I've learned a new word today.  Caganer.  What a strange item, and especially that it is often connected with the Christian Nativity.  I'm sure the shepherds and wise men did this kind of thing.  And it is helpful to be reminded that, with the Incarnation, Jesus was indeed fully human.  But I do not wear Christian t-shirts and have no religious icons or statues.  If I did, one of these things would not be included in the collection.

I learned about this strange item by reading a conservative commentator with whom I generally agree.  He boasts of having two of these depicting Barack Obama.  Now I do not have a problem with a little cartoon humor, and I am sure a modern-day politician can handle it without losing sleep.  But when you throw this stuff at someone, I think most of it just gets on yourself.  There is a distinct step between disagreement and even deriding of a particular point of view, and belittling a person.  And I am certainly not perfect with dilineating the two. 

For the record, I think Barack Obama is a terrible President who is doing much harm to our country, I would like for my political representatives to work in opposition to his political agenda, and I would like for him to be defeated in the next presidential election.  That's pretty clear, I think.  But I do not hate him.  For those of us who think he is leading us into the wrong direction, we have plenty for substantive difference without resorting to bathroom humor and other personal attack.

Likely, there is one of these things around with the likeness of George Bush.  If you think that is o.k., then you are in actuality not much different that this conservative commentator.

I made a brief presentation this morning before about fifty Baptist ministers.  And I was scared to death- fumbling my words, hands shaking, forgetting-the-point-to-b e-made kind of nervous.  I’m reminded of the fact that, the larger and less intimate the crowd, the easier it is to speak.  On Sunday morning I regularly stand before about a hundred people to present my sermons without  much trepidation, and this is because I am familiar with the audience and fairly well prepared with what I intend to say.  But it is extemporaneous speaking, off-the-cuff remarks, that are the most challenging.  I admire those who can stand before an audience and simply converse.  No lectern, no notes.  I can do it, but not very well.   I teach a group of men in Sunday School, and of course know how to direct a committee meeting- I am a Baptist pastor.  And one-on-one is no problem unless I’m single and it’s a beautiful woman, and that has not been the case for quite some time! 

Part of the problem was that I only had four minutes to say what was needed.  I tried to throw in a few jokes to loosen-up the crowd- told the speaker I prepared thinking it was 40 minutes, not four.   That’s funny, isn’t it?  And I briefly made reference to my understanding of church leadership, that indeed I could autocratically force my will upon my church… but only if I was wanting to soon pass along my resume and find another place of service.  You would think a bunch of preachers would appreciate the statement, but I’m pretty sure I heard crickets chirping.  So I finished my bumbling, sat down, and plopped my elbow into my plate of food.

It will not go down in the annals of the Gwinnett Metro Baptist Association as one of the greatest speeches ever delivered.  I’m thinking of getting a little battery powered teleprompter to be ready for the next need for an extemporaneous presentation.  Surely our dear President would approve?

 

I'm confused...

 

Reid got it right - Leonard Pitts Jr.
Somebody please tell Harry Reid there are no Negroes in America...

Leonard Pitts is my favorite left-of-center columnist.  For one, he is a great writer, and so invites one to enjoy what he has to say regardless of the spin.  Of course there is a message, a sermon, with what he has to say.  This is true with any columnist, and I will go so far as to surmise true with every journalist, regardless of personal protestations or page in the newspaper.  Pitts simply says it well.  I like the fact you do not have to re-read and analyze.  It makes sense with first read.  But there is more.  I will read his pieces again for personal pleasure, enjoying his utility with the language and fine selections of words.  Consider the piece to which I link concerning Harry Reid and his troublesome statement about Barack Obama.  From past writing I know he will find a way to be sympathetic to Reid.  But Pitts is not pandering.  The very first sentence lets me picture the man rolling his eyes and chuckling at the gaffe.  And I love how he describes Reid as a  “…geezer out of touch with the last 40 years.”  Geezer- it’s not mean, but it sure conjures an image.

There are several other juicy combinations of words in the piece:
“…this calibration of language..”
“…Sarah Palin's winding utterances.”
“…morally malleable Michael Steele..”
“No, Reid's sin was to be blunt, indecorous, impolitic.  And right.”

I like for a writer to say what he needs, decorate it but not too much, and give me room to think.  Leonard Pitts is simply good at it.

