Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

Love you! Learn stuff!

Every weekday morning, depending on my wife's substitute teaching schedule, I engage in one of my favorite morning rituals: dropping the boys off at school.  My ten year-old son goes to one school, and he's long past the days of his Dad walking him in.  So we pull up in the circle; he opens the door and steps out, and I tell him the same thing every single morning: Love you! Learn stuff!

I take my eight year-old son to school next because his is closer to the church. Thankfully, he still enjoys his Dad walking him in.  So I park the car and we get out, and he grabs my hand before I reach for his.  I know this will change some day, but you can bet I'm enjoying it now.  I walk him into the lobby area - we used to go all the way to the classroom, but that was years ago.  For this second grader, the lobby is the established point of departure.  The handshake transforms into a brief hug and I say what I've always said to him since his very first day of preschool: Love you! Learn stuff!

A slight change-up this morning.  As we get to the lobby, I ask if I can take him all the way to his class.  Without hesitation he says yes.  But he lets go of my hand - an unspoken compromise, I'm guessing, for my special request.  That is fine.  We walk down the hallway and I playfully grab for his head, and he jukes me in the same way he's accustomed to doing with me on the basketball court at home.  When we get to his classroom, I give him a quick hug, I say my thing, and watch him take his seat before turning and heading to the parking lot.

Maybe he knows the reason I asked to walk him to his class was because somewhere in Boston today, there is a father who wasn't able to do the same thing with his eight year-old son.  Maybe he doesn't.  If I had to guess, I imagine he's aware at some level; because kids are much more perceptive than we give them credit for, and because my wife and I made the decision after Newtown that our boys were old enough to know, that trying to shield them from stuff like what happened in Boston yesterday was futile in an age when our kids are almost as electronically-plugged in as we are.  As long as they know we can talk about our fears and concerns as a family, and that we're all in this together.

God, I'm tired of the sick, numbing ritual our society seems to be engaging in more and more these days: the sudden, out-of-nowhere "breaking news," the multi-tasking of watching cable news and scanning Facebook and Twitter feeds, trying to piece together a puzzle whose final picture we already know we won't want to see; the increasing injury and death counts, the names and pictures and faces and personal stories of ended lives, and the inevitable movie/music star benefit concert televised live on a Friday night with the 888 number scrolling at the bottom of the screen.  I'm tired of the ritual of having one more location stripped of its innocence, a mental checklist we keep and remember: elementary schools, movie theaters, houses of worship, college campuses, summer youth camps, and now marathon finish lines.  I'm tired of the thought that runs circles in my head after the initial shock wears off, when I can momentarily pull my thoughts away from the television screen and the website: Here we go again.  It's a ritual that I hate and despise; and sadly, one that is feeling more and more familiar.

Which is why I so desperately need the other rituals.  The ritual of going to work, of dinner with my family, of running three miles in the morning, of listening to and performing music, of checking in on a homebound church member, of writing a sermon, of a lunch date with my wife, of gathering with the body of Christ on Sunday mornings, of dropping my sons off at school and saying Love you! Learn stuff!  These rituals are the important ones, if for no other reason than they're the very ones those who planted the bombs in Boston want most to disrupt.  They want me to be afraid of going to schools and movie theaters and houses of worship and college campuses and summer youth camps and marathon finish lines and the next unknown place where some unspeakable tragedy will happen.  They want me to live in fear.

I'm not going to give them that pleasure.  It's nerve-racking dropping my boys off at school where they will be somewhere I am not, but I am going to refuse to cave in to the fear they so desperately want me to drown in.  I'm just not going to do it.  I'm going to refuse for me and my family, for my church and community, for a father in Boston who will never be able to drop his son off at school again.  I'm going to keep doing what I do, and I'm going to do it out of love. Which is always greater than fear. Always.

And you better believe I'm going to hold his hand as long as he'll let me.

