What a Beautiful Moment

I sat next to a wonderful girl on the flight to Nashville yesterday.

She was reading the Dawkins book, "The God Delusion," and she told me she was an athiest. At some point I told her I was a Christian. I only told her this because we were talking about the dangers of fundamentalism and religion. I think she was surprised that I agreed with her about these things, and then she told me of this wonderful tradition in her grandmother's native Poland.

At Christmas, they keep a burning candle in the window, which means that if a traveler passes with nowhere to stay, they know they're welcome for the night. She also told me that some Poles keep an empty place at the kitchen table for the Christ child.

And we both agreed that these are very beautiful traditions.

You see, my new friend believes in beauty.

And because she does, I think deep down, she too believes in the Christ child.

Or wants to.

Let's Do Lunch

I have a book agent now.

That sounds so pretentious for some reason, to say I have an agent, like I'm REALLY important...but I'm really not, not anymore than you at least. My agent is my friend Kim and Kim has worked in publishing for four years. Kim's only 25, but I would say she's already more responsible and organized and generally more competant than I am. I think Kim will make a wonderful negotiator and agent, which is something I need, because unless I think someone's trying to pull something over on me, I'll let most things slide and take a fair deal instead of going for a good deal or a great deal (though I have to say, Andrea, my acquisitions editor for the current book, gave me a great deal, but that's because Andrea is one of those rare souls in whom there is no guile, as Jesus once said of one of his disciples).

So Kim and I are meeting today in an undisclosed location in Lansing, Mich. to talk about next books (I pray there are some for both of our sakes) and expectations of one another and what our favorite movies are and things like that. And I even put together a document for the meeting and Kim even made an agenda, and well, this is all feeling very official.

You and Me and Them

I started this blog one year ago, writing it from the den of my parents' house while home for the holidays. I had mixed feelings about it at the time, and still do. Recently, I began thinking in more depth about the "Web 2.0" revolution as some are calling it...the revolution in media and entertainment that celebrates everyday people like us and the content that we create---content that spans the gamut, from blogs to Flikr slideshows to videos posted on YouTube to elaborate MySpace profiles.

Time magazine recently named "YOU" as their Person of the Year, because YOU post recipes and alert others to which gas station is the cheapest in town and YOU let us know the last movie you saw and what music you like and YOU share the photos you took on vacation. YOU also record crazy, interesting, and sometimes bizarre things on your camera phone.

While I appreciate technology that gives ordinary people the freedom to express themselves and compete in a global economy, the Web 2.0 revolution also has a dark side. The Web 2.0 revolution very easily can become the glorification of "US," as if our already narcissistic culture needed anymore of that, and yet there it is...US. But strangely, the more we show up in photos on the Internet, the more emails we send, the less there seems to be of us.

Time magazine recently said that the average American has fewer close friends than ever before, and yet, we've never had more MySpace friends. This Christmas, I'm going to send fewer emails, check the Internet less often, and spend more time looking people in the eye.

Well, I'm going to try at least.

Right after I check my email.

And finish my next book.

The one about me.

This is Just to Say

This week is like finals' week from college.

Leave Thursday for Michigan, Friday night Christmas party in Grand Rapids, Saturday afternoon basketball game at Michigan State, book deadline Friday, bills to pay, laundry to do, pack, write, dinner with Em tonight, shopping to do, write, no time to write,

I always wait until the last minute.

Always.

An Extrovert's Rant (Perfect)

I've said it before: I'm a faithful friend, though not always a very consistent one.

There are so many people in my life who I care about deeply and it's difficult to show them all that I'm there and concerned and aware and involved sometimes...especially these last few weeks as I've been writing on deadline.

I'm thinking of Caroline, who I've been an especially lousy friend to, my friend Rob, who I've owed a call for weeks, my brother Christian, who called the other day and hasn't heard back from me, Drew, who's been trying to catch up with me for several days, Darci, who deserves a call, as do many others, including Melinda, Stephen, Darren, Adria...

Even Emily, who I spent time with this weekend, had a friend in town this week who I was barely able to talk to.

Can I clone myself? If so, I think I'll use the clone to do the writing. And maybe keep up the blog.

Love and Peace or Else

Emily and I were at a mall this weekend because I have two pairs of pants that I wear---one stained, the other, a hole in the seat of the pants. Even I had to admit that I needed some clothes. We had been driving for a while and I had been drinking water, juice, coffee, and more water, so I darted for the public restrooms upon arriving at the mall. Finding the restroom, I walked in, immediately hearing some guys behind me, joking and talking.

"Look at that guy--he looks like a rooster," one said, laughing.

The other guy laughed.

