Donutman, Mustoe, Lee, The Janitor, Wolfedawg, Bubbles,
Sometimes, late at night, I put in Halo and run around the Slayer maps by myself.....just for the memories.
Good times, BB
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Thursday, September 07, 2006
God Talk
OK, so I'm not really a part of the Methoblogosphere like my brother. People don't have long theological discussion on my comment page. I'm usually the one who uses my blog for more personal reasons, to rant about stupidity, to recommend music or movies that come along that I actually enjoy, stuff like that.
However, with the start of a new school year and an article in the new Newsweek about modern atheism, I'm in kind of a theological mood.
So, the question, which is in no way a new one: How do we prove God? Or, perhaps a better question, do you we really need to?
First, it's important to know that I think the atheist quoted in the article aren't very current in their understanding of mainstream theology. Their opponents are the Christians that everybody knows about, the Christians in the media and high-profile positions. Which are, of course, the ultra-conservatives. (I'm sorry I can't give a link like other people, i'm not as blog savvy) In one quote, they say, "It seems you can tell a Christian that pudding turns people invisible, they will need the same evidence that everyone else does. But tell them that the book on their nightstand was written by an all-knowing deity that will send them to an eternal pit of fire if they don't believe every word of it, they accept that without trial."
ok, good start, guys. But, I don't believe the Bible was WRITTEN by God, but inspired. And, of course, I don't believe that I'm going to burn in the pit of fire if I don't accept every word the Bible says. (how did he get all those animals on one boat?) The atheists here are rejecting a very particular kind of belief in God, and I've got to say that I tend to agree with most of those sentiments.
The next point is eons old, how can anyone believe in a god who sends tsunamis and hurricanes and allows roofs to collapse on people while they worship? The answer is simple, I don't believe in that god. I believe in God, who comes to us in the midst of the hardest moments in our lives, to put a God arm around us and cry. God gives us the courage and strength to move on, to live on, to get back up, to rebuild.
Atheists are wrong. I will defend my rights to believe how I choose, as I defend theirs, but the one thing that I am 100% sure of is that there is a God. There is something beyond our understanding that is the ultimate source of benevolence and love and life and beauty.
Atheists are people who look at children as biological combinations of chromozones, sunsets as rays of light reflecting off our atmosphere and music as patterns of pitches, volumes and tempos.
When I look into the face of a child, I know that there is something more than science. When I look at the sun setting over the Lake of the Ozarks, I know there is some entity out there that I will never fully comprehend, some energy completely apart from everything we know that still yearns to have contact with us. And, especially, I need simply to listen to a Bach violin concerto, a John Coltrane sax solo, or Stevie Ray Vaughen play lenny with tears in his eyes to know that God is.
The authors discussed in the article hold fast to the claim that atheism is the smarter choice, that any rational mind can look at the world and know we are on our own.
Fine. I'll give you smarter. I'll give you the brain. Knowing that God is real is about heart. It's not about smarter, it's about truer, about deeper.
Atheists of the world, I respect your views and stand up for your rights to have them and speak them. But, I believe that you are wrong. Look your child in the eye, visit Banff National Park in Canada, listen to the guitar solo on Comfortably Numb, then try and tell me there's nothing more to this life than what we know.
B
However, with the start of a new school year and an article in the new Newsweek about modern atheism, I'm in kind of a theological mood.
So, the question, which is in no way a new one: How do we prove God? Or, perhaps a better question, do you we really need to?
First, it's important to know that I think the atheist quoted in the article aren't very current in their understanding of mainstream theology. Their opponents are the Christians that everybody knows about, the Christians in the media and high-profile positions. Which are, of course, the ultra-conservatives. (I'm sorry I can't give a link like other people, i'm not as blog savvy) In one quote, they say, "It seems you can tell a Christian that pudding turns people invisible, they will need the same evidence that everyone else does. But tell them that the book on their nightstand was written by an all-knowing deity that will send them to an eternal pit of fire if they don't believe every word of it, they accept that without trial."
ok, good start, guys. But, I don't believe the Bible was WRITTEN by God, but inspired. And, of course, I don't believe that I'm going to burn in the pit of fire if I don't accept every word the Bible says. (how did he get all those animals on one boat?) The atheists here are rejecting a very particular kind of belief in God, and I've got to say that I tend to agree with most of those sentiments.
The next point is eons old, how can anyone believe in a god who sends tsunamis and hurricanes and allows roofs to collapse on people while they worship? The answer is simple, I don't believe in that god. I believe in God, who comes to us in the midst of the hardest moments in our lives, to put a God arm around us and cry. God gives us the courage and strength to move on, to live on, to get back up, to rebuild.
Atheists are wrong. I will defend my rights to believe how I choose, as I defend theirs, but the one thing that I am 100% sure of is that there is a God. There is something beyond our understanding that is the ultimate source of benevolence and love and life and beauty.
Atheists are people who look at children as biological combinations of chromozones, sunsets as rays of light reflecting off our atmosphere and music as patterns of pitches, volumes and tempos.
When I look into the face of a child, I know that there is something more than science. When I look at the sun setting over the Lake of the Ozarks, I know there is some entity out there that I will never fully comprehend, some energy completely apart from everything we know that still yearns to have contact with us. And, especially, I need simply to listen to a Bach violin concerto, a John Coltrane sax solo, or Stevie Ray Vaughen play lenny with tears in his eyes to know that God is.
The authors discussed in the article hold fast to the claim that atheism is the smarter choice, that any rational mind can look at the world and know we are on our own.
Fine. I'll give you smarter. I'll give you the brain. Knowing that God is real is about heart. It's not about smarter, it's about truer, about deeper.
Atheists of the world, I respect your views and stand up for your rights to have them and speak them. But, I believe that you are wrong. Look your child in the eye, visit Banff National Park in Canada, listen to the guitar solo on Comfortably Numb, then try and tell me there's nothing more to this life than what we know.
B
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Little Miss Sunshine
Hey,
Just a quick post that I forgot to mention in the excitement of school and new digs.
Little Miss Sunshine is the best movie I've seen since Sin City. If you don't know what that means, that's about two years.
It's a gut-busting, tear-jerking, knee-slapping, heart-wrenching...umm......bum-numbing, mind-boggling look at what it means to be smart, successful and cool in America, and how America's idea of that is pretty much wrong. It's an odd movie, with plenty of language and "did he just say that" moments.
Anyway, go see it, B
Just a quick post that I forgot to mention in the excitement of school and new digs.
Little Miss Sunshine is the best movie I've seen since Sin City. If you don't know what that means, that's about two years.
It's a gut-busting, tear-jerking, knee-slapping, heart-wrenching...umm......bum-numbing, mind-boggling look at what it means to be smart, successful and cool in America, and how America's idea of that is pretty much wrong. It's an odd movie, with plenty of language and "did he just say that" moments.
Anyway, go see it, B
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
A 'Ho' Nuffer Rebel!
Alright, so Mad TV and SNL have sucked for a long time, but this title is from one of my favorite new sketches from Mad.
School's started again and they're not foolin' around this time. In fact, it seems to have gone to the HNL, or whole 'nother level. I have two, count 'em, two ethics courses-Engaging World Religions through Ethics and Ethics for Parish Ministry. The former is half an actual world religions class where we learn about the four other major religions and their ethical systems and half an experiment by our teacher, Dr. Richard Randolph (who everytime he e-mails I think is Robert Randolph calling me to join him on tour before I read closer). The whole class requires a computer and an internet connection. I tell you guys, it's like these people have never seen a computer before. If you entered graduate school after the year 1999 and you don't know how to upload....GET OUT NOW!
The latter, and if you don't remember that's Ethics for Parish Ministry, will be no picnic. Part of the course objective is to define my ethic for ministry. I have no idea what that means. This would be fine and expected, I would fully look forward to learning what that meant and being able to write the heck out of this paper...except it's the first assignment. I'm supposed to be able to identify and articulate my ethic for ministry by Sept. 28th. Oh, and CS's were out in force in this class too. (We call them Captain Students, for more info, see www.youmightbeacaptainstudent.blogspot.com ) People just couldn't get their little heads around the possibility of having an ethic for ministry that's something different than your personal ethic. Even Dr. R (yeah, I have him twice, and after I pissed him off by dropping out of his Brazil immersion this summer) got flustered and had to end the conversation. You don't treat your congregation with the same ethical convictions that you treat your children...and if you do, either quit the ministry or stop having kids.
At the end of my marathon 8 hour school day on Tuesday's is Worship-Dining in the Kingdom. This will be a good class except that everyone I didn't want to have class with again is taking it. Teaching this is Dr. Susan Smith, an absolute space cadat but one of the smartest space cadats I've ever known. This might be the first class I actually use when I get out of this place.
And then....there's Greek. AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!
Alright, on to more important things. When my sister moves, with a lot of help, on Sept. 16th, I'm getting my first set of matching furnature, an industrial size couch that's actually longer than The Beast but not as, shall we say, unique in appearance, just big and soft and perfect for napping, and a chair that's really a love seat with matching depth and softness. They kinda smell like small annoying dog, since both Steph and her roomate havea small annoying dog, but nothing a little Arm and Hammer and Febreeze won't take care of. To go along with my new perfect movie/football watching living room, I'm getting...wait for it...a big screen TV. It's not a plasma or liquid, one of the old ones but who cares. Everywhere I've lived, I've kinda felt like I'm only there for the summer and waiting to go back home. I hope that maybe this, along with Lindsey, Bates, Steph and the NKC fam., will finally make me feel home.
Living large and in charge,
B
School's started again and they're not foolin' around this time. In fact, it seems to have gone to the HNL, or whole 'nother level. I have two, count 'em, two ethics courses-Engaging World Religions through Ethics and Ethics for Parish Ministry. The former is half an actual world religions class where we learn about the four other major religions and their ethical systems and half an experiment by our teacher, Dr. Richard Randolph (who everytime he e-mails I think is Robert Randolph calling me to join him on tour before I read closer). The whole class requires a computer and an internet connection. I tell you guys, it's like these people have never seen a computer before. If you entered graduate school after the year 1999 and you don't know how to upload....GET OUT NOW!