A reminder for the faith community on the day after

It's November 7th - the day after the election. No more campaign events.  No more red and blue states, no more swing states.  No more babies being kissed, speeches being speeched, pollsters being polled, phones being robocalled.

And God is still in control.

Some candidates that we voted for won.  Some lost.  We're excited and relieved.  We're bummed and ticked.

And God is still in control.

Lots of facts were talked about - a few absolutely true, a few patently false, most somewhere in the middle.  Ideologies were pontificated - some we agreed with, others we didn't.  There was a lot of spin spun - some we saw right through, others we fell for hook, line, and sinker.  The other guy was never as evil as some made them out to be. 

And God is still in control.

We're hopeful for our future.  We're concerned about our future.  We believe our country is headed in the right direction.  We think our country is way off-track.  What we think and what we believe matters to us.

And God is still in control.

Now we move forward in a post-election America.  Yard signs will come down. Television ads will disappear.  Ohio can return to normalcy.  CNN's John King will be forced into magic-wall hibernation.  Facebook posts will go back to cute family pics and random status updates. Some things will happen that we'll like; other things will happen that we won't.  For a while, at least, we won't be red states or blue states or swing states - just the United States.  At least until the next election.

Life goes on.  The world is still here.  The apocalypse hasn't apocalypted.  And you know what?  Whoever we voted for, whoever we think is right or wrong, wherever we think our country is headed, one truth hasn't changed one bit because of this election: that God - and not us - is still in control.

And for that, thanks be to God.

Responding faithfully and authentically to Aurora

(Note: this blog was originally posted at my church website, www.fpcma.com. I don't usually do crossover posts, but I felt it was merited in this situation.)

I was getting ready for a weekend excursion with the family early Friday morning when I heard the news about the movie theater shooting in Aurora, CO.  Throughout the day, the horror revealed itself to us in bits and pieces as we traveled. I remember my initial feeling being one of deep sadness – a feeling that still persists three days later.

Being away from the computer all weekend, I’m just now getting a chance to share some initial thoughts –  thoughts that I’m sure will evolve in the days to come.

First, it’s inevitable that people in my position get asked the hard question: why did God allow this to happen?  I very much appreciate one pastor in Aurora who responded in his Sunday sermon today: I don’t know.  This is not always the popular answer, as people’s desire for an explanation tends to increase the more inexplainable something is.  So much of life can be categorized, understood, processed.  Then an Aurora happens; a Hurricane Katrina comes along.  And there are simply no answers for things like this, as much as we wish there were.

So, how to respond? Perhaps our first aim is to refrain from manufacturing answers when there aren’t any.  To respond to Aurora or other tragedies with cliches like “It was God’s will” or “God has a plan” is like injecting a weak anestesia into a deeper wound – it may take the sting away for a short time, but more than likely it’ll make the pain all the worse.  Saying “I don’t know” when there really aren’t answers is perhaps the most authentically faithful response one can give.  Contrary to popular opinion, there is in fact room in the Christian faith for doubt, discomfort, anger, unsettledness (re: the Psalms).

Second, we can offer hope.  And not a false hope which foolishly suggests everything will be okay, but hope that holds fast to a God who is not distant in trying times.  When 9-11 happened and the inevitable question came – where was God – a faithful and accurate response in that context was that God was in the World Trade Towers, God was in the airplanes and the Pentagon.  Likewise, on July 20, God was sitting in the front row of a movie theater in Aurora, CO.  If the cross tells us anything, it is that God is not watching human tragedy from a distance, but in the very midst of it, right along with those who suffer the most.

And lastly, in the context of this particular tragedy and future ones, we can make it our personal mission to make our focus the victims and not the perpetrator.  Certainly there are larger issues which need to be discussed (mental health, gun laws, a culture that glorifies violence, etc), but this is not an occasion to grant one individual the celebrity and attention they so desire.  Our focus needs to be elsewhere.  One TV clip I did catch over the weekend was CNN’s Anderson Cooper interviewing the brother of one of the victims, Jessica Ghawi.  Even though he was obviously in shock, he made the network rounds to talk about his sister. He said he wanted the stories of the victims – their lives, their families, their hopes and dreams – to rise above all else.  And not just his sister Jessica, but Alexander B., Jonathan, Jesse, Gordon,  John, Micayla, Matthew, Veronica, Alex, Alexander T. and Rebecca as well (a list and brief bios of those victims, by the way, can be found HERE).

