Today I had a routine doctor’s appointment to get a prescription refilled, one which you might imagine be a simple, walk in, have him sign a paper, and walk out type of deal. I got there about five minutes early for my 12:30 appointment, signed in, paid my $40 copay (he’s a specialist) and took a seat in the waiting room, surrounded by a strange mixture of elderly people and parents with young, school aged children. Fox News was blaring on the television, so I purposefully chose an isolated seat as far away from the unrelenting proclamations of impending doom brought upon us by the Obama administration as I possibly could.

Soon, I was deeply engrossed in the novel I’ve been reading for nearly two months, Pillars of the Earth, and as I neared the end, it was becoming more and more imperative that I not set it down nor should I acknowledge anything going on about me. Time passed and as I continued to read about the fortunes of Kingsbridge priory, the nurse finally called me back. Sighing, I reluctantly marked my place and walked with her through the great door, impassable to those of us lacking the correct credentials.

She weighed me (down 5 lbs from my last visit!) and took me to a room, where I was again left to sit, alone. I pulled the book out and began reading again. Soon I was completely immersed in the story again, losing track of my surroundings as I single-mindedly felt myself drawn in by its tractor beam.

Then, after nearly two hours, the doctor opened the door, demolishing the idyllic literary paradise I had built around myself. I stood, shook his hand, and then we sat down again.

“So,” he said, “How’s it going?”

“Fine. No problems.”

“Dosage and everything are still working for you.”

“Yes.”

“So all you need is a refill?”

“Yes. That’s it.”

“Okay. If you need anything, give me a call,” and he walked out.

A few moments later, the nurse returned holding a prescription. “Need anything else, honey?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Okay. Have a good day.”

On the plus side, that’s out of the way and I can go on with my day.

On the negative side, I’m still not done reading my book. Seriously, if you’re going to make me wait two hours for a two minute visit, at least have the decency to let me stick around and finish!

The word itself strikes fear into the heart of men, women, and children across the land. Feet get antsy, ears and eyes go on high alert, and people begin scurrying for protection at the first sound of danger, the blaring tornado siren or the soothing voice of Dave Brown, weatherman extraordinaire. This scourge of the south attacks with reckless abandon, its path of wanton destruction arbitrarily striking here and yon, with no regard for the victims.

Last night was another of those type nights. We knew the meteorological attack was coming, we knew that, if chosen, our chances for saving our worldly possessions were next to nothing and that perhaps even our lives may be in jeopardy.

I kept the television on as long as our satellite worked, watching the ominous red line move closer and closer to our home, listening to reports of the shattering of civilization, the unstoppable bombardment from above, the crushing power of an angry mother nature. Like people in war movies (and presumably in real war situations) crouched in their foxholes awaiting the inevitable firestorm from the skies, hardening themselves against the chance of death and injury, we sat with bated breath, wondering how the die of fate cast in the skies might fall for us.

The sirens finally went off and I walked upstairs, shook the children awake and moved them to the master bathroom downstairs, presumably the safest room in the house. The groggily went along, pushed by fear of the unknown.

The electricity went out and we sat together, the inner bathroom illuminated by a lone flashlight and I tried to placate their fears of what the night may hold, of the unstoppable power from the skies, the vortex of doom indiscriminately destroying towns and lives, leaving behind the wreckage of hopes and dreams.

Minutes later it was over. The sirens stopped and the exhausted children lay in our bed, refusing to troop back to their own rooms upstairs. I acquiesced, kissed them goodnight, and retreated to the living room couch. We made it.

P.S.
I tried to think of a good soundtrack for a tornado, but I could only come up with two good tornado songs: The Drive-By Truckers’ “Tornadoes,” and Neko Case’s “This Tornado Loves You.” What other tunes would you add to the playlist?

Enjoy this small preview of the greatness to come.

It’s an interesting question and one that I’ve been pondering quite a bit over the past 24 hours. After spending the first 26 years of my life in the great state of Arkansas, I moved across the river to Southaven, Mississippi, which in turn sits within walking distance of Memphis, some eight years ago. The process of leaving the safe confines of small town Central Arkansas and entering the urban/suburban area in which I now reside was an interesting one to say the least.

I’m an educated guy and have long considered myself to be an intelligent, progressive person, one whose mind is open to all sorts of views and peoples, one who believes strongly in justice and peace. That being said, these years of living in Mississippi have been challenging ones in a multitude of ways. In that time I’ve chosen to confront my own inner prejudices lurking back in my subconscious, the byproduct of being raised in a largely homogenous small town environment, and I’ve emerged a better person than before, one who truly tries to practice what he preaches.

