The Art of Selling Out

Today I recommend going and reading all of my fellow horror writer’s, Wrath James White, blog, Selling Watermelon: Ode to Marquis Styles. Don’t get me wrong, Marquis Styles has not seen print yet, but Marquis is submitting urban romance projects. Marquis may also gain a sister, to be named later, who will be writing paranormal romances.

Why?

(... Continued on Blogging in Black - The Art of Selling Out)


Also, my latest Intake column, No time to reflect


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Hot Fuzz – A Review

Hot Fuzz is an action packed comedy set in the unlikeliest of locales, a place where nothing ever happens. Which is exactly why the movie works: by not winking at the audience, it brilliantly spins the obvious into the unlikely (and vice versa). Unlike the skewered target in Shaun of the Dead (the similarities between zombies and the English pub crawling life), Hot Fuzz takes aim at a much broader target, namely one of (America’s) Hollywood’s chief exports: the big-bang action movie. The action movie is one of the easiest movies to do poorly and one of the hardest to do effectively – and, because they tend to border on spoofs of themselves in the first place, they are one of the hardest to parody well. However, just the idea of the team behind Shaun of the Dead doing to the police action-comedy genre (think and 48 HoursBad Boys) what they did to horror genre is enough to make me plunk down dollars.

Though modest and far from flashy, Sergeant Nicholas Angel (Simon Pegg) had an arrest record 400% higher than anyone else in his precinct. His personal initiative was such that his colleagues conspired to get him transferred for making them all look bad. So from London to the sleepy hamlet of Sandford he goes, a community so small that everyone knows each other, greets each other, and the big crime concern is loitering and the nuisance influx of living statues. Angel ends up partners with Danny Butterman (Nick Frost), son of the village police chief, Inspector Frank Butterman (Jim Broadbent). Butterman is a student of American action flicks (Bad Boys II and Point Break being, in his opinion, the pinnacle of the genre) and is eager to live out his Bruckheimer-inspired cop fantasies through Sgt. Angel: two-fisted gun battles, extreme car chases, and wise-cracking trash talk.

Co-written by director Edgar Wright and Pegg, the duo are every bit the students of film that their American counterparts, Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez (Grindhouse) are. Smart even in its juvenile humor (with charactes named P.I. Staker, Cocker, Blower, Skinner) to its less obvious gags co-opting all manner of pop culture influences (for those that missed the role of the N.W.A. in the movie, let’s just say that it makes the song from the soundtrack, “Straight Outta Sandford,” all the more hilarious). The quick cuts and edits turned even the filling out of paperwork into over the top action sequences.

“I’m open to the possibility of religion, I’m just not overly convinced by it.” --Sgt. Angel

Crime can be found anywhere – scratching the surface of even the calmest of villages reveals the dark heart of humanity. Evil is irrational and uncontrollable; life gets so twisted about, that grand conspiracy theories start to make sense when the truth is much simpler. We don’t like the feeling of helplessness that life often leaves us. Some folks clutch at idea that we have to follow the law without exception as the only way to survive - without the grey. Sgt. Angel’s “the law’s the law” attitude can seem to be a myopic view of the letter of the law.

“The law can be proper and righteous and used for the benefit of mankind.” –Sgt. Angel

We don’t get to make up the rules as we go along; the Law is meaningless if it isn’t consistently applied. Of course, that’s the rub, isn’t it: the Law isn’t consistently applied. It can’t be because the appliers (humanity) aren’t consistent – no matter how much talk there is about applying the law “for the greater good.”

“The boys here are not used to the concepts you’re bandying about.” --Inspector Frank Butterman

Sgt. Angel knew the law better than anyone else and applied it equally. He “believed in the immutable word of the Law” and that with procedural correctness there had to be moral authority. This set him apart from the people he was called to; a people that had so bought into the values of their culture, had been so brainwashed into not questioning, that they were happy and contented with the illusion they had created for themselves. Riding in on his white horse of judgment, in a lot of ways, he’d come to fulfill the law which made him a threat to all of the institutions of the village, the empire. Religious, medical, law, commerce, he was up against institutions and a way of life seemingly bigger than himself.

The “village,” with its values and its control and order is safeguarded at a price. Though it believed itself to be a “community that cares” – the reality is that the community was so rotted from the inside it had lost its way.

“It’s not your village anymore.” –Sgt. Angel

That is the good news that Sgt. Angel comes to bring. Through his “death” and “resurrection”, he inaugurates a greater kingdom, a different way of living, one that challenges the ways of the village. It’s an announcement that you don’t have to live the way they had been living. They didn’t have to pursue empty goals of materialism, consumerism, or chasing after the ill-defined false glories of “success”.

Instead, they could be about freedom, since we have been freed from the chains of crime (sin) and death. They could be about the pursuit of justice. The way Sgt. Angel chose to carry out his calling was to invest himself in a few, those that had been called for a purpose. They became his disciples of justice and he calls others to join in their mission of justice.

“Still feel like you’re missing out?” –Sgt. Angel

Hot Fuzz--though mostly an action buddy cop comedy--brings with it elements of many slasher movie moments. Deconstructing the genre, it includes moments of too tender male-bonding - the man-love demonstrated points to the unstated obvious about the undertones of the buddy cop relationship: these are testosterone fueled romances.

Subversive in the way it hits every cliché, nails them, and twists them on their head, the Wright-Pegg team gets the movie mostly right. While it does feel a little long, particularly near the middle of the movie, the hyper-explosive, downright ridiculous, last half hour makes up for it. Plus, it’s a non-stop laugh riot, so all you have to do is sit back and enjoy.


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Belong Before You Believe

The church should be countercultural, a school of life, a pocket of resistance against the status quo, a foretaste (and first fruit) of things to come. It isn’t always.

The question becomes, should we join a church? (The short answer is “yes” and I’ll now refer you to “Why go to a church service?”). The issue that fascinates me is the one of how and why we go about becoming “members” of a church, because there are some real consequences to this decision.