There are no explanations for senseless acts of violence like what happened last Friday.  But there are certainly any number of faithful responses from those who believe in a God who resides at the very heart of human tragedy.  In what ways are you choosing to faithfully respond?

Mr. Rogers gets his autotune on

This video made the Facebook circuit last week. There's a whole generation of folks today who don't know Mister Rogers Neighborhood, and that's a shame.  They probably won't appreciate this video much. But for those of us who grew up with the cardigan zipper sweaters, sneaker changes and trolley trips to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, this will be fun little trip down memory lane - in a 21st-century kind of way.

Fun trivia fact: Fred Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian minister. So he and I have at least that in common.

A round of applause for the meterological heroes of Hurricane Irene...

I don't know that I've watched as much Weather Channel in one sitting as I did Saturday morning.  Thankfully it wasn't for fourteen hours like this person. Nevertheless, there I was, up at 6am with coffee in one hand and TV remote in the other.  I watched because, as a lifelong North Carolinian, I have come to know and love many of the places the reports had been saying were lying right in the path of Irene's fury.  Somehow, rising at this early hour to watch it happen live seemed strangely comforting.

And I must say, looking back on that experience and the 96 hours that was our nation's obsession with all things Hurricane Irene, I am inspired.  Inspired by the brave men and women who once again rose to the occasion and demonstrated that heavy rain and gale-force winds will never keep America's finest down.

Yes, on-site hurricane reporters, I'm talking about you.

You ever wonder what kind of person it takes to be an on-site hurricane reporter?  What their Myers-Briggs type is?  What kind of vetting process the networks must go through to siphon out the cream of the crop?  Surely there must be some rigorous training they go through to achieve such lofty status.  Whatever the case, you can count on their presence as much as you can count on the arrival of the storms themselves - standing (or trying to) on a beach or pier, decked out in the station's GoreTex finest, sometimes wearing goggles, precariously holding on to a pole with one hand and a microphone with another, speaking into said mic which winds up picking up more of this than their voice.

All of which creates a pretty sensational television experience for us couch potatoes. I appreciate the blunt honesty of NPR's Linda Holmes when she says that we watch these hurricane reporters for the same reason we secretly watch figure skating or car racing - to see a wipeout.  Admit it, she's right.  If you really wanted just a tracking update, you'd open your web browser.

For those looking for notable heroic meterologist moments from this latest round, Irene didn't disappoint. There was TWC's Mike Seidel, the only man on the face of the earth who could go totally incognito simply by removing his hat (seriously, would you recognize him??) stuck in the thick of Irene and getting tossed around Nags Head like a rag doll. More than any meterologist, I get the sense he absolutely loves this. He probably doesn't let them start filming until the moment the really big winds come.

There was Eric Fisher in Virginia Beach, wearing goggles (that by itself would be worthy enough of recognition) and talking at length about how conditions were pretty bad and no one should be out in them, yada yada.  This, as countless cars ride by and people run behind and in front of him, mockingly so.  Oh, and a streaker too (which I probably should've mentioned sooner if you've already clicked on the link above. Sorry).

There was NBC's Al Roker (and did anyone besides me notice that he showed up on NBC and The Weather Channel?  What a two-timer) precariously positioning himself in the heart of Long Island, NY......two full days before Irene even got there. I like Al, but if you turned down the sound and didn't know any better, you'd think he was enjoying a leisurely evening stroll on the beach. On the west coast.