I thought they were talking about me, but I didn't turn around.

I wanted to.

"Yeah, I'm talkin to you...you look like a f------ rooster."

No one else was in the restroom I suddenly realized. They were undoubtedly talking about me.

They were referring to my hair. I had slept on it funny and hadn't taken a shower.

"Man, I never seen nobody look like such a f------ rooster....w'ere talking about you, m----- f-----."

I wasn't scared. Judging from their voices, these guys were in their late teens or early twenties, and I had visions of turning around and grabbing them both by the neck and throwing them up against the wall. They'd never see it coming, not from a rooster like me, they wouldn't. As I finished at the urinal, I then imagined pulling out two handguns, and they would really never see that one coming. I thought that if I pulled out the guns, they might put their hands in the air and start apologizing and their legs might start shaking. But when I finally turned around, they were gone.

I was fuming and I stood there for a few minutes looking at my hair in the mirror, trying to fix it with water.

I couldn't fix it.

I walked out of the restroom and sighed, wondering how Jesus was able to be insulted, but could then turn around and say, "Father, forgive them for they don't know what they're doing."

I have no idea how he did that.

Slovenia (A Summer Memory)

I had read about this dragon bridge in my guidebook and couldn't wait to see it for myself. It sounded mythical, ancient, beautiful, but as I approach the bridge now, there must be some mistake. This certainly is a dragon bridge--there are stone dragons on each side of it--but this couldn't be the dragon bridge, could it? I check my map, and sure enough, it is, and as reality sinks in, I feel as if I just ordered an 8 ounce steak but got tofu gum instead. I had pictured stone dragons big enough to swallow my head, but this is more like Honey Who Shrunk the dragons, because these things look like clay prototypes for a Fisher-Price toy. I had also imagined the bridge at least 500 years old with stories of how a 16th century prince pushed his twin brother off of it but angels caught the brother before he hit the bottom and then those stone dragons came to life and tore apart the prince. There are no cool stories like that though. In fact, the bridge was built less than a hundred years ago, and there is even a bit of graffiti sprayed on it, odd for something my guidebook said was a national monument.

Tin

I've never gotten a traffic ticket that stayed on my record.

I got one last month.

I've never gotten in a car accident.

I had one last week.

As you can imagine, I'm thrilled. I've been calculating in my head how much my insurance will go up in April, but nevermind that for now. For now, I have to worry about getting my Mazda 3 over to Accurate Auto Body in East Nashville in about a half hour. Yes, it's driveable. The accident involved me making too sharp of a right hand turn onto a busy street while coming out of an alley. As I took that right turn from the alley, there was a car parallel parked on the busy street and I clipped its bumper. It put a small dent in the bumper of that SUV, but it put a bulldozer size dent in the rear door of my car.

When I pulled over to inspect the damage on my car, I couldn't believe it, and still can't really. But I remember this client of my dad's saying something once that always stuck with me. "We can replace these boxes of tin. We just can't replace the people in them." And I think of that, and realize that a few months from now, none of this will be all that big of a deal.

Weights and Deadlines

I have book deadlines approaching, which means tending to this blog has taken a back seat lately. However, I still made time this morning to go to the gym at Trevecca University with my friend Drew.

Drew is a graduate student there and he put me through a light workout that felt like a heavy one. At one point, I watched my left arm shaking while holding a barbell on an inclined press. I felt as if my arm might snap. It seemed so pathetic to have my arm shaking like that, but Drew encouraged me, saying things like, "Dude, you have some lean muscle...you could get ripped if you started working out with me," and I would grimace and feel as if the left side of my face was experiencing a mild stroke as I lifted some pathetically small weight.

Now I'm here at the kitchen table, sore, thinking about those book deadlines.

Thad Cockrell

I saw Thad Cockrell play last night at the Mercy Lounge.

Thad goes to my church and always sits in the back, usually wearing jeans, a brown sportcoat and three-days growth beard. He sort of looks like someone who just got off a three-week bender, but what he really looks like is a guy who played an 11 p.m. show the night before, had a couple beers afterward and then crawled into bed at 4 a.m. But there he is, always at St. Barthalomew's on Sunday, and every week I watch him walk up to receive communion. And as I do, I shake my head because no human should be that talented.