The latter, and if you don't remember that's Ethics for Parish Ministry, will be no picnic. Part of the course objective is to define my ethic for ministry. I have no idea what that means. This would be fine and expected, I would fully look forward to learning what that meant and being able to write the heck out of this paper...except it's the first assignment. I'm supposed to be able to identify and articulate my ethic for ministry by Sept. 28th. Oh, and CS's were out in force in this class too. (We call them Captain Students, for more info, see www.youmightbeacaptainstudent.blogspot.com ) People just couldn't get their little heads around the possibility of having an ethic for ministry that's something different than your personal ethic. Even Dr. R (yeah, I have him twice, and after I pissed him off by dropping out of his Brazil immersion this summer) got flustered and had to end the conversation. You don't treat your congregation with the same ethical convictions that you treat your children...and if you do, either quit the ministry or stop having kids.
At the end of my marathon 8 hour school day on Tuesday's is Worship-Dining in the Kingdom. This will be a good class except that everyone I didn't want to have class with again is taking it. Teaching this is Dr. Susan Smith, an absolute space cadat but one of the smartest space cadats I've ever known. This might be the first class I actually use when I get out of this place.
And then....there's Greek. AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!
Alright, on to more important things. When my sister moves, with a lot of help, on Sept. 16th, I'm getting my first set of matching furnature, an industrial size couch that's actually longer than The Beast but not as, shall we say, unique in appearance, just big and soft and perfect for napping, and a chair that's really a love seat with matching depth and softness. They kinda smell like small annoying dog, since both Steph and her roomate havea small annoying dog, but nothing a little Arm and Hammer and Febreeze won't take care of. To go along with my new perfect movie/football watching living room, I'm getting...wait for it...a big screen TV. It's not a plasma or liquid, one of the old ones but who cares. Everywhere I've lived, I've kinda felt like I'm only there for the summer and waiting to go back home. I hope that maybe this, along with Lindsey, Bates, Steph and the NKC fam., will finally make me feel home.
Living large and in charge,
B
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Land of the Free, Home of the Naive
I'm having a sick-of-it-all moment. Friends, I've tried my best to stay positive. But America sucks. I'm not even really going to talk about our idiot president and his evil vice-squad Dick/Rove. (I'll only retell a story from this months Rolling Stone. Kurt Vonnegut, author, tells his interviewer that he's going to sue Pall Mall cigarettes. Ya wanna know why? Lung cancer, the interviewer asks. NO, because I'm 83 years old. Those bastards lied to me. They told me I'd be dead by 40, but instead I now have to suffer through leaders named Dick and Bush and, until recently, Colon.)
What I'm sick of is how our media treats teenagers. As a rookie youth pastor, I'm coming to enjoy teens as deep, smart, complex little adults coming into their own identity. The media sees teens as shallow little pods to manipulate into buying crap they don't need and is dedicating itself to turning teenagers into consumerist robot adults.
This weekend I witnessed three things that have brought this epidemic to my attention.
First, Sunday night was the Teen Choice Awards on Fox. Dane Cook was hosting with Jessica Simpson. If you aren't familiar, go to youtube and watch Dane Cook. Needless to say, noone under the age of 18 should know who Dane Cook is, but their he was, telling the teens what to like. "Roll Model" Britney Spears, who's pretty much turned herself into the richest white-trash barefoot and pregnant, stand by my man, walk into public restroom without shoes, drive with my baby in my lap kuntry girl in the world. Britney's explanation of why driving with a baby on her lap is ok, "We're country". And, if you needed anymore prove that TV stations and record companies are ruining our teenagers lives, the show concluded with the first ever performance of Britney's equally trashy and undeserving hubbie Kevin Federline, or K-Fed, as I call him. Kids who think Pink Floyd is an energy drink and The Beatles were the precursor for the Wiggles are being forced, FORCED, into thinking that Federline actually has any sort of musical talent and really deserves to be performing for us all, not merely because his sugar-momma bought and paid for his entire career, but that he's breaking new ground in the COMPLETELY over white-guy trying to get into black music. You're no Elvis, you're not Eminem, you're not even Vanilla Ice. But, because of his wife, our teenagers are being told to like this immature, idiotic, talentless piece of garbage.
Number two, this week in Entertainment Weekly there's an article about the MTV "reality" show Laguna Beach. Laguna Beach is a horrorfyingly watchable show about horrofylingly spoiled rich kids from California. The channel that just celebrated 25 years of MUSIC TELEVISION, and hasn't played a music video in about 10 oof those, is watched by every kid in America 13-20. These shockingly shallow kids who have no idea what need is, what real problems are or how much they actually have, are being painted by the writers (that's right, the reality show has writers) as people the teens of America should aspire to be like. And because they're well-trained little commercialist robots, they listen.
Number three, getting a hair cut yesterday, the only thing to read was Seventeen. This is a horrible magazine. Not only is it not well-written or designed or edited, but the content itself is disturbing. One such magazine, "How to Make Him your Boyfriend", discusses the need for young women to define themselves based on the idiot jock on her arm. The other, "How to Get Over Him", says that all men are trash, and the best way to feel great after your boyfriend cheats on you is to go out with his best friend. No lie. No articles about finding yourself, defining who you are as a young woman, being comfortable alone. It's boyfriends and fashions. In one magazine, the front of the magazine has vomit-inducing pictures of Nicole Ritchie (another person who has done absolutely nothing but be born to be famous) and talk about the dangers of anorexia. Later, in the SAME MAGAZINE, there's a story about how to get Ritchie's style, which to me looks like "Hobo-chic".
I'm sick of it all. I put the blame 50% on the industry and 50% on the parents. The kids who shouldn't know who Dane Cook is but do, aren't getting the parental supervision that they should be getting. The kids who come to me at church to talk about the new System of a Down album or bloody video game (both of which, at 24, I buy with frequency) need parents who don't just send their 13 yr old to the mall with money but who take an active interest in what their child is doing.
America. Land of the ignorant. Home of the Consumer. Land of the ethnocentrist. Home of egomaniacs. Land of the shallow, the inept, the celebrity. And home of the free-blogger, able to type his mind. Love it or hate it, it's home.
B
What I'm sick of is how our media treats teenagers. As a rookie youth pastor, I'm coming to enjoy teens as deep, smart, complex little adults coming into their own identity. The media sees teens as shallow little pods to manipulate into buying crap they don't need and is dedicating itself to turning teenagers into consumerist robot adults.
This weekend I witnessed three things that have brought this epidemic to my attention.
First, Sunday night was the Teen Choice Awards on Fox. Dane Cook was hosting with Jessica Simpson. If you aren't familiar, go to youtube and watch Dane Cook. Needless to say, noone under the age of 18 should know who Dane Cook is, but their he was, telling the teens what to like. "Roll Model" Britney Spears, who's pretty much turned herself into the richest white-trash barefoot and pregnant, stand by my man, walk into public restroom without shoes, drive with my baby in my lap kuntry girl in the world. Britney's explanation of why driving with a baby on her lap is ok, "We're country". And, if you needed anymore prove that TV stations and record companies are ruining our teenagers lives, the show concluded with the first ever performance of Britney's equally trashy and undeserving hubbie Kevin Federline, or K-Fed, as I call him. Kids who think Pink Floyd is an energy drink and The Beatles were the precursor for the Wiggles are being forced, FORCED, into thinking that Federline actually has any sort of musical talent and really deserves to be performing for us all, not merely because his sugar-momma bought and paid for his entire career, but that he's breaking new ground in the COMPLETELY over white-guy trying to get into black music. You're no Elvis, you're not Eminem, you're not even Vanilla Ice. But, because of his wife, our teenagers are being told to like this immature, idiotic, talentless piece of garbage.
Number two, this week in Entertainment Weekly there's an article about the MTV "reality" show Laguna Beach. Laguna Beach is a horrorfyingly watchable show about horrofylingly spoiled rich kids from California. The channel that just celebrated 25 years of MUSIC TELEVISION, and hasn't played a music video in about 10 oof those, is watched by every kid in America 13-20. These shockingly shallow kids who have no idea what need is, what real problems are or how much they actually have, are being painted by the writers (that's right, the reality show has writers) as people the teens of America should aspire to be like. And because they're well-trained little commercialist robots, they listen.
Number three, getting a hair cut yesterday, the only thing to read was Seventeen. This is a horrible magazine. Not only is it not well-written or designed or edited, but the content itself is disturbing. One such magazine, "How to Make Him your Boyfriend", discusses the need for young women to define themselves based on the idiot jock on her arm. The other, "How to Get Over Him", says that all men are trash, and the best way to feel great after your boyfriend cheats on you is to go out with his best friend. No lie. No articles about finding yourself, defining who you are as a young woman, being comfortable alone. It's boyfriends and fashions. In one magazine, the front of the magazine has vomit-inducing pictures of Nicole Ritchie (another person who has done absolutely nothing but be born to be famous) and talk about the dangers of anorexia. Later, in the SAME MAGAZINE, there's a story about how to get Ritchie's style, which to me looks like "Hobo-chic".
I'm sick of it all. I put the blame 50% on the industry and 50% on the parents. The kids who shouldn't know who Dane Cook is but do, aren't getting the parental supervision that they should be getting. The kids who come to me at church to talk about the new System of a Down album or bloody video game (both of which, at 24, I buy with frequency) need parents who don't just send their 13 yr old to the mall with money but who take an active interest in what their child is doing.
America. Land of the ignorant. Home of the Consumer. Land of the ethnocentrist. Home of egomaniacs. Land of the shallow, the inept, the celebrity. And home of the free-blogger, able to type his mind. Love it or hate it, it's home.
B
Monday, August 14, 2006
The Church's Stellar Social History
So, I'm reading an awesome present from Lindsey last night (actually couldn't stop reading it, stayed up 'til 3:00) called I Was There:Gigs that Changed the World. It's all about Jazz, Blues, and Rock shows that go down in rock n roll history for their "in the zone" playing, their social or political importance or just their you-had-to-be-there aspects.
