Three Hundred Words of Fiction: Take Your Candy

He was just looking for medicine. Something for his heart, they thought they heard. He was muttering something about a cure, mumbling out the side of his mouth, nobody could hear. He’d just wandered into the drugstore off the street, drugstore on the corner with soda and chips and medicine and cheap plastic toys. All the clerks in their vests and nametags didn’t know what to tell him. He was too old and in too much pain to tell them what he needed, maybe he didn’t even know. He could barely see, he wandered the aisles looking for medicine, medicine somewhere, help, treatment, somewhere? Around and around until he collapsed on the floor in the makeup aisle, cherry red lips smiling down at him from the shelves. A woman rushed over, put her ear to his camouflage coat, pulled the lids from his watered down eyes. Not gone yet, he whispered in her ear. Attack, he whispered. Heart. His Samaritan jumped up and demanded the Medicine Aisle from the assembled crowd. Thirteen, aisle thirteen. She ran. They followed. Thirteen, it was all candy. Candy everywhere. Juicy chewy fruity gummy sugar coated chocolate peanut butter caramel center. The packages were bright yellow and purple and orange and they were goofy and zany and mocking. Where’s the medicine, she screamed, he’s dying. It’s here, it’s all here ma’am, they explained.

You see, it’s all in candy packages now. Why, of course, candy packages, the drug companies, the marketers, they all wisely agreed it was best for the consumers. Nobody’s going to buy their medicines if the medicine is boring, like it’s always been. It’s a new century! People love candy. Now people will love medicine, too.

While they were gone, the man quietly died. He hadn’t been able to find what he needed. Why? It looked like something that no one needs.

Three Hundred Words of Speculation

Here’s some personal speculation for you, prompted by a discussion with a friend concerning so-called Christian music. The call to musically gifted disciples: Who on the part of God will rise? (Or, who will glorify God with the quality of their music?) A couple of probable reasons why they won’t.

1) They’re not real musicians, they don’t have music in their hearts. They picked up a guitar/drumstick sometime in the past and they were pretty good at the technicalities, so someone told them they should get into music. But there aren’t any songs (or psalms or hymns) in their hearts so they have nothing to write, and there aren’t any melodies so they have nothing to play. So they just copy each other. “I know it’s hard to be original / In fact, nothing scares me more / Because Jesus only lets me do what has been done before…” [David Bazan, “Selling Advertising”]

2) They might actually be real musicians—or they might not—but in the current system they have to produce what the record label and the market demand of them if they want to survive. The label, of course, ultimately wants what the market wants (what sells). And the market in this case demands a family-friendly clone of the pop music charts. (Why? The church desperately wants to look like the world.) So what an “artist” can produce is limited by what will sell. They just have to copy what is popular. Most of the day’s truly creative or innovative secular music is produced out of the spotlight, independently. The Christian scene is just now beginning to catch up to this idea, but it’ll be hard to break the iron grip of the Listener Advisory Board.

Oh, and a third idea might be that they’re not truly believers…

Four Hundred Words On Art vs Utility

How utilitarian must the Christian life be? Or; when does practicality trump beauty?

I’ve been thinking about this since I discovered the Sagrada Família, a massive Catholic church under construction in Barcelona. Is this some new megachurch, you ask? Not exactly. Construction began on the “temple” in March 1882 and is expected to be completed around twenty years from now. (See this page for info and photographs. Wiki.) I was blown away by the size and scope, the exemplary design and craftsmanship of the structure. It is truly amazing. I’d like to visit.

Then the inevitable comment: “What a waste! All that money could have been used to feed the poor!”

Which is all too true–that money should have been used to feed, clothe, and shelter the poor. …Right?

Artistry of this type seems frivolous, but then so do tastebuds and sunsets and the magnificent observations of the Hubble telescope. Why would the Creator fling useless, majestic things like nebulae out into the deep? The human eye can see billions of colors, all of which seem to exist in nature’s dressing. We’re all apparently hardwired to appreciate aesthetic beauty in many forms, no matter how impractical. Mankind has made art since history began. We need it.

I’ve always been convinced that Christians, who claim to serve a limitless Creator God, should be at the forefront of artistic endeavor. We’re not, currently. Partly, I think, because this takes time and money, which might both be spent on more obviously needful things. I understand the need for this focus, casting off weights and being singularly focused on spreading the Word, plain and simple.

