The Blog: Laments From La Mancha

So the weekend is upon us. Another two days filled with work and trying to unwind in my hours off so that I can wind up for Monday. Friday concluded with a trip to Barnes & Nobels with a buddy of mine from work (USF). He needed to pick up a book on Flash MX 2004 for a class he is teaching in the fall to update his lectures. So I wandered off in search of other more interesting things to read. Low and behold I stumbled upon the Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader section. Man do I miss this stuff. I’ve owned at least 3 different copies and all of them have wandered away with others as I was finished with them. So it was time to get a new one and fill my bathroom hours with something of more stubtance.

If you don’t own an UJBR, you need to shut down your computer right now and go get one. I don’t care what time of day it is or even if they are open, it’s that important. For the uninformed, UJBR is filled with… umm… perfectly timed stories and facts to enrich your mind as you are enriching the earth. For example, thanks for a diet rich in fiber I was able to learn yesterday that Dr. Kellogs didn’t invent granola, he stole it from another guy (also a doctor) who invented granula. Dr. K made some of his own stuff, called it granula and was sued, so he had to change the name. As an extra little bit of trivia, he was making a cereal to feed folks at his sanitarium. So there you go kids, Corn Flakes were invented to feed crazy people, a nice little story for you to share over breakfast tomorrow.

On top of fun filled stories like that, there are all these one liners at the bottom for that little extra something, something. In the course of your life you will most likely spend over $7000 on vending machines. Here’s one for Tom: 35% of people watching TV yell at it. Or lastly, “You’re more likely to be stung by a bee on a windy day than in any other weather.” So there you have it, go get one and plunge into some bathroom reading. You’re gonna be in there a while anyway, you might as well learn something. Oh as another interesting bit of trivia, the song “Coral Castle” by Andrew Peterson was inspired by a story he read in Uncle John’s.

Also on the book front I had a chance to pick up a copy of A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin. I had recalled Brandon recommending that book to me a while ago and thought that I was going to be finished with the book I was currently reading (Lone Drow: Hunters Blades Trilogy by R.A. Salvatore) so I might as well grab something while I was there. I’ll let you know how that one turns out.

Hmm, what else was today filled with? Oh, yeah, I made another new template for the Blog: http://www.ifoundbob.com/?template=notebored which makes it look like a cork board with sticky notes on it, it’s kinda fun, feel free to use that if you enjoy it as well. I’ll build an interface for switching templates sometime this week once I make a few more. My biggest snag is figuring out how to keep the variable ?template= as part of the URL so that when you click on comments the theme carries over, but I’ll worry about that later I suppose.

I did have a chance to watch some movies between last night and today, so here is the run down on those:

The House of Sand & Fog
Overview from movies.com: “Jennifer Connelly plays Kathy Nicolo, an alcoholic whose husband leaves her, which leads to the bank’s eventual foreclosure on her house. It’s put up for auction and bought by an exiled Iranian air force colonel (Sir Ben Kingsley), a new American citizen who looks forward to raising his family there. But Nicolo won’t give up her home without a fight, and she gets help from a married police officer (Ron Eldard) who’s become her lover.”

I liked this movie, granted it was extremely depressing, and I had no simpathy for Jennifer Connelly, but it was good. Sir Ben Kingsley did a wonderful job (as always). What bothered me the most about the whole movie is that everything could have been avoid if the stupid girl would have just opened her mail every once and awhile. I mean come! So let that be a lesson to everyone. Open your mail or people are going to die.

Starsky & Hutch
Overview from movies.com: “Based on the popular 1970s TV series, Starsky & Hutch follows the pair of bachelor undercover cops (Ben Stiller as Dave Starsky, Owen Wilson as Ken “Hutch” Hutchinson), focusing on how the duo met and teamed up on their first big case: uncovering a cocaine operation run by a dealer named Reese (Vince Vaughn). The two work the case with the help of Huggy Bear (Snoop Dogg), their street informant.”

After watching House of Sand & Fog, I really needed something that had a much lighter note. I couldn’t think of anything better than some Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson. I vaguely remember the t.v. show so funny little show references were totally lost on me, but it was still filled with more than enough laughs to keep me going. The thing I keep being reminded of was the Ford Grand Toreno Sport. My dad loved that car. We must have had at least a dozen or so Toreno’s in my life time. He’d buy one, bring it home, fix it up, sell it. I remember fondly the one that he panted candy apple red with a black racing stripe down the center with a hood scoop on the front. Man, those were the days.