As I'm reading through, I am amazed, and not for the first time, at what the church objected too. First, it was blues. Robert Johnson, the famous blues guitarman who, rock legend has it, sold his soul to the devil to get guitar skills. Well, of course, once that rumor started floating around the church could have none of it, banning and chasing Mr. Johnson out of town after town in the south. And then, as we all know, came Rock 'N' Roll and the legendary Elvis performance on the Milton Berle Show. Nicknamed Elvis the Pelvis, the church thought Mr. Presley was just too much sex for TV. The backlash was so great that he was shot from the neck up on the Ed Sullivan Show.
So, I got to thinking. Let's take a look back at the things the church has opposed over the years.
First, the church opposed pretty much anything that wasn't the church. The Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, all that.
Of course, any woman who proported to have a working relationship with God was burned at the stake for witchcraft.
Reading the Bible in anything but Latin (NOT it's original language by the way) was once blasphemy. In fact, anybody reading the Bible who wasn't a priest.....blasphemy.
In the US, I don't need to remind anyone of how Christians felt about the native peoples of the Americas.
Integrated church services, I still don't think the church does very well on that.
And then came the evil, moral-draining rock 'n' roll revolution.
No woman speakie in churchie, woman brain not big as man.
Of course, I could go on and on and on. The church always seems get all up in a huff about something only to watch it become a cultural norm. Elvis too much sex for TV. I've seen Denis Franz's backside more than I've seen my own.
I'm just saying that I'm glad the church has finally moved on from these unimportant issues and moved on to the things that are really tearing this world apart, those evils that threaten our very exsistance. War? Violence? Poverty? Disease? Hunger? Oh no, I'm sorry, I meant gay marriage and the right to choose. I'm sorry for the confusion. (I know I can't type sarcasm, but you should be picking up what I'm laying down)
Hey, Rev. Brad Bryan, Christians, the Church.......GETOVERYOURSELVES!
Rock 'N' Roll will never die, Brad
As I'm reading through, I am amazed, and not for the first time, at what the church objected too. First, it was blues. Robert Johnson, the famous blues guitarman who, rock legend has it, sold his soul to the devil to get guitar skills. Well, of course, once that rumor started floating around the church could have none of it, banning and chasing Mr. Johnson out of town after town in the south. And then, as we all know, came Rock 'N' Roll and the legendary Elvis performance on the Milton Berle Show. Nicknamed Elvis the Pelvis, the church thought Mr. Presley was just too much sex for TV. The backlash was so great that he was shot from the neck up on the Ed Sullivan Show.
So, I got to thinking. Let's take a look back at the things the church has opposed over the years.
First, the church opposed pretty much anything that wasn't the church. The Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, all that.
Of course, any woman who proported to have a working relationship with God was burned at the stake for witchcraft.
Reading the Bible in anything but Latin (NOT it's original language by the way) was once blasphemy. In fact, anybody reading the Bible who wasn't a priest.....blasphemy.
In the US, I don't need to remind anyone of how Christians felt about the native peoples of the Americas.
Integrated church services, I still don't think the church does very well on that.
And then came the evil, moral-draining rock 'n' roll revolution.
No woman speakie in churchie, woman brain not big as man.
Of course, I could go on and on and on. The church always seems get all up in a huff about something only to watch it become a cultural norm. Elvis too much sex for TV. I've seen Denis Franz's backside more than I've seen my own.
I'm just saying that I'm glad the church has finally moved on from these unimportant issues and moved on to the things that are really tearing this world apart, those evils that threaten our very exsistance. War? Violence? Poverty? Disease? Hunger? Oh no, I'm sorry, I meant gay marriage and the right to choose. I'm sorry for the confusion. (I know I can't type sarcasm, but you should be picking up what I'm laying down)
Hey, Rev. Brad Bryan, Christians, the Church.......GETOVERYOURSELVES!
Rock 'N' Roll will never die, Brad
Monday, August 07, 2006
Life and Death
Lately, it seems my life is full of both.
First, Lindsey's great-aunt and sort of adopted grandmother passed away a few weeks ago. Then, Lindsey's grandpa Herbie died in California. Then, Mustoe calls me and tells me the news of his friend from Columbia.
I tell ya folks, funerals suck. I'm lucky and unlucky in this regard.
I am very unlucky that I never knew my mom's dad, Papa, and my dad's mom, Nana. All I remember of Papa is a cigar, a birthmark and a dog he trained to be more human than animal. All I remember of Nana is a smile, a laugh and a story before bed. Papa died when I was 5 and Nana when I was 7. These were people I NEEDED to know. It's unfair that I didn't get a chance.
But, I'm also lucky. Just as I don't remember their lives, I don't remember their deaths. I remember Mom and Dad telling me about Nana and not believing it and running to the stairs of the Dome Home and crying. I remember something about Nate putting a car on Papa's chest, but I could've made that up. I don't remember my parents or siblings crying. Which is a good thing, 'cause when they cry I cry. I'm glad I don't remember the funerals, because, as mentioned above, funerals suck. I made it through Lynz's aunt's ok, but I broke down at Grandpa Herbie, mainly because of a beautiful euolgy that Lynz wrote and because I saw her crying. But it was weird, we were at the service, the very bored and boring preacher said all the right words in all the wrong ways, Lynz's thing was read and we cried. And then, 20 minutes later, we were all in the basement of the Eagles Club eating loose meat sandwiches like nothing had happened. I don't like funerals.
I pray for Corrine, Herbie, Tyler. I pray for Mustoe, Abby, Jeff, everybody. I pray for Lindsey, Brett, Cinde and her whole family. I pray for all the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, who have to have funerals.
At my funeral, no one will wear black, everyone will wear a different band t-shirt. No preacher, just stories. You'll sit and laugh and cry together, not silent in some stuffy room somewhere. Mustoe will play Free Bird and my wife and/or my kids will take my ashes to some mountian stream in Colorado and let me go.
My world has also been full of life. My sister's having a perfectly healthy baby boy and, yes, I'll probably be in the room. My brother's got two "bonus" kids, Joshua and Hannah for an indefinate time. And my best friends having a baby in March. I love those kids more than anything. Cori is so smart. Wesley is just as smart and such a laugh riot. Hannah has this bombastic belly laugh that goes along with her bombastic belly for a three year old, she looks like a doll. And Joshua, oh man, Joshua. I walked in the door and he ran up to me with his arms up and gave me a big year and half year old hug. I think he thought I was daddy, but it's ok he did it again the next time. I can't wait to be an uncle again, and an honorary uncle for Ryan and Honora. It's a role I think I was born to play.
Good times, bad times, the world keeps on spinning,
B
First, Lindsey's great-aunt and sort of adopted grandmother passed away a few weeks ago. Then, Lindsey's grandpa Herbie died in California. Then, Mustoe calls me and tells me the news of his friend from Columbia.
I tell ya folks, funerals suck. I'm lucky and unlucky in this regard.
I am very unlucky that I never knew my mom's dad, Papa, and my dad's mom, Nana. All I remember of Papa is a cigar, a birthmark and a dog he trained to be more human than animal. All I remember of Nana is a smile, a laugh and a story before bed. Papa died when I was 5 and Nana when I was 7. These were people I NEEDED to know. It's unfair that I didn't get a chance.
But, I'm also lucky. Just as I don't remember their lives, I don't remember their deaths. I remember Mom and Dad telling me about Nana and not believing it and running to the stairs of the Dome Home and crying. I remember something about Nate putting a car on Papa's chest, but I could've made that up. I don't remember my parents or siblings crying. Which is a good thing, 'cause when they cry I cry. I'm glad I don't remember the funerals, because, as mentioned above, funerals suck. I made it through Lynz's aunt's ok, but I broke down at Grandpa Herbie, mainly because of a beautiful euolgy that Lynz wrote and because I saw her crying. But it was weird, we were at the service, the very bored and boring preacher said all the right words in all the wrong ways, Lynz's thing was read and we cried. And then, 20 minutes later, we were all in the basement of the Eagles Club eating loose meat sandwiches like nothing had happened. I don't like funerals.
I pray for Corrine, Herbie, Tyler. I pray for Mustoe, Abby, Jeff, everybody. I pray for Lindsey, Brett, Cinde and her whole family. I pray for all the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, who have to have funerals.
At my funeral, no one will wear black, everyone will wear a different band t-shirt. No preacher, just stories. You'll sit and laugh and cry together, not silent in some stuffy room somewhere. Mustoe will play Free Bird and my wife and/or my kids will take my ashes to some mountian stream in Colorado and let me go.
My world has also been full of life. My sister's having a perfectly healthy baby boy and, yes, I'll probably be in the room. My brother's got two "bonus" kids, Joshua and Hannah for an indefinate time. And my best friends having a baby in March. I love those kids more than anything. Cori is so smart. Wesley is just as smart and such a laugh riot. Hannah has this bombastic belly laugh that goes along with her bombastic belly for a three year old, she looks like a doll. And Joshua, oh man, Joshua. I walked in the door and he ran up to me with his arms up and gave me a big year and half year old hug. I think he thought I was daddy, but it's ok he did it again the next time. I can't wait to be an uncle again, and an honorary uncle for Ryan and Honora. It's a role I think I was born to play.
Good times, bad times, the world keeps on spinning,
B
Saturday, July 22, 2006
There I Said It!
There are two things on my mind as of late and I think both of them need to be expressed in blog form in order for me to free my mind of the maddening rants swirling around inside.
(By the way, I'm writing this from the comfort of Lindsey's living room....AWESOME!)
NUMBER ONE: Movies are too long.
Vee and I saw Pirates of the Carribean on Thursday night, and despite my brother's high opinion, I thought that it was a great movie turned mediocre by the length of it. The special effects are amazing, the stories great, the action is awesome and Johnny Depp's the man. Those are all givens. But, here's the thing, in between all those things, I was bored.