Oh, concerning his opinion with the Harry Reid statement- I think he is right on target.   

My intention this morning was to visit with an inmate, a relative of a lady who attends my church, at the Dekalb County Jail.  The visit did not take place because I could not find a parking space.  A small parking lot is provided for guests and it was packed, with a dozen cars circling and looking for a spot.  I drove all around the huge complex and saw plenty of empty spaces, but they were all marked as reserved for employees and Sheriff’s vehicles.  I tried in vain to find a place a block or so away, but everything was designated for official use.  So I called my friend to tell her I was sorry, but would try again the next day allowed for visits, which will be Monday.

A couple of factors are at play with this situation.  If I had gotten there thirty minutes early, as I did with the last visit, undoubtedly a space would have been available.  Since visitation is open from 9 until 11, and I only spend about twenty minutes, I was thinking there was no need to be early.  Next time I will be more diligent.

But I sense something a bit more sinister involved with the whole matter.  I believe the inadequacy of the parking situation, and the general unfriendliness of the whole situation, is part of the plan.  The jail house is a big and ugly building covering an entire city block, dark grey in color with tiny slatted windows all around.  It is new and I am sure efficient, but it stands in contrast to the renaissance architecture of so much of the area, looking more like a warehouse in Siberia.  As I was seeking in vain for a place to park and observing others with the same frustrations, I noticed that mostly all were black people in old rundown vehicles.  I saw a young lady walking up a hillside, a toddler on her arm and infant over her shoulder.  Surely with a bit of effort and not a lot of expense, Dekalb County could provide more parking for families of inmates?  Likely they will not.

I am quite aware of this machismo attitude of being tough on crime, that rehab does not work and jail is foremost for punishment.  Feed them bologna and make it miserable, and if they do not like it, then maybe they will not come back!  It is a popular message that gets people elected.  But I am thinking if you treat people like animals, then that is what they become.  So a man is in prison- what positive matter does it accomplish to treat his wife, girl friend, or pastor with veiled contempt?  It seems to me it serves to harden the prisoner.

Monday I will arrive early for the visit.  I know the routine- take off belt and shoes and empty pockets for the metal detector, go through a rigid interview with the officers at the desk, literally walk a half mile of hallways to find the visitation room, and talk through a nasty telephone and gaze through inch-thick dull plexiglass at the inmate.  He is not a nice guy, and needs at this juncture in his life to be locked away for the safety of society- I know that.  But I believe in transformation and undying hope, and that is why I do what I do. 

Hope.  That’s a good word.  The bureaucrats that created and maintain the mechanics of visitation at this particular prison, somewhere along the way, have forgotten the word.

This dog is trying to kill me.

I know.  She looks cute and innocent.  And she will be staying at my home for ten long days, thanks to a commitment to my friend Ann. 

The name of the dog is Freckles.  She is a terrier mix, and really a good-for-nothing, squeeze-in-your-lap excuse for man's best friend.  She slobbers and stinks and emits gasses.  But I can put up with all that- after all, I do the same.

Since Freckles entered the home yesterday, my allergies have exploded.  Eyes itch and water, nose runs, and head feels ready to burst.  I can't see strait and energy is drained.  So the quandery is what to do?  If outside for three minutes she is pitifully begging to come back inside, shivering uncontrollably.  And she has found my chair, my precious Christmas gift that no one uses but Skylar and myself.  Well, until now.  And it is beginning to smell like her.

Thankfully, as I type, the double-dose of high powered allergy medication is starting to kick in.  I feel woozy but at least one nostril is starting to open.

Oh- by the way, her owner is having brain surgery.  Now that's somebody truly deserving our sympathies and prayers.  I'm sure she would trade her predicament for my silly little allergies.  So pray for Ann. 

And, would anybody like to cozy up to a cute little dog for the next nine days?  You can borrow Freckles.