Some people just aren’t joiners, or at least want no part of the rigamarole of joining. Whenever I’ve joined a church in the past, there were forms and doctrine statements that I had to sign to attest to their beliefs. I have NEVER been to a church were my beliefs lined up perfectly with theirs (mostly I skim them to see whether or not I can still drink). More than once I’ve told them that I can’t sign their membership papers because they would be making me lie to them (usually, they say that it’s just an acknowledgment that we know what the church believes. I still couldn’t shake the feeling like I was being Mirandized). Some churches have made me go through classes, as if you could actually flunk out (Lord knows, to my wife’s dismay, I’ve tried). Most times, joining a church has been more like an arranged marriage: can we live with each other.

I think any regular attender is a member. By the power of their presence, they have placed themselves under that church’s “authority,” as it were, to speak into their lives. One of the church’s role is to facilitate people into the formation of Christ’s image and I understand that trying to get some manner of commitment out of them would ease that process. And I get the frustration that some leaders have when their members have a lackadaisical attitude toward regular attendance.

But you know what? I would seriously consider not joining a church. Seriously. If one of the church's roles is to make disciples, we do that (practically speaking) by being a part of people's lives and butting into them. In fact, in this regard, I don't see the church operating much differently than, say, AA (or insert whatever you want for what it is the church is trying to get you up those 12 steps to solve). Frankly, I might even go one step further and say don't be a part of any close circle of friends. Only this past week I was asked whether or not a friend's situation had deteriorated to the point of needing an intervention. An intervention certainly sounds like a group of us taking it upon ourselves to butt in where we aren't particularly wanted.

I would enter into joining a faith community with my eyes wide open to the fact that being a part of a church body means you are inviting them into your life every bit as much as they are inviting you into theirs. That's the nature of relationships and the reality of community. The deeper the relationship, the more likely butting in and holding each other into account there will be. So if I wanted to do whatever I wanted, with people being allowed to speak into my life when I want them to and only in the areas I want them, I wouldn't join any faith community - especially a smaller one where people are more likely to know me.

If you are going to speak into my life, you have to have a relationship with me. More than an “I recognize your face/I know your name” relationship. We have to have lived life together. Shared times. Then you’ve earned the right to speak into my life. People need to belong before they believe, even if they never believe. The church should be a hospice, a safe haven where people can work out their questions. Allowing doubts, allowing people of differing beliefs, doesn’t change what you believe. Accepting and welcoming people where they are and as they are doesn’t change what we believe the Bible has to say about what’s right or wrong. We can’t just be about wagging fingers at one another.


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Church is Not a Building

I think the sentiment that church really doesn't happen on Sunday is total crap (to put it bluntly). It goes against centuries of tradition - both Jewish and Christian. The pinnacle of Israel's and the Church's formation took place in public liturgical worship. The services really meant something to them. Sure, this can be abused, but so can the idea that Sunday church doesn't matter, and only picnics in the park do. For too long, evangelical Christians have been too critical of those who faithfully attend Sunday worship as if they are second-rate Christians, as if they don't know true community, as if they are not really committed, etc. Sadly, we reap what we sow: We can't talk this for long without undermining Sunday worship. I know, for some, I sound like a museum-piece... and that's ok. I don't mind. I know that it is very cool and hip right now to criticize the church, be cynical about its future, disparage its workers, and pretend that organization is the devil's greatest work. (Interestingly, the same folk who decry "organized" religion would demand that their hospital, library, and school be organized.) But I can vouch as a pastor who prayerfully puts in long hours in order to make sure my flock is spiritually fed each week, that a low attendance impacts my spirit. I preach better when my flock is with me. I preach worse when I feel alone. For more of my rantings on the necessity and centrality of corporate worship, check out my most recent sermon “All Together Now”. Please accept these ravings in the spirit in which they are given - with much love and concern. The pursuit of true spiritual transformation cannot happen apart from self-denying commitment to the good of others, and one way to maintain this stance is to meet together regularly for worship, instruction, and service. No matter how innovative the church becomes, it will never improve on the discipline and rhythm of regular liturgical formation.

(And now a link to Rich’s sermon, All Together Now, his look at Psalm 150 as if offers a concentrated vision the where, why, how, and who of corporate worship.)

Many of us have gone through what Dan Kimboll called Reality Church, the stages of our involvement with the thing we call church. Our reactions to “how we do church” has folks all over the place, calling for more “high” church to the practical eradication of any sort of weekly gathering. I know many folks have wrestled with the disillusionment of seeing some “mega-churches” sprawl out of control, focusing on the building and its maintenance—caught up in empire building—while forgetting about the community, the neighborhood. Church isn’t a place. We’ve come to think of church as that building we go to on Sundays, that performance we go witness, that thing we do.

As I am thinking about the idea of church membership, the koininia, the fellowship, that comes from belonging to a people, I can’t help but recall something I heard about pods of whales. Humpback whales come together, as a pod, with their individual songs. Once they are together, they learn a new song, changing their individual songs, and then go their way to teach their songs to others. Church is a relationship, the developing a community of faith, a sacred space we carve out in our world and lives.

With the common goal of being committed to following Jesus we gather together. The grace of God is a school in Christ and everyone is welcome in the school … but the school is meant to progress you. The school is to “graduate” disciples. The church should be countercultural, a school of life, a pocket of resistance against the status quo, a foretaste (and first fruit) of things to come. It isn’t always.

“It is important to think about the Church not as "over there" but as a community of struggling, weak people of whom we are part and in whom we meet our Lord and Redeemer." --Henry Nouwen


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Community Crutch

“Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” –Galatians 6:2

Do you ever have to deal with someone you know you are supposed to be responsible for that just sucks the very life out of you? A person you want to be there for, and in theory should be there for, but they just make too many demands of you? I’m going to try and do more than just vent in this blog, so I’m going to at least go through the motions of examining the responsibility of a community (be they friends, family, church, or what-have-you), even as individuals, in taking on one another’s burdens.