Note to director's everywhere: Longer is not always better. King Kong, 30 minutes too long. Spiderman 2, 20 minutes too long. Return of the King and it's three seperate endings, 45 minutes too long.
Just because you think you're a visionary and you want to put the full force of your artistic mind into your work, doesn't mean do it. It's your job to give the audience the best experience possible not feed your egotistical urges. Especially in the age of the DVD, save it, ladies and gentlemen, that's what bonus features are for.
A person's enjoyment of a motion picture is directly porportional to the severity of their ass ache. Two hours, folks. That's it.
NUMBER TWO: Royals' Executives are idiots.
Lindsey and I took Wesley and Cori to the Royals' game last night and while the game was good, (I swear we're lucky charms, all four games we've been to have been wins) the whole experience was just rediculous. Four hot dogs, and a Jumbo hot dog, three sodas=$34.75. Cotton Candy, Two Ice Cream, Peanuts, and a Water=$15.00. Not to mention 7 dollars a seat in the nose bleed section.
But here's the kicker, baseball fans. We are sitting in a half empty stadium, watching the worst team maybe in baseball history, and the Kaufmann staff are throwing people out of seats left and right. I thought perhaps that it would end after a few innings, but it lasted to the absolute end of the game. We're sitting next to a completely empty section and when some people in front of us moved just across the aisle, the staff girl runs of the stairs to kick them back out.
Seriously people, who are you saving these seats for? Who's rushing to the stadium to see what the abysmal Royals are doing in the 7th inning?!
Royals' Execs, you worried about money, worried about moral, and filling the seats? Lower prices everywhere, all the time, not just crappy hot dogs on Buck Night (of which I had 7 the last time!) and STOP BEING TICKET NAZI'S!!!!
Alright, I think I'm done, except to say that the kids were awesome and Fireworks Friday is the only thing that makes the Royals Stadium crap worth it.
'Ello Beastie....
Brad
(By the way, I'm writing this from the comfort of Lindsey's living room....AWESOME!)
NUMBER ONE: Movies are too long.
Vee and I saw Pirates of the Carribean on Thursday night, and despite my brother's high opinion, I thought that it was a great movie turned mediocre by the length of it. The special effects are amazing, the stories great, the action is awesome and Johnny Depp's the man. Those are all givens. But, here's the thing, in between all those things, I was bored.
Note to director's everywhere: Longer is not always better. King Kong, 30 minutes too long. Spiderman 2, 20 minutes too long. Return of the King and it's three seperate endings, 45 minutes too long.
Just because you think you're a visionary and you want to put the full force of your artistic mind into your work, doesn't mean do it. It's your job to give the audience the best experience possible not feed your egotistical urges. Especially in the age of the DVD, save it, ladies and gentlemen, that's what bonus features are for.
A person's enjoyment of a motion picture is directly porportional to the severity of their ass ache. Two hours, folks. That's it.
NUMBER TWO: Royals' Executives are idiots.
Lindsey and I took Wesley and Cori to the Royals' game last night and while the game was good, (I swear we're lucky charms, all four games we've been to have been wins) the whole experience was just rediculous. Four hot dogs, and a Jumbo hot dog, three sodas=$34.75. Cotton Candy, Two Ice Cream, Peanuts, and a Water=$15.00. Not to mention 7 dollars a seat in the nose bleed section.
But here's the kicker, baseball fans. We are sitting in a half empty stadium, watching the worst team maybe in baseball history, and the Kaufmann staff are throwing people out of seats left and right. I thought perhaps that it would end after a few innings, but it lasted to the absolute end of the game. We're sitting next to a completely empty section and when some people in front of us moved just across the aisle, the staff girl runs of the stairs to kick them back out.
Seriously people, who are you saving these seats for? Who's rushing to the stadium to see what the abysmal Royals are doing in the 7th inning?!
Royals' Execs, you worried about money, worried about moral, and filling the seats? Lower prices everywhere, all the time, not just crappy hot dogs on Buck Night (of which I had 7 the last time!) and STOP BEING TICKET NAZI'S!!!!
Alright, I think I'm done, except to say that the kids were awesome and Fireworks Friday is the only thing that makes the Royals Stadium crap worth it.
'Ello Beastie....
Brad
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Wired Up
Hey everybody,
I'm currently posting this blog from Lindsey's couch watching King of the Hill on FX. That's right, I'm the proud owner of a Dell Inspiron E1505 Notebook computer and the proud stealer of someone's wireless connection somewhere in this building. I'm also going to LEGALLY purchase wireless for myself. So, within the next couple of weeks expect major advancements to the blog of the misspelled ZepplinRules.
thanks mom and dad,
Brad, or my new hacker alias, Orephus
I'm currently posting this blog from Lindsey's couch watching King of the Hill on FX. That's right, I'm the proud owner of a Dell Inspiron E1505 Notebook computer and the proud stealer of someone's wireless connection somewhere in this building. I'm also going to LEGALLY purchase wireless for myself. So, within the next couple of weeks expect major advancements to the blog of the misspelled ZepplinRules.
thanks mom and dad,
Brad, or my new hacker alias, Orephus
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Arrested Development
Hey everybody,
Thursday of this week I will be arrested. The MDA is holding me for an undisclosed charge at the Brio Tuscan Grill unless I raise the bail money. My bail has been set at $600 dollars, the cost of sending one of Jerry's Kids to summer camp.
Please give all that you can, 25, 50, 100 dollars. The kids need your help and so do I, 'cause I don't really want to spend my afternoon in a restaurant with a bunch of strangers. I've got work to do!
Make checks payable to MDA and mail them to Brad Bryan c/o Central UMC 5144 Oak Street Kansas City, MO 64112.
Thanks for the help, Brad
Thursday of this week I will be arrested. The MDA is holding me for an undisclosed charge at the Brio Tuscan Grill unless I raise the bail money. My bail has been set at $600 dollars, the cost of sending one of Jerry's Kids to summer camp.
Please give all that you can, 25, 50, 100 dollars. The kids need your help and so do I, 'cause I don't really want to spend my afternoon in a restaurant with a bunch of strangers. I've got work to do!
Make checks payable to MDA and mail them to Brad Bryan c/o Central UMC 5144 Oak Street Kansas City, MO 64112.
Thanks for the help, Brad
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Old Man Rant
Alright, so as I was proofreading my blog yesterday, as I do on a regular basis since I want to give all of you who take the time to stop by the best product possible, I read something that might need some further explanation.
When I say that going to the water park made me feel like I was going to hell every three seconds, I want the world to know that I was not checking out 14-18 year old girls. I don't think anyone who went on the trip read it that way, we joked about it all week, but I can see clearly how someone else could read it wrong. I wasn't checking anyone out. To look around at Blue Bayou Water Park and not see a 14-18 year old girl in a bikini would be kinda like looking around Blue Bayou Water Park and not seeing WATER!
So, here's the rant. Most of my girls' arguments against one piece swimsuits is that they're impossible to find, and I have to respect that. So, they ended up wearing tank tops over their bikinis, which is NOT just as good. But I have to wonder how difficult it is to try and raise a young lady in today's world who respects herself and her body and those around her.
Look at the TV and the movies. Everywhere we look we see that dressing like this and acting like this is OK, is actually the cool thing to do. Lindsey Lohan, Paris Hilton, even squeaky clean Hilary Duff, I would never let my daughter out of the house in the things they wear. But, everyday on the TV or in the magazines there they are, hanging out all over the place, teaching young girls who want to be like them that it's ok to wear clothes that don't cover 90% of your body.
So, I understand, it's not my girls fault! You can't find a shirt that's not tight or doesn't show belly. You can't find pants that don't come down so far you can almost see...well...you know. They don't make them. So, even if girls wanted to they couldn't.
So, I guess this message is to clothing designers as much as it is girls. Anyone remember how mystery is sexy? I'm not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but ya know what sometimes its what you DON'T see that's the turn on. For example: I think Jessica Alba is the hottest girl around simply because she hasn't shone her boobs in a movie to get to the top.
OK, so I felt like I was going to hell at the water park because of what my eyes saw. And I would have to be blind and my eyes ripped out with a soup spoon to not see it.
These days you tell a girl she looks like a prostitute and she says thank you!
Alright, a couple of "Get off my lawns", "Turn down that music's", and "This is a street not a racetrack's" and I'm officially my grandfather.
See ya, everybody,
Brad
When I say that going to the water park made me feel like I was going to hell every three seconds, I want the world to know that I was not checking out 14-18 year old girls. I don't think anyone who went on the trip read it that way, we joked about it all week, but I can see clearly how someone else could read it wrong. I wasn't checking anyone out. To look around at Blue Bayou Water Park and not see a 14-18 year old girl in a bikini would be kinda like looking around Blue Bayou Water Park and not seeing WATER!
So, here's the rant. Most of my girls' arguments against one piece swimsuits is that they're impossible to find, and I have to respect that. So, they ended up wearing tank tops over their bikinis, which is NOT just as good. But I have to wonder how difficult it is to try and raise a young lady in today's world who respects herself and her body and those around her.
Look at the TV and the movies. Everywhere we look we see that dressing like this and acting like this is OK, is actually the cool thing to do. Lindsey Lohan, Paris Hilton, even squeaky clean Hilary Duff, I would never let my daughter out of the house in the things they wear. But, everyday on the TV or in the magazines there they are, hanging out all over the place, teaching young girls who want to be like them that it's ok to wear clothes that don't cover 90% of your body.
So, I understand, it's not my girls fault! You can't find a shirt that's not tight or doesn't show belly. You can't find pants that don't come down so far you can almost see...well...you know. They don't make them. So, even if girls wanted to they couldn't.
So, I guess this message is to clothing designers as much as it is girls. Anyone remember how mystery is sexy? I'm not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but ya know what sometimes its what you DON'T see that's the turn on. For example: I think Jessica Alba is the hottest girl around simply because she hasn't shone her boobs in a movie to get to the top.
OK, so I felt like I was going to hell at the water park because of what my eyes saw. And I would have to be blind and my eyes ripped out with a soup spoon to not see it.