Yes, but is the Word not beautiful? Does he not deserve beautiful praise?

I’ve long enjoyed the work of Reformation masters of architecture. The world contains some magnificent cathedrals. At the same time, perhaps hypocritically, I despise sprawling megachurches. I hate the drab warehouse philosophy of much modern church architecture. It is boring, does not spark any thing in anyone, and says nothing about who we claim to serve.

So, what do you think? Is it worth our effort and resources to praise God with our buildings and artwork? Or is it wasteful and ostentatious to do so? (There’s Babel Tower to think about.) Should we be severely practical people, dressed only in blues and blacks, or are we denying ourselves the joy we’re so clearly designed to get out of beauty? Obviously there’s supposed to be a balance… I’m interested in more specific answers.

I’d like to hear some thoughts!

Three Hundred Words On Boycotting Ronald

Recently, the American Family Association announced a boycott of McDonald’s. This is along the lines of their less-than-remarkable boycotts of Disney and Ford in years past. The reasoning here is this: “It is about McDonald’s, as a corporation, refusing to remain neutral in the culture wars… [and] promoting the homosexual agenda…”

I have a couple issues with this. But first–I’m not blasting AFA as an organization. I merely think the boycott’s misguided and a lost cause from the start. And I’m not for the homosexual “agenda” at all. I’m sure I’d agree with a lot of what AFA has to say on the matter. However…

Issue One: Why should McDonald’s remain neutral in the culture wars? They’re a global, moneymaking, faceless, secular corporation. Their side has already been chosen. I suppose you could argue that hamburgers are neutral, but when you hand over your dollar for the double chee, who are you voting for? We’ve got to live in a world that isn’t exactly God-fearing. Why do you expect McDonald’s, of all companies, to share your moral values–and endorse them?

I think part of the reason AFA is upset is that they regard McD’s as a family company: clowns, toys, the whole bit. Fine American dining.

Issue Two: The reasoning. If you’ve got to boycott, McDonald’s should have been boycotted a long time ago. Christians, of all people, should be the first to acknowledge and respect the intimate connection between body, mind and spirit. McDonald’s helps to destroy the health of all three, especially the body. Obesity, heart disease, colon and other cancers, liver and kidney problems, diabetes, and on and on. Why weren’t we worried about that?

It just seems to me that homosexuality (or the support thereof) is like a “pet sin” that we point out with loud voices while we ignore the rest. Where were the boycotts while McDonald’s was out destroying traditional ways of living and oppressing the nation’s poor?

For more on fast food in general, check out these excerpted quotes from Eric Schlosser’s “Fast Food Nation.” Then buy the book.

Three Hundred Words On The Dark Knight [2 of _]

[Like I said, I can’t add much to the volumes that have been written about this movie all over the interwebs, but I feel obligated to put in my two cents, if only because writing it down helps me sort it all out.]

The Joker
The main thing that intrigued me (and continues to do so) about this story is the Joker. I have no affection for previous film incarnations of the character, and, admittedly not being a Batman reader, I wasn’t aware of the direction that various writers and ilustrators have taken him. This clown has been down some pretty dark roads.

As a side note, I must mention that while Heath Ledger’s death was sad news, and any human life snuffed out is tragic, I don’t really have any sentimentality for him that’s affecting my view of his performance here. I’m not much on celebrity worship, and I haven’t seen him in anything recently besides “I’m Not There.” A lot of people who have hailed his acting in this film (like me) have been accused of “drinking the Kool-Aid,” or just saying the guy did a good job because we’re all teary-eyed about his death. Not so.

I said to my wife as we left the theater that the man will from now on be near the top of any list of movie villains. And he deserves whatever posthumous Award they decided to give him. This performance, the tics and mannerisms and ways of speech, it was all absolutely incredible, it was crazy intense, it would not let up. His jokes are literally bad, the humor dark and uncomfortably funny. His first major scene, when he makes a pencil disappear… wow. It suddenly snapped the viewer to attention: this movie, this Joker, are brutally different. From then on, every time the Joker was on screen, everyone’s eyes were glued. He’s not afraid to die, and puts himself in death’s direct line of fire more than once or twice, laughing all the while. You never knew what he was going to do, he could do anything, go any direction. And that’s really the point. One reviewer whined that the Joker just seemed like a random villain without a purpose here. That person wasn’t listening.