There are times when we ought to take as much of another’s burdens as possible. There will be times when I’m in a good place (financially, emotionally, physically, time wise) and a friend or family may be crunched and I can take that burden from them. However, while propping them up is one thing, but it’s not the ideal long term solution.

As I wrestle with the practical implications of what it means to support one another, what it means to share one another burdens, I can’t help but think—counterintuitive as this may sound—sometimes being a constant safety net keeps folks from growing, trying, experimenting, risking failure. Knowing someone is always there can make folks lazy and dependent. When I think of my role as a parent, the goal is to get the kids out of the nest by preparing them to be on their own, not constantly following after them in case they falter. There comes a point when we have to let go of the handle bars and trust that we’ve taught them how to ride the bicycle.

The problem arises when we encounter some folks who try to get by on pity. They won’t work or won’t hold down a job. They seem content to continue to put people in bad positions. It’s a form of emotional blackmail, like tagging along when folks are going out to eat knowing that you have no money: being invited along is one thing; infringing on them is another. Community is a two way street. It’s often hard enough for many folks to ask for help in the first place, these are the same folks who wouldn’t want to be supported that way - dependent on other’s good natures, sponging off folks, mooching our way through life, especially if they want to be seen and taken as grown-ups.

“God helps those who help themselves” is an ancient proverb that shows up in the literature of many cultures, including a 1736 edition of Benjamin Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanack, however, it is not in the Bible. This truism does speak more to our nature than it does to God’s: it’s easier for me to help those who are trying for themselves. We don’t want folks to use community as a crutch unless their leg(s) are truly broken.

“Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” –Colossians 3:13

(But I’m still going off to listen to Tim Wilson’s song “He’s my Brother-in-Law.” Right now, I’m finding it … soothing.)


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Friday Night Date Place – No Kids?

Last week’s Friday Night Date Place on meeting the kids got me thinking about the reverse scenario. The situation I’m talking about is the single person who finds themselves creeping up in age and the prospect of finding a partner and having a child of their own seems to be fading with each successive birthday. They hear their friends, hear the words of their families, and hear the (however unintended) message of the church and come to the conclusion that they are not fulfilled unless they are married with children. What have we been telling these folks and what should we be telling them?

There are several reasons why most folks are single:
1. Choice – some folks choose to be single.
2. Time of life – there are times when folks are more focused on getting through school, climbing in their careers, or are simply pursuing other interests such that it is not the right time to “settle down.”
3. Socially inept/clueless - I’m not going to lie, some folks haven’t quite figured out how to make connections with others (though, frankly, some of those people still end up married, they’ve just found someone to put up with them)
4. Just hasn’t happened. Try as hard and desire it as much as they want, marriage, much less kids, simply hasn’t happened for them.

Now, is the right message we are to be sending them that they have somehow fallen out of God’s will by remaining single?

There are two mindsets at work here: 1) we act like marriage is a trade up when it’s a trade over, a lateral move of equal value; and 2) we, as a church, have placed family on an altar as if sustaining the family is the be all of Christian living. All of this means we will have to examine what it means to be fully human.

We’re called to join in God’s mission, whether doing it on our own (as singles) or as a team (if married). I know, no one buys the whole “Jesus and Paul were single” argument (though, Paul might have been married at one point). Focus on the Family of God needs to be lived out more deeply instead of worshiping the idea of family. (If I was the cynical type, I’d note that the emphasis on families might have something to do with the fact that families, giving units, are where the money is.)

So we as a culture have set marriage and kids as the be all of existence, setting folks up to believe that it’s our destiny as humans. Somehow you’re not fulfilling your role as human being if you’re not reaching those goals (it doesn’t matter how much you would like it to happen, but it hasn’t ). You know what? Some folks may need to be reminded to cling to their faith that God loves them and is for them (God’s will is not out of whack. If all you do is work and go home, God isn’t going to materialize a partner for you. Your choices and decisions matter, so be for Him in all that you do, after that, it’s on you).

I’m not going to lie, I like seeing myself in my children. Now that I have them, they are my primary ministry. I still have responsibilities to do kingdom work and if I’m being honest with myself, marriage and kids pulls me from that. Time is one of the trade-offs when I went from being single to being married. We need to cling to the true purpose and mission of life: to be fully human is to be fully loving and be in community. When Romans 14-15 talks about living out the Christian life, it’s not about making babies. The bigger point is that we’re co-creators with Him, joined in a mission or reconciliation. We’re all called to be fully human, but that’s an edict that isn’t solely fulfilled by being married and having kids. For many, there is an emptiness and longing for something that hasn’t happened. We don’t know how to speak to that void (and most times, we’d be better off not saying anything). We do them a great disservice by treating (and telling) them as if they are less than human otherwise.


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Thinking Bloggers

I’ve been tagged with a meme by a blogger who has just come to my attention. Apparently I make someone think. Woo-hoo!

Of course, I have to come up with five bloggers who make me think. It’s not like Scot McKnight, Rich Vincent, or Brian Keene need anymore blog love. So how about:

Anthony Smith

Rod Garvin

Wrath James White

Matt Cardin

Marc Davidson

And though I wish Lauren David and Andre Daley wrote more often, Jay Lake actually blogs more than I do.

Also, I took a look at Don Imus, then Reverends Sharpton and Jackson, and I wrap up my take on this whole mess by examining the role of hip hop in our culture with my Intake column “I Used to Love HER”.


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A Muslim Take On Community

So I have this friend in prison with whom I dialogue regularly about our respective faiths (he has discovered Islam while in prison). Every so often, he guest blogs for me. Since we continue to contend that Islam and Christianity can teach each other anything and shed light on each other’s beliefs, here is his take on the idea of community.