American Splendor
Overview from movies.com: “The story is based on the real life of Harvey Pekar (Paul Giamatti), a curmudgeonly Cleveland Hospital file clerk who writes comic books about his everyday experiences. Pekar serves as narrator and appears as himself occasionally as well, as interviews, file footage, and re-enacted scenes are blended to form a docudrama. Pekar sought fame and found it thanks to his comics (which are full of observations on life’s mundane and mysterious moments, and feature artwork by such friends as Robert Crumb) and his appearances as a guest on David Letterman’s talk show.”

Out of all the movies I watched so far this weekend, this was the one I was most suprised and impressed with. The movie was so well crafted. The movie jumped between movie, comic and real life on the drop of the hat. It was awesome. Even if you’re not a fan of comics, this certainly is one film you should check out, if for nothing else, because of its originality.

Runaway Jury
Overview from movies.com: “A man (John Cusack) on a jury in a landmark lawsuit against a gun manufacturer conspires with a woman (Rachel Weisz) to swing the verdict. Because it’s such a high-profile lawsuit and there are millions at stake, he finds himself in conflict with an idealistic lawyer (Dustin Hoffman) and a jury consultant (Gene Hackman) who will do anything to get the verdict he wants.”

I’m a sucker for a Grisham movie. While I found this one to be a bit too “preachy” and stereo-typical, I still liked it. The best line probably comes from Gene Hackman. He is looking at potential juriors and they describe a woman as a democrat and married to a Baptist Minister to which he says, “Damn Baptists, I hate them almost as much as I hate democrats.” This one is certainly a bargin night rental.

The Grid
So I’ve been watching the Grid lately on TNT and it’s been pretty good. I’ve always liked Dylan McDermott since he first started on The Practice (though the show lost me after the first or second season). It’s a show about counter terrorism, our cell vs. their cell kind of thing. I’m bothered by how much hate there is in the world. The world hates us, we hate the world, we hate each other. Even as I watch the political races just to see the hatred between republicans and democrats (I’m guilty myself, I cannot stand Ted Kennedy or the Carl Levens from Michigan [I loathe that guy], I like John Edwards, but John Kerry or his wife isn’t to be trusted. On the other side of the coin, I think George & Laura are good people, but I think Dick has a few things to hide. Collin & Condy are good people). I have to wonder where it comes from, but I guess that’s a blog for another day.

In any case, I’m digging the show, and if you get a chance, check out.

Well that’s the weekend thus far. I hope yours is a good one.

Hello, my name is Bob Soulliere and I’m reporting for duty.

(Insert applause)

Yeah, it didn’t work for John Kerry either. Oh well.

—————————————————–
My head is swimming with a hundred different things that I want to write about. I find the more I write the easier the words become. My fingers sometimes plunk the keyboard before I even have a chance to try and catch the thought before it flows from my subconscience mind. The hardest part is picking just one thing and writing about it. I had considered telling you about “The Flight of the Volkswagon”, but that will have to be another day. It crossed my mind to talk about Settlers of Catan (I can’t get enough of that wonderful Duff…), I had even considered discussing how men can be menstral, sometimes on their own, sometimes in sympathy, but that didn’t seem like the right time of the month to do that either.

So perhaps I thought I’d just ramble on, typing whatever came into my head, but to be honest, sometimes that can be a little scary. I could always discuss my Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, but that would be kinda redundant.

As I floundered around in the pool of my thoughts (okay, it’s more of a wading pool, but if I wear floaties I’m okay), I was struck by the thought that perhaps I was only fooling myself. Perhaps I really had nothing to say at all.

Nah, that couldn’t be true, because if it was, well then why would I be wasting all this space typing. I mean really. Words are showing up on the screen, surely they must mean something, there must be some little nugget of truth in there that folks to pull out and take home. Yet as I read over what I had written, I hadn’t really said anything at all. It was kinda funny, but more in the lame llama sort of way. Well, enough of that, it was time to get serious and write something of earth shattering profound importance.

Still nothing. So it looks like I’m just going to have to tell you a little about myself. To the right is a shot of my desk. It’s my home away from home inside my home. All around my desk you’ll notice a red and black clad figure, his name is Spawn (the lad pictured at the top of the blog). I’ve always been a fan of Spawn, I frankly just think that it looks so stinking cool. I have some of the comic books (oh yeah, he’s comic book guy), I have the movie as well as the animated series that was on HBO for a while, and I have a ton of the Spawn toys (well, the ones that look good anyways). So who is Spawn? Well, he’s an assassin who sold his soul to the devil to come back to life.