These days you tell a girl she looks like a prostitute and she says thank you!
Alright, a couple of "Get off my lawns", "Turn down that music's", and "This is a street not a racetrack's" and I'm officially my grandfather.
See ya, everybody,
Brad
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Louisiana BaYOO!
Greetings and Salutations One and All,
I'm back. If you weren't yourself presently aware, my grammer sucks. Also, I've been gone for a week on a mission trip to Louisianna. Here's the recap.
Unbelievable, horrific, rewarding, amazing, hilarious, heart-wrenching, exhausting. If you're interested in more detailed info, read on.
Well, a week ago Saturday I was in a wedding and Mrs. Caldwell was in another so we drove the I-70 Train together later that night. Mustoe and Adam were waiting for us at the door and after about a half an hour I was out on the floor. Not a big day, although Dru and I did have some good talks.
Sunday we drove and drove and drove and drove. I have to hand it to my van rental guy, 'cause we had a sweet ride. On the way down we watched Meet the Fockers, Karate Kid Part. 1, Ghostbusters, Star Wars: A New Hope, and some SNL dvds. We arrived in Kenner (See ya in Kenner) LA around 6:30 or 7:00. Had dinner and met with our work groups for the first time.
Monday was a short work day because of orientation. There were mainly three guys in charge, Darrel, Warren, and Tommy. Tommy moved down from Detroit or somewhere and has been sleeping on a cot in a Sunday School room for ten months. He was just recently given a part time position, before that he was all volunteer. Anyway, the orientation was not exactly uplifting. Lots of "wear your masks all the time" and "watch out for snakes". Also, a lot of "the bad element has returned". But it was good and these guys really know what they're talking about. So, we headed to work.
...And got lost. The guy in the lead, Vince, has never heard of "Being in the lead etiquette". Changing lanes without signaling, turning right on red. It was impossible. But, we eventually got to our worksite around lunch time, so we ate before we got work.
We split up the youth groups into 6 work teams for the week, which, MUSTOE, I think was a great idea. My work group was Leah, Caldwell's sister, Andy, an adult from Mustoe's church who attends Dad's church when he's in school, Anna, Tim, Sexy Lexi (Alex), Niky and Renee from Mustoe's church, Galen and Emily from my church, and Danielle from Florida. Great bunch of folks that I'm better off for having met.
Our first house, due to a not-out-fault mixup, was to be worked on by three teams until a dry wall job could be found. That's a lot of people for a tiny house. We carried out ruined furniture, the fridge, old pictures of kids birthday parties and posed by the Christmas tree. Then we started tearing down the destroyed drywall. Which, with all the reverance to a person's home I can have. Was FREAKIN' AWESOME!!!!!! So, that was fun, and that was pretty much our first day.
Like usually happens with me, everybody I first met, especially NicNic and NayNay (the girls from my group), thought I hated them at first. Although this was not the case, I spent most of the first night with my kids, joking around and playing cards. Later I explained to the girls that if I were nice to them, I could go to jail, so they understood, after telling me they thought I was a grumpy 84 year old man trapped in a 24 year old body, which sounds about right to me. But, by the end of the trip, we all loved each other like it should've been. Being down there, in LA i mean, with people you don't know, is a good way to get to know them pretty quick.
Alright, it went on like that for a two more days. One group went off to be drywalling experts, Dru!, and my team and Dustin Bryson's team continued with the house. So, within the recap, I will recap some funny/touching stories from our house.
We never met our lady, which was sad, but we did meet her mother. The first day, Galen, of course it's one of my kids, decided to help two other guys get the kitchen counter down. The other two guys knew the water was off, Galen didn't. Galen took a big old sledge hammer swing to the edge of the sink and a steady stream of water about an inch in diameter sprayed all the way across the room to the opposite wall. We took the fridge out of the kitchen window, which was kinda fun. The three muskateers, Alex, Galen and Nathan took down the cealings and had to wear funny "ET" suits that, judging from the sweat pouring off them at break time, hot as hell. It was good getting to know Dustin, he's a cool cat, although he sucks at the Cajun pronunciation game. He's kinda like Babe Ruth: he strikes out a lot, but when he gets a hold of one, it's out of the park. Niky and Renee found a bunch of change, which I said throw out of course (remember, grumpy old man) but they kept it and counted it and when it came ot 49 dollars, added a dollar of their own, which I thought was pretty cool of them. My relationship with my group solidified at the end of the second day when a water fight broke out waiting for the other group. They learned that I wasn't grumpy all the time, I'm just quiet and have that look. They also learned that about half of what I say is not to be taken seriously.
So, that's our house. From Monday to 1:00 Wednesday we completely cleaned out, gutted and swept up a house, bringing our lady one step closer to moving back into her home.
Wednesday afternoon was really cool. We took 7 vehicles, bad idea, on a tour of New Orleans. Our first stop was the 17th Street Canal, where one of the levees broke. The most fascinating thing was a row of town houses. There were three townhomes connected to each other, a hundred yard gap where nothing stood, and then four more identical townhomes on the other side of the levee break. A FOOTBALL FIELD SIZE STREACH OF HOMES, GONE. But, it was amazing to see the rebuilding process in this area, the rich side town, and compare it to where we were working. It was great to see my kid Dylan in his element, which is photography. Dylan is Dennis the Menace, Bart Simpson, and the squirrel from Over the Hedge, rolled into one and dipped into a bathtub of liquified Speed. But put a camera in his hands and he could be mistaken for an adult.
From our stop in the rebuilding rich, white neighborhood, we drove to the Ninth Ward, one of the poorest areas of our NATION let alone New Orleans. We saw the infamous house-on-top-of-a-truck. We saw a tree growing inside a car. We saw a lone tricycle in the front yard. I cannot explain to you in words what it felt like to be there, or even what it truly looked like. It looked kinda like a movie set, which Caldwell and I made a joke about which I'm sick to my stomach thinking about still. Surreal is only part of it. It's the most surreal place I've ever been, yet at the same time, it's more real than anything I've ever seen.
The Ninth Ward will not be reconstructed. It will be bulldozed. Acres and Acres of neighborhood, gone forever. Turned into a greenspace, a park across the river from the real neighborhoods, the ones worth rebuilding, the white neighborhood, the rich neighborhood.
The Ninth Ward is where we met Roosevelt. Roosevelt came riding up on his bike and asked one of our girls (who was not by herself, don't worry) if we were a church group and could we pray for him. She got an adult, and the adult found me. I thought that myself and the other adult would put our hands on Roosevelt and move off to the corner and say a prayer. But as we moved about twenty-thirty kids got in a circle around Roosevelt. We joined hands and I said a prayer. The girls were crying, the guys were trying not to and failing. As Roosevelt thanked us and turned to ride off he said, "Now I gotta go find somewhere to sleep tonight."
I need a minute after typing that, and I was there, so take a minute, there's much much more!!
After the Ninth Ward we went down to the still-intact French Quarter, which seemed to me like a dirtier Las Vegas with more culture. I didn't like it. It was 7:30 on a Wednesday night and there were guys stumbling drunk in the streets and girls in bikinis handing out jello shots on the corners. Not for me.
Thursday was another work day, and, I think, the best. Mustoe joined our work team of two groups, so I got hang out with him all day, which was nice. I'd've (that's right, the double contraction, what are you gonna do about it?) liked to work with Caldwell some but we didn't get a chance to, except of course for THE FRIDGE which I'll get to in a second. The owner was there on Thursday. She was Thai with a name like Mena, or Myna. It was pretty but I couldn't pronouce it. She was a widow, not from the flood, who lived alone in the big house. She had driven from Dallas just to be with us as we worked on her house. We only had one day here so we made a plan and got to work. Highlights: cutting my finger and actually feeling like I did something that week, the rats in the kitchen, and , of course, demolishing the bathroom in the garage. There was this built bathroom our in the garage, literally like a Water Closet. Mustoe, Nathan, Galen and myself totally smacked that thing up like Ike Turner (sorry old joke for mustoe). The ax worked the best. We swung at the wooden doors of the closet with all our might, throwing out sholders and tearing down the wood frame. Mustoe had a mis-hit, and immediately went into the Colossus Power-Up from the old X-Men video game. The next time I"m with any of you, ask me to do it for you but it looks like this aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAARGGH!
And then took off the whole door in his next swing. I tell, if there was a soundtrack to my life, it would've been playing "Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta" or "O Fortuna" (that opera music that's played when the ringwraiths are chasing Frodo on that elf chicks horse). It was beautiful. After we were sure that the bathroom was dead, we came out to find Mena, her son-in-law, and Dustin in the backyard looking at us like idiots.
One more story and then the water park and then we're done guys, lower your sholder and power through to the end.
Everything was going smoothly at Mena's house, until we went 'round the corner and saw a giant fridge laying on its back. We tried moving out long ways, side ways and upside down. We took the doors off the house and tried again. Nothing. When Mena said in her thick Thai that she had to take to door off to get the fridge inside, we thought she meant the back door to the house. She didn't. This fridge was not leaving the house with its doors on. Let me set this up a little. This fridge had food inside it, Milk, Mayo, Eggs, that had been through a hurricane, through a flood, and then had sat for ten months in LA heat and humidity. We decided to wait for the end of the day to get the fridge out. So, when everything else was done, and everyone else was in the vans with the air on and plenty of water, Adam Caldwell, Mustoe, Dustin, Jake and I went back inside to get the fridge. We came up with a plan and executed. Dustin pulled the doors off, we tipped it over on it's side and Jake and a kid named Tyce hoed out all the rotten, disgusting food onto a tarp. When they started hoeing, and got all that riled up and moving again, it wasn't overwhelming, it was worse. Every few breaths you'd get a mouthful of the most fowl smelling, putrid thing in the whole world. Then you'd have some ok breaths, and that fowl monster would come back. Truly gut-wrenching. We pushed the doorless beast out the back door and to the curb. Got in the trucks and drove away.