“They’re schemers. Schemers trying to control their little worlds. I’m not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are.” - Joker

“Nobody panics when things go according to plan.” - Joker

“Introduce a little anarchy. Upset the established order and everything becomes chaos. I’m an agent of chaos. Oh, and you know the thing about chaos. It’s fear.” - Joker

The Joker is indeed random in the sense that he is opposed to order. Anything for chaos, destruction and fear. The Joker is simply out to destroy. “Some men just want to watch the world burn.” In this we could call him a terrorist without the politics–someone simply devoted to terror. But the Joker is more than a simple terrorist, just as Batman is more than a hero. Joker is a force. He doesn’t seem interested in anything, which is what Alfred suggests to Bruce: “Perhaps this is a man you don’t fully understand…” Batman and the police are looking for a standard criminal goal, but there is none. He’s out for Gotham/America, and he’s out for their souls. The way he has chosen to take them down is nothing more than good, old-fashioned demoralization. He begins to murder or destroy their leaders and judges, to dismantle and thwart their leaders’ and heroes’ plans. He kills at random, including officers of the law and order, and destroys a hospital, traditionally a symbol of safety, hope and healing.

“It’s all a joke! Everything anybody ever valued or struggled for… it’s all a monstrous, demented gag!” - Joker, The Killing Joke

The quote above is from a graphic novel (not for faint of heart) titled “The Killing Joke,” which is a possible Joker origin story and which must have contributed a few of the ideas for the character in “Dark Knight.” The fact that we weren’t bogged down with Joker’s origin in the movie furthers the idea that he is simply the embodiment of chaos and depravity. He came from nowhere, has no name or identity, is no one, has no purpose other than anti-purpose, upon which he is singularly focused.

“Something like that happened to me, you know. I… I’m not exactly sure what it was. Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another… If I’m going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice! Ha ha ha!” - Joker, The Killing Joke

We see this going on in the movie, too, as he tells two different versions of how he got his facial scars, and begins to tell a third version to Batman. The scars were another example of the movie’s realism. I appreciated that they created the Joker’s appearance more realistically (and disturbingly) than the old fell-into-a-vat-of-acid trick, which never made any sense to me anyway.

In The Killing Joke, the plot revolves around the Joker trying to make Lieutenant Gordon go insane in order to prove his point that “one bad day” is all that separates the good, civilized people from insanity. He tries the same point in this movie, with an entire city. “You’ll see, I’ll show you that when the chips are down, these, ah… civilized people, they’ll eat each other.”

Fiction: Take Care

[The following is an original piece of fiction. I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to comment.]

Yeah, I knew him. Well, I didn’t know him well when it started. I knew his name was Wash… we worked in the same department. That’s about it. We’d say hello when we passed, things like that. Uhm… one day I was headed for the break room, I came around the corner, and he’s–he’s crouched up against the wall, holdin’ his head. Sweat just pourin’ outta him, y’know? I said, ‘Wash, buddy, you okay?’ He’s just shakin’ all over… His shirt was soaked. He says, I got to get out of here now and he sorta staggers off.

Next day he came to my cube, all apologizing for it. I asked him what was wrong with him and he sat down in my other chair–that’s when I noticed how really pale he was, and his eyes were shot through. But he was still shavin’ then. Anyway, he says to me: ‘Cooper, have you ever had just a really real sense of time passing? I don’t mean watching the clock hands, waiting for five, I mean felt dread in your soul that minutes were passing that you would never get back.’

I remember I just looked at him and shook my head. When he opened his mouth to say all that, it was like… gravity coming out, his voice was heavy. Seemed like the most important thing he’d ever said. Anyway, he says:

‘I can feel time passing, Cooper. I can physically feel it rushing through my head. It’s like putting your head in a waterfall, or under a faucet, you ever done that Cooper? Just put your whole head under the bath water? Well, that’s this. But the water is minutes, and seconds and hours and days passing, I can feel it shooting past. It’s always constant, the same rate all day long. I know you think I’m nuts, right? But here’s the kicker. It almost always hurts. Like hell.’