The hands-down winner, though, has to go to this poor fella:

Meet FOX's Tucker Barnes, surrounded by and absolutely covered in what he thinks is some sea foam stirred up by the raging sea behind him. Problem is, it isn't sea foam. That "weird stuff" that's "probably organic matter" with a "sandy consistency" that "doesn't taste great" and looks like "something off a Nickelodeon show" is, he and his studio colleagues would later learn, raw sewage. Someone get that man a bottle of Purell (seriously, for the interplay between him and the folks back at the studio alone, this could be the best 4:27 of video you'll see all week).

I have a friend who's a roving news reporter for a local TV station. He used to work with an affiliate on the coast and covered a few hurricanes in his time. Now he's the guy they send out during our North Carolina "blizzards" (what Northerns call "a dusting"). You'll see him standing on some highway overpass, kicking his foot through the snow and ice, repeating the standard mantra: it's pretty slick out here, it's not great to drive on, so the best advice is to stay inside and only go out if you absolutely have to (this as car after car drives by on the road beneath him).  I give him a hard time every time he does this because he's my friend and I can (kind of the same way he can give me a hard time about televangelists).

But hey, it's a living.  And, in our 24-7 news-saturated culture, entertainment. So here's to the brave women and men who put their lives on the line and stand where no sane person would - until they're blow off their feet or covered in raw sewage.  Our hurricane experience wouldn't be the same without you.

 

(A quick note: Just in case you didn't pick up on it, and to avoid any misunderstanding, this post is quite tongue-in-cheek. Prayers for those who truly have suffered from Irene, as well as the families of those who lost their lives. And thanks to all the first responders whose efforts kept the aftermath of the hurricane from being any worse).

What didn't make Ted's YouTube clip

I remember when I first heard about Ted Williams, the homeless man with the golden voice. Everyone was abuzz about it.  I wasn't.  It was strange, I know, but I actually found myself feeling rather disconcerted about the whole affair from the start.

I felt it immediately during the opening intro to the Today Show - Meredith Viera emphasizing in her briefly-worded introduction that this gentleman had become "an overnight YouTube sensation."  I found it odd because, before we knew what it was that had made this guy so famous, we knew he was famous.  And something about that just seemed kind of troubling to me.

Then came the news: he was a homeless man who had an amazing voice.  And it made me wonder: what exactly was it about this that captured our fascination?  Was it because this man has a gift that had gone unused or wasted all these years?  Or was it that, in a society which places such a heavy emphasis on appearances, it absolutely blew our minds that a voice like that would come out of the mouth of a man who looked like that?  Why should this surprise and amaze us so much?  I remember having the same sensation when I saw Susan Boyle do her thing on a British television stage.  "The voice of an angel!" someone shockingly exclaimed.  But do our angels have to look a certain way, or can they in fact be "frumpy?"   Is it the talent that's the story, or what the talent looks like? 

But the thing about Ted's story that had me most unnerved was when everyone talked about all the job interviews he was getting, all the late night talk shows he would circuit through, and what a great story this was.  Except Ted's story didn't begin the day we heard about him.  It had a long and painful history.   There was a reason, of course, that Ted was out on the streets to begin with.  We didn't hear about it at first, or maybe we just weren't listening.  But eventually we all learned of the drug and alcohol addiction and the family who had been ostracized after being put through hell and back.  All of which came to a head mere days after his newfound celebrity when Ted checked in an L.A. rehab center after an emotional and physical confrontation with his family, including his grown daughter, who he had walked out on when she was a child.

Interesting, isn't it, that during the first few days of the YouTube craziness those details were relatively unimportant to the masses, who were still enthralled with the story of a homeless man with the golden voice who was getting a second chance at life and putting his gift to use again.  We were less inclined to see the bigger picture of Ted Williams because the smaller one was far more attractive and enticing.

And all of this happened in the span of seven or eight days.

The truth of the matter is that Ted's story tells us far more about ourselves than it does Ted.  We as a society drink deep from the well of cultural fame. We pounce on the next big thing; we watch YouTube clips and post them on Twitter and Facebook, only to drop it like a lead balloon when something else captures our collective fancy.  We have this luxury because we're consumers of an immediate product from a distance and don't have to bother with the details of another person's life.