The next day I thought I was going to hell about every three seconds. We went to the Blue Bayou Water Park and all of Mustoe and my girls put on their swimsuits. My girls were prepared with t-shirts and tank tops to where over them but when I saw that Mustoe's group had not apparently heard him when we said no two-pieces (something "He just wouldn't think of") I told my girls they could do as they pleased. And so, for the next 6 hours I thought I was going straight to hell about every three seconds.
The water park, exept of the hell part, was awesome. Adam, Mustoe, Jake and I, weighed so much that we got the most air on this one ride that the lifegaurd had ever seen. And then, the most amazing three hours of my life ensued. Mustoe, rented tubes, Lazy River, Three and a Half hours. That's right, Mustoe and I spent three and a half hours after lunch innertubing round and round the lazy river. It was glorious. Different groups of kids and adults would come to see us (I'd feel like going to hell some more). We talked about stuff, and nothing. We talked and not talked, we not-talked for hours. It was awesome.
Alright, everybody, the longest blog entry in the world is finally complete. If you have a chance to go on a trip to New Orleans, go right away. It was unbelievable but I'm glad to be home.
"You must be the change you seek" -Ghandi
Too summerize this whole entry in Cajun:
Salutation
Transportation
Introductions
Communication
Deconstruction
Devastation
Repulsion
Completion
Anticipation
Damnation
Exhaustion
I'm outie 5,000, take it sleazy,
B
I'm back. If you weren't yourself presently aware, my grammer sucks. Also, I've been gone for a week on a mission trip to Louisianna. Here's the recap.
Unbelievable, horrific, rewarding, amazing, hilarious, heart-wrenching, exhausting. If you're interested in more detailed info, read on.
Well, a week ago Saturday I was in a wedding and Mrs. Caldwell was in another so we drove the I-70 Train together later that night. Mustoe and Adam were waiting for us at the door and after about a half an hour I was out on the floor. Not a big day, although Dru and I did have some good talks.
Sunday we drove and drove and drove and drove. I have to hand it to my van rental guy, 'cause we had a sweet ride. On the way down we watched Meet the Fockers, Karate Kid Part. 1, Ghostbusters, Star Wars: A New Hope, and some SNL dvds. We arrived in Kenner (See ya in Kenner) LA around 6:30 or 7:00. Had dinner and met with our work groups for the first time.
Monday was a short work day because of orientation. There were mainly three guys in charge, Darrel, Warren, and Tommy. Tommy moved down from Detroit or somewhere and has been sleeping on a cot in a Sunday School room for ten months. He was just recently given a part time position, before that he was all volunteer. Anyway, the orientation was not exactly uplifting. Lots of "wear your masks all the time" and "watch out for snakes". Also, a lot of "the bad element has returned". But it was good and these guys really know what they're talking about. So, we headed to work.
...And got lost. The guy in the lead, Vince, has never heard of "Being in the lead etiquette". Changing lanes without signaling, turning right on red. It was impossible. But, we eventually got to our worksite around lunch time, so we ate before we got work.
We split up the youth groups into 6 work teams for the week, which, MUSTOE, I think was a great idea. My work group was Leah, Caldwell's sister, Andy, an adult from Mustoe's church who attends Dad's church when he's in school, Anna, Tim, Sexy Lexi (Alex), Niky and Renee from Mustoe's church, Galen and Emily from my church, and Danielle from Florida. Great bunch of folks that I'm better off for having met.
Our first house, due to a not-out-fault mixup, was to be worked on by three teams until a dry wall job could be found. That's a lot of people for a tiny house. We carried out ruined furniture, the fridge, old pictures of kids birthday parties and posed by the Christmas tree. Then we started tearing down the destroyed drywall. Which, with all the reverance to a person's home I can have. Was FREAKIN' AWESOME!!!!!! So, that was fun, and that was pretty much our first day.
Like usually happens with me, everybody I first met, especially NicNic and NayNay (the girls from my group), thought I hated them at first. Although this was not the case, I spent most of the first night with my kids, joking around and playing cards. Later I explained to the girls that if I were nice to them, I could go to jail, so they understood, after telling me they thought I was a grumpy 84 year old man trapped in a 24 year old body, which sounds about right to me. But, by the end of the trip, we all loved each other like it should've been. Being down there, in LA i mean, with people you don't know, is a good way to get to know them pretty quick.
Alright, it went on like that for a two more days. One group went off to be drywalling experts, Dru!, and my team and Dustin Bryson's team continued with the house. So, within the recap, I will recap some funny/touching stories from our house.
We never met our lady, which was sad, but we did meet her mother. The first day, Galen, of course it's one of my kids, decided to help two other guys get the kitchen counter down. The other two guys knew the water was off, Galen didn't. Galen took a big old sledge hammer swing to the edge of the sink and a steady stream of water about an inch in diameter sprayed all the way across the room to the opposite wall. We took the fridge out of the kitchen window, which was kinda fun. The three muskateers, Alex, Galen and Nathan took down the cealings and had to wear funny "ET" suits that, judging from the sweat pouring off them at break time, hot as hell. It was good getting to know Dustin, he's a cool cat, although he sucks at the Cajun pronunciation game. He's kinda like Babe Ruth: he strikes out a lot, but when he gets a hold of one, it's out of the park. Niky and Renee found a bunch of change, which I said throw out of course (remember, grumpy old man) but they kept it and counted it and when it came ot 49 dollars, added a dollar of their own, which I thought was pretty cool of them. My relationship with my group solidified at the end of the second day when a water fight broke out waiting for the other group. They learned that I wasn't grumpy all the time, I'm just quiet and have that look. They also learned that about half of what I say is not to be taken seriously.
So, that's our house. From Monday to 1:00 Wednesday we completely cleaned out, gutted and swept up a house, bringing our lady one step closer to moving back into her home.
Wednesday afternoon was really cool. We took 7 vehicles, bad idea, on a tour of New Orleans. Our first stop was the 17th Street Canal, where one of the levees broke. The most fascinating thing was a row of town houses. There were three townhomes connected to each other, a hundred yard gap where nothing stood, and then four more identical townhomes on the other side of the levee break. A FOOTBALL FIELD SIZE STREACH OF HOMES, GONE. But, it was amazing to see the rebuilding process in this area, the rich side town, and compare it to where we were working. It was great to see my kid Dylan in his element, which is photography. Dylan is Dennis the Menace, Bart Simpson, and the squirrel from Over the Hedge, rolled into one and dipped into a bathtub of liquified Speed. But put a camera in his hands and he could be mistaken for an adult.
From our stop in the rebuilding rich, white neighborhood, we drove to the Ninth Ward, one of the poorest areas of our NATION let alone New Orleans. We saw the infamous house-on-top-of-a-truck. We saw a tree growing inside a car. We saw a lone tricycle in the front yard. I cannot explain to you in words what it felt like to be there, or even what it truly looked like. It looked kinda like a movie set, which Caldwell and I made a joke about which I'm sick to my stomach thinking about still. Surreal is only part of it. It's the most surreal place I've ever been, yet at the same time, it's more real than anything I've ever seen.
The Ninth Ward will not be reconstructed. It will be bulldozed. Acres and Acres of neighborhood, gone forever. Turned into a greenspace, a park across the river from the real neighborhoods, the ones worth rebuilding, the white neighborhood, the rich neighborhood.
The Ninth Ward is where we met Roosevelt. Roosevelt came riding up on his bike and asked one of our girls (who was not by herself, don't worry) if we were a church group and could we pray for him. She got an adult, and the adult found me. I thought that myself and the other adult would put our hands on Roosevelt and move off to the corner and say a prayer. But as we moved about twenty-thirty kids got in a circle around Roosevelt. We joined hands and I said a prayer. The girls were crying, the guys were trying not to and failing. As Roosevelt thanked us and turned to ride off he said, "Now I gotta go find somewhere to sleep tonight."
I need a minute after typing that, and I was there, so take a minute, there's much much more!!
After the Ninth Ward we went down to the still-intact French Quarter, which seemed to me like a dirtier Las Vegas with more culture. I didn't like it. It was 7:30 on a Wednesday night and there were guys stumbling drunk in the streets and girls in bikinis handing out jello shots on the corners. Not for me.
Thursday was another work day, and, I think, the best. Mustoe joined our work team of two groups, so I got hang out with him all day, which was nice. I'd've (that's right, the double contraction, what are you gonna do about it?) liked to work with Caldwell some but we didn't get a chance to, except of course for THE FRIDGE which I'll get to in a second. The owner was there on Thursday. She was Thai with a name like Mena, or Myna. It was pretty but I couldn't pronouce it. She was a widow, not from the flood, who lived alone in the big house. She had driven from Dallas just to be with us as we worked on her house. We only had one day here so we made a plan and got to work. Highlights: cutting my finger and actually feeling like I did something that week, the rats in the kitchen, and , of course, demolishing the bathroom in the garage. There was this built bathroom our in the garage, literally like a Water Closet. Mustoe, Nathan, Galen and myself totally smacked that thing up like Ike Turner (sorry old joke for mustoe). The ax worked the best. We swung at the wooden doors of the closet with all our might, throwing out sholders and tearing down the wood frame. Mustoe had a mis-hit, and immediately went into the Colossus Power-Up from the old X-Men video game. The next time I"m with any of you, ask me to do it for you but it looks like this aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAARGGH!
And then took off the whole door in his next swing. I tell, if there was a soundtrack to my life, it would've been playing "Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta" or "O Fortuna" (that opera music that's played when the ringwraiths are chasing Frodo on that elf chicks horse). It was beautiful. After we were sure that the bathroom was dead, we came out to find Mena, her son-in-law, and Dustin in the backyard looking at us like idiots.
One more story and then the water park and then we're done guys, lower your sholder and power through to the end.