The question that initiated this line of thought was whether or not we (by “we” I mean the Muslims here at Indiana State Prison) are a “community” in the way it is defined along Islamic terms and is this definition harmonious to the general understanding of community (and what is the general understanding of community). And depending on the answer to that question, what is our responsibility to either maintain or achieve community.

Community is defined as:
1. People in area: a group of people who live in the same area, or the area in which they live
2. People with common background: a group of people with a common background or with shared interests within society
3. Nations with common history: a group of nations with a common history or common economic or political interests

So depending on the context that it’s used, one could say that community is basically a group of people that either live in the same locale or have similar backgrounds/concerns. I would also say that this is the general understanding that people of the concept of community.

As such, when we talk about the black community, for example, what does that mean? We don’t all live in the same are, we don’t all have common backgrounds, or share the same interest. I guess you could argue that we do have a common history and that we are all darker than white people, but does this really define community?

My problem with this is that community should mean more than that. If we limit ourselves to the above understanding, then we are no more than a collection of individuals that are sharing space. There is no sense of ... I don’t know … concern/love.

Islam defines community as a brotherhood (which obviously has a richer connotation – goodwill, a feeling, fellowship, and sympathy for other people). And it is along these lines that Islam defines community. Allah says, “Verily, this brotherhood of yours is a single brotherhood, and I am your Lord and Cherisher; therefore serve ME and no other,” and “The believers are but a single brotherhood: so make peace and reconciliation between your two contending brothers; and fear Allah that you may receive mercy.” (23:52 and 49:10).

The idea that is being put forth is that the believers are bonded together, unified by their faith in Allah and that as a result of this there is a responsibility to one another. Actually a love for one another. Allah says, “And hold fast, all together, by the rope which Allah (stretches out for you), and be not divided among yourselves; and remember with gratitude Allah’s favour on you; for ye were enemies and He joined your hearts in love, so that by His Grace, ye became brethren; and ye were on the brink of the pit of Fire, and He saved you from it. Thus doth Allah make His Signs clear to you: That ye may be guided.” (3:103)

I don’t want to get preachy here. Suffice to say that the idea is that through our common faith, we are bonded together. We are commanded to love one another. This love is not necessarily the kind of love that you have for a wife or a child. In fact, you might not even particularly like a fellow brother. It is the kind of love, I suppose, is best exemplified amongst members of the armed forces. During my tenure as a Marin, there were plenty of guys I didn’t particularly care for, but the bottom line was that they were Marines. As such, I would always extend that man the respect and courtesy that he was due, I would assist him in whatever he need assistance with, I would put my life on the line to protect him.

That same love is called for in Islam in terms of our relations with one another. Allah tells us to hold on to the Rope, all together. The idea is that we are stronger together than we are individually. You have heard the saying that it takes a village to raise a child. Kind of the same idea here, that collectively we support one another in the areas we are weak. That collectively, there is a measure of accountability that is not present individually.

Then, of course, we have a model of community. We have the historical accounts of how the Prophet (saw) and the early Muslims lived. And what we see, in short, is a body in which the individual sacrificed for the greater good of community, a structure of mutual respect and assistance, and (very important) a very real practice of accountability. This is the best example of what a community is.

Okay, with this on the table, how does this stack up to how or what we generally apply the term community too. Looking at, for example, the Islamic Communities out in the world. What we see, in general, is Muslims falling into what I call the contemporary Christian paradigm (you really need fancy titles for something simple, I could have just said the way Christians do stuff these days).

Here’s what I’m talking about. Let’s go back, oh, 100 years ago in this country. What we will see is a particular standard of morality. This standard, obviously, had a Christian foundation. More importantly, this standard was being not only espoused from the pulpit, but there was an expectation of adherence by the general populace. If one would act counter to this societal standard, then there were repercussions. For the sake of time and space, I’m being really general, and there are exceptions but I think you get the gist of what I’m saying.

We fast forward to 2007, and there is still a standard of living being propagated from the pulpit, however, there is no accountability to the message. A message is preached on Sunday and then the people are dispersed back to their individual lives - which is all good and well for Christians (ha!). The problem, as I see it, this is also true of the Muslim communities. This is counter to the very spirit that is embodied in what community means, or should mean, to the Muslim. Nevertheless, brothers go to the mosque on Friday, but then is seen coming out of the liquor store on Saturday, turning up a 40 oz and what? Nothing. That’s a problem.

So, to answer my own original question, do we have a community here? I would say yes we do. We certainly have the commonality of faith. We express a degree of love that is expected of Muslims for one another. And, just as importantly, we have a degree of accountability and expectation of one another.


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42

I’m not a baseball fan. I didn’t grow up watching the game, my dad was never a lover of the sport, nor did I ever really play it. In other words, baseball wasn’t part of the fabric of my childhood. Yet, even I have to take note of one of the most important cultural, social, and political moments in our nation’s history. Sixty years ago today (April 15, 1947) Jackie Robinson crossed the color barrier to become the first black player in the Major Leagues.

Ironically, not much of it was made in the mainstream press, though the black press covered this event as if it were the Second Coming. Think about the impact of this: when Jackie Robinson crossed the color barrier, Malcolm Little was in prison at the time, listening to the games, inspired by what black people could achieve.

"A life is not important, except in the impact it has on other lives." –Jackie Robinson

Being the first must’ve have been difficult. Not instantly accepted by his teammates or the fans of his team; challenging the paradigm that the color line was not to be crossed, a paradigm that many folks grew up believing, accepting, and living by. The racial epithets from other coaches, the death threats, opposing players refusing to take the same field as him - all alone, the only black man in the game, handling that kind of pressure, is a testament to how tough he was. His was an exercise of self-control.

Being a trailblazer is unimaginably difficult. I don’t know what it must have been like to live with the fear of failure (not just of playing in the big leagues, but to let down the hopes and dreams of an entire people) or the fear of success (to be a symbol of democracy and equality). The crap he had to go through and take … yes, he was angry. If anyone had a right to be angry, he certainly had that right. It took a restraint few of us have to not lash out, but instead channel it and use it as fuel. How he played the game, as a rookie, is a testament to the type of player he was.

