Neglect: My Favorite Sin

Well, to be honest, I don't have a favorite sin, for favorite in some ways connotes fondness, and I'm fond of none of my sins. Neglect: My Predominant Sin would have probably been more accurate, but I'll stick with what I have for its pithiness, not its accuracy.

Regrets plague us all to a degree. I look over my life and my biggest regrets regard things I've neglected. Friendships, responsibilities, my studies...the list is extensive, and if I make the headings broad enough it could encompass my whole life. That's probably more accurate anyway:  my whole life, one big lump of negligence.

It would be easy to blame it on some type of external force or impetus. Deflection of blame is another flaw I share with most of humanity. But in this, for now,  I choose to defer:  I, and I alone, am responsible for my failures. No other force or being has made me remain silent when I should have spoken or made me remain inactive when I should have been performing. There's a kid's song that goes something like this:  "There's a big ole "I" in the middle of sin, and the "I" in the middle is me."

What's interesting is trying to explain to someone what the magic is in avoiding sinful behavior. I've never found a good explanation for doing this other than this: "Just don't do it."  That's what it boils down to. It is, after all, a choice between only two alternatives: doing something you shouldn't do or not doing it. Can't get much simpler, can it? We would prefer to complicate the matter. Obfuscation, we feel, absolves us of some of the responsibility. Decisions made in a fog, when alternatives aren't so clearly defined, are prone to go the wrong way through no fault of our own. That's what we would like to believe anyway.

Allow me to lay bare the truth. Until we take responsibility for our own wrong behavior, we will be continually adding to that list--that long, long list--of failures in our lives. By realizing our own potential for wrong behavior, perhaps we can make more good choices. A slight pause, some honest reflection, and oftentimes the fog clears away, revealing only two choices: right and wrong.

Disclaimer: Everyone experiences times of grayness, where there seems to be no discernable difference between one alternative and another. If both are wrong choices, then avoid them both. Inaction when your only choices are all wrong is not a bad thing. In moments like this, wait if you can. If you feel forced to choose between equally unattractive options, then make a choice knowing that the consequences will be yours to bear.

The Culture of Drink

As a student of human folly, I cannot ignore, without comment, the American obsession with drink. We've been told how necessary it is to hydrate ourselves, particularly in these days of hellish Texas heat, but the obsession goes beyond this.

I kid my wife (incessantly, she would say) about her obsession with walking out of a restaurant with a drink in hand. "Could I have a to-go tea," she will always ask. I realize that there is an inherent need to keep our tissues from dessicating by the occasional infusion of moisture, but we're beyond necessity. We once had a pianist at our church, and I use the term "pianist" in the loosest sense. She would walk in every Sunday, usually late, carrying a huge insulated mug of some carbonated beverage (probaby Diet Coke, given her girth). I've seen other people walking into church, and people walking into funerals, carrying bottles of water or soft drinks. The absurdity I see in these situations is that none of these activities are physically strenuous. None are necessarily thirst-creating. You'll never see a Gatorade commercial that says, "Going to a funeral? Going to church? Don't grieve because of your thirst. Quench your thirst, not the spirit. Gatorade. Is it in you?" Or how about this: "A long day of shopping can take it out of you. The mall is no place to be without PowerAde."

I like drinking, too. I just don't feel the compulsion to be doing it all the time. Right now, I have two half-finished cups of coffee on my desk. I also have a water bottle, which brings me to my next point...

Water. Who would have ever thought that drinking water, by the individual bottle, would be more costly per ounce than gasoline? Gasoline (at a rounded-off price of, let's say, $4/gallon) works out to be 3 1/8 cents per oz.. For a 20 oz. bottle, gasoline would cost roughly $0.62 instead of $1.50, which is about what you would pay for a 20 oz. bottle of water. How stupid is this? And all of this for a bottle of water which is probably tap water that is run through a filter to take out the city water taste. Me? I only drink spring water. I turn on the faucet, and it springs into my cup. One concession I have made at work is that I purchased a Brita filtering pitcher. City water here is atrocious and is in need of some help. At home, our water comes out of the ground, not out of the sewer, and it therefore doesn't taste nearly as bad.