But at the same time, having largely conquered feelings of prejudice in my mind, I often find the balance swinging too far in the other direction, that of self-righteous indignation. I think to myself, “I get this. Why don’t you get it?”

This internal struggle came to light again yesterday on Facebook as I wrote with some incredulity about my children’s school letting out for “King/Lee Day.” Yes, that Lee. Robert E. The famous Confederate General. Every year I see that and every year I have a similar reaction, shaking my head with consternation at the perceived backwardness of others, summoning that self-righteousness again to wag my finger in their faces.

This time, though, something interesting happened. Barbara, a friend, mentor, and someone for whom I have immense respect, put me in my place. I don’t think she minds me reprinting her response and I would rather do that than put it in my own words:

Oh, the need to explain that “dual” holiday. The date was historically for Robert E. Lee’s birthday and was a state holiday. When the day became a federal holiday to honor Dr. King on his birthday this is what happened. Now, if you object to honoring REL, a true son of the South, you can honor MlK, another true son of the South. If you want, you can honor both guys. Just think of King and Lee meeting in heaven on this day to share a beer and talk about how things have changed. Maybe not fast enough, but things have changed. I would like to think that we’ve learned that peace and nonviolence is a better way to address our differences (Dr. Kings message) than violence and war. But,I’m a dreamer…..

With my scorn sufficiently placated by Dr. Jones’ words, I decided to again look inward, to reflect on what this meant to me, as a progressive Southerner, one who loves the place and the people, but struggles with reconciling the past with the present. As often happens, this train of thought then brought me to a song, this time by one of my favorite bands, the Drive-By Truckers. “The Southern Thing” is found on their sprawling and incredible album Southern Rock Opera, a personal favorite of mine that once led me on a pilgrimage to Muscle Shoals and then on to the small community of Zip City.

In this particular song, Patterson Hood sings of this internal struggle for reconciliation between pride and shame brewing inside the hearts and minds of those below the Mason-Dixon Line while at the same time trying to deal with those who don’t understand, those to whom this seems so foreign, saying,

You think I’m dumb, maybe not too bright
You wonder how I sleep at night
Proud of the glory, stare down the shame
Duality of the southern thing.

“The duality of the southern thing.” I think that explains a lot. It may be impossible to define “Southerness,” but the inner struggle of those dueling forcing is certainly an aspect that cannot be swept aside.

Things are continually moving forward and changing in the South, and though that does not absolve us of nor does it cause us to forget the past, it aids us in building for a better future. As Hood later says in the song:

Four generations, a whole lot has changed
Robert E. Lee
Martin Luther King
We’ve come a long way, rising from the flame
Stay out the way of the southern thing.

So, while I may never venerate Robert E. Lee, certainly not to the extent of Martin Luther King, I can recognize and respect his place in the history of my people. And maybe, as Dr. Jones said, the two of them are having a beer in heaven talking it over right now.

Sure, it involved some weeping and gnashing of teeth, some consulting with experts and fellow music nerds, some deep contemplation and soul searching, but I finished it.

As I mentioned earlier this week, a good friend of mine asked me to come up with a list of the most culturally significant albums of the past 50 years for a course he is teaching at my alma mater, Harding University. Here it is.

