Letters from Kamp Krusty

Sign of the Apocalypse: "Garfield" is Hilarious

Look, you'll either get this, and think it's funny, or you won't. 

If you don't:  No problem.  You probably had a happy childhood.  We can still be friends and stuff. 

If you do:  I love you.  You are my people, and I am yours.  Your childhood was not so easy, but that's okay, because we now have each other.  We are BFF, regardless of your free will. 

The irony is, I've never -- ever -- laughed at a "Garfield" strip.  But now there's a whole community of "de-Garfers", doing a worthy work:  They simply remove everything Garfield "says". All his thought balloons are deleted, and remarkably, the strips become priceless. 

The rhythm is pitch-perfect.  And rhythm, unlike a surprise punch line, is always funny.  That's why the caveman commercials are worth watching over and over and over. 

Anyway, like I say, you may think it's stupid.  But my whole family and I can just stare at all of them and laugh, and laugh, and laugh.  We've got some problems.

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That's Right, Iceman. I'm Dangerous

I just got in trouble at work.  And it feels kinda cool, I'll be honest. 

I used to be the compliant kid.  Couldn't lie to my parents, helped the teachers clean the erasers, the whole deal.  So am I in full rebellion now?  Maybe I am.  Yeah.

What of it?

Know what I did?  I brought a toaster to the office, and plugged it in the hallway.  Sometimes I would make toast right there -- IN THE HALLWAY.  Wheat bread.  Dark.  Seven, sometimes NINE grain, toasted -- oh yes -- in the hallway.

But the building manager came in, saw it, and just...went off.  I wanted to keep it in my office, unplugged, in a box -- and nooooo, that's not allowed, either.  Nossir.  Not even unplugged, in a box.

But you know what?  Right now?  It's STILL IN MY OFFICE, UNDER SOME STUFF.  That's right:  I forgot to take it home today.

I mean, I will take it home, but I forgot, and I don't plan on going back in to get my toaster right now, because I don't feel like it.  How you like them apples?

That's right, Iceman.  I'm dangerous. 

I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride, and I'm wanted, dead or alive. 

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True related story:  One time the radio station I was working at went off the air completely.  Dead air for a twenty minutes solid, middle of the day.  I sat in my office eating toast, thinking about how frustrating that must be for the people trying to hear the station, typing up some stuff, as the tech guys ran repeatedly past my door, trying to find what was going on.

...then they converged, suddenly, on my office.  They looked at some grey box-thing, now unplugged from the wall. They looked at my toaster, now plugged in, and me, eating toast.  Turns out the grey box-thing links to some satellite or something.  I'm still not sure.

Gary Smalley was Messed Up, but I Pretty Much Rule Now

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You've GOT to check this out.  There are five reasons for this:

A.  Michael Spencer is a blogging hero.  His blog is read by 418 million people, as far as I can tell, and there's good reason.

B.  Michael Spencer has some terrific riffs on the below issue of "Christian celebrity". 

C.  Michael Spencer calls me "The Best Blogger in the World", which means

D.  Michael Spencer is on drugs, but

E.  I still want to call your attention to the fact that Michael Spencer, who rules, despite his drug issues, said that thing about me.  Let's make sure, together, that everyone hears what he said.

And, it's vital that you read his post pronto, before

A.  I say something stupid in my next post that proves I have no idea what I'm doing, and

B.  Spencer's drugs wear off.

Turns Out Gary Smalley Didn't Have It All Together, but Kinda Acted Like He did, but Now He Actually Does, So No Worries

Bad news:  Gary Smalley was actually "cold and dead inside" while he was a big-shot leader churning out the Christian book hits.

Good news:  Everything's cool now, seriously.

Smalley writes in the latest Focus on the Family newsletter-thing:  "Restored  How I lost my love for God and how I got it back again."

Huh?  It's a neat story, kept kinda generic, but makes me wonder:  "Did we miss something?  How do we go straight from, 'I've got it all together', to 'Okay, I didn't have it all together, but now I do'...?"

I wrote recently about how church culture allows that we are all "sinners", but only if it's A) generic-sin-in-theory, or b) in the past.  A pastor (half of pastors anonymously confessed to struggling with porn on a pastors.com survey) can't truly be specifically honest about current struggles with sin, unless he picks just the right ones.   We can't be real about who we are now.  We can only say, "Here's what I overcame."