The whole "I have to drink water constantly or I will die" mindset has caused other things, ridiculous things, to happen. I was in a big-box store the other day, the one symbolized with two concentric red circles. There was a water bottle I admired, the kind you fill up yourself from your own reverse osmosis tap so you don't get parched while you take the kids to soccer.  It was a nice aluminum bottle which appeared to have a plastic lining of some sort. Ten bucks. Ten bucks for a bottle that didn't even have any water in it yet. It was about a one liter bottle, so to fill it up with gas would have cost $1.04, still cheaper than a one-liter bottle of Ozarka.

If I'm out and about and find myself in a state where I'm about 99.9% parched, I go for a soft drink. Twenty-ounces of your sugar-infused drink of choice (or sugar-free, if that's your pref) seems to be a better value, no matter how bad it is for you. And it's mostly water anyway, but it's got other good things in there, like flavor and fizz. Sometimes, a sugar-infused, fizzy bev seems a bit heavy, so I go for a non-fizzy bev, like an Arizona Green Tea with Ginseng and Honey. You can get a big can of this, about a gallon, for $0.99--a bargain by any standard! And it's sweetened with Sue-Bee Honey--man, you can't get more natural than that! It's also co-sweetened with sugar, but that usually comes from corn, also natural. Aspartame? Not natural. Saccharine? Not natural. Sucralose?  Not natural either.

Then there's our nation's obsession with beer, particularly as it relates to sporting events, live or on television. However, I'm not qualified to discuss this, since I hate sports and I don't drink beer.

Food (or, actually, drink) for thought.

 

On Weblogging

Weblogging (sorry--I refuse to use the term "blog") is quite the phenomenon. Anyone can, absolutely for free, post their opinions and writings on the World Wide Web so that anyone on this old earth (and beyond) with Internet access can read their words. As if the Internet was not bloated with enough garbage before, it's now become sort of a Vanity Press Library of Congress, with countless self-published volumes, few of which would have ever been published were not someone else footing the bill for it. I fit that category. I've never been published in a reputable way, save a "Letter to the Editor" here and there. Those don't count, though, as they can also be allowed in print for the sole purpose of making you look stupid for saying such things. However, I don't do this (weblogging) because I think my opinions are weighty and that others would benefit from sitting at my feet and catching these pearls of wisdom on their tongues. I do it because I enjoy it. Xanga gives me a medium for writing for my benefit, yet at the same time puts the things I write out there in case anyone else can miraculously benefit from it. At the minimum, folks can read my posts and say, "Boy, I thought I was a bad writer!"

Actually, I don't think I'm that bad as a writer. I read over some of the things I've written and I, even if no one else does, enjoy reading what I've written. In my earlier years, I enjoyed writing and thought there could be no better existence than writing and having people pay you for it. In all humility, I've read a lot of other people's writing--people who write for a living--and I wonder to myself why I couldn't do that. It seems obvious that everyone who makes good money writing for a living ain't necessarily good at it. But writing for pay is quite a racket to break into, much like professional music. Many people have the technical skill and can string words/notes together in a way that is, technically, correct. The missing component is creativity. Just because something is original, just because you created it, doesn't necessarily mean it is something that others will enjoy reading or listening to.

On the other hand, those that try and fail are, in my opinion, to be lauded over those that either never try or put themselves in a position to criticize those who do try and yet yield less than desirable results. I'm sure I've quoted this before, but if so, it warrants repeating:

"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat."   ~  Theodore Roosevelt

Saintism

I've always been intrigued by the extensive inventory of saints that the Catholic church has amassed. I've found it curious that they think a deceased saint has anything of value to offer, other than the example of their life. Praying to saints seems wasted energy when one can pray to the Big Man himself. It's like taking your problems at work to a co-worker, who can do nothing, instead of to the boss, who can. (By this point, I suppose some of you are re-reading the title, seeing that it ain't what you thought).  

Enjoy this picture of my new St. Kevin visor clip. Having St. Kevin at the ready will, no doubt, protect me from traffic accidents and road rage, and hopefully, a ticket or two. I just hope his potency as a saint can endure my poor driving and laziness in keeping my registration and vehicle inspection up to date.