Ray Charles – Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music (1962)
James Brown – Live at the Apollo (1963)
The Beatles – A Hard Day’s Night (1965)
John Coltrane – A Love Supreme (1965)
Bob Dylan – Highway 61 Revisited (1965)
The Beach Boys – Pet Sounds (1966)
Bob Dylan – Blonde on Blonde (1966)
The Beatles – Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)
Jimi Hendrix – Are You Experienced? (1967)
Rolling Stones – Beggar’s Banquet (1968)
Woodstock Soundtrack (1969)
B.B. King – Live at the Regal (1965)
Aretha Franklin – I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You (1967)
Black Sabbath – Paranoid (1970)
Miles Davis – Bitches Brew (1970)
Neil Young – After the Gold Rush (1970)
Janis Joplin – Pearl (1971)
Joni Mitchell – Blue (1971)
Led Zeppelin – IV (1971)
Stevie Wonder – Innervisions (1973)
Pink Floyd – Dark Side of the Moon (1973)
Willie Nelson – Red Headed Stranger (1975)
Bruce Springsteen – Born to Run (1975)
The Ramones – The Ramones (1976)
Bob Marley – Exodus (1977)
Sex Pistols – Nevermind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols (1977)
Fleetwood Mac – Rumours (1977)
The Clash – London Calling (1980)
Michael Jackson – Thriller (1982)
Bruce Springsteen – Born in the USA (1984)
Prince – Purple Rain (1984)
Madonna – Like a Virgin (1984)
Run DMC – Raising Hell (1986)
Guns N’ Roses – Appetite for Destruction (1987)
U2 – The Joshua Tree (1987)
NWA – Straight Outta Compton (1988)
Public Enemy – Fear of a Black Planet (1990)
Garth Brooks – No Fences (1990)
Metallica – Black Album (1991)
Nirvana – Nevermind (1991)
Rage Against the Machine – Rage Against the Machine (1992)
Liz Phair – Exile in Guyville (1993)
The Notorious B.I.G. – Ready to Die (1994)
Tupac – All Eyez on Me (1996)
Radiohead – OK Computer (1997)
Moby – Play (1999)
Eminem – The Marshall Mathers LP (2000)
Outkast – Stankonia (2000)
Green Day – American Idiot (2004)
Kanye West – My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy (2010)

So, I finally decided to brush away the cyber cobwebs on the old blog today and have a look around. Poor thing’s been neglected pretty badly for the past two weeks, but fortunately she’s still in good shape. Under the hood everything looks to be intact, as though it’s ready for regular use once again.

Things have been quite busy so far this year with little time for blogging, but as always I’ve got plenty of ideas to put out for public consumption. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll even say something interesting or useful. Probably not, but I might slip up. You never know.

There are a lot of things in life that I love, tons of things that I could regale with songs of affection and desire, but only a handful that I would point to as objects of obsession, those things that burrow themselves into my brain, invading my every thought until I find some way of dealing with them. This source of obsession is not a new one. It’s one that has always followed me around, tugging at my mind like an insistent toddler with untold numbers of nonsensical questions. So, you may be asking, “What is this neural parasite from which there is no release?”

Lists and music. Each of them are debilitating to my everyday mental function, but when combined they are an insurmountable force. Like John Cusack and Jack Black in the great film (and book) High Fidelity, I tabulate enumerated catalogs in my brain, searching for the perfect song or album for every situation. Make no mistake, there are few things I enjoy doing more than creating lists of music, but the accompanying neurosis is undeniable.

Anyway, a few days ago I was honored by a good friend of mine who also happens to be an instructor at my alma mater, Harding University. He is teaching a course that, when I took it some 15 years ago, was incredibly influential to me and led me to the point where I am today. Without going into too much detail, the class deals with culture and his request was for a list of the most culturally significant albums of the past 50 years.

Of course I agreed to take on the challenge, despite its incredibly daunting subject matter. Over the weekend I pondered and pondered over this assignment, measuring artists and albums against each other, thinking about world events of those times and futilely attempting to put together the best possible list. After hours of listening and thinking, I decided to bring it to you before compiling my final choices. What would you include on the list.

Some choices are obvious: Sgt. Pepper’s, Exile on Main Street, What’s Goin’ On?, Nevermind, Fear of a Black Planet, etc., and those will certainly merit inclusion, but I’m sure I would forget something and interested to hear what you would include as well.

1. Work out on a regular basis
I wasn’t very consistent in this one for the past year. I would do well for several weeks at a time, but when the weather got bad, I would disappear from the city streets and the workout area of the garage. This year I’m going to continue striving for self-improvement in this area. I’m back up to running 3-4 miles at a time again and I’m restarting my weightlifting routine, so I’ve got high hopes for the coming year. Losing 20 lbs would be a fair goal.

2. Read 60 Books
This one was close but not quite. The intense reading and contemplation of EfM ate up a lot of my reading time, so I’ve slowed considerably over the past few months, finishing with 56 for the year. For 2012 I believe I will go with a more modest goal of 50.

3. Continue Writing
As you can see, the blog held up nicely in 2011 and expect that to continue into this year. I’ve done more fiction writing over the past year, though my efforts have not been especially focused. For 2012 my goal is to better reign in my efforts and try to make more progress.

4. Practice my guitar
I haven’t been very regular on this, but I have picked up my instrument some. This will take some time but it’s definitely attainable.