Sounds like an all around good guy right? Well, here’s the deal. Al Simmons used to be an assassin. He was killed by his co-worker and friend, burned in a fire. He wasn’t an evil man, I mean killing for the government was just his job. After his death he woke up in Hell (hey people, come on, killing is BAD) and found himself in a position to be recruited by Satan to go back to earth and do more killing. Well, Al wasn’t totally keen on the idea, but he loved his wife Wanda and wanted to go back in be with her (hopeless romantic and assassin, a catch for any lady). So he made deal.

Now you and I know better, never make a deal with Satan. Time and time again we are taught that lesson, from the song The Devil Went Down to Georgia, to that one movie with Brendon Fraizer in it, if you make a deal with the Devil, you’re gonna get screwed. Al (aka Spawn) was no different. He bacme back to earth, and he certainly had cool powers, however, there were a few problems. He’s face was all burned (he had been killed in a fire after all). Well, no big deal, his wife will still love him. Oh wait, did I (Satan) forget to mention that it’s now years later and your wife is remarried… TO YOUR BEST FRIEND (not the same guy who toasted him). Oh, and remember how you couldn’t have kids, guess what, the problem was you! Yep, Wifey and Friend make 3. So Al was a little pissed off and decided that he was going to use his powers to fight Satan, putting him at war with Hell. And as if the guy didn’t have it bad enough, Heaven wants him destoryed because he’s working for Satan (or so they believe). Caught between heaven and hell, is wife is married to another and his face looks like road pizza, man if I had a dollar for everytime I found myself in that situation…

So Spawn is an unlikely hero and that’s an idea that I can relate to.

And there you have. Something you didn’t know about Bob.

That’s it. That’s all you get today.

Go.

Go away. Read someone else’s blog now.

Leave.

Fine, next time I’ll tell you the story of “The Flight of the Volkswagon”. Happy now? Man, there’s no pleasing the public.

P.S. – Here’s a cool little trick. If you ever want to go back to the old gray look, you can get there by going here:

http://www.ifoundbob.com/?template=lines

Kinda fun. Look for more template themes coming soon, with our new motto, “My Blog, your way. We’re like Burger King, but without the fries.”

For Wally: Kevin Costner aside, the man whose buttocks I’ve seen the more than any other.

Gather round children and let me tell you the story of the bravest fish I’ve ever known.

There have been many great fish tales told through out history: Jonah and the Big Fish, The Old Man in the Sea, anything by Michael Moore, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Moby Dick and a school of others; but this little known tale, this very special one, is about my fish. This is the story of Plecostomus Pete.

A time came during my stay in the pen, okay, it wasn’t really the pen, it was the guy’s dorms at Great Lakes Christian College but it sure felt that way, when my cellmate, I mean roommate, and I decided it was time that we added some life to the dark space we called our room. Since we were not allowed to keep exotic pets (such things as cats & dogs), we came to the conclusion that our best course of action would be to secure some form of aquatic life. Sharks were right out. We also decided to pass on the salt water crocodile, sea horses, sperm whales, and algae (we had enough of that growing in the bathroom). Having eliminated those options early on, our choices were limited. Briefly we considered golf fish, but we were both too traumatized by childhood memories to give it much consideration. In the end we settled on Oscar Fish.

Now, I knew very little about Oscars, Nathan was the real expert, so I wasn’t quite sure where to begin. The fates smiled on us that day though and Nathan recalled that he had a large tank in the basement of his Detroit home that we could use (On a side note: Turns out the tank actually belonged to Nathan’s older brother Clint and has been hounding Nathan [I think mostly in a joking fashion, but you never know about Clint, I mean come on, it's been almost 10 years] to return it. Trouble is, we gave it to Matt Fallot when we moved out. DOH! So if you know Matt Fallot, tell him Clint Prong is looking for him).

This thing was a monster (the tank that is), it had to be at least 4 feet long. Well, maybe not 4 feet, but at least 3 feet 10 inches. One of the curious things about Oscar fish is that they grow to the size of their environment, to add to the excitement, the bigger they get, the meaner they get. These two fish (Ironically both named Oscar) could take off the tip of your finger without a second thought, they were that mean. On top of being mean, they were also messy; being two college guys we understood messy and realized that these guys would need a live in maid to take care of them. So we choose the sucky Plecostomus fish. No, really, literally they suck, that’s how the clean the tank; they are natures little sucky vacuum cleaners of the seas. Plecostomus Pete we called him, and I loved him. He was my fish.