Suffering so that others could come after him.

We take a lot of things for granted today, black and white folk alike. Black folks forget just how hard it was. We often take for granted the strides and struggle done for us by our grandparents. Grand parents - those are stories that can still be told. White folks, well, sixty years wasn’t that long ago. When I hear things like "why do we need a “Black Miss America” a “Black Expo” or a Black whatever?", again, sixty years ago we needed a Black press. We did for ourselves when it wasn’t being done in the “mainstream”.

There are times when sports are a mirror to our society, showing us who we are as well as who we could be. Today, when the story of Jackie Robinson has him almost faded into myth like some African-American god of integration, only 9% of baseball players are black, but 44% are minority. That’s a lasting victory and legacy. (Jonathan Eig has a book out on Jackie Robinson called Opening Day that I can’t wait to read.)

As a part of the remembrances that are going on today, some players don’t feel worthy to wear #42. I respect that position. It’s hard to see greatness and measure yourself against it; to examine yourself and how you are living up to that legacy. However, you can’t have too many people involved in celebrating this day or this man.

(A special shout out to the memory of the Indianapolis Clowns and the other Negro League teams.)

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Friday Night Date Place – Meeting the Kids

Every now and then, I think about what if I was to find myself single again. I’m approaching 40 (it’s the new 20!), I have two boys (complete darlings!), and I would be facing the possibility of dating all over again (I bring teh hotness!1!). I just celebrated my 7 year anniversary and I was a contented single person. However, the thought of dating period, much less navigating those treacherous waters with kids in tow, reminds me to pray that my wife will outlive me.

To a degree, I can still sympathize with trying to date while having kids. It’s hard enough finding the time to go out with just your spouse, to keep the relationship fresh. One of the reasons we decided to stop at two kids was that we could still find people to babysit for two (free!). Around three or more, we weren’t just paying, but we would be paying big. Or else making better friends. Many folks find themselves single with kids or single again with kids or have to go through the motions of weighing the pros and cons of dating someone with kids. There are many issues that they have to check off. Issues like:

-going from being single to an instant family
-dating while juggling kids
-dating while dealing with ex-spouses or the children’s other parent still having to be around
-blending two families
-how and when to develop/allow the appropriate attachments

It’s a lot to absorb and deal with on top of trying to figure out if you like the person you’re going out with, though every relationship has its baggage. I talked to a few friends of mine to see how they handled dating folks while having kids, and a few similar threads kept coming up.

1) Take time before introducing the kids to the other. Okay, one person I talked to made it a point to not introduce her kids to whoever she was dating until the relationship had lasted a year first. Your timing may vary. The point is that your first responsibility is to your kids and creating a stable environment for them. You don’t want to confuse the kids with a constant stream of “friends.” And the simple fact is that it’s important to see if the two of you are going to work as a couple, if they are worth the time/emotional investment, to move to the next level.

2) Take the attachments slowly. Judge the children’s reaction to your significant other and your significant other’s reaction to them. For one thing, you don’t want to let the kids get attached only to have your “friend” disappear. Break ups are hard enough on adults, but they are even tougher on kids. On the other hand, you also want to allow time to allow the relationship between your children and your significant other to develop naturally.

3) Be honest and upfront. My sister handled introductions this way: “Hi. My name is Ro. I have two kids.” It puts the facts immediately out there and gives them an out that way they can run if they’re going to run.

4) Realize that where there are kids, there are parents. A baby momma/daddy may still be in the picture, another party to your relationship. Like any other family, you inherit them as a part of the relationship. If there is any drama with the children’s other parent, that needs to come up pretty early in the discussion also. (I’m thinking that “By the way, the baby daddy’s crazy” is a date three conversation.)

The key rule to relationships of all sorts boils down to how best you can love one another, your kids and yourself as you seek to find your own happiness. This topic is way too big for me to gloss over in one blog, no matter how lengthy, so I may me re-visiting it again in the future. What are your thoughts?


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New Black Spokesmen

We’re coming up on an election year and with all the talk about candidates already, there are some offices not getting nearly enough discussion time. Aren’t we about due for a crop of new black leaders? Seriously, I’m tired of our current spokesmen.

Reverends Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, these keepers of the flame, are too transparent for words. Of course they came trotting out when the Don Imus mess gained some traction. We know who they are and what agenda drives them: attention-seeking politicians striving for the perception of relevance. They are the equivalent of ambulance chasers, picking the pockets of all involved as they run from whatever controversy the two start or fan, before they move on, whether or not the actual conflict has been resolved. They are a Civil Rights protection racket.

Traditional “black leadership” has had to come up through the civil rights machinery. Which means they’ve clung to the same tactics, trying to fight the same battles, with little adaptation to new issues. The good reverends have appointed themselves as gatekeepers for new leaders to come up, giving and withholding their blessing as they see fit. However, besides lining their own pockets, what has their leadership produced?

Don Imus being fired wasn’t a win (actually, I think of this much like Bobby Knight in Indiana University. He had pulled so many stunts in his history, so that it wasn't so much his last stunt which got him canned, which wasn't that bad--especially for Knight--but it was more like the culmination of his acts). Sponsors pulling out was the only reason Imus got fired. Don Imus isn’t defining anyone. His opinions don’t affect my self-esteem. How many of “us” were in his demo audience to begin with? In fact, I wouldn’t have heard about it except for people bombarding me with how I ought to be offended. Had there been true outrage, it wouldn’t have taken so long for him to be suspended, much less fired. As the advertisers went, so did he.

And that still leaves our black spokesmen with an uncomfortable elephant in the room. Drugs, crime, education, teen pregnancy – we can’t exactly march on those problems. There isn’t a convenient enemy nor an easily solution, but these are the hurdles we, as a community, currently have to clear. They aren’t sexy problems, only the most relevant.

