Thriller!!!

So I was just listening to "The Tri-State's Only True Alternative 89.1 the BASH," a radio station that specializes in favorites from bands like Foo Fighters, Disturbed, and Korn, and they just played Michael Jackson's "Thriller"! Memories of Airband 2005 came flooding back as I remembered with pride the killer show Third Floor English brought to Rediger. Yeah, that was awesome.

Oh, and let's hear it for WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS the St. Louis Cardinals!!! Sweet justice, that's all I have to say. Wish I were in Louie with Cliff right now.

The most ridiculous item of the week: No crying in baseball

Cliff once referred to me as a “five-year-old” Cardinals fan, which in many ways is quite accurate. I first began following baseball in Game 7 of the National League Championship Series 2004, Cardinals vs. Astros. Prior to that I’d sat out a couple of games at Wrigley Field and Camden Yards, more for the culture than enlightened participation. Even my modicum of softball experience failed to educate me beyond the basics of the game, since I was in third grade at the time and the only thing I remember about my short stint as a catcher for the “True Blues” was that my coach had a TV in the back of his van (which in 1993 was pretty freakin’ sweet).

So basically, I’ve been a true fan for three years. At this point I understand many of the finer aspects of the game. I know when it’s prudent to use the “suicide squeeze.” I recognize the threat of an opposing pitcher’s low ERA. I even know the difference between the National League and the American League. And yet, some things continue to baffle me. Case in point: Kenny Rogers and the brown smudge controversy of Sunday’s Game 2 of the World Series.

On that holiest of days, the Tiger pitcher sported a considerable brown stain at the base of his left thumb throughout the top of the first inning. MLB rules clearly state that any pitcher in possession of a foreign substance must be immediately ejected from the game and suspended for the next 10. While it is obvious that Rogers was in possession of such a substance for at least the first inning of the game, the rule is invalidated by Cardinal manager Tony La Russa’s failure to seek a more thorough investigation.

Here is what I don’t understand: why is that La Russa’s responsibility? If the umpires knew of the substance (which they reportedly did since they told Rogers to wash his hands), why aren’t they equally as obligated to take care of the situation? Why must it fall on the opposing team to raise a stink in order to make the game fair? In my mind, this is similar to requiring victims of abuse or rape to rat out their assailant before the justice system will do its job. I know that’s an extreme analogy and baseball is “just a game,” but it makes me sick to think that Major League Baseball condones such conduct.

From Loompaland to the World Series (I hope)

I just gotta get this out there... Scott Spiezio looks uncannily like an Oompa-Loompa. Get that boy some orange face paint and Wonka'd be all over that. Seriously.

"C's get degrees"

“Intelligent fools
PhD's in illusion
Masters of mass confusion
Bachelors in past illusion”
--Lauryn Hill, “Freedom Time”

This weekend while visiting Cliff in Columbia, I was afflicted by a cold. As I stood in line at the local Wal-Mart to purchase green tea and chicken soup, I overheard the following conversation between two coeds in front of me:

Girl 1: My parents are really pissed off at me because my phone bill was so bad.
Girl 2: What did they say?
1: They were all, “Why do you have to text so much?” And I’m like, “I thought we had unlimited,” and they were all, “Well, now we do.”
2: Huh.
1: Yeah. They were like, “Why don’t you just call the person?”
2: *Scoffing* It’s not like you can always talk to people.
1: I know. It’s like, what am I supposed to do while I’m in class?

There is something hopelessly wrong with “higher education” in America. I’d say the majority of American college students have little to no appreciation for learning. Universities originated in ancient monastic settlements like Ireland’s Clonmacnoise where scholars devoted their very lives to the preservation of knowledge. Those men paid dearly for the opportunity to learn, and in turn saved civilization from the Dark Ages. The students of today seem more interested in draining their parents’ bank accounts for an education they refuse to ingest, imbibing instead in all manner of frivolities.

With college tuition ever on the rise, it’s a wonder some people choose to invest in that which they don’t take seriously. It’s not like my own college years were characterized by excessive diligence, but while I was enrolled I understood that the reason I was there was primarily to learn. I wonder at the circus academia has become as I pine for a time when degrees actually meant something.

"Lifeboat Theory: How to Kill Your Neighbor"

“Because the world owes me nothing
We owe each other the world.”

Those words, originally penned by Ani DiFranco, propelled me via Josh Garrels’ soulful rendition as I traversed I-64/I-70 to Columbia, MO this weekend. I’d been feeling troubled by the realization that the “real world” more closely resembles middle school hierarchy than I'd previously thought.

Donald Miller speaks of "Lifeboat Theory" in Searching for God Knows What. It’s the idea that in life, as in middle school, we are constantly evaluating our worth as compared to those around us. In essence, if five of my coworkers and I are in a lifeboat with the capacity for only five people, am I valuable (i.e. attractive, hard-working, athletic, intelligent, etc.) enough to avoid being pitched overboard? Miller suggests that this is the way all post-Fall humans live their lives. We feel this pressure to prove our worth each and everyday because something is missing in our lives that insures that worth. Read the book; it’s basically amazing.

Anyway, as I pondered the reality of Lifeboat Theory in my own life, I realized how easy it is to denigrate others for the sake of proving my own validity. I think how foolish this is, because ultimately only people, only relationships, matter. Here I am, thinking I’m preserving my very existence when in reality I’m torching it.

Last night, Cliff and I viewed a wonderful chunk of cinema called Luther. In one of the most powerful scenes, Martin Luther extols his congregation to love one another in his absence as he faces excommunication from the church. Not long after he’s gone, the people turn on one another, fueling their wrath with twisted interpretations of Luther’s own writings. Watching it all unfold, I wanted to scream at those people for how wrong they were, but in the end I realize I do exactly the same thing.

I feel like I’m constantly playing defense, like I’m ever under siege from an enemy threat. In reality, that’s just the human condition. I will never feel entirely secure here on this earth, but maybe security is not the point. I’ve always known I wanted to live for adventure, but it’s easy to lose sight of ambition when reality knocks at the door.

Whatever the consequence, I want out of this lifeboat. I know the world is not going to endow me with worth. The only viable Source for what I seek is God Himself.

"Only beauty helps"

"Simone Weil was absolutely right-- beauty and affliction are the only two things that can pierce our hearts. Because this is so true, we must have a measure of beauty in our lives proportionate to our affliction. No, more. Much more." --John Eldredge, The Journey of Desire

Fall has arrived in Evansville and I am glad for it. The changing of the leaves combined with much earlier, much more exquisite sunsets reminds me that life in the midwest is not devoid of beauty. I anticipate many more breathtaking sights this weekend as my journey takes me through the rolling hills of east central Missouri. My eyes will feast and I will remember deep in my soul that God is good.