction of our (German) Government, and if the polls are to be believed, the German people, actually believe that creating an Official State “Muslim Holiday” will somehow spare us from the wrath of the fanatical Islamists.

    One cannot help but recall Britain’s Neville Chamberlain waving the laughable treaty signed by Adolph Hitler, and declaring European “Peace in our time”.

    What else has to happen before the European public and its political leadership get it? There is a sort of crusade underway, an especially perfidious crusade consisting of systematic attacks by fanatic Muslims, focused on civilians, directed against our free, open Western societies, and intent upon Western Civilization’s utter destruction.

    It is a conflict that will most likely last longer than any of the great military conflicts of the last century – a conflict conducted by an enemy that cannot be tamed by “tolerance” and “accommodation” but is actually spurred on by such gestures, which have proven to be, and will always be taken by the Islamists for signs of weakness.

    Only two recent American Presidents had the courage needed for anti-appeasement: Reagan and Bush.

    His American critics may quibble over the details, but we Europeans know the truth. We saw it first hand: Ronald Reagan ended the Cold War, freeing half of the German people from nearly 50 years of terror and virtual slavery. And Bush, supported only by the Social Democrat Blair, acting on moral conviction, recognized the danger in the Islamic War against democracy. His place in history will have to be evaluated after a number of years have passed.

    In the meantime, Europe sits back with charismatic self-confidence in the multicultural corner, instead of defending liberal society’s values and being an attractive center of power on the same playing field as the true great powers, America and China.

    On the contrary, we Europeans present ourselves, in contrast to those “arrogant Americans”, as the World Champions of “tolerance”, which even Otto Schily justifiably criticizes.

    Why?

    Because we’re so moral? I fear it’s more because we’re so materialistic, so devoid of a moral compass.

    For his policies, Bush risks the fall of the dollar, huge amounts of additional national debt, and a massive and persistent burden on the American economy, because unlike almost all of Europe, Bush realizes what is at stake — literally everything.

    While we criticize the “capitalistic robber barons” of America because they seem too sure of their priorities, we timidly defend our Social Welfare systems. Stay out of it! It could get expensive! We’d rather discuss reducing our 35-hour workweek or our dental coverage, or our 4 weeks of paid vacation, or listen to TV pastors preach about the need to “Reach out to terrorists, to understand and forgive”.

    These days, Europe reminds me of an old woman who, with shaking hands, frantically hides her last pieces of jewelry when she notices a robber breaking into a neighbor’s house.

    Appeasement? Europe, thy name is Cowardice.


  • Memories of Valentine’s Day

    I haven’t written anything here in quite some time. There’s not enough time in the day to get everything done and have the accompanying panic attacks. Today being what it is – Valentine’s Day – I thought I should at least attempt to write something thematic.

    The painting to the right is of Trinity Valentine at age 18. Who is that? I have no idea. Her last name’s Valentine… that’s thematic enough. The painter is Fred Burkhart. The surrounding blues are so startlingly blue in comparison to the black outline of her face and the lighter tones of her hair and face. I don’t know… something about it captivated me. You can see more paintings by this artist at www.burkhartstudios.com.

    As for Valentine’s Day proper, I am reminded of Valentine’s Day 2004. Heather and I had been married a whopping 18 days, and I was on a mission: to find the perfect kitty that Heather has been wanting for more than ten years. I was one of those Valentine’s Day haters. It was and still is my firm belief that a man who loves his wife finds special ways to show his love throughout the year, not just on some day that someone randomly chose as a day of romance. I personally resent it, though less now than I used to.

    The point of it is to make men feel so guilty at the thought of not buying something for their wife or girlfriend that they end up feeling obligated to go spend money so that she won’t be the only woman at work or at church who didn’t get some token of how special she is to her man.

    I so totally lucked out! The first place I stopped, PetSmart, had one little Siamese Snowshoe with piercing blue eyes. I was transfixed. Doubt crept in. What if Heather gets mad that I adopted a cat without even consulting with her? It was risky. It’s the kind of thing careless married couples fight about all the time.