Our family was in a local restaurant awaiting our meal, and I was entertaining Skylar by wasting a couple of dollars at the crane machine that never picks up a prize.  Casually I looked toward the door as in walked two well-dressed ladies.  And then I did a double-take.  One looked a little different.  Sure enough, the one on the left was not a woman, but a man in a dress.  And this was not a mannish looking woman, for I know the difference.  Actually he was a handsome-looking woman, who happened to be a man.  He was impeccably dressed and groomed.  Make-up well placed, hair/wig stylish, a broad and glowing smile- he reminded me of a soft and cozy Aunt whom a kid would love to hug… only to discover he was really Uncle Fred in drag.  He looked our way with a twinkle in his eye, said something approving to his friend about my little girl, and then followed the hostess to the booth.  And as far as I could tell, no one seemed to notice, except myself.

They were seated directly behind me.  The restaurant was crowded and noisy, so eavesdropping was not possible.  But I did notice that his was a deep and masculine voice.  And he wore a beautiful charm bracelet.

Concerning personal lifestyle, politically I strive with mixed success toward a libertarian view of live-and-let-live.  So if a man wants to dress like a woman and then dine at a local eatery, then that is his business.  But some consequences of such choice will be obvious.  You will be noticed.  Particularly, your clothing is a matter of choice.  Nothing about ones gender or sexual identity requires a clothing choice, and there are plenty of gay men who do not wear a dress.  So, a man in a dress is by definition unusual and noticeable.  By stepping out into the public, I think you implicitly acknowledge that reality.  It is akin to being a celebrity, or 7-foot-tall, or weighing 500 pounds.  I do not think it reasonable that he demand that others not look his way and take note.  Others should leave him alone and there should be no place for being mean.

So I sat at my table, munched on my hamburger, and thought about the man directly behind me.  He could be exhilarated by the undercurrent of attention.  But, more likely, this is actually a brave man, so committed to going with his heart that he is willing to hold his head up high and face the public.  Or he could just be hungry and enjoying his meal, oblivious to the tortured soul in the next booth.

It bothers me.  Yes, I admit, a man in a dress sitting three feet behind me in a restaurant is a bothersome situation.  And I want to interact with the issue in the next post.  Also, a question comes to mind that I want to answer:  If this were my brother or son, with an insistence upon dressing like a woman, would I go to a restaurant with him?

I won!

It has been a while since I have bought myself a new toy, so I am excited about this recent purchase on eBay.  Periodically I will place a bid, but hardly ever win an auction.  Long ago I was told, by a man successful and wealthy in real estate, that if you are not embarrassed by how low is the offer you make then most likely your offer is too high!  So I generally follow that philosophy on eBay and craigslist.  I have been looking for a PDA to replace my ancient Palm Tungsten T3, which is working just fine, but they quit making about ten years ago.  And for those of you under 40 years of age, a PDA is basically a souped-up Smart Phone without the phone.  I use it as an electronic Bible, holding several encyclopedias worth of scriptures and reference work.  Also, it makes a fine little game machine and electronic reader.  And I see, even as I write the previous sentence, that I am coming across as somewhat of a nerd.  So be it.  Nerds unite!

As I make my offers on craigslist, usually I do not even get a response.  And so goes the risk when you are cheap.  This time on eBay I was bidding on two items.  The Ipaq 110 looks like a wonderful machine: plenty of memory, gorgeous display, wifi and bluetooth, strong battery life- everything I would want.  Unfortunately, it looks like lots of others want it, too.  So, the Dell Axim is a nice alternative.  It is a sleek and powerful machine with great reviews.  Unfortunately it is no longer manufactured. 

So, I won the auction.  How?  You will notice that it is mislabeled, which I think is enough of an error to throw off those who are merchandisers and resellers.  Of course, it is possible the labeling is accurate, which means I may have paid $103.99 for a squirt gun shaped like a PDA. 

Here's a promise.  If this thing arrives, and if it works, and if I can discern how to use it- then I will use it to write and post my next t-Blog entry.

There is some fun in being an old guy who is technologically challenged and stubborn.

I will pass along a few things going on in this busy time of the year:

George's Auto Sales .  Our church was going to pay for the purchase and installation of a new alternator for a lady having car trouble.  I met her at an establishment over on Lawrenceville Highway.  The proprietor was George, of course, a cigar-chomping rough but nice guy.  Instead of accepting the recommendation of the previous garage, he insisted upon his own diagnostic test, which made sense to me.  With a bit of disdain, he said the workers at these parts places are mostly pencil-pushers, interested more in selling you a part than meeting your needs.  And sure enough, after thorough diagnostics and a test drive, George determined there was no need for an alternator.  And he refused any money for his services.  I promised my prayers and future business! 