He took a long breath, maybe he started crying too, I’m not sure. He goes on:

‘I know it’s Time ‘cause it hurts when I waste time, man. When I’m not. Doing. Something. Important. It feels like… like ice, like fire, it spreads through my whole body, Cooper, my whole body. Just rushing past, never gonna see that second again, never gonna see that minute again. So I sleep too late, I wake up in Agony. I turn on the TV, same. It’s hard to know what’s gonna do it. Sometimes when I read, most times not. But all day long here’–and he looked around the cube and the whole office right then–‘all day long here, it’s sheer torture, Cooper. Doing paperwork–I can barely see. I usually throw up a couple times a day.

‘But… when I’m home, if I’m in the garden–I found out that’s one of the things that makes it feel good. It’s soothing, the water’s more like a cool river. If I’m playin’ with Cass, my little girl, going to church, doing dishes. Dishes! Did you know that doing the dishes is not a waste of time?’ He laughed at that ‘till he cried, thought it was a big riot.

After that he went on for a while, said a lot more stuff. Figured out that he wasn’t hurtin’ talkin’ to me, so he started coming by every day, sometimes he just looked pathetic, y’know? One day he falls down in the chair and says to me: ‘No more small talk, Coop. I just spent ten minutes listening to Don in admin talk about the weather and I can barely stand. I felt like we needed to talk about… bigger things, philosophy, theology, literature, even our families. I bet. I bet even if we talked about our families it wouldn’t be a waste. Just real life stuff, you know? Living. Living! Not just existing. That’s killing me. It’s killing all of us.’

He quit not long after that. I haven’t heard from him yet, but I know I will, I hope. I gotta say, I was never quite sure he wasn’t crazy, but. But. Funny thing is, I think he mighta been contagious. Heh! I can feel it now, too, a little bit. But it feels like my heart is breaking. It’s not the rushing yet, like Wash. Maybe this is how it started with him. But I feel so sad, when I ain’t usin’ my time right. Just so sad. I can’t really feel it, yet, but I know it’s going on by. I can’t… I can’t let any of it go. Not without usin’ it right. Doing good with it, y’know? I gotta go. Take care.

Three Hundred Words On The Dark Knight [1 of _]

I’ve been sitting here staring at this blinking cursor for over a week now. I’ve been trying to figure out what to write about The Dark Knight (which, I’m sure, needs no introduction to you, faithful reader).

I’ve seen it twice as of this writing, and each time I was left staring into the middle distance as the credits rolled, trying to gather a word or two down out of the mental whirlwind that the film sparked, wanting to push Play again and figure out exactly what just happened. I really don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.

As far as review, I can’t really say anything that hasn’t been said better by others already. I’ll share a few links with you at the bottom that you’ll want to read if you enjoyed it as much as I did. Google aggregates movie reviews from across the web for me, and I’ve never seen a movie consistently get 4/5 and 5/5 stars, with an average of five solid stars for more than fifty reviews, like this one has. Amazing.

As was the movie. If you haven’t seen it yet, go! No, seriously, go. This deserves to be seen on the big screen. Even if you don’t like “superhero” movies. This isn’t one. Even if you didn’t like “Batman Begins,” or, like me, don’t really care to watch any previous Batman movie ever again. (Yeah, I know.) This has nothing to do with all of that. It is not campy or cheesy. It’s a great action movie, it’s a great crime drama, it’s a huge, densely plotted and expertly scripted mosaic with actual things to say and timeless questions to ask. Be warned: it is dark and relentless. Much like No Country For Old Men, it has to be. But it’s a little more fun to watch.

To be continued in the coming days…

LINKS:

Crazy Good vs. Crazy Bad … Insightful thoughts on the Joker’s insane, single-minded drive and why that could be a good thing.

Christopher Nolan Interview … One of probably hundreds. First couple questions here are thought-provoking.

Hans Zimmer/James N. Howard Interview … Article/interview on the [musical] scoring process for the film. One of my favorite elements.

Christianity Today Review … “Nolan stays true to the established history of the Batman universe, but uses the characters and relationships to tell wholly original stories with real thematic weight.”