Time passed quickly back in those college days, the Oscars growing bigger and meaner by the day. But good ol’ Pete was there too. In order to keep from being eaten, Pete grew as well and silently worked away day in and day out to keep that tank looking clean. I used to bang on the tank for hours to get him to look at me, but nothing would tear him away from his sucky. Suck, suck, suck, sucking away happily as a little sucker fish. However the Oscars were just too much for poor Pete and the time came for Nathan and I to finally break down and clean the tank ourselves.

We were able to get the two Oscars (who were now about 6 to 7 inches in size) into a smaller holding tank, but there was going to be no way that we could fit Pete (who was also nearing 7 inches in size) in there, so we ended up putting him in his own little fish bowl on the counter next to the sink. Back in the day the guy’s dorms used to have little kitchenettes. We had a fridge, a stove, and a big sink; we even had a garbage disposal. Good times.

As I was saying we put the fish on the counter and went to go grab something to eat (I mean we were college guys after all). When we returned we began cleaning to large tank. I went and checked on the fish to make sure they were doing alright and everything seemed to be going well. For some odd reason Nathan and I had to step out again (most likely it was dinner time or something important like that). When we returned, Pete was gone.

Pete, my special little Pete, was gone. At first we feared that he had tried to jump ship. We looked all over. In the sink (we ran some water and joked about him falling into the garbage disposal), on the floor, under the couch, under the fridge, nothing. We even looked twice. Honest. Nothing. Then we got the idea that this was a prank by Tom Flammer (we had after all froze his underwear). With that happy thought in mind we both relaxed and laughed a bit. I started to wipe down the counter and get some of our random foodstuffs into the disposal to tidy up the place. I ran some water and reached over and flicked the switch.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

As quick as I could I turned off the garbage disposal.

FLAP. FLAP. FLAP.

PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTEEEEEEEEEE!

FLAP. FLAP. FLAP.

Pete had jumped out of his holding tank, into the sink, and then down into the garbage disposal, and I, me his best friend, had turned on the switch.

FLAP. FLAP. FLAP.

It was clear that Pete was in pain and there would be nothing I could do to save him, no way to fish him out of the disposal. So I did the only thing I could do. I turned on the water and flipped the switch once more.

THUMP. GRIND. FLAP. THUMP. GRIND. FLAP. THUMP. GRIND. FLAP. THUMP. GRIND. FLAP. THUMP. GRIND. FLAP. THUMP. GRIND. FLAP. THUMP. GRIND. FLAP. THUMP. GRIND. FLAP.

Silence, shattered only by the sound of rushing water filled the room.

The Great Pete Plecostomus was no more.

Rest In Pieces Pete – 1994 to 1995.

I have no emotion filled blog for you today (Tuesday), as I’ve spent most of the day playing with the layout of the blog. I downloaded a PHPBB sytle and then converted it over to BBlog, so that was kinda fun. I still have to work on the comments template, but I will hopefully get to that this evening, if not, they might look funny.

I do want to make one quick comment about yesterday’s blog. I appreaciate all your comments and this certainly seems like a good area for us to explore as brothers in Christ – how to spot, deal, and help the hurting. I appologize if I came across a little angry (frankly I was), and I don’t mean to be so broad in my condemnation of the church. That having been said in the end it’s all about perspective. Brandon and I might stand on a different hill then some o fyou and therefore we see things slightly different that say someone who is currently ministering in a church, or someone who might be attending a growing or home church. Ultimately we need to keep an eye out for the wounded and make sure that no man gets left behind.

I’m angry today. No, I take that back, I’m downright pissed off. No, I take that back too, what I really am is sad and hurt, and that makes me feel angry.

