Dixieland Jazz and a Discussion of (Pretentiously Labeled) Socratic Thoughts

If you weren’t privy to the war against good music that American evangelical Christians waged in the late 90’s, be grateful. One of the bands that many missed out on was The Squirrel Nut Zippers. I’ve recently rediscovered their music, and I must say that it is excellent. If you’ve got any love at all for Dixieland jazz or hillbilly swing, check them out.

I have a lot of time to read at work. 11 hours on weekdays. I’ve got my books and an endless supply of articles on the internet to peruse. Given my intrigue with philosophy, I like reading articles concerning value-theory (ethics and aesthetics) and also arguments for and against the existence of God. I picked up Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis for the first time in a few years, and I’ve been poking through it, and I am enjoying it more than I did when I first read it a few years ago.

My enjoyment of Mere Christianity is part of my thought process here. I agree with a lot of what Lewis has to say in the book, mainly his argument of natural law and morality as leading to a belief in God. That argument doesn’t necessarily argue for a triune, all-knowing God who came to Earth as Jesus, but it is an argument for the existence of deity. Like I said, I agree with Lewis’ argument. I find myself putting the book down and thinking, How does anyone not believe an argument like this? That just seems silly, and intellectually dishonest.

I think that way because on this point of thought, ole Jack and I are in agreement. If we sat down over beers and a good pipe and discussed God’s existence, it could very well turn into a yes-fest. We would be the enlightened ones, and all those who disagreed with us would be poor ignorant wretches. It wouldn’t be intellectually honest at all, nor would it be fair to those who disagreed with us, but that sort of trap is easy to fall into.

Think about how many times you and a friend or two have solved all the world’s problems in a conversation. Wouldn’t everything be better if you recorded those conversations and handed them out to every person on the street? No, because though those conversations are enjoyable and often build closer relationships with friends, they often lack self-examination.

When Socrates debated with others in ancient Athens, his method was quite annoying to others. He would relentlessly scrutinize the position of those he debated. I try to apply this same principle to my own thoughts and beliefs. I feel like this is wise because I am a Christian, and I don’t think much of what’s out in the public forum that passes for Christian thought has little to do with Jesus Christ. Jesus is an afterthought or footnote to a largely Republican agenda that says we need to stop abortion so that poor babies can starve to death in the slums because it’s their family’s own fault that they can’t get ahead in life, and no you can’t have any of my bread because I earned it, and if I plug my ears I can’t hear your stomach growling.

I have to be honest and say I don’t know everything. I have been wrong about things in the past, which is part of what led to all this thinking about what I think.

I’m avoiding yes-fests of all sorts, be they Christian, atheist, or political. Yeah, I’m really avoiding the political ones, which means I should probably change that radio preset on my car because 106.3 is no longer Charlie; it’s WORD. I was recently reading some book reviews because I was trying to decide which of the following books I wanted to read The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything by Christopher Hitchens, or The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, And The Future of Reason by Sam Harris. Unfortunately, a lot of the reviews only really said, “Christians are stupid. So are Muslims. They’re so dumb. I love this book.” It was almost like the flip side of the same coin I’ve encountered so many times when a youth minister skimmed a book about Creationism and decided he could prove God existed. I guess I’ll get around to reading all the above books.

In the spirit of self-examination, am I exempt from WASP status since my ancestors were Welsh and Scottish, and therefore Celtic?

Follytime Radio

I plan to keep political postings on here to a minimum. Unless Optimus Prime runs, I don’t plan on talking about why you should vote for one candidate or another.

Somehow Rush Limbaugh wormed his way onto my radio today; I was only driving across Cherrydale to get a chicken sandwich, so I figured I’d have a laugh.

Instead, Rush did what I should have known he would do: irritate me. According to Rush, crazy liberal tree-hugging wackos like Barack Obama would never be able to run for president 40 years ago. Even the Democratic party wouldn’t have nominated him. Those were the days.

I have to say, Rush is right. 40 years ago, Barack Obama would not have received any endorsement as a politician. He would barely have the legal right to drink from the same water fountain as Rush Limbaugh, John McCain, or myself. Don’t tell me that the political climate was wonderful then because it wasn’t.

By the way, Rush, you should thank all those crazy Democrats out there. They’re the reason you have a job.

All I Need To Know

I’ve realized these things lately.

1.  I hate Alzheimer’s Disease.  My Mee Maw is in a psychiatric ward because she tried to acquire poison to kill herself.  That’s not my Mee Maw; should I have become a scientist so that I could search for a cure or at least a better treatment for the disease?