Everything was going smoothly at Mena's house, until we went 'round the corner and saw a giant fridge laying on its back. We tried moving out long ways, side ways and upside down. We took the doors off the house and tried again. Nothing. When Mena said in her thick Thai that she had to take to door off to get the fridge inside, we thought she meant the back door to the house. She didn't. This fridge was not leaving the house with its doors on. Let me set this up a little. This fridge had food inside it, Milk, Mayo, Eggs, that had been through a hurricane, through a flood, and then had sat for ten months in LA heat and humidity. We decided to wait for the end of the day to get the fridge out. So, when everything else was done, and everyone else was in the vans with the air on and plenty of water, Adam Caldwell, Mustoe, Dustin, Jake and I went back inside to get the fridge. We came up with a plan and executed. Dustin pulled the doors off, we tipped it over on it's side and Jake and a kid named Tyce hoed out all the rotten, disgusting food onto a tarp. When they started hoeing, and got all that riled up and moving again, it wasn't overwhelming, it was worse. Every few breaths you'd get a mouthful of the most fowl smelling, putrid thing in the whole world. Then you'd have some ok breaths, and that fowl monster would come back. Truly gut-wrenching. We pushed the doorless beast out the back door and to the curb. Got in the trucks and drove away.
The next day I thought I was going to hell about every three seconds. We went to the Blue Bayou Water Park and all of Mustoe and my girls put on their swimsuits. My girls were prepared with t-shirts and tank tops to where over them but when I saw that Mustoe's group had not apparently heard him when we said no two-pieces (something "He just wouldn't think of") I told my girls they could do as they pleased. And so, for the next 6 hours I thought I was going straight to hell about every three seconds.
The water park, exept of the hell part, was awesome. Adam, Mustoe, Jake and I, weighed so much that we got the most air on this one ride that the lifegaurd had ever seen. And then, the most amazing three hours of my life ensued. Mustoe, rented tubes, Lazy River, Three and a Half hours. That's right, Mustoe and I spent three and a half hours after lunch innertubing round and round the lazy river. It was glorious. Different groups of kids and adults would come to see us (I'd feel like going to hell some more). We talked about stuff, and nothing. We talked and not talked, we not-talked for hours. It was awesome.
Alright, everybody, the longest blog entry in the world is finally complete. If you have a chance to go on a trip to New Orleans, go right away. It was unbelievable but I'm glad to be home.
"You must be the change you seek" -Ghandi
Too summerize this whole entry in Cajun:
Salutation
Transportation
Introductions
Communication
Deconstruction
Devastation
Repulsion
Completion
Anticipation
Damnation
Exhaustion
I'm outie 5,000, take it sleazy,
B
Thursday, June 15, 2006
What John Saw
Inspired by the dismal remaking of The Omen and, partially, the politically apocalyptic V for Vendetta, both of which I saw last weekend, I have decided to make a movie.
I'll do this in my spare time of course, between finishing school and starting a heavy metal church. (Andy, thanks for putting heavy metal and ecclesiology in the same sentence!)
The movie is entitled "What John Saw". We have had movies about the Anti-Christ (The Omen 1-4), we've had movies about the end of the world (The Day After Tomorrow, End of Days, and the dredfull Left Behind series), but we've never had an actual literal translation of the book of Revelation.
Picture it:
The movie opens with a bronze, iron, gold Jesus decending from the heavens with AN ACTUAL TWO SIDED SWORD coming out of his mouth. The four horsemen of the Apocolypse come flying in on their quad-colored steeds. The beast with seven heads comes lumbering out of the sea to terrorize the villagers. And the battle between Satan's minions and the Good Souls.
Who wouldn't come to see that movie? The Book of Revelation, literally, is a great horror movie.
The trailer's the best part:
Close up on man's face watching something behind camera. His eyes keep getting bigger and bigger as the horror of what he's seeing sinks in. His terrified expression on his face, we mouths the words "Holy Shh-" Quick cut to movie title "What John Saw"-Find out Summer 2012.
Awesome, Awesome,
Brad
I'll do this in my spare time of course, between finishing school and starting a heavy metal church. (Andy, thanks for putting heavy metal and ecclesiology in the same sentence!)
The movie is entitled "What John Saw". We have had movies about the Anti-Christ (The Omen 1-4), we've had movies about the end of the world (The Day After Tomorrow, End of Days, and the dredfull Left Behind series), but we've never had an actual literal translation of the book of Revelation.
Picture it:
The movie opens with a bronze, iron, gold Jesus decending from the heavens with AN ACTUAL TWO SIDED SWORD coming out of his mouth. The four horsemen of the Apocolypse come flying in on their quad-colored steeds. The beast with seven heads comes lumbering out of the sea to terrorize the villagers. And the battle between Satan's minions and the Good Souls.
Who wouldn't come to see that movie? The Book of Revelation, literally, is a great horror movie.
The trailer's the best part:
Close up on man's face watching something behind camera. His eyes keep getting bigger and bigger as the horror of what he's seeing sinks in. His terrified expression on his face, we mouths the words "Holy Shh-" Quick cut to movie title "What John Saw"-Find out Summer 2012.
Awesome, Awesome,
Brad
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
More Thoughts on Metal Methodism
I can't get this out of my head. Maybe that means I'm on to something.
Here's some more reasons I think Metal Edge United Methodist Church would work:
1. There is need. Despite popular belief, not all metalheads are Satan-Worshipping, Violence-Loving, Beer-Swilling Neanderthals. For the most part, metalheads are mostly-white, blue-collar people who are fiercely loyal to the music they love. While good heavy metal music is always aggressive, it is not, neccessarily, violent. It expresses anger at political, social, and, yes, religious structures that have left an entire group of people forgotten and outcast. And, if you think that there's no need because you've never had anyone at your church who cares about heavy metal music: A. you're wrong, every church has metalheads in it already. and B. when they aren't there, it's because the church doesn't speak to them.
2. The Gospel speaks to headbangers too. Jesus' message of a life-changing grace and mercy given to all people, especially the outcasts, is exactly what metal fans need to hear. Heavy metal is about fighting the power, it's about venting frustration, it's about being in community with strangers with a common love and it's about anger, frustration and revolution against any power stucture that does not lead to the betterment of everyone. That sounds like Jesus to me. It seems to me that people have just sort of given up spreading the message to metalheads, resorting to simply boycotting and protesting concerts like Marilyn Manson (who, by the way, is simply a man playing a role who, sometimes, writes good songs [remember Beautiful People], stop taking him so seriously. He's acting, and everytime you protest, he sells more records.) Jesus calls us to spread the message to all the world, and metal fans need to hear about grace and redemption just as much as the rest of us.
3. Heavy Metal lends itself towards powerful, creative worship experiences. Heavy metal music is about theatrics (I know, I just said heavy metal was about anger, frustration, revolution. I'm talking about Heavy Metal as a movement above, here I mean the music and concerts themselves). The imagry, the lyrics, the symbols, it's all there already. Imagine, as Alice Cooper threw a live chicken into the crowd and pieces of said chicken began being thrown back to him, imagine throwing a blessed loaf of communion bread into the crowd. As Ozzy sprays the faithful with water from a hose, imagine actually, literally, washing the congregation in the blessed juice, the symbol of Jesus' blood. OK, those are extreme. But I'll tell you what, Metalheads would love it.
All this sounds very performance oriented, I know. I am the first to say that the main problem with "contemporary" worship is that it's not worship but performance. However, metal shows are full of liturgy, call and response from lead singer to crowd, and message, James Hetfield talked at length about how much better Metallica sounded now that they were clean and sober and happy. It is not at all that hard to quickly and powerfully convert a rock show into a worship experience.
4. The most successful cross-over Christian music is heavy metal music. As I Lay Dying, Atreyu, Avenged Sevenfold, Norma Jean, P.O.D, Project 86, and lest we forget, Stryper. All metal bands. All extrememly successful in terms of cross-over from Christian lists to secular lists. Why is this? Because metal music is real, it's honest. Stephen Curtis Chapman doesn't have anything real to say to you unless your an upper-middle class, white, suburban, preppy mainline Christian. Christian metal can speak to Christians but also secularists because of the honesty in the music.
I envision a church that is based on inclusion, community, loyalty, discipleship, mission, conversation, passion, sacrifice, learning, and evolving. (positive voice)
I envision a church in which the music isn't boring, the message isn't irrelevant, the connection isn't superficial, the mission isn't self-serving, and the goal isn't numbers. (negative voice)
Metal Edge United Methodist Church
"We Pray in the Pit" (for those of you who are unhip, that's mosh-pit, but its unhip to call it that)
"Shreading the Gospel to the World" (again, shreading is the art of playing metal guitar)
I like the sound of that. Let me know what you think Blogosphere.
In the immortal words of Kirk Hammet, guitarist for the biggest band in the world, Metallica,
"Metallica's all about music, not the length of our hair." (check out Metallica Behind the Music from VH1)
It's a long way to the top, if you wanna rock'n'roll,
Brad
Here's some more reasons I think Metal Edge United Methodist Church would work:
1. There is need. Despite popular belief, not all metalheads are Satan-Worshipping, Violence-Loving, Beer-Swilling Neanderthals. For the most part, metalheads are mostly-white, blue-collar people who are fiercely loyal to the music they love. While good heavy metal music is always aggressive, it is not, neccessarily, violent. It expresses anger at political, social, and, yes, religious structures that have left an entire group of people forgotten and outcast. And, if you think that there's no need because you've never had anyone at your church who cares about heavy metal music: A. you're wrong, every church has metalheads in it already. and B. when they aren't there, it's because the church doesn't speak to them.
2. The Gospel speaks to headbangers too. Jesus' message of a life-changing grace and mercy given to all people, especially the outcasts, is exactly what metal fans need to hear. Heavy metal is about fighting the power, it's about venting frustration, it's about being in community with strangers with a common love and it's about anger, frustration and revolution against any power stucture that does not lead to the betterment of everyone. That sounds like Jesus to me. It seems to me that people have just sort of given up spreading the message to metalheads, resorting to simply boycotting and protesting concerts like Marilyn Manson (who, by the way, is simply a man playing a role who, sometimes, writes good songs [remember Beautiful People], stop taking him so seriously. He's acting, and everytime you protest, he sells more records.) Jesus calls us to spread the message to all the world, and metal fans need to hear about grace and redemption just as much as the rest of us.
