Why I Vote

Another voting season is upon us, with the usual passions and fervor, people thinking that they (and those that vote with them) can change the course of society. I have always voted, not in every election, but more often than not. If I miss an off-year or mid-term election, it's usually because I forgot about it. With my votes, I, too, hope to change the course of society. We'll see if that happens.

I admit to being a normal straight-ticket voter. I offer no apologies. Some die-hards claim that straight-ticket voters are stupid and uninformed, blindly choosing this party or that one. I feel pretty well informed, at least on the issues that matter to me. What issues matter to me? To be honest, there's just one.

Abortion.

Abortion became legal in 1973 with the Roe v. Wade decision of the Supreme Court, if you didn't already know that. For a good portion of the intervening years, people have fought to support or overturn that decision. I could drone on and on about history, decisions, and the ongoing fight on the Pro-Life/Pro-Choice battlefront, but this isn't about abortion, per se. It's about why I'm, for the most part, a single-issue voter.

The way I see it, nothing else matters. When you know what abortion really is, you are either struck cold so you can look away, or you are sickened. That we Americans have allowed it since 1973 can only be explained by the fact that I think most that support abortion just don't understand what it is. I cannot imagine that people support this knowing what it is. That possibility frightens me more than school shootings or terrorism.

I've handled the remains of countless babies throughout all stages of gestation. What I want you to know is this: these babies have hands; they have feet. It's not just a blob of bloody tissue. It's not a metaphorical "mass of cells" or "product of conception". It's a baby. It could be your son, your granddaughter, your nephew or niece. Know that when you make your decisions to support abortion. It's ultimately not about a mother's health or her freedom to choose. It's about killing a baby. Regardless of why a woman wants to do it, in the end, a baby dies.

If you still remain on the fence, or if you just want to be challenged, I want you to read something. It's from Abby Johnson's book, "The Walls Are Talking." Here's the link. Scroll down to Chapter 7: "Frequent Fliers". I warn you in advance: when I read it, it hit me like a punch in the gut. And I'm a pretty cold-hearted guy that has seen a lot of hard things.

So, in choosing to see abortion for what it is, I cannot, in good conscience, support a candidate that is not against it. It doesn't matter what their stand is on immigration, health care or the economy. While those are all important issues, they pale when compared to abortion. It also doesn't matter that most Americans are deaf to the issue and think it's no longer germane to enlightened discussion. Until we do away with abortion in America, nothing else matters.

Credit Card Skimmers and You

Having had our debit cards compromised 3 different times, I've become concerned about how evil actors have gotten the information. I've come to assume that it's been through normal usage during which we've been skimmed, either through compromised ATMs or gas pumps.

First off, that this is even a situation that occurs enough that we should be concerned p!$$3$ me off. Second, I'm tired of being the victim. Third, I wonder, given our credit/debit card dependency these days if we'll ever be able to find a place free of this garbage.

So, given the seeming helplessness of the situation, I decided to be helpless and educated rather than helpless and oblivious.

Here are some resources I've found:

Texas Department of Agriculture Commissioner Sid Miller's Video
This is good information, but incomplete. Just scanning for weird Bluetooth devices will return a wealth of hits in a busy metro area, whether or not you are at or near a gas station. Good info, but ultimately only feeds paranoia.

Gas Pump Skimmer Information
SparkFun, the developers of the Android-compatible "Skimmer Scanner", talk about the most common skimmer type. They reverse-engineered skimmers received from law enforcement and used this information to create "Skimmer Scanner". I feel like the effectiveness of "Skimmer Scanner" will be short-lived, if it's not already obsolete. Thieves and evil actors are tireless in developing their dark arts and are always ahead of those who desire to thwart their efforts.

2018 SXSW Presentation by Nick Poole, SparkFun Electronics
Good presentation by one of the guys that reverse-engineered the skimmers (see above). Pretty geek-heavy in tech details, but if you want to skip to 42:06, that's where the useful facts crop up.