2.  I’m looking forward to the day when death is laid to rest never to trouble us again.

3.  I’m not as mature as I thought I was.

4.  I’m more mature than I think I am.

5.  Though I write poetry that some people enjoy, I’m not much of a wordsmith in real life situations.

6.  I can’t make it alone.

7.  Alan Bunn is a very encouraging man.

8.  If it wasn’t for Matthew Meekins, Brian Loos, Andrew Lewis, and Brent and Sherry Rushing, I would be dead by now.

9.  I only mentioned a few friends in the above entry.  I love you all.

10.  My fear of sushi was legitimate.

11.  Christians (including myself) make me wrestle with God’s existence more than Richard Dawkins ever could.

12.  Though I become more anti-violence everyday, I have the utmost respect for any man or woman in a military or law enforcement uniform.

G’night.

Two Gripes In No Particular Order

#1

I’m a fan of art in its various forms.  Picasso, Garfunkel, I’m a fan.  Value-theory is the most interesting part of philosophy to me, and aesthetics is half of value-theory.  One could call aesthetics the philosophy of art.  What I don’t care for is artists who walk into my store asking for a free bed.  I think your artist in residency program is interesting, but I don’t have the authority to make that call.  I become more annoyed when I check out your website and you’re charging $6,000 for a rectangular piece of scrap metal that simply reads “ATHEIST.”  I understand that brevity is the spirit of wit, and some of the best art is simple, but that’s just a bit lame.  While I clearly disagree with their conclusions, other atheists have translated their beliefs into art that can at least be appreciated for its use of color, key signature, or metaphor.  Would you pay $6000 for something that just said “THEIST?”  I wouldn’t either.

#2

If a candidate in this upcoming election says he or she will make sure that police officers receive an increase in pay, I will vote for that candidate.  I didn’t care much for the police as a teenager (most of us didn’t), but after developing a friendship with a few officers this past year, I’ve really come to appreciate what they do.  Yeah, I know there’s some power-trippers out there, but there’s bad apples in any bunch.  After hearing some of the stuff that happens in small town USA, I think may be the government should divert some funds to fatten up the paychecks of the people who guard us while we sleep.

I know that this is more of a local government issue, but I’m griping here.  I just think that cops don’t get paid enough.  Nor do firemen, paramedics, or teachers for that matter.

That is all for now.

Before I Die

I’ve been thinking about the full lives that my Mee Maw and Paw Paw led, and I’ve been thinking of things I want to do before I die.

I’m starting a list of things I want to do before I die, and I’ll take your suggestions. Some of these are going to seem weird to you; you’ve been warned.

While I won’t be adopting a hardcore Carpe Diem philosophy, I think I will also look for other awesome experiences as they arise. Being too tired to do something (including “well, I just don’t feel good”) is often a lame excuse, which I will seek to eliminate from my vocabulary. I was once too tired to go squid fishing, and by the end of the night I was singing “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?” at the top of my lungs during a storm on the bow of a fishing boat in the South China Sea. Avoiding the “too tired” excuse let me release a baby sea turtle in to the ocean and also see the world’s largest ketchup bottle.

These are in no particular order.

1. Be the first man in the capture of a crocodile or alligator

2. Visit all 50 states in the USA

3. Stand under the Northern Lights

4. See a river dolphin (hopefully they won’t be extinct)

5. Get married

6. Fish on Loch Ness

7. Win a poetry contest

8. Visit Edinburgh

9. Shake hands with Andrew Peterson

10. See a musk ox

11. Road trip up the East Coast

12. Have a mohawk

I don’t know how many people read this, but I will consider any suggestions made to me.

EDIT:

13: Ride a Bactrian camel (a two-humped camel).

14. Get bitten by a snake.

Coming To Grips

I am hardly original by being conflicted over my grandmother (henceforth called by her informal name “Mee Maw”) entering a nursing home. People deal with such things every single day.

Being that I’m in Marietta-Kennesaw for the first time this year, I went to go see Mee Maw at her new residence. She’s still the same lady that she’s been over the past few years, wearing all her jewelry at once and being a loud mouth about how all the men in her life are good looking (today those men were myself and my grandfather, colloquially known as “Paw Paw”).

She had a hard time understanding who I was; she knew I was Andrew, but she wasn’t sure if I was her son or grandson. I suppose some people get irritated by that; it just bugged me that my Mee Maw who lived down the street from me when I was growing up is slowly becoming more confused everyday.