Of course, all this assumes we actually need a spokesman. For that matter, it assumes that we speak as a united block. We don’t and we aren’t. At one time, we needed voices because we weren’t being heard. Now we can be heard. We don’t need the good Reverends, not in their spokesman roles. In my less cynical moments, I assume both men have done a lot of good. Some of it behind the scenes and they simply use their higher profile to draw attention to certain problems. However, perception is king and racism is their industry. Considering the problems they seem to draw the media to, it seems like they have more of a stake in racism continuing. I’m all for fighting injustice where you see it, just don’t solely fight for opportunities for legitimacy and relevance.

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Grindhouse - A Review

When the creators of Sin City (Robert Rodriguez) and Kill Bill (Quentin Tarantino) come together, I have to pay attention. The two of them love movies, love movies the way I love movies, in all of their cheesy glory. Often they end up doing pastiches to the type of movie they grew up watching and loving, while adding their particular spin to them. Thus they bring us Grindhouse, something to quench your thirst for exploitation films (though, admittedly, how much of a thirst could there be out there?)

Grindhouse attempts to recreate the Grindhouse movie-going experience, those inner city theaters with strange combinations of grade z movies shown in marathon. These days, we have direct-to-DVD productions, so we don’t have that cinematic experience much anymore. The junk cinema features an old school aesthetic which Grindhouse re-creates with the soundtrack static, the flickers on screen, and missing reels. The movies themselves were filled with cheap thrills, casual violence, pure escape in an anything goes brand of story-telling.

Planet Terror

Robert Rodriguez fulfills the promise of From Dusk til Dawn. A great caper movie that turns into a vampire flick, the movie works better in concept than it did in execution. Planet Terror brims with energy and style over substance (and has a holster fixation: everyone kept shoving things in pockets or drawing them out with a flourish). Rodriguez uses the affectations of the movie to his advantage, for instance, using the missing reel to escape the many corners he had written himself into. The characters even refer back to events in the missing reel.

The plot, such that it is, revolves around an infection that turn people to zombie-like creatures, spreading their disease and reducing them to something less than human. The over-the-top script covers the outrageous characterizations and action that defies all known laws of physics. Cars blow up in more ridiculous than (cinema) usual plus the dismemberment gore gushes blood like erupting red Jell-O. With action for action’s sake, making not a lick of sense, you basically just have to sit back and enjoy the ride.

“Who are you really?” --Sheriff Hague (Michael Biehn)

Like the nature of sin itself, the “zombie-fying” infection spreads among the people, soldiers and civilians alike. Because of the introduction of sin, the created order is disrupted, leaving humanity (once infected with sin) not as they are meant to be. While not specifically using zombies, Planet Terror does make use of the imagery (eating and shredding raw flesh). These creatures illustrate a resurrection to walking death, living death, with no hope, only the eternal existence in a “body of death” (Romans 7:24). They are particular reminders that there are worse things than death.

“I need you to become who you were meant to be.” --El Wray (Freddy Rodriguez)

Enter El Ray as a kind of Christ figure: No one understands who his real identity; he is with the survivors for a while; he invests himself in a few, such as Cherry Darling, the stripper—sorry, go-go dancer—who loses a leg and has it replaced with a machine gun; he transforms their way of living; and he gives them a mission and destination, a new earth, (“I find the lost, the weary, those that have no hope, and I lead them” says Cherry).

“Don’t you get it, we’re the antidote.” -- (Naveen Andrews, Lost)

This called out group has to stand against the infection and its consequences. “At some point in life you find a use for all of your useless talents,” Dr. Dakota Block remarks. Those seemingly useless talents were put to use in their battles. This ekklesia seeks a sense of community and meaning in life, choosing to use their gifts to impact their world by becoming an alternative society to the ways of this world, a saving presence working toward the redemption of the entire world.

A superb cast, obviously in on the joke, Planet Terror is a modern thriller that somehow feels at equal home in the 70s. The movie is low grade entertainment that achieves a greater sense of fun than the movies it copies.

Death Proof

Death Proof seems like the weaker of the two entries because, on the surface, the story arc falls a little flatter. A serial killer, Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell, B-movie king from and The Thing and Escape from New York) stalks groups of women and then uses his car to murder them. The dialogue was good, typical Quentin Tarantino, the Brian Michael Bendis (Powers) of movies, but the talking heads felt a bit talky and uneventful at times. It is the only chance you get to breathe from the incessant action, but doesn’t really build a sense of dread typical of a horror movie.

Though the acting is a little shrill, he asks us to invest in these women and their situation. He has made them fully rounded characters, with history and quirks. By flipping the expectations one would have about this kind of movie, Tarantino demonstrates his genius. Two of our heroines leap off the screen. Kim (Tracie Thoms) reveals Tarantino’s love of 70s era blaxploitation heroine, Pam Grier, even moreso than his tribute to her in Jackie Brown. Zoe Bell, playing herself, has been in films before, as a stunt performer, such as her work as Uma Thurman’s double for Kill Bill.

Death Proof functions as a morality/comeuppance tale by way of female empowerment movie. It’s a straight up thrill ride with less of a story as basically a sadistic bully meets his match in this woman’s revenge movie. Kurt Russell’s unexplained pathology seems both more dangerous in his swagger and yet emasculated. The serial killer is our modern-day boogeyman. In depicting the dark side to our nature, serial killers specifically remind us that evil death is all around us in the form of each other. Evil can be anywhere, danger lies around any bend in the road.

Look, you don't plunk down money for Carnosaur 2 thinking you're going to an Oscar contender. You (and the movie itself) just accept it for what it is and go for it. I feared Grindhouse would prove little more than a vanity project. When you set out to make a B-movie—big budget B-movie sounds like an oxymoron—it’s not too hard to max out the outrageousness. Everyone was in on the joke (from Bruce Willis to Nicholas Cage). Even the movie trailers before each movie are part of the experience: Machete (which I actually want to see now), Don’t, Thanksgiving (what the hell is wrong with Eli Roth?), and Werewolf Women of the SS.