    I was going to drive around and think about it, when this couple walked up and started cooing over the same kitten. Panic. What if someone else chooses him while I’m still thinking? Can I take that chance? No. I cannot. He’s too beautiful. He’s too perfect. It’s him or nothing.

    He was so tiny. So precious. He cried all the way home. I sang to him to calm him down. When we got home, my wife was taking a shower, probably getting ready for a possible Valentine’s Day dinner. I carried the kitty into the bedroom, opened the bathroom door just a crack, and gently nudged him on. I closed the door and listened carefully.

    Five seconds later, I hear Heather gasp. I hear the shower door open and she says, “Where did you come from, kitty?” in the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard her use. The rest was history. She fell in love with our new cat, and he has been an irreplaceable member of the family ever since. Now, whenever a gift-giving holiday comes around, she always tells me, “Just give me Mr. Kitty again. Wrap a bow around him and give him to me as a present!”

    I haven’t tried it yet. Somehow, I think the idea of it might be a little cuter than how it might play out for real. Still, Mr. Kitty earns me bonus points on every holiday when my wife remembers how wonderful it was to receive the perfect kitty on a day I had never previously celebrated.


  • Culture Clash: Thoughts on Stillness

    is it a coincidence that the wisest people are always those who take advantage of stillness and quiet? when was the last time you met a sage that was “making things happen”? you don’t.

    of course, you could pull the old person trump card and claim that those wise people are also old people, and thus more prone to stillness, quiet, and a slow-paced life. while that may be true, not all old people are wise, though most are slow and quiet.

    the wise ones of which i speak are the ones who live a slower pace. they are the ones who don’t acquiesce to the impulsive and increasing speed of our culture. how they survive, i do not know. i doubt i could afford food, rent, electricity, and water if i refused to participate in the rush of societal commerce.

    there are people who do it, though. maybe some farmers, ranchers, and homeless people in America, but i’m thinking more of normal people in places like Japan and Taiwan. i’m thinking of little fishing villages, where some old men and women grow and catch their own food each day, and have little use of urban anxiety. true, they may eat fish and rice with nearly every meal, but perhaps they see no problem with that. perhaps they live a quality of life i can only imagine.

    for me, the thought of stillness causes feelings of shameful laziness. every day, i feel guilty for “wasted time”, which refers to time not spent actively doing something. then again, the kind of stillness i’m used involves a sofa and a television. that’s vegging. i’m not talking about that.

    asian cultures have encouraged stillness in religious practices. meditation, zen, and yoga all deal with stillness or slow, deliberate movements. tranquility is one of their highest virtues.

    jews and christians, though the westerners seem unaware of this, have similar principles, i.e. “be still and know that he is God.” sad how that command has been all but forgotten in practical daily American life.

    even worse, in my mind, is how the opposite is culturally acceptable. “time management” is one of the bastardly uneducated ideas of our time. technology allows us to operate multiple machines at one time, all of which produce immeasurably more results than a single person could ever dream. with greater capabilities has come higher expectations. the “normal” bar is continually raised. a minor example is the cell phone. most people have one. now there’s no reason for being an hour or two late to work. flat tire? why didn’t you call? no cell phone? that’s irresponsible. you are now held to the new standard of normal. you either keep up and participate or you fall behind and risk extinction.

    i’ve said all that before. it’s one of my biggest complaints against metropolitan life in this country. but technology and time management are not the main issue here. the question at issue here is this: is it okay to be still, silent, and unproductive? Think of Mister Miyagi or Yoda. masters or a failures? corporate America says failures. and yet we all know the simple truth.

    wisdom says competing for top honors is wasteful. wisdom says serve others rather than try to rule them. wisdom says it is better to be poor and at peace within one’s self than to be a shallow, heartsick millionaire. the hard-hearted will disagree. that’s just the callouses talking.

    time is a precious jewel. more precious than what most of us spend it on. what would you have to face if you were silent for one hour? what could you understand if you allowed yourself the time to reflect?

    think about it. in silence.

    can you handle it?