St. Kevin was an interesting saint. Here's an excerpt from the ever-valuable Wiki:

He was known for his disdain of human company, especially that of women; his name was used in Ireland as a term for men with cold relations with women up until the 19th century. An extreme example of his chastity was the instance when he pushed an amorous woman into a patch of nettles.

St. Kev, as he will be referred to from here on out, was a hermit living in Glendalough, Ireland. He was reported to be 120 years old when he died. It is also reported that once, during a drought, Kev and his disciples were fed by an otter, who brought them salmon to eat. Right here, I see a lot in Kev that I like.

1. Hermit - I'm often tempted to live as one.
2. 120 Years Old - I'd like to live to be at least that old.
3. Salmon - I like to eat salmon, especially Alaskan, broiled with some olive oil and dill.
4. Otter - The otter makes my short list of "Favorite Mammals".

However, I'd never push an amorous woman into a patch of nettles.

Quite a Story...

  In 1986, Dan Harrison (pictured here) was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University

On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Dan approached it very carefully.

He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant’s foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Dan worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot.

The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Dan stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away.

Dan never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Dan was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Dan and his son Dan Jr. were standing.

The large bull elephant stared at Dan, lifted its front foot off the ground, and then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man. Remembering the encounter in 1986, Dan couldn’t help wondering if this was the same elephant.

Dan summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Dan’s legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn’t the same elephant...

One Little Victory

Most people, in the course of their lives, achieve very few great victories in their lives. Most of us must be content with the small successes in life to make it worth living. After all, I'd rather have a lot of small victories along the way instead of sitting around, waiting for that one big victory. I recently had one little victory that I'd like to share, which will hopefully encourage you to do something and risk failure rather than playing it safe and doing nothing.

On my commute to work, I take a short cut, turning off Rosedale at 12th Avenue. This saves me a considerable amount of headache waiting on lights, primarily the one at 8th and Rosedale. Recent work on the streets, hopefully with the harried commuter in mind, widened Rosedale one lane on each side. It also put a turning lane and a light at the intersection of 12th and Rosedale.

They installed a "protected left turn only" light/sign at the intersection which would allow you to turn only when the green arrow was on. This is not a bad situation if it is coupled with some type of lane sensor which lets the light know when someone is waiting to turn. If this light had such a sensor, it didn't work properly. I often found myself sitting at the light, watching traffic build up behind me until it spilled out into the thru traffic. The light was unusually long, irritating me further when I waited and no oncoming traffic was to be seen. Cars would often go through the light, make a U-turn, and come back to 12th rather than wait for the light to change in their favor. Mostly it was just frustrating.

Noticing that the intersection at 9th Avenue, one block further, had a "Yield on Green" sign in the left turn lane, I wondered why the intersection at 12th didn't have the same. I would often say to myself, 'Someone needs to do something about this.' I said this often, but did nothing until...

One day, fed up, I got online and found where I could send a message concerning a repair or problem to the Traffic/Public Works Department. I formulated my well-reasoned argument, stating that it was a traffic impediment and a hazard when left-turn traffic backed up out of the turning lane into the thru-traffic. It was very convincing, I must say, but I realized that it was a city bureaucracy I was dealing with, mired in inefficiency and politics. After a few weeks, I gave up on ever hearing from anyone about this matter. Then I got this message.

Nothing happened for probably a month or so; I can't remember exactly when I got the call. Then Friday, when I was on the way into work I noticed it. The sign had been changed.

I was excited to see it. First, that my commute would be simplified somewhat, my old route being restored. Second, I was glad to see that my efforts had borne some fruit.

I'm not sure if it was my call only, or if there was a series of calls, mine being one of many. Whatever the catalyst, the results were the same.

You're saying to yourself now, "Hey, how can I make a difference in my community like you did?"  First, be polite. Second, make sure  you have a good argument, one that shows benefit to more than yourself. Third, throw yourself on the mercy of (insert authority figure here).

It was a great experience. Not world changing, unless my world counts, but uplifting none the less.

Sunday

"He is not here; for He is risen, as He said."