Grindhouse was a complete cheese fest, high cheese, not that that is a bad thing. It’s about delivering what you promise. Grindhouse did. Ghost Rider did not. This movie won’t be for the faint of heart, nor will the stylized film-making be easily consumed. Twisted tales with more twisted characters have two master directors working from their palettes of brutality and gore for a purely visceral experience. It’s the best bad movie of the year and if you want a closer feeling of the Grindhouse experience was like, go to the last showing at your multiplex.

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Restaurant Debacles

So we spent Easter dinner at my mother’s. It was the usual affair: food from three cultures (African American, England, and Jamaica); every meat group well represented; bouts of loudness, crudeness, and food throwing. Not once did it cross our minds to go out to eat. I know, why would we when we have such a food spread. Sure, there’s that, but there’s also the fact that we Broadduses have a long and proud tradition of finding ways to get kicked out of restaurants. I hesitate to go as far as to say we revel in it, but I can’t think of too many restaurants that don’t have a “Do Not Admit” poster of us hanging somewhere.

Sadly, we’ve been compared to The Klumps. Like any good children, me and my siblings blame our parents for this turn of character. Before you judge us, consider that our behavior has long been conditioned. From early on, we went to all you can eat Chinese restaurants with my mom bringing her special “going out to eat” purse. What do you mean all ladies don’t have purses lined with a freezer bag? You don’t know a good time until you’ve had a Chinese wait staff yelling “You go now!” at you.

We recall with great lament our time at Ryan, an all you can eat steak place, and our infamous “how much can you drink” contest involving their free refills … that tragically turned into the orange soda puke-a-thon. Or going to the Texas Roadhouse where they keep buckets of peanuts on the table and you throw the shells on the floor (like they’d never heard that many nut jokes before).

I’d like to say that our being kicked out of Ponderosa was our crowning moment. I can sum up the incident in three words: Porno Masterpiece Theater. My premise was what if porno movies starred Shakespearean trained actors. There’s nothing like yelling porn movie dialogue with the stentorian projection of a stage actor. In a restaurant filled with the after church crowd.

However, none come close to our being kicked out of Mountain Jacks.

Now, the occasion for our gathering was my father’s 50^th birthday. Since he never expected to make it that long, we decided to make a time of it. We rented a limo and thought “what could possibly go wrong if we go to a nice restaurant?” Well, the conversation was fairly typical and we were our usual loud selves. Some brain trust decided to arrange us as one long table, which had my father on one end, my grandfather on the other, and me, alas, in the middle. My grandfather picks that moment to let everyone know that he had a new erectile dysfunction device that was working out well for him and, as the old joke goes, he was telling everyone. It involved some sort of pump device installed (this was before the little blue pill) and let’s just say there’s nothing like having your 75 year old grandfather yell from down a table: “Just three pumps and I’m ready to go!”

Ah, good times.

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Wow, what a great segueway into my latest columns from Intake: “Recycling does matter” and “Whither Chastity.”

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Father-Son Conversations You Hate to Have

Malcolm (age 4): "Daddy, what are those?"

Maurice (age 36): "Man boobs."

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Imus, A Mess

Not too long ago, a group of athletes got in trouble for some locker room humor that got out of the room. It was a black coach nick-naming a group of his white athletes. I chalked the incident up to an inside family joke offending the sensibilities of those outside the family. After all, sometimes diversity shocks people. Let me word this delicately: When you leave what you know, the people you’re familiar with and are suddenly plunged into a more diverse atmosphere than you are used to, sometimes jokes can be used embrace the differences. They can make you feel embraced. Humor, though sometimes inappropriate, cuts through to a common core and can sometimes point out uncomfortable truths and diffuse tension.

It’s about context.

Jokes you make within family that sound horrendous when someone outside the family hears them, much less, repeats them. We can speak one way with our “boys”, one way with our family, and another way in public/on the record. Still, we have to always be mindful: some language and images need a “handle with care” label attached to them.

Which brings me to Don Imus. We’re nearly a week into this growing imbroglio. Many times, I’m likely to give a pass to a slip of the tongue. Who among us hasn’t ever said something stupid that we (immediately) regret? When that person’s entire m.o. revolves around being controversial in order to get attention, especially in an effort to be funny, I’m that much less likely to be shocked.

However, humor can be a dual-edged pitard: I’m sure Michael Richards thought he was being funny.

Frankly, I haven’t listened to his show because his act never interested me. The main reason I am at all familiar with him is because he so often makes the news due to something he has said. After so many offenses, he rather struck me as an equal opportunity offender. None of which excuses his referring to the women of the Rutgers basketball team as "That's some nappy-headed hos there, I'm gonna tell you that now." With brutal efficiency, he’s managed to be both racist and sexist in his efforts to cling to the dream that he is somehow still relevant.

Still, the curious slow boil of the situation has been fascinating to watch. Now that Reverends Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson are on the case (and NOW just chimed in, a week late), all of the usual suspects have chimed in which guarantee me taking this seriously.

Let’s face it, this is business as usual for all parties involved. Imus has been suspended, his wrist appropriately slapped, and is going on his apology tour (which I’m sure will be sincere, not a desperate bid to keep his job and/or sponsors happy). After that, therapy won’t matter. The number of his black friends won’t matter. Firing him won’t matter. Not to me. The debate over the appropriateness of some language is the take home lesson.

Seeming double standards aren’t fair (“how come THEY get to say that but I don’t?”), but they are the reality of the world we live in, the grown up world where adults understand context. You don’t always get to say what you want, when you want to say it. Well, you can, but be prepared to face the consequences of your words. My brother may call me an idiot, but you better not in front of him. There are some words and phrases “off limits” to certain folks in certain contexts, situations resolved by the offended parties speaking up and reprimands given. The danger of pushing people’s buttons is that sometimes they push back.