  • The Cost of War

    the cost of war

    In 1998, John Mark was about 16 years old. I was 21. He was in a different world. John Mark was hell-bent on joining the Marines as soon as he was old enough. He had dreamed of becoming a Marine for years. It was probably his greatest ambition at that time of his life.

    I saw him racing toward military service, and I was worried. I have never been the type of person to even consider joining the armed forces without a draft. Bloodshed is something I don’t want to see or cause, if I can help it. Violence is abhorrent to me. It makes me sick when people treat each other like pieces of raw meat to beat into a pulp.

    I know that’s not what serving one’s country is all about. I just have very strong reactions to thoughts of going to war. People like me may not be born with whatever it takes to immediately understand the need for voluntary soldiers.

    John Mark was, though, and I hated it. He had such a tender, compassionate heart toward people, especially women who had been mistreated. He was very generous and not so seared that he couldn’t express his emotions without shame. I was afraid of what war would do to him, assuming he survived.

    Well, the time came and John Mark signed up. I don’t know where I was at the time. We hadn’t spoken in months. I was furious that he wouldn’t listen to reason. I was so worried about what war would do to him that I would have forced him to stay if I could, regardless of how wrong I would be.

    Years went by, and one day I see a mutual friend of ours, Gabe, at a softball park. He hands me the phone and tells me to say hello. John Mark was on the phone from somewhere in the Middle East. He sounded different – tired beyond human comprehension. The kind of exhaustion that comes from experiencing things that your mind and heart do not know how to react to.

    I was so glad to hear his voice. He’s like the younger brother I never had. During or after that phone call, I cannot remember which, I felt a new emotion toward John Mark: respect. He had become a man in ways that so many only dream of. He had faced the gritty reality of violent death. He had lived for weeks knowing that there was a real enemy nearby that wanted to kill him. Real men who would eagerly shoot him if given the chance.

    It’s too much for my little mind to wrap around. I’ve not been there. I’ve not experienced it. I am merely a civilian. I am an outsider. I belong to that group of people who, like dumb sheep, need to be protected because they can’t protect themselves and they don’t know what’s going on in the world around them.

    More to come….

    photo belongs to CNN News


  • Homer, Tolkein, and Jordan

    Granted, Homer was required reading in sophomore world lit., but The Illiad and The Odyssey are forever burned into my literary consciousness, not to mention my soul. Grand, larger than life tales of adventure, colossal battles, and mythical heroes litter the ancient landscape. Homer took a collection of myths and wove them into a historical tale worth believing.

    Two years after Homer, I found myself reading The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien. It was my girlfriend’s (now my wife) doing, actually. She had read The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. I had little to no interest in Tolkein at the time, but seeing as how everyone seemed to make such a big deal about him, I figured I had to at least attempt to maintain literary relevance.

    I found myself stretching The Silmarillion over a summer, savoring a few pages at a time. It was a relatively new experience for me, really. I’d grown up hearing no epic tales outside of the Old Testament. I had loved superheroes and comic books, but I was never exposed to any other tales of heroism or fantasy.

    What I found within the pages of The Silmarillion was nothing short of brilliance. This man had managed to create an entire world. Not just a story, or a novel, but an entire world. I was reading what can be best described as a combination of Old Testament, Homer, and other ancient myths. There was creation, fallen angels, elves, battles, adventures, tales of uncommon love, heroism, and many magnificent creatures. There was paradise, and the curse of rebellion upon the land. But through each tale, I could sense the thread of time as though it were real and history was being taught to me.

    Fast forward three years. Enter The Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan. I had first heard Jordan and this series mentioned while in college some four or five years ago. I was undecided as to my source’s credibility, so I did not pursue at that time what I assumed to be just another collection of novels based upon some role-playing game.