Smalley, for all I know, may be writing earnestly, with gut-wrenching honesty, about his experience down Mr. Big Shot Lane in some new book.  I'd read it.  But the point is made, vividly, again, because the narrative, over time, in Focus went straight from, "Gary Smalley rules!" to "Okay, Gary Smalley was messed up, but now he seriously rules!"

There's nothing in-between.  But the story?  It's in-between.

I honestly have nothing against Smalley, and wish him the best, although he was one of the worst interviews, out of many hundreds, I've ever done.  (I've interviewed scholars, anti-religious activists, writers, scientists, peace protestors, politicians, artists, actors, ex-death row inmates, you name it -- and mainstream Christian authors are the worst interviews, bar none.  You can't converse with them.  They.  Do.  Not.  Listen.) 

Maybe we can help.  Smalley says he became a celebrity, and really enjoyed the power and rank and money and attention.  It's understandable.  Rank and power and attention can mess people up.  Maybe any of us in a church culture that confuses "leadership" with occupying elevated places owes him, and others like him, an apology: 

And hey -- let's make sure it never happens again.

I am a Chosen One. Thanks.

I am now fulfilling my jury duty!  Right now, as we speak!  I'm at the courthouse!  It really is an honor.

You're likely wondering, "Why Brant?  Why was he a chosen one for this?"

I'm not sure, but I can only presume someone just likes my style, my demeanor, and took note of it.  I have a judicious temperament, a certain way of discerning matters of justice, and a real sense of even-handed-ness.  I'm not sure who nominated me, but I admit, I certainly understand why.  I've been told I have a certain je ne sais pas le realite'.

I had to park at the Palm Beach Convention Center, and then take a "jury trolley" to the courthouse.  There was a neat rapport on the trolley.  None of us potential jurors, you know, "talked", but we enjoyed a deep, silent, sense of camaraderie that you wouldn't really understand, because you're not on a jury.

It's supposed to be a Jury of My Peers, which is awesome.  We'll probably talk about library clubs and eat toast and play accordia, once everybody gets warmed up to me.  We've been here five hours, so I'm sure that'll kick in soon!

I'm angling for a Jury Foreman role, and I was pleased that there seemed to be a silent acceptance from others on the trolley that I would be their leader.

It's a County Court assignment, which is a bit disappointing.  I'd hoped to sit on a U.S. Supreme Court jury, to demonstrate my thorough-going knowledge of the law.

My next hurdle, as I wait, is to be selected by the lawyers and judge for the case!  I can't wait! 

I should pass with flying colors!  I hope they like my executioner's hood! 

I Can Feel It: It's Now Becoming a Movement

If this can reach just one person for the Kingdom...

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HT:  Brody

This TV Appearance Didn't Go So Well

This morning, I guest-hosted a TV show.  I should not have done this.

It's like a local "Today" show, complete with the coffee mugs, the faux-home setting, interviews, male-female interaction, etc.  Except UHF-style.  It's called something like, "Good Morning, Florida".

(I'm not really cut out for TV.  My friends were amused as my very nice female co-host leaned in toward me to talk, and I practically slid off the chair the other direction.  Body language:  Someone.  Help.  Me.)

It's an hour long.  This morning's topics:  Feng-shui decorating, and hair.  Let's see:  Television, feng-shui, and hair.  Right up my alley.

Horrors:  The hair people didn't show up, so it was a double-segment of feng-shui.  That may have made me a little slappier than normal.  And that our Feng-Shui guests were devoid of senses of humor.  Sometimes, when you hang out with people like that, it makes everything slappier still.  I don't know what got into me.

Actual conversations -- none of this is made-up:

Feng-Shui Person:  ...and that's why you should never put anything in your room that blocks the positive life force.

Me:  Like, say, my sweat socks?

(No one laughs.  Awkward pause)

Feng-Shui Person:  Uh...no.  It's important to (blah blah blah) ...and so all life must be affirmed in a positive energy environment.

Me:  So...where do I put my mounted deer heads?

(Long pause, I clear my throat.)

Feng-Shui Person:  Well...the Chinese really have never done that.  The Chinese sought the power of Chi.

Me:  So, they weren't very good hunters.

(Pause.  I shift in my chair.  Pause.)

(later)  Feng-Shui Person:  ...and so the stove is the economic center of the home.

My co-host lady:  So how do we magnify that?