Three Hundred Words On The Sunny Side

I’ve made at least a few posts lately that directly or indirectly criticize the Christian subculture, from which I am increasingly distancing myself, for better or worse. If you’re tired, I apologize, but I can’t stand it: the stores, the merchandising, the “music,” the money machine, the fake smiles, the glossy photos, the t-shirts, the bumper stickers, the whole thing about as bold and beautiful as a bowl of cold oatmeal.

Now, this is just me. I’m not denying that some few aspects of this thing could be and are good for some people. But, overall, the way it’s all turned out makes me grit my teeth and want to throw tables and wish it never existed.

There are a few reasons, but I was reminded of one in particular this afternoon. I’m listening to a Ben Harper song and he sings this indictment, frustrated:

You get all hot and bothered
At the strangest times and places
But don’t notice the looks on all the other faces
You’re dressed for summer in the middle of December
What you’ve all but forgotten
I painfully remember

…I think it all pretty much applies, but the line that caught me was the one about being improperly dressed. My mind went immediately to the subculture and then to this quote: “They have healed the wound of my people lightly, saying, ‘Peace, peace,’ when there is no peace.”

If one wore shorts and sandals in a snowstorm, we would call him deluded. He cannot or will not rightly see his environment. He sees something “better” than what is. He pretends.

Humanity’s wounds go deep. Our pep and platitudes are merely insults, bandages over gaping holes. We can no longer offer hollow positives. We must dress for the season. In a dying world, the living cannot afford to look dead.

Three Hundred Words On Fairness and Pants

Can we just try to outlaw things we don’t agree with? I remember some months ago coming across a news story in which a town was trying to pass a law banning baggy pants. I thought it was ridiculous. A friend of mine, older and very conservative, thought it was a great idea. Most would consider me pretty conservative as well, but I had to differ–in fact, the idea is a bit scary. I’m not much of a fan of baggy pants, but I defend someone’s right to wear their pants that way. Why? Because I want to be free to wear my pants the way I like to wear them.

Now, obviously this is sort of a small, ridiculous example of the mentality of a great number of people. I call it scary because the day the state can outlaw baggy pants is the day they can outlaw short hair, or beards, or shirts with pockets, or black skin or red hair. Some people want to outlaw the Bible as hate speech; some people want to outlaw the Qur’an. Both sides want to keep their personal favorite(s) legal and disallow the opposition.

But it can’t work that way. If you want freedom of speech, you have to let your enemies speak, too. If you want to practice your own religion, you must let others practice theirs. If you can wear your pants with a belt, others must be allowed to wear theirs without one. Otherwise, democracy becomes autocracy. Acknowledging another’s rights as valid doesn’t mean you have to agree with them, and it doesn’t mean you’re saying that they’re right or true. It’s a simple matter of fairness and respect. One day, they may want to outlaw your pants. Then which side will you be on?

Okay, I’m Back.

Well, I’m back home from a great time staying with family in South Carolina. I got to spend a lot of time with my wife, my dad, a couple sisters and my baby niece, and my grandparents. I ate like a king, courtesy of my grandmother: beef with gravy, creamed corn, corn on the cob, potatoes, tomatoes, macaroni with cheese, fried chicken, green beans, handmade biscuits, sausage, homemade strawberry jam, scrambled eggs, grilled hamburgers, puddings, chocolate eclair, peanut butter cheesecake, cinnamon rolls, and on and on. And there were other meals after that. (Pardon my indulgence. Since I was a kid, I’ve loved reading descriptions of feasts in books. Just wanted to write one.)

Anyway. Just about every day, I met a lot of relatives whom I either haven’t seen in twenty years or have never met before. That was interesting. I had to have a diagram/family tree drawn for me to sort them all out. On a related note, we visited some family graves–more on that later, probably. (My dad actually stepped into a grave while we were at the cemetery; his left leg went in up to his knee. Through the hole you could see a big hollow area, possibly caused by the earth settling down around the bodily remains as the old pine box disintegrated. Some of these graves were 150 years old or more. He said somebody grabbed his ankle while he was down there.)

We also took an old-fashioned train ride in the Smoky Mountains, on a rail line built in the 1800’s by the state’s convicts for travel and economic survival, now rendered obsolete and downgraded to hauling tourists with cameras back and forth. I took a lot of pictures.

But… it’s good to be back. Thanks for sticking around.