3. Heavy Metal lends itself towards powerful, creative worship experiences. Heavy metal music is about theatrics (I know, I just said heavy metal was about anger, frustration, revolution. I'm talking about Heavy Metal as a movement above, here I mean the music and concerts themselves). The imagry, the lyrics, the symbols, it's all there already. Imagine, as Alice Cooper threw a live chicken into the crowd and pieces of said chicken began being thrown back to him, imagine throwing a blessed loaf of communion bread into the crowd. As Ozzy sprays the faithful with water from a hose, imagine actually, literally, washing the congregation in the blessed juice, the symbol of Jesus' blood. OK, those are extreme. But I'll tell you what, Metalheads would love it.
All this sounds very performance oriented, I know. I am the first to say that the main problem with "contemporary" worship is that it's not worship but performance. However, metal shows are full of liturgy, call and response from lead singer to crowd, and message, James Hetfield talked at length about how much better Metallica sounded now that they were clean and sober and happy. It is not at all that hard to quickly and powerfully convert a rock show into a worship experience.
4. The most successful cross-over Christian music is heavy metal music. As I Lay Dying, Atreyu, Avenged Sevenfold, Norma Jean, P.O.D, Project 86, and lest we forget, Stryper. All metal bands. All extrememly successful in terms of cross-over from Christian lists to secular lists. Why is this? Because metal music is real, it's honest. Stephen Curtis Chapman doesn't have anything real to say to you unless your an upper-middle class, white, suburban, preppy mainline Christian. Christian metal can speak to Christians but also secularists because of the honesty in the music.
I envision a church that is based on inclusion, community, loyalty, discipleship, mission, conversation, passion, sacrifice, learning, and evolving. (positive voice)
I envision a church in which the music isn't boring, the message isn't irrelevant, the connection isn't superficial, the mission isn't self-serving, and the goal isn't numbers. (negative voice)
Metal Edge United Methodist Church
"We Pray in the Pit" (for those of you who are unhip, that's mosh-pit, but its unhip to call it that)
"Shreading the Gospel to the World" (again, shreading is the art of playing metal guitar)
I like the sound of that. Let me know what you think Blogosphere.
In the immortal words of Kirk Hammet, guitarist for the biggest band in the world, Metallica,
"Metallica's all about music, not the length of our hair." (check out Metallica Behind the Music from VH1)
It's a long way to the top, if you wanna rock'n'roll,
Brad
My Calling
Every year on the drive home from Annual Conference my head is full of ideas. Mainly, ideas about how to make Annual Conference suck less. But, sometimes, however, I get real ideas. Last year, on the way home from Conference I solidified my calling to young adult/college ministry.
This year, I was drinking Mt. Dew and listening to some Iron Maiden to stay awake and it hit me. I think perhaps I have stumbled upon something real for my life OR have come up with an idea solely based on sleep deprivation and Hwy 13 wind in my ears.
Metal Edge United Methodist Church
"We Pray in the Pit"
"Shreading the Gospel to the World"
That's right, Iron Maiden, Mt. Dew and perhaps a God-nudge, have lead me to the dream of creating a church, a UNITED METHODIST church, for the heavy metal community. We would set up in an abondoned warehouse downtown or an old storefront saloon or something. We would sing our praises in drop D tuning and double bass drums.
Picture this, a come as you are church, communion every week, covenant discipleship groups, homeless outreach ministry, and, every Sunday morning worship is a rock show. With a mosh pit, with pyrotechnics. But, MORE IMPORTANT, also with a relevant message to the group perhaps most shunned by modern mainline Christians, the metalheads. Metalheads are the most loyal people on the face of the planet. They rejoiced together when Metallica finally won the Heavy Metal Grammy. They cried together when Dimebag Darrell was shot and killed at his own concert. Why can't they worship together? Every church has at least one youth that dresses in big black pants. That's fine in high school, but when they grow up, they're still metal fans, and since being a metal fan as an adult is kinda looked down upon, I think a lot of these people leave the church or are going to churches that really don't facilitate any kind of discipleship.
Christian Metalheads deserve a place of worship that speaks to them, where they can come freely and be themselves, and where they can listen to killer heavy metal music.
When I went to see Metallica from five feat away from the stage, I was amazed. 50,000 people knew every word, every lick, every fill. I saw 50,000 people doing absolutely everything that James Hetfield told them to. Imagine that kind of devotion and dedication in your church.
Metal 'til I die, Brad
This year, I was drinking Mt. Dew and listening to some Iron Maiden to stay awake and it hit me. I think perhaps I have stumbled upon something real for my life OR have come up with an idea solely based on sleep deprivation and Hwy 13 wind in my ears.
Metal Edge United Methodist Church
"We Pray in the Pit"
"Shreading the Gospel to the World"
That's right, Iron Maiden, Mt. Dew and perhaps a God-nudge, have lead me to the dream of creating a church, a UNITED METHODIST church, for the heavy metal community. We would set up in an abondoned warehouse downtown or an old storefront saloon or something. We would sing our praises in drop D tuning and double bass drums.
Picture this, a come as you are church, communion every week, covenant discipleship groups, homeless outreach ministry, and, every Sunday morning worship is a rock show. With a mosh pit, with pyrotechnics. But, MORE IMPORTANT, also with a relevant message to the group perhaps most shunned by modern mainline Christians, the metalheads. Metalheads are the most loyal people on the face of the planet. They rejoiced together when Metallica finally won the Heavy Metal Grammy. They cried together when Dimebag Darrell was shot and killed at his own concert. Why can't they worship together? Every church has at least one youth that dresses in big black pants. That's fine in high school, but when they grow up, they're still metal fans, and since being a metal fan as an adult is kinda looked down upon, I think a lot of these people leave the church or are going to churches that really don't facilitate any kind of discipleship.
Christian Metalheads deserve a place of worship that speaks to them, where they can come freely and be themselves, and where they can listen to killer heavy metal music.
When I went to see Metallica from five feat away from the stage, I was amazed. 50,000 people knew every word, every lick, every fill. I saw 50,000 people doing absolutely everything that James Hetfield told them to. Imagine that kind of devotion and dedication in your church.
Metal 'til I die, Brad
Best Week Ever?
Hey everybody, I know it's been too long since I've graced the world wide web with my presence. I tried to get an entry in between my birthday weekend and Annual Conference but the system was down. Man, I wrote an awesome entry too, so here goes in shortened version.
I've had one of the greatest weeks of my life. Two weeks ago, Lindsey and I saw the Dave Matthews Band (my third, her first) and they were on fire. Three new songs and at least one song from every album. It was awesome.
Then it was off to St. Loius and Sarah and Dennis' wedding. It was a whole lot of fun. There were only about 10 of us at the party after awhile but we had a blast telling the horrible DJ what songs to play next.
The next morning we picked up Mr. Ryan Bates and headed to the Lake of the Ozarks, met by Hilary Alexander and Tyler O'Banion and later Honora Bates. This is where it really got kicked up a notch. Truly one of the best experiences of my life. Just sitting around with good food, good drinks, good water, good tunes, and great friends. We've put the weekend on our calanders for, oh, the next 80 years. We actually halfseriously talked about all moving down there and getting a place together. After that weekend, I'd do it in a second.
So, it's time for the birthday present wrap-up.
My parents gave me a new queen size mattress. Not very exciting I know, but I slept through the night for the first time in years the past few nights so thank you so much.
A Family Guy Chicken Fight t-shirt, a t-shirt from Bradley University that just says "Bradley", an interview book with Bono, the 1000th issue and a subscription to Rolling Stone magazine, a Jack Johnson CD, a Trevor Hall CD, The Toy DVD, Blazing Saddles DVD, and Napoleon Dynamite pens.
And now, the coup de grais, from the Saturday Night Live Best of Collection: Adam Sandler, Cheri Oteri, Christopher Walken, Dan Akroyd, Eddie Murphy, John Belushi, Jimmy Fallon, Mike Myers, Molly Shannon, Steve Martin, and Tracy Morgan. I think I'm forgetting one.
So, there it is. Thanks to everyone for a great birthday. I hope that all who read this can have at least one weekend this summer as good as this.
~Brad
I've had one of the greatest weeks of my life. Two weeks ago, Lindsey and I saw the Dave Matthews Band (my third, her first) and they were on fire. Three new songs and at least one song from every album. It was awesome.
Then it was off to St. Loius and Sarah and Dennis' wedding. It was a whole lot of fun. There were only about 10 of us at the party after awhile but we had a blast telling the horrible DJ what songs to play next.
The next morning we picked up Mr. Ryan Bates and headed to the Lake of the Ozarks, met by Hilary Alexander and Tyler O'Banion and later Honora Bates. This is where it really got kicked up a notch. Truly one of the best experiences of my life. Just sitting around with good food, good drinks, good water, good tunes, and great friends. We've put the weekend on our calanders for, oh, the next 80 years. We actually halfseriously talked about all moving down there and getting a place together. After that weekend, I'd do it in a second.
So, it's time for the birthday present wrap-up.
My parents gave me a new queen size mattress. Not very exciting I know, but I slept through the night for the first time in years the past few nights so thank you so much.
A Family Guy Chicken Fight t-shirt, a t-shirt from Bradley University that just says "Bradley", an interview book with Bono, the 1000th issue and a subscription to Rolling Stone magazine, a Jack Johnson CD, a Trevor Hall CD, The Toy DVD, Blazing Saddles DVD, and Napoleon Dynamite pens.
And now, the coup de grais, from the Saturday Night Live Best of Collection: Adam Sandler, Cheri Oteri, Christopher Walken, Dan Akroyd, Eddie Murphy, John Belushi, Jimmy Fallon, Mike Myers, Molly Shannon, Steve Martin, and Tracy Morgan. I think I'm forgetting one.
So, there it is. Thanks to everyone for a great birthday. I hope that all who read this can have at least one weekend this summer as good as this.
~Brad
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