And not only that, but we like our stories nice and neat.  We dig tales of human redemption without all the messiness that often comes with it. The problem, of course, is that humanity is messy.  Redemption is rarely a painless endeavor.  So instead of the movie where the guy gets the girl and all is right with the world as the credits roll, we have to recognize and honor the fact that people's lives extend far beyond the fifteen minutes of fame we both grant them and then eagerly consume.

By nature we are social beings. We are designed to be in communion with others.  And it's not just people close to us that we seek relationship, but in today's world it's those behind computer screennames, images on a television or movie screen, and someone in a YouTube clip.  And one of the things that so often slips our minds is the fact that these individuals are much deeper than we could ever recognize; that we are only granted the opportunity to skim a a few pages of the massive novel that is their life.  We are fearfully and wonderfully made, the scriptures tell us.  We are not simple. There's always more to a person than we can ever know.

I wish all the best for Ted and hope his most recent stint in rehab sticks.  Just as much, though, I hope we as a society can grow to realize that there are more important things than fame, that even angels can have wild hair and stand on a street corner holding a cardboard sign, and that the mystery of being human is something we should strive to acknowledge and honor - not just in ourselves, but in everyone else.  If we can do that, even a little bit, then Ted's story will have real meaning other than giving us something to post to our Facebook page.

The Real "Glee"

So I watched Glee for the first time the other night.  Afterwards I was informed by people who'd know that it wasn't the best episode and probably not a good one to start with. I imagine they're right.  But still - and with all apologies to my "Gleek" friends out there - I'm just not feeling it.  That's okay, though, because you thought I was nuts for getting into Battlestar Galactica, didn't you?  So we're even.

I imagine that a big part of my ambivalence has to do with the fact that I was actually in our school's Glee club.  And in the same way that football players couldn't get into Friday Night Lights or I never found much reason to read the At Home in Mitford series (about a small-town pastor), it's hard to get excited about a fictional situation that bears a striking resemblance to your real life.  You're already "living it," you see, so what's the point?

We actually called ours a "show choir," which I think sounds better than "glee club."  Think of it as a solid choral ensemble meeting Dancing With The Stars.  We worked equally hard to perfect our four-part vocal arrangements as we did the dancing/choreography.  Trust me, it's a lot harder than it sounds.  And it was a big deal in our school, with around 200 kids in three or four ensembles.  "Carolina Spirit" was the top group and involved a significant time commitment.  It was also a pretty well-traveled group.  I'm not talking about the annual appearance at the local mall, either.  Every year we participated in a regional event in Harrisonburg, VA.  There was also a trip to Pasadena, CA my junior year (including a performance at Disneyland), and another one to Chicago my senior year - both national competitions, both in which we placed in the top three.  

All of which looked nothing like what folks see Wednesday nights on Fox.  There was weight training involved - important when the guys were lifting girls in the air and swinging them around (they tend to prefer that you not drop them).  I already mentioned the hours and hours of rehearsals - not just with vocals but with choreography, down to standing in front of a huge mirror to make sure that thirty-some people have their movements perfectly synched.  And unlike the current TV show (at least the little I've seen of it), there was actually harmony with the jocks, and we had some members of the gridiron in our fold.  So there were no purple slushies.

Here, see for yourself - a video of Carolina Spirit doing their thing a few years after my time (okay, more than a few :)

(note: if you're subscribing to this blog via email the video may not show up - so check it out here).

I realize open talk about this sort of thing typically invites some level of ridicule, especially toward the guys.  Go ahead if you must - it's nothing I haven't heard before.  Chuckle at the sequins and stage makeup, at the dancing and the white shoes.  To which I say a heartfelt, "Whatever."  The fact is that I wouldn't trade this time in my life for anything.  I made some of the best friends in my life, many of whom I keep in touch with to this day.  Thanks to this experience the stage is a second home to me rather than a source of anxiety - something that comes in handy doing the music thing these days.  I'm quite at ease in front of groups, which means I'm pretty comfortable behind the pulpit on Sunday mornings (but sorry FPCMA folks - no jazz hands).  And the vocal techniques I acquired in all those years of training have proved invaluable in keeping my singing voice going strong.