I do my best to try and read all the blogs from my friends from GLCC. Tom often bores me with baseball, but that’s Tom, Eric always has something interesting to read, Jamie cracks me up with how he jumps from thing to thing, and sometimes I get a little bogged down in Regan’s blog, but I slog through them on daily basis. The one that I have been returning to time and time again is Bradon Caroland’s. It’s been quite a while since he’s written but I keep checking back on a daily basis to see if there is something new. Today was the first time since May that he wrote and he shared the following words:

“I know what it is to be broken. Truly broken. The churches I have been in have never been a safe place to be broken. The church is for fixed people, or at least people pretending to be fixed enough to be able to serve. People in service can’t be broken. They have to be above reproach. Which means, they have to be better than other people at hiding their faults. Faults make you unfit to serve. Even if the faults are beyond your control. That is too bad. Because I have lots to offer. I have training, talents, abilities and desire. But I don’t have a perfect family life. My wife left me. Imin the divorce process, and my dream of being a minister is pretty much shattered. I just need a little hope offered. I don’t have the strength to hope on my own. I just need someone to believe in me. Give me another chance. Then i could believe in a church of grace.” – Brandon Caroland

I just want to cry (and I’m not ashamed to say that I have) for Brandon. I can feel how broken he is, and when it turns to the one group of people who should love him more than anything else as God’s instruments on earth, what does he find from them: rejection. I’ve had many of the same feelings that Brandon is feeling. I know that some of them come from within, we push them away because of our hurt, because of our fear of rejection, but I know that we aren’t the only ones pushing; the church is as well.

Perhaps it’s the denomination that we attend (oh wait, I forget, we’re not one, it only seems like that on the outside), or perhaps it’s just the area we are from, but I fear that the church as a whole has become this way. I’m mad at the church, I am mad at it’s people. I am angry that my brothers and sisters in Christ would make my wounded friend feel like crap. I just want to scream!

How can we do this? We do it every day, I’ve done it myself back in college, we ignor the wounded man, the one in pain and hurting. We made comments about his faith, that perhaps if he had a bit more, perhaps if only he would pray a bit harder, perhaps if his bible time was better then things would be different. Those of us who are no longer in ministry because of various reasons are marked men, we are broke men, we are the hollow men:

“We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us — if at all — not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.” – T.S. Elliot

Perhaps I am an idealist (I always have been), but I my heart cries out that this isn’t the way it should be. The church is not for the perfect, it’s for the broken, the wounded, the sinner. That the church exists for making mankind whole again that we might make others whole. Yet we sit there in our polished shoes, our pressed pants and our painted smiles and we pretend that we are fine. WE ARE NOT FINE. The man next to us is not fine. We are all so scared at being exposed for who and what we really are. We perpetuate the myth of perfection out fear of rejection or redicule. We, the church, we are the hollow men, filled with nothing of substance. We stand around and discuss those things of great importance as to our stance on the time of tribulation, we read our trendy Christian books, and parade around as if we are all the perfect image of Christianity. In the car we scream at our wives and kids, we steal stuff from work, look at porn on our office computers. We nit pick the man singing out of key, or how the new guy stumbled in his prayer at offering time (which is right after communion, right before special music which is right before the sermon). We march through our litany without feeling the words there. They mean nothing to us because we are nothing more than a shell consumed with hiding the cracks from those who might peer too close.

I pissed off. I know that these are possibly unfair generalizations, that not everyone is fake, but let me tell you it feels that way from the other side. We are so “busy” in our “ministries” increasing our numbers that we forget we we are here for. The church has become a members only club, nothing more than a gloried country club for all the “right” people, and those people how have problems aren’t them. And so a person like Bradon, my friend, who has offered insights to me on so many things is treated the way he is. They think the are all different, that some how they are better than the rest of us, and by rest of us I mean those of us with known sins (in the end, that’s the only thing that makes us different, our sin is known). But in the end, we are all Children of the mud.

We were born of the mud when God created us, we live in the mud, and one day we will die and rot in the mud. I look at the picture above and I long for a day when the church feels like that. That we are one army marching together, carring our wounded when they can no longer walk for themselves, instead of leaving them to die on their own. What kind of church are we if one of our own is made to feel like that? What kind of Christians are we?

It’s time for a change. It’s time for something new. It’s time for the restoration movement to begin again. To restore the church to what it should be instead of what it has become. Perhaps it’s time to crawl out of our protected holes that we have dug for ourselves and get down in the dirt with humanity and lift them to higher ground, to actively man the pits that we might save as many as we can before Christ returns. We are all children of the mud and it’s time we strated to live that way. When a man falls down, when a person is broken, we lift him up with kindness, we restore him and we put him back to work. No longer should we let talented men and women rot in our pews because they are scared from the battles of the past. The church has got to change and we have to be the ones to do it.

“When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. To seek treasure where these is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness. And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be.” – Cervantes, Man of La Mancha.