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Earn the Right to Speak

I’m still thinking through the many discussions that happened at the World Horror Convention 2007. One huge conversation we got into was about what is sin and how should a loving community respond to sin as well as help each other along through/past it. Ironically, few in the discussion actually went to church: a common tale in the horror community is that many of us had been kicked out of churches in the past or made to feel unwelcome.

I guess my current thoughts harken back to the idea of what it means to be a missional church. We are all in the same sin boat. There are no “super sins”, contrary to how we seem to act. There are sins the Bible spends more time talking about than others (funny, they’re rarely the ones that get all the “press”). But I don't think sin is the beginning of the Gospel message, nor do I think it is the first thing that defines us.

Part of the mission of the Church is to be a hospice. Part of the mission of the church is to try to inflict less damage in the world and be a healing blessing. Part of the mission of the church is to bring about reconciliation between people (one to another) as well as God. In other words, the mission of the church is to love. “The most loving thing we can do is point out their sin.” Please. Spare me your line of spiritualized B.S. We, the church, have too often assumed the right to speak into people’s lives, which has led to much of the judgmentalism that characterizes us today.

Yes, we still have to speak on sinfulness and sin in each other’s lives. However, it is easy to sit in judgment of other people’s sin rather than focus on our own sin (or even our sinfulness being a unifying point that should keep us free of being too judgmental). Even as “iron sharpens iron” and we continue to make disciples as we learn/form one another in community, we still have to earn the right to speak into each other’s lives.

I think speaking on sin begins with self-examination. The first question I'm going to ask myself is "do I love you enough to speak on your sin?" I’m not going to speak about “your” sin unless you know you are first loved by me. And I mean “know” in more than the “I love you”-easy-to-say brand of love. I’m talking about the unmistakable knowledge where there is no doubt by you about how I feel, because these sort of conversations, first and foremost, have to be done from a place of love. Also, I’m not going to speak on your sin until I’ve looked at myself and realized that I’m no different that them.

So, thinking back to my friends/family that make up my writing community at WHC, I hate to break it to some of them, but they aren’t as outside the church as they think. They are a part of my learning community. They help shape my theology. They love me and speak into my life. They’re stuck with me. Yep, sounds like a solid community to me.

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What is Horror?

Dear Drew,

Horror is an emotive element, but it is not a genre.

Horror is the existential dread in whose shadow we all live. It is the sum of the fears of our existence and the cathartic thrill of working through those fears. Horror is the via negativa or “the way of the negative.” In many ways, horror is like an Old Testament prophet illustrating the eventual path of a negative conclusion. Horror wrestles with the reality of evil and questions why bad things happen to people.

Horror is an exploration of our terrors, encompassing our fear of Death. Many times our fears come back to the fear of death, helplessness, loss, the after life, or God (or worse, the lack of God).

A friend, in telling me her plans about coming to Mo*Con II, wrote this:

"Comic-Con is fun. Mo*Con would be about something much deeper. I believe in deep. I live for deep. At this point I’m 90% sure I want to be with you guys to explore the relationship between what we write and what we believe. For me horror is the path to truth. It is about enlightenment. Did you know a study was done that people remember more through gross and horrific events than mundane or even emotionally charged events? I believe that horror can open that doorway and if you time your message just right you can convey something powerful and meaningful to your reader."

That’s the answer I would have given, to the question you were trying to ask at the World Horror Convention 2007, had that errant bottle of Knob Creek not been kicking both of our butts.

Love,

Maurice

P.S.

This could be some people’s idea of horror:




















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WHC 2007: Day Four – Why We Almost Left Chesya at the Border Part II

Or, How the hell did you let her back into the country?

We interrupt this last scheduled WHC 2007 recap with this: Chesya blogged the conclusion to the story because she didn’t trust me to stick to the facts of the story. I guess she was afraid I’d describe in detail how she drove my van like a mad woman chased by Canadian demons, leaving us so traumatized that we just wanted to drive the speed limit without changing lanes all the way from Detroit to Indianapolis. Or, she didn’t want me relaying my fantasy of security detaining her at the border and, as we pulled away, me rolling down my window to yell “she’s muling drugs!”

I’m not even going to try to do shout outs to all the folks I met and who made the con so great for me. Just look for a few pics that I took on the photos page of my web site tomorrow morning.

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World Horror Convention 2007: Day Three – Work Day

Surprisingly enough, the longer the convention goes on, the later a start we all get. I’m sure this has nothing to do with recovering from the best Gross Out contest ever (which I was going to enter until I found out it was up against my panel. Wrath told me to either enter next year or he’s stealing my idea); or the fact that with four of us rooming together (myself, Simon Wood, Chesya Burke, and Lauren David), we weren’t falling asleep until around six in the morning. However, it’s usually Day Three that I buckle down and get down to the “business” of the con.

-panels (each year I go to fewer and fewer, usually only the ones that I’m on, should be on, or allow me to check out some folks I’m needing to network with). I was only on one panel where I basically rehashed my writing the other blog. Though I wanted to argue about things the horror market can learn from the Dark Dreams anthology series.

-pitches. Ah, the familiar mild anxiety that comes with preparing to do my novel pitches to agents and editors. Remembering the lessons of being a professional, the keys to pitches are treat it like a job interview (because it is) and rehearse your pitch before hand.

That night was the Stoker Award Banquet (read: stand around and look pretty):

And now for a quick game of non-sequitur Simon (Wood) says, because he knows how to talk to the ladies:

-“You smell like carrots.”

-“I can’t remember what you used to look like, but you look good now.”

-“If you check under your fingernails right now, you’d find little chunks of Simon.”

-“That’s a lovely fisherman’s shirt. It’s a Perfect Storm sort of shirt. I can see Marky Mark riding the waves in that. But, really, I like it.”

-“Maurice Broaddus? Who the f@&k is he?”

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