So watch "Glee" if that's your thing - I may tune in from time to time.  But forgive me if I don't jump on the bandwagon.  The real thing is a whole lot better.

PS - I know there are a lot of show choir folks out there, including some "Carolina Spirit alum," and I'd love for you to share your stories in the blog comments below.  What are some of your memories?  How has your show choir experience translated to things you do in your adult life?  Let's hear 'em!

Heene-inspired: my pitch for a Reality TV show

If you greeted the news this past week that Richard Heene's contraption held a six-year old in it, which the cable networks covered non-stop for hours, which was later found to not be true when Falcon was discovered hiding in the family attic, which later turned out to be even more untrue when it was determined that the whole thing was a hoax to garner attention for a supposed reality TV show pitch - if you greeted all of this with either disdain or indifference, then let me say to you:

You're totally missing the point.

Sure, it was despicable what that guy put his family through, especially Falcon, who threw up the following morning during interviews on at least two morning TV shows.  Sure, the guy has a history of all flash and no substance (take a peek at his appearance on Wife Swap to witness his willingness to stoop to any level for shock value).  Sure, the cable networks fell hook, line and sinker for it, demonstrating once again that "news" is fast becoming a relative term.

But think about it: before this happened, no one knew who the guy was.  Before this, none of us had a clue how to pronounce his last name.  And now he's the subject of every news network, thousands of blogs, one of the most popular hashtags on Twitter.  There's a method to the madness, folks. Which is why I've decided to follow suit and make my own sales pitch for a reality TV show.  Of course, I share this in confidence, as the element of surprise is crucial.  So just keep this to yourself, okay?  Thanks.

See, I'm thinking it's time to capitalize on perhaps the most untapped segment in the reality TV show market: ministers. Think about it. Oh, there's been a clergy or two on Survivor or Big Brother.  Maybe even a preacher's kid on MTV's Real World (they're usually the worst of the lot).  But the untapped potential for a group of men (and women) of the cloth is limitless.  Catholic priests, Baptist and Presbyterians, Methodists, Quakers, Primitive Baptists and Episcopalians, Evangelicals and Mennonite and Church of God.  Just imagine the dynamics that would ensue, long before they took off in the spaceship balloon.

You know, the spaceship balloon.  Not an original idea of course (but then, what in the reality TV show world is?)  We'd make it look all accidental, of course, like they were just taking a tour of it. They'd fire it up, just to show it off a bit, except doggone it, they'd forget to tether the bloomin' thing down.  And before you could say "Call the local TV station before 911," that balloon would whisk those ministers up in the air, all the way to the remote island.

You know, the remote island.  No 21st-century creature comforts here; no technology or electricity or plumbing....well, except for the dozens of camera crew, publicity managers, PR folks and attorneys that were there to film the show, of course.  They'd be divided into two teams with cool Biblical names like "The Jacobs" and "The Esaus." They'd have challenges to do, like who can prepare communion the fastest.  All of this would lead to what they'd call "The Inquisition," where everyone would gather around torchlight and suspenseful music would play as they voted each other off the island, one by one, all the way back to the mainland to live in the recently refurbished, over-sized mansion.

You know, the mansion.  The one the TV producers bought and fixed up for them to live in, set in some city like New York or L.A where all the action is.  They'd share every waking and non-waking moment together.  Natural tensions would break out: the Calvinists would get into it with the Arminiasts, the Baptists would poo-poo the sprinkling Methodists.  And there would be cameras in every room of the house to catch every second of it all.  There'd even be a smaller sound-proof room where they'd go to vent frustrations about other clergy - called, of course, the "Confession Booth."  All on camera, of course.  And when they weren't arguing theology or debating doctrine or wondering who swiped their KJV, they'd be preparing for the big race.