    How I came across him again in 2005 I cannot remember. Perhaps I was simply searching for fairy tales in the library and came across the familiar author’s name. I really don’t know. But I do know that since this past summer I have read four 600+ page books in the series and am well into the fifth. It appears that this author has no life; otherwise, how could he possibly have the time to imagine all that he has written. For those who are interested in checking out The Wheel of Time series, here’s a list of the books in chronological order within the story:

    * New Spring: The Novel
    * The Eye of the World
    * The Great Hunt
    * The Dragon Reborn
    * The Shadow Rising
    * The Fires of Heaven
    * Lord of Chaos
    * A Crown of Swords
    * The Path of Daggers
    * Winter’s Heart
    * Crossroads of Twilight
    * Knife of Dreams

    And one more is expected to complete the series, with perhaps another two prequels.

    I’ve worn myself out on Tolkein that I barely have the reserves right now to discuss Jordan, which is a grave disservice. He is a master of epic fantasy and adventure. After reading more than 2,500 pages of Robert Jordan’s massive project, I can say that he has more than my attention… he holds my anticipation.

    How do I differentiate Homer, Tolkein, and Jordan? Well, each owns the right to a different slice of the Epic pie. Homer is the king of poetry, first of all. He has woven centuries, if not millenia, of mythology into brilliant tales of earth-shattering importance.

    As for Tolkein, I have read no further than The Silmarillion and, for the time being, I have no desire to. That collection of tales stands alone as the pieces of another world’s history… conceivably our own, though too ancient for recorded memory. This collection of tales inevitably sets the stage for the four more popular books (Hobbit and the Trilogy), and without them those latter tales are incomplete at best. He weaves mythology, history, religion, and fantasy together in such a way as to convince the reader that one’s understanding the past must embrace all four as integral and irreplaceable.

    How to describe The Wheel of Time? Truly, I do not yet know. With at least 4,000 pages yet unread, I hesitate to make any broad sweeping statements. I will say this: I am disappointed that so far I have not read enough of his world’s history to satisfy my curiosity. Each book drips with references to rich historical information which I have yet to be privy to.

    From the Aiel Waste to Tar Valon to the land of Tear, Jordan’s world draws from mythology, Arthurian legend, Tolkein-like religious history (without exposing as much detail), and (dare I say it?) Star Wars’ Jedi qualities. Jordan causes the reader to sympathize with the main characters because of their initial commonality and lack of pretension. That they were thrust into the adventure of all times makes them all the more desirable. Tolkein did this to a lesser degree by resting the burden of Middle Earth upon the shoulders of meek little Hobbits. Hobbits are not human, however, and their dissimilar qualities and lifestyles prevent the reader from completely identifying with the little heroes.

    I could go on forever, and perhaps I will pick this up again when time permits. For now, each author holds a place of honor, beside the only other deserving author in my mind – C.S. Lewis.


  • The Rise of Fantasy Novels and Robert Jordan

    I read somewhere recently that fantasy novel sales are rising faster than most genres. USA Today even did a story on the genre, crediting The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and The Wheel of Time collections with repopularizing a classic literary style in popular culture.

    Of course, Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings is more than 50 years old and was revived by the three recent films. C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia are also making a surge back into the mainstream with the recent release of the film The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books are literally the hottest items worldwide, not to mention the four films that have already been through the theaters.

    Given less attention, perhaps only because his major fantasy series has yet to be translated to the big screen, is story-telling powerhouse, Robert Jordan. The breadth of his epic’s scope alone boggles the mind. in The Wheel of Time saga, Jordan creates another world with detail to rival or exceed Tolkein. His fantasy world is not founded on as many biblical themes as Tolkein (see The Simarillion), though the essential themes are there.

    Book reviews will be posted as soon as I am able to write them. I plan to review Jordan, Lewis, Tolkein, Rowling, and possibly more as they grab my attention. There is something that cannot be explained away and dismissed about the grand appeal of fantasy epics. Something deeper than literary tools and methods.

    John Eldredge has some interesting thoughts on fantasy, heroism, and epic adventure. I may try to weave his thoughts into the discussion for an extra perspective.

    More to come soon…