Credit Card Shimmers: Next Generation up from Skimmers 
As I mentioned above, the Dark Side never sleeps. This device is hard to detect and serves the same nefarious purpose as the skimmer, but takes advantage of so-called higher security chipped cards.

There's much more information about this stuff, but I've gotten too depressed reading and listening to it. I need a break.

The Reluctant Gear Head

There's something strange that infects a number of young men, somewhere around the age of 16. Occasionally, it gets them a little sooner, but rarely later. It's a love of cars, trucks or anything automotive.

Within this group is a smaller subset. It's the gear heads. These guys repair and tinker with their cars.
While the rest of the group is content to just like cars or to enjoy driving cars (and for the sake of this discussion, this includes trucks and motorcycles), the gear heads like to get their hands dirty in the literallest of senses. It's something about the mystique of the internal combustion engine or how all those parts work together in harmony that attracts guys to do their own work on their own cars, perhaps even venturing out to work on cars for others, personally or professionally. Right now, I'm thinking about the classic shade-tree mechanic, not the ASE-certified fellow. Actually, I'm thinking, more precisely, about myself.

My father was a do-it-yourselfer. He did his own repairs. I remember assisting on brake jobs and oil changes more than I can tabulate. His motivation ended up being my own motivation eventually: he could repair his own cars, so he did it to save lots of money. When you consider the cost of parts and don't  have to add in the cost of labor, repairs are much less, and if you own a car for any period of time after the pay-off date, you will have repairs. Another motivation is that you develop a relationship with your car. You learn things you didn't necessarily need to know about it through fixing it and every repair better equips you for future repairs. It's experience that you're gaining in addition to just the repair itself.

Project cars are the best for young mechanics. I started with a project car. Actually, it was a 1964 Dodge pickup of dubious heritage. My dad bought it from a friend of his. Where his friend got it, I do not know for sure, but I believe it's origin is shrouded in mystery and perhaps a little dishonesty. It was well-used. It had been an Air Force vehicle in its original life, discarded after too many miles of hard use had befallen it. The first thing I did with this truck is I had it painted. Midnight blue, to be exact. Eventually, I put new wheels and tires on it, put a new transmission on it, and other minor cosmetic things here and there.

I learned to work on a carburetor with this truck, for the one on it had was plagued with chronic problems. I worked on its brakes, brakes being probably one of the easiest things to learn and the repair I've done the most over the years. I worked on the brake systems, i.e., wheel cylinders and the master cylinder. I repaired a heater that didn't work by blowing a wad of rusty gunk out of the heater core. I replaced the transmission with a very heavy 4-speed. Pour a little blood, sweat and tears into any vehicle and it becomes a friend.

Every car I've owned since the late '70s, I've worked on. Some jobs have been big, but most small. In addition to lots of brake jobs, there's replacing alternators and starters, water pumps, radiators, front end work (ball joints, tie rods, control arms, etc.), U-joints, CV-joints, clutches and the occasional O2 sensor. As I advanced in my skills and confidence, I tackled bigger jobs. I put a long block in a Nissan I owned. I put a new head and head gasket on a Honda.

With these repairs, I learned some things to avoid future repairs. Keep your oil clean and keep it filled. Don't let your engine overheat. Don't disregard leaks for too long. Remember to surface or replace the rotors on a brake job and the brakes will last longer. Don't believe what the manufacturer tells you about service intervals. Learn to drive a clutch properly and you may never have to replace it.

There are few vehicles I've owned that I've actually loved. Your first love sticks with you, so I still have fond memories of the Dodge. Also, I recently owned a MINI Cooper, and that little car enchanted me. I replaced a head and head gasket on it only to have a connecting rod start knocking. Found a used engine with 55K miles and put it in. That would have to be my most daunting automotive challenge so far. Then one day when I'm driving to work, a fellow rear-ends me hard enough that I see Jesus in the clouds. No more MINI.