You know, the big race.  There'd be teams and they would traverse the country for a few weeks, doing all kinds of stuff.  Conducting a Sunday service on Myrtle Beach during a thunderstorm, cleaning the windows of the Crystal Cathedral in California, attending the Bible burning in North Carolina, paying a visit to the Creation Museum.  And the first team to complete all their tasks would get first dibs in the singing competition.

Except there wouldn't be singing - it'd be preaching, of course.  They'd stand on stage with microphone in hand (no notes) as a slick-looking host would tell them they're on. Afterwards, as the numbers to call or text to vote scrolled at the bottom of the screen, the panel of judges would spare no punches in their review, telling them it was too long or didn't make sense or the pews were uncomfortable.  Except for one judge who never wanted to offend, so they'd always just say that the sermon was "interesting."  The audience would vote one off the show each week, until the final performance when the last two would go at it head-to-head, the winner of which would be the first to go on the date.

Well, it wouldn't really be a "date."  It's a prospective member, you see.  Two clergy vying for one person's membership.  They'd take them out for lunch, get to know them a little.  The stakes would get higher with each episode - maybe their mother would come by for a visit; maybe something embarrassing would rise to the surface.  In the end the person would agonize on camera about who they would choose; and in a special ceremony would present the winning minister with a rose.  Or maybe a Time & Talent sheet.

And after all of this, after the dust had settled and the cameras stopped rolling, each of those ministers would return home to their respective churches and continue with their pastoral duties.  And maybe one or two would get a bit part in some movie; maybe some would provide silly commentary on the sideline at the Super Bowl.  Maybe some of those ministers would get asked to host one of the 986 reality TV shows that have existed or are currently on air. 

Sounds like a great plan, doesn't it?  Because what the world really needs these days is manufactured reality as opposed to the real reality we live in; manufactured problems and drama instead of facing up to the real problems we could be dealing with.  Because life by itself is just not interesting enough without faking to send your kid up hundreds of feet in the air in a homemade balloon in order to get your own fifteen minutes of fame.  Because it's our God-given, American right to get our moment in the spotlight, even if we drag those close to us down with us in the process. 

Besides, pitching your own reality TV show is a great reason to commission your own theme song for the show. Just ask Heene.

So the show is still a work in progress, of course.  But keep it on the down-low, okay?  Don't want the cable networks to get whiff of it too soon.

Proud of Anna

Folks in Mayberry-land were treated to something special this past Thursday night, as one of our own - and a First Presbyterian nonetheless - made her television appearance on USA Network's Royal Pains.  Anna Wood graduated from the University of the North Carolina School of the Arts a couple years ago with an emphasis on acting, and she's been hard at work finding work. But this was a big deal - a major guest role on a network series.

Anna plays a Polish girl named, appropriately, Anna; studying in America and meeting up with Evan (played by Paulo Costanzo of Road Trip fame).  She has six or so fairly lengthy scenes where she and Evan engage in friendly banter and casual flirting.  Oh, and she also turns blue, due to overexposure to the sun at a beach.  Oh, and while at the beach she takes her top off.  Just like they apparently do in Poland, mind you, and you don't see anything on the television you shouldn't see.  A run-of-the-mill character part this is not!

In short, Anna rocked.  She definitely did more than hold her own alongside some folks with major resumes.  And the polish accent was pretty convincing.  I don't know all that goes into making it in Hollywood these days, but I do know that success is fleeting and very little, if anything, is guaranteed.  Hopefully this part will catapult her into some other opportunities, and those into others, and so on.  Hopefully.  If nothing else, Anna demonstrated what we in her hometown have always known - that she has the acting chops to make it in this business.  And that's exciting.