Feng-Shui Person:  We use mirrors!  Place mirrors behind the stovetop to reflect the positive productive energy of the --

Me:  Oooh!  That would make it look like I have ACRES of bacon!

Not sure if I'll be asked back.

Here's to Nothing!

(John Santic asked me to offer a rejoinder to his bright post, to flesh out a comment I'd left about the counter-cultural nature of simplicity.  Sorry about the length here.)

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Nothing is counter-cultural. 

We figured this out not long after moving to trendy Palm Beach County, where we took up residence in a condo development that forms a ring around a pond.  Thing was, everyone could pretty much see eeryone else.  Everyone's sliding-glass back doors face everyone else's.  We started getting comments from neighbors. 

One evening, standing by the pond, a tipsy Finnish guy (he and his wife were drinking while moving out, tired of the inhospitable hood) told me -- I swear I'm not making this up:  "When I look at your family, I think about God."

I'd never talked to him before. 

"I watch you outside, and your wife, and your boy, and when you walk with your girl, and I see how your wife makes people feel -- very welcome," he said.  "It makes me think about God.  I know that's strange."

Once, a single man, a Jewish guy named Steve, stopped by with his dog as Carolyn and I sat on our little back patio.  Carolyn had talked with him some.  Me, not so much.  I have a long history of being shy...and selfish.  I'm getting better.

"You guys ought to be in a museum!"

Uh...what?

"Seriously.  You got the mom, the dad, the kids, hanging out.  When it gets dark, I can see you inside, eating dinner around the table and stuff.  You ought to be in a museum somewhere!  I love it!"

In our society's terms, what we do is a lot of "nothing".  For one, we don't send our kids to school.  (Forgive us, culture, for we have sinned.)  Carolyn's a brilliant teacher, and home-schooling fits nicely into the rhythm of our home.  I've heard the objections.  One of the more awkward, I think, is this:  "What about being 'salt and light'?  What about sending your kids into the dark places to redeem them?  What about the schools?"

Yes.  What about them?  And -- while we're at it -- what about our neighborhoods?  What about not just getting mail there, but actually living where you live?  Kids leave schools and change classes.  People change churches and never see each other again.  But where you live?  Now, there's a bit more there there.

A famous study of Chicago neighborhoods in the 50s and 60s concluded there is one thing, more than any other, that made for the "glue" of a neighborhood:  Women.  At home.  (Again, forgive me, etc.)

Turns out, when you have time to do what, culturally-speaking, is "nothing" (like walking the baby around, chatting with neighbors, letting the kids play together) neighbors get to know each other.  It doesn't happen when everyone's at breakneck speed and, when home, exhausted.

Nothing is quite something -- a very attractive something.  People long for it;  even admire it.  (One lawyer friend told me over coffee, "I hear what you're saying, about not working like crazy to buy stuff, and I want to live like that.  But -- forgive me -- you're the only one I know who actually does that.")

In this culture, "nothing" sticks out like crazy, like a...light...on a hill, or...something.  It wasn't just those two guys.  Our neighborhood knew we were odd.  The dad's home a lot, walking around with his daughter, catching lizards?  The mom is home a lot, too, talking outdoors with us about the ducks?  They waste time together.  They waste time with us.  Something's odd, here...

So:  Nothing made a man think about God.  In the U.S., right now, maybe that's not hard to explain.  We did nothing, and nothing is shockingly out of place.  Nothing means not everything, not running around infernally, not getting our kids this-lesson-and-that, not trying to sustain a lifestyle we "want" -- but not deep down. 

Maybe Jesus's offer of "rest" is not an "after your dead, rest in peace"-type rest.  Maybe it's a lifestyle, now, that invites other people out of the maelstrom.

Here's to nothing.  I don't want to sound cocky about it, but I can do nothing pretty well.

Like this Blog, Except Worthwhile

Something cool:  www.shapevine.com 

It's like this blog, thematically.  Except better.  And it's like this blog, except with cooler graphics, amazing, cutting-edge interactive technology, and the hosts make positive contributions to society. 

It's different in those ways. 

But it's about the church, where it is, and what it can be, if you're interested in that sort of thing.

Check out well-known thinker/writer Andrew Jones who'll be hosting the first live show this week. 

One Video. All Human Emotions.

I am haunted.  Yet amused.  Yet disgusted.  Yet strangely warmed.  Yet concerned.  Yet lightened.  Yet shocked.  Yet comforted.   Yet bored.  Yet entertained.

But mostly kinda queasy.