Today I met a lady and her 5-year-old son who are living in their car.  Her speech was a bit hard to understand, and at first it sounded like she had a job at a church.  I asked for clarification, and she said it was "Church's Chicken".  She was transient with some questionable details in her story, and sadly more needs than I could fix.  But I was able to get her some gas and food, and talk with the little boy for a few minutes and give him a toy.  And, give her a hug.  It didn't seem like much.  But I am surely determined not to complain this holiday season.  I live in a house instead of a car, gaining weight over the holidays, and my soon-to-be four year old granddaughter has more toys than she needs.  I know life is sometimes not fair.  And I know I am blessed.

On the brighter side, with about an hour to go I am the highest bidder for an item on eBay.  I received a little bit of money for a funeral last week and would like to buy myself a new toy for Christmas.  I'm a bit cautious because, it seems, a lot of people do their bidding through computer programs that incrementally place their bids.  So, in the last five minutes, things can change rather dramatically.  However I think I have the inside track.  The item is a bit mislabeled, perhaps enough to foil those infernal computer bots!  I will know in about an hour.

I sang in the Christmas Cantata yesterday.  The guy next to me totally drowned out my voice, which was a good thing.  And I flubbed by two-line speaking part.  Otherwise our little choir performed quite well.

We will get together again, before Christmas.  God bless.

Oh...one more thing- I'd like for Tiger Woods to trade places with the homeless lady.  What a squandering idiot.

"There's a separate level of hell when you're a celebrity. You're subject to extraordinary temptation that ordinary people are not subject to.  I don't think the prognosis is too great for something like this unless she's willing to make some kind of deal and live with it." – Raoul Felder, Celebrity Divorce Attorney

I am trying to imagine the challenge that comes with being Tiger Woods.  I have reached the place in life where I am happy being myself, and would not want to trade places with him or any other celebrity.  Oh, at first consideration, most of us would not mind his money or fame or other bits of his life.  But as now ingloriously revealed by the tabloids, these juicy bits cannot be separated.  Tiger The Hero is no more.  Indeed, he has warts and chinks in the armor.  He is just a man.  Who is to say you or I would handle the situation any better?  Maybe instead of reveling in his downfall, we should have pity and prayer?  And, simply leave the guy alone.

Tiger Woods is a readily recognized celebrity with a face regularly seen on sports pages and television.  In his chosen profession he is gifted and successful far more than any other person of his time.  And the guy is attractive.  He flashes a million-dollar-smile, presents an athletic physique, and obviously carries himself with considerable charisma.  Finally, and most obviously, the guy has money.  Lots and lots of money- with all the possibilities that go with it.

So, life is magnified for this man.  Money and power open doors.  Basically he can buy anything, go anywhere. He becomes acclimated to special treatment.  And naturally he hangs around with people like himself: wealthy, privileged, and pampered.  Along come women willing and even eager to sell themselves, sexually, to a man like him.  Since they do not name a price, by strict definition they may not be prostitutes.  But by seducing and pleasing him, they gain access to his world which includes the things his money can buy.

Here’s the problem.  Tiger finds himself in his place of power and privilege singularly because he does one thing well- hit a golf ball better than anyone else.  With this skill he is rare indeed.  And I will argue that, in a capitalist society that rewards individuality, he deserves every single dollar.  But that is most likely where the line ends.  Being good with golf does not make one special in other areas.  We have all cringed while watching the retired superstar display varying ineptitude in a number of arenas, including coaching, sports casting, acting, speaking, and barroom bouncing.  Tiger Woods is good at golf.  In no way does that qualify him for sainthood.  Neither does it fit him to be a role model for life.  We would be wise to look somewhere other than the sports page for proper examples of self control, marital fidelity, and fatherhood.

And that is why I could care less what some Hollywood celebrity thinks about politics, gay marriage, or global warming.  The quality of their opinion is not elevated by their abilities to perform a line in a movie.  All around us are plenty of quality examples of how to treat a wife and be faithful to a marriage.  None of us need to look for them on the television or newspaper.

Tiger Woods is not a better man because he can drive a golf ball.  Just a better golfer.  Sigh!