You can watch the full episode of "Am I Blue?" HERE - and if for some reason the right episode doesn't come up you can scroll for it at the bottom of the page.  By my count Anna has six scenes and they occur at the following marks: 38:00, 29:50, 24:27, 15:10, 11:52 and 8:02 (it counts down rather than up).  Let me apologize beforehand for the horrible ad for some sweet tea you'll be subjected to multiple times.  Despite how painful these ads are, it's still worth it to see Anna in action.

Anna, I might add, can also sing pretty darn well too - as evidenced in this YouTube clip where she lent her vocal prowess to our annual H20 N2 Wine performance at the Christmas Eve service last year.

Way to go, Anna!  Your Presbyterian/Mayberry contingency is rootin' for ya.

Signs of a Mayberry Christmas, Pt. 3

Remember this?  A classic Christmas movie.  A Christmas Story came out in 1983, the year I was a high school freshman.  Somehow I totally missed this movie.  It took my wife to introduce it to me during our first Christmas together.  We watched it and I lamented the 16 years it had gone unnoticed in my life. 

The story follows the saga of young Ralphie Parker and his family living somewhere in Northern Indiana, with the Christmas season approaching.  Ralphie's Christmas wish list is only one item long: an "official Red Rider Carbine-Action Two-Hundred- Shot Range Model Air Rifle" (you have to say it real fast to get the full effect).  Throughout the movie Ralphie's efforts seem to be for naught, as everyone from his parents to the shopping mall Santa responds with disdain, "You'll shoot your eye out, kid!" 

This is the overarching story, but the movie is full of various little montages along the way - all of which are downright hilarious.  There's the kid who gets his tongue stuck to the frozen flag pole, the boys' trip to see Santa at the mall, Ralphie's "O Fudge" moment, the fight scene....there are just so many of them.  Basically you need to rent it or watch it on cable TV (usually TBS shows it non-stop on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so you'll certainly have the opportunity).

One of the classic moments of the film takes place when Ralphie's Dad, otherwise known as "the old man," receives a "major award" in the mail from some contest he won.  Watch:

Ah, the leg lamp.  The old man goes nuts over it.  Obviously Ralphie's mom is less than thrilled but is either in shock or doesn't want to rain on her husband's parade, or both.  The kids are just dumbfounded, and there's no telling what's running through their minds.  Then the whole neighborhood is brought in on it as well, all of which makes for a great scene.

So what does all of this have to do with Mount Airy and the signs of a Mayberry Christmas?  Well....

See, there's this neat little house on Main Street in Mount Airy - a cute two-story traditional with the front porch all the way across.  The house is just a few blocks up from where the family and I watched the Christmas parade a week ago.  It belongs to some friends of ours - the lady works in the Main Oak Emporium, which houses our favorite coffee house, the Good Life Cafe.  The husband and wife are known for decorating their house to the hilt for the particular season, especially Halloween.  You gotta appreciate people who understand that living in such a visible location means keeping the many passersby duly entertained.

As you can see, the house is in full Christmas mode - wreaths on the door and banister, illuminated present porch art.....and say, what's that in the window on the left?  Looks familiar.  Let's get a closer look, shall we?

Well, whadya know!  The leg lamp from A Christmas Story, on Main St. in Mount Airy.  It's lit about every evening at dusk, and they usually turn it off no later than 9pm, given that they tend to hit the sack on the early side.  But for a good three hours or so, this little bit of holiday cinematic wonder shines forth for all Mayberry to see.

I wonder how many other small towns across America have a leg lamp shining forth from their Main Street?  I bet not many.

Incidentally, if you're thinking about adding one of these to your collection, I'd do what the old man didn't do and check with the wife first.  Then go here.

As the old man said, "Oh boy, oh boy - would you look at that?! It reminds me of the fourth of July!"  Not sure what he meant by that, but it doesn't really matter.  That movie scene makes me smile every time I see it and helps get me a little more into the seasonal spirit.  And so does the infamous leg lap in the window of the house on Main St. in good ol' Mayberry.  The Parker family would be proud.  Not quite sure what Barney would think.