What I've also learned is that cars are fickle mistresses. You can love it with all your heart, treat it like a lady, and it will still let you down when you least expect it. You can do all of the right things and baby it in such a way as to never give it a reason to fail, and it will do just that: fail. Cars are almost completely mechanical beasts. Mechanical things--things moving about at 3000+ RPMs--are prone to wear out, break, melt, stop up, unstop, leak, overheat, and even explode, often when you least expect it and at the most inconvenient of locations. I've had cars break down in parking lots, in my driveway and in the middle of a busy freeway. Gear heads take into account this fickleness and aren't undone by the surprises of such mechanical frailty. Earlier this year, when my MINI developed a terminal knocking rod condition, I was disappointed, but not really surprised. Cars will let you down and cars you love will break you heart. You have to develop an attitude that says, "Well, I guess it's time to get my hands dirty again", and on some days, "Well, I guess it's time to get a new car."

I'm often filled with gratitude when I hear auto repair tales from friends and associates. I'm thankful for my abilities and my knowledge that allows me to work on my own cars. Many of these folks find themselves at the mercy of mechanics. Most of the mechanics are honest and are just trying to make a living. Mechanical work is dirty and difficult and requires experience and knowledge in the field to perform effective repairs, so labor costs seem outrageous but are usually pretty fair. Also, cars are complicated things, so much mechanic work is guessing. This aspect makes it a lot like the work of doctors who look at symptoms, consider which of the systems is causing the problem and treat the problem using their own education and experience. This means there's often some guessing involved, and guessing never yields results that are 100% correct. Even the best mechanic guesses wrong from time to time, but experience tempers this and makes it rarer and rarer.

What I've found is that, at some level, I enjoy working on cars. What I don't enjoy is being forced to work on my cars. I suppose it's too much to expect them to fail when I'm willing or able to work on them, so I try to have a good attitude and remain grateful that I have the ability that gives me a choice to do it myself.

Latter Day Tales of a Wannabee

Being a music lover never equips you to be a music maker. As I now know, they are separate, as far as the east from the west. In my early to mid-teen years, I had that all-too-common aspiration of teen boys to "play in a band". I put this phrase in quotes because it has always been a cliche. For me and most, there are the classic obstacles that keep it from happening. First, there's the lack of desire and the absence of drive to make it happen. I was like most, thinking it would fall into my lap without either blood, sweat or tears. Second, there's the notion that the lineup can be filled with friends, family or peers. There were few or none of my family, friends or peers that were qualified for this position. I wanted to play in a band with drums, guitars, bass vocals and anything else that would make music girls would love. My friends did, too, yet all my friends were worse musicians that I was, and I pretty much sucked.

My parents bought me a guitar, and I played it, learning a few major chords here and there, with an occasional minor chord thrown in for good measure. Other friends had guitars, too. I would learn a few chords here and there, or how to mimic a lick from this song or that. They would learn to go "twang, twang, twang" then say, "Hey, that was Smoke on the Water." The next time we would get together, I wouldn't hear Highway Star. I'd hear "twang, twang, twang...twang, twang, twang, twang". Nothing else happened. Nothing could have happened. Where I was at that time, there was no fertile ground from which music could grow.

So years would pass. Adulthood arrived. Children arrived. Adult children arrived. Finally, I decided I'd waited long enough and set out to purchase a bass guitar. I had an electric guitar. I had owned acoustic guitars. This was my first bass, and it meant something for me. I had always been a bass player at heart. My heroes in music were bass players. Paul McCartney was then first. Geddy Lee and Sting followed. Finally, as an adult, I started playing with a friend, he on guitar, myself on bass. He was a good guitarist. Finally, to have someone good to play with would mean that I needed to up my game. I was forced to learn how to play by being forced to practice.

Year after year, this friend and I would find a small amount of satisfaction playing together. We'd learn new songs. We'd record something in my home studio. We'd have dry spells when we wouldn't do anything at all. We'd share ideas and aspirations of "getting something together", whatever that meant. Then the cares of life, more weightier than our musical aspirations, would push it all to the side where it withered and desiccated.

What it took for me was a major life change. After decades of being active in conservative, traditional churches, we started going to a younger, more contemporary church. Whereas our previous churches had either just a piano, or piano and violins, or perhaps a piano and an organ, this church had guitars--several of them--and a bass and drums and keys, in addition to several vocalists. In other words, it had a real band, not simply accompanists.