That being said, I’m going to continue to go against myself and look on the bright side of things. I took two things away from Greenwood Gardens today.

1. Apparently my Paw Paw is a stud. All the ladies in the nursing home turn their heads when he comes to visit. Watching him trying to avoid all the women at the nursing home is like watching Davy Jones run from all his fans on the Monkees.

2. The Pritchett family has never been very philosophical (save that one nut case who moved to South Carolina), but Mee Maw reminded me of her philosophy today: money can’t buy happiness. I have found this to be true over the course of her life. Growing up during the Great Depression in Chattahoochee, GA, she didn’t have a whole lot. She never lived in a house with more than one story or drove the nicest car out there. She didn’t need those things; she had a head full of memories that became amazing stories. She also had a willingness to pass the simple pleasures of life on to her children and grandchildren. I’ll never forget her getting down on the floor to play with dinosaur toys with me or teaching me how to be sneaky during a game of checkers. That’s where she found happiness; she didn’t need a bunch of stupid stuff to fill up her house. Truth be told, my Mee Maw and Paw Paw are probably the best example of contentment I’ve ever seen.

I know you’ll never read this, but I love you, Mee Maw. A kid couldn’t have asked the Lord for better grandparents than you and Paw Paw.

Finally, A New Way To Kill People

I suppose I should be impressed by this.

I am much more impressed by this.

www.bloodwatermission.com

And 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8…

So the Resurrection Ball was everything I hoped it could be and more.

The spirits were good, and came from a tap with wooden handles in the shape of Celtic crosses.  Cool?  Oh yes.

I really didn’t know what to expect as far as the dancing goes.  Dancing can be uncomfortable in a setting where one has no clue how to actually do it.  I was pretty nervous seeing as how my date, Katie, goes swing dancing on a weekly basis, and I’m the one who was supposed to lead.  Instead of having your standard annoying DJ who plays songs no one wants to hear, we had a band.  A folk band.

When you dance to a folk band, you folk dance.  With a caller.  I submit to you that just as you can’t play a sad song on the banjo, you cannot folk dance to a caller’s directions and not laugh and have fun.

I should have bought a kilt in preparation for the night.  I would have been the only one wearing my heritage on my sleeve (or… hips), but it would have been quite appropriate in the Celtic/Southern atmosphere.  In all my maturity, I almost started a chant of “WALLACE!  WALLACE!  WALLACE!”

Ah… life!

I am exhausted, but incredibly glad that I have the memory of last night.  ‘Twas an excellent night celebrating the fact that Jesus is alive.

Lying Social Networking Sites and Why I’m the Worst Baptist Ever

First things first.

This isn’t a poetry-only blog. I wish I was that cool, but alas, I am not.

And speaking of my coolness, I am highly doubting it at the moment. I’m not losing confidence, just doubting coolness, so don’t worry.

I think Facebook applications are a bunch of liars. I used to have this application posted on my site that said I was the best roommate, hottest, and most desired for marriage. I took the little poll on that particular application just to see how I would do, and then left it up there for awhile solely because I’d be a fool not to advertise those results.

Reality, however, tells a different tale.

I had to ask 3 different women to this weekend’s Resurrection Ball before I got a date. Hottest? Most desired for marriage? Ha. I spent Saturday telling myself that “stag” is a really cool sounding word. After all, Bambi’s father was a stag and he was one of the first bad dudes that I ever saw in a film.

Either way, the ball should be fun because it’s run by a bunch of Presbyterians. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Presbyterians, I shall list a few reasons why they are fun to have around:

1. Their denomination was founded by John Knox who was Scottish and had a beard that all manly men envy.

2. Solid biblical exegesis.

3. As a general rule, they smoke pipes.

So we’ll be dancing  upon this Friday, and that pretty much makes me the worst Baptist ever (I use the word “Baptist” loosely, but I can’t avoid my roots in Charles Stanley’s church).

Submitted for the Approval of the Midnight Society…

I wrote this for a sonnet contest on A Prairie Home Companion. I didn’t write it about anything or anyone in my life; it just happened.

I hope you like it (but I hope Garrison Keillor likes it more).

Will you dance with me slowly
on a quiet, grey night?
Our mystery-love growing
in the halogen moonlight
in the absence of song
our steps shall be arrhythmic
to the professionals all wrong
having no time for expert polemics
just your cheek against mine
your hand clasped on my shoulder
we’ll take a step out of time
forever young while still growing older
answer quickly, before the night’s end
I ask just once, never again.