5. Find a way to serve my community on a regular basis
This is still a work in progress, but I hope to become more involved in the coming year.

6. Become more green and more local
This year I planted four raised beds which we used all summer to provide some food for our family. In addition to that, I frequented the various farmers’ markets around the area for our weekly groceries. We’re excellent when it comes to recycling and I see no reason for that to change in 2012. In the coming year I want to be more serious about composting and look at other environmentally friends ways to live our lives.

What are your resolutions?

One of the overarching themes of 2011 was our decision to find a new church home, a place far removed from the ideas we were no longer comfortable with and one that would foster spiritual growth within us. As you know, we found this home in St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church. It’s a far cry from the denomination we were raised in, the Church of Christ, but after more than a year, it has fit us perfectly. I summed this transition up at the end of the year in a series of entries.
Awake My Soul: My First Year as an Episcopalian, Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Something Negative from My First Year as an Episcopalian?

There are the funny and occasionally enlightening things my kids say and do.
JD’s Jailbreak (April 5)
The Eye of the Beholder (April 14)
Dad the Cereal Killer (May 10)
The Pink Purse (Aug 2)
Hemingway for Kids (Aug 8)
The Negotiator (Oct 25)
The Voice of an Angel (Dec 14)

I still write bad poetry.
Ode to the Guy in the Next Cubicle (May 9)
Ode to the Number Eleven (Nov 11)
How the Government Stole Christmas (Nov 22)

There were plenty of my ruminations on life.
Between Either and Or (April 19)
Making Life Beautiful (May 4)
All You Need is Love (July 5)
Coming to Grips with Fundamentalism (July 7)
On an Autumn Day (Oct 10)
A Morning Scene (Oct 11)
Finding the Connection (Oct 18)
A Murky Monday Morning (Oct 24)
The Cubicle Life (Nov 1)
On Kierkegaard and the Suspension of the Ethical (Nov 21)
An Agnostic Christmas (Dec 26)

Being a big fan of live music, I had the chance to see several shows this year, most of which I blogged about to one extent or another.
An Evening with Leon Redbone (Jan 27)
Down to Oxford Town (Jan 30)
Nights Like These: Music Fest, Day 1 (May 3)
Nights Like These: Music Fest, Day 2 (May 3)
Nights Like These: Music Fest, Day 3 (May 3)
The Willie Nelson Revival (June 10)
Dude, Where’s My Car (Sept 20)
My Birthday Eve’s Eve with Hayes Carll (Oct 15)
Still Truckin’ (Oct 31)
Lucero and a Bottle of Christmas Cheer (Dec 23)

There is my annual list of the year’s best music.

And sometimes I write things that make no sense at all.
1977 and My Quest to Stop John Mayer (Oct 16)

2011 was a good year and I’m sure there will be plenty more to come. Stay tuned.

As I’ve said in the past, I came to the realization a long time ago that my idea of God had evolved a great deal and that the classic theistic description was no longer tenable, that I could no longer say I believed in that idea of God. Please note that this doesn’t exclude God altogether, far be it from that, but it does mean that the commonly taught descriptors of God no longer worked, so I was forced to recalibrate, to rethink my personal theology, so earlier this year I decided that the best phrase to describe my current philosophical state was “hopeful agnosticism.” Though I’m pretty unclear and questioning on the theistic version of God, I do wholeheartedly believe in something bigger than myself, working through and embodied by people throughout history. It’s a force of love and compassion, of mercy and radical forgiveness, one that permeates the fabric of reality and dwells in all people and things.

The Christmastime idea of Incarnation bothered me for a while, especially when looking critically at the evidence and coming to the conclusion that it may well be a myth meant to later bolster the claims of Jesus’s followers, because I had trouble accepting it and, truth be told, I still don’t accept it as fact, but I recognize something there in the experience of Christmas, particularly as embodied in our services at St. Timothy’s. There is something quite beautiful about the story of Christmas and, whether it happened or not doesn’t really seem to matter. What matters is the effect the story has on you. I can tell you that sitting in a pew at our church during the Christmas Eve mass is one of the most wonderful and moving experiences I’ve had, and in the end, isn’t that what really matters? Once we get past the sniping at each other over the factual nature of the account, isn’t the real meaning found in the effect it has on you?

That’s what I think at least. You can keep your reams of studies attempting to prove the unprovable, to know the unknowable. I’ll rest on the experience, the mystical knowing beyond knowing.