I paid close attention. I studied. I was friends with the bass players. The first-string bassist was encouraging, telling me I ought to volunteer to play. I longed to play, yet I wanted to be asked, not because of any kind of vanity, but because I wanted it to be purposeful and divinely guided and not an entirely self-centered venture. Finally, after a year or more, I broke through. I was scheduled to play my bass in my first service. My first-string friend coached me, giving me inside information, saying over and over that it was no big deal. I wanted to believe him, but my anxiety told me it was a big deal. This was as close to pro-level playing as I had ever been.

I show up, plug in my 5-string and after sound check, get going on the run-through before the service. I had the charts beforehand and had practiced, and I suppose I did passably well. The experience was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. I don't know how that's possible, yet it is. It was the kind of experience that you're petrified in the midst of yet you can't wait to repeat.

So here I am, a year-and-a half after that initial experience. I've gotten to play an average of once every month or two. My first-string friend has stepped aside, creating a consistent opportunity for me and one other bassist. I play one week, he plays the next. The experience remains terrifying and exhilarating, yet as my confidence grows, the terrifying part decreases. What the experience has taught me seems complex, so I'll list some of the foremost ideas:

1. Worship music is--and should be--a different type of performance. - Everyone I've played with has been perfectly encouraging. They realize this is worship music and not a professional performance with all its pressures of perfection. They realize it's all in the attitude and that we, as musicians, are leading those in attendance in worship and should have a worshipful spirit as well. We are doing this because we want to, not because we're paid to. 
2. You are your own worst critic. - I notice every mistake I make, and if I allow myself to dwell on these mistakes, it poisons everything that follows. What I've learned is that I should notice my mistakes only enough to learn from them and then quickly move on. 
3. It's not all about me. - No one is there to see me, so more accurately, it would be said, It's not about me at all. Dwell too much on my performance and I've robbed God of each and every bit of glory He deserves.
4. If I'm paying so much attention to what I'm doing, I can't pay attention to what others are doing. I need to be in the moment and paying attention so I can encourage others in the way I've been encouraged. - One of the greatest parts of playing with the guys I play with is that we all enjoy doing it so much and are able to share this with each other. The more I make it just about me the more I don't make it about us as a group. 
5. You need to play to the song. - I'm a member of a group, not a soloist. Nothing I do should take away from the song. Just enough notes, please. Not too many. Not too loud. Not too flashy or fancy. No overplaying. If anyone notices me without trying to, I've done something wrong. Music in this sense is synergistic, greater than the sum of its parts. 
6. Live music is, by nature, an uncertain beast. - If one person makes a mistake, others may be thrown off as well. Also, imperfect communication of plans throws off concrete thinkers such as myself. Imagine this: if ten people linked arms and tried to run across a field, one person falling might take others with him.Accepting that this beast may turn and bite you at any moment makes it exciting because when you're up close, your chances of being bitten are greatest. All of these metaphorical ideas are meant to say the same thing: do your best, and when your best falls short of perfection, shake it off and go it again. 

Worship musicians are, in certain circles, not considered "real musicians" in perhaps the same sense that an unpublished writer isn't a real writer. Tell someone you're a writer and they'll automatically ask, "Have you had anything published?" What that means is, Ok. You say you're a writer? Here's the real test. Because worship musicians are almost universally unpaid volunteers, they're second class in a way. Whatever. Worship musicians enjoy what they are doing, paid or not. 

At this writing, I'm gearing up for my next performance. I intend on practicing and knowing the songs. I want to pay more attention to what's going on. I want to get better because I see that everything musically I've done over my lifetime has prepared me for this moment. Whether there are bigger moments in the future, I cannot say. For now, this is the big times for me. In this moment, it doesn't get any better, any bigger. I'm not playing for a full house, an arena or a stadium. The promoter for this gig happens to be the Creator of the Universe. In that light,  this is the best gig there is.