If you've never been to one of Thad's shows, you really need to go. Watching Thad play is nothing short of a spiritual experience, which is why I felt guilty paying only $5 (actually Emily paid)...it should've been a $25 show, but not in Nashville. Thad comes from a long line of Baptist pastors, and as one music reviewer so aptly noted, Thad plays with the sort of tension and heartbreak that only a Baptist preacher's kid who sings in smoke-filled bars every night could play with. There is a nuanced depth and longing to Thad's voice that few singers even approach, and Thad's music spans the gamut, from alt country to bluegrass to, last night, a series of rock and roll songs. When I hear Thad play, I think to myself, this is real music; this is music at its most raw, most pure. Unfortunately, Thad's MySpace page doesn't do his music justice...he has a few samples there, but it's nothing like the music he's currenly playing, nor, in my opinion, is it anywhere near the best selection of his stuff already out on CD.

Thad started last night with a Gospel song that was very Dylan-esque and he offered no explanation for why it was in the set. He then launched into a series of songs that were nothing short of brilliant. Thad feels his music deeply, and when he's singing an angry song, he's pissed, and you feel that way, too, and when Thad's singing a sad song, he looks really sad, and even the musicans playing alongside him--especially a fellow Nashville musician who sang with Thad on his song, "Second Option"--look as if they might start crying at any moment.

His rendition of "Second Option" ("I don't want to be your second option/ I don't want to be your afterthought/ I don't want to know the plans you're making/ 'cause if they're not with me, then call 'em off/ call 'em off") was brilliant. I believe Thad wrote or co-wrote the song, and there are two versions of it, a fast one and a slow one, and Thad blended the two seemlessly last night.

As the song went from slow and mournful to fast and angry, it made me wish I could bottle the moment. It was electric, and the only comparable feeling I've ever had was when I listened to the Flamenco band in Barcelona. "Cause I've been alone on a Sunday baby/ I've been alone on a Monday, too/ I've been alone so many nights, darlin'/ But don't you ever doubt it/ That I'll learn to live without it/ I'll be gone."

Thad also has a great rock/ alt country song that I had never heard until last night, and it has the line, "Sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel is a train." And sometimes it is.

A Book Preview (Sort Of)

Can I just say that I have a weird life?

And how do I make sense of all the coincidences? Sometimes I don't...sometimes I just...well...smile, I guess.

My friend Sally lived in the Soviet Union for a while...I'm writing about it in my book...not Russia, but Russia when it was the Soviet Union. My friend Drew was a missionary to Russia, speaks fluent Russian, and I love Russian literature, as does my editor, Andrea, who just traveled to Russia recently. Andrea is the daughter of a well-known book agent who I had always heard about. And now, strangely, Andrea, this book agent's daughter, is my editor. Andrea now works for a publishing company run by a guy I used to work with in Michigan. I started working at the publishing company in Michigan because I went to church with Jon, who worked there, and then at some point, another person in my church, Scott, began counseling me and my wife because Scott and his wife do that sort of thing. And Scott just so happened to be one of the people who ran that company.

My wife once worked in publishing for a different company, one that Scott and Jon never worked for, but one that two years later my friend Aaron, who I went to Europe with, would work for. My wife was in publishing because she always wanted to write a book, but we got divorced, and now she's doing something else and I'm in publishing, writing books. The strange thing is I only went to the church with the publishing people because my wife started going there when we were separated, and then after she left me, I continued going there, and she just disappeared.

Eventually I moved to Nashville for a girl whose parents were marriage therapists of all things, one of whom wrote a book on divorce that my mom gave me long before I ever met the daughter, and then before I knew it, I was going on vacations with that family. Eventually we broke up, I was devestated, but I stayed in Nashville and then went to Europe. I met Darci when I got back from Europe. Darci is the girlfriend of my good friend, Rory, and Rory and I met through that ex-girlfriend I moved to Nashville for. Rory is now divorced--he wasn't when we met--and we're housemates. Rory and I married very similar women. But back to Darci. Darci and I recently learned that we grew up only thirty minutes away from each other in Michigan, but not only that...Darci was best friends with someone in my 160-person graduating class at Lumen Christi High School in Jackson, Mich. and Darci was actually AT my high school graduation in 1995.

Darci was also at Rory's wedding.

Darci and I were born a month apart in Foote Hospital in Jackson, Mich., which is where I believe Drew's ex-wife was also born. Darci is also Michael W. Smith's massage therapist, which is weird, because I've always done a Michael W. Smith impersonation, and Darci, who was recently on tour with Smitty, told him about my impression, and well, perhaps I'll have a chance to do it for him sometime.

I Never Make Lists

Today is the day where I'm going to do all those things I don't want to do...

including writing a sex article for a trade magazine.

Wait, that sounded really bad.

Okay, it's not about sex, as in my experiences (I would have so little to add to that discussion), it's about sex books in the Christian market, how many there are, are they more candid, are they selling well, etc. So the trade magazine is one that covers the Christian book industry, not the...well, yeah...

While I say that I don't want to do this, the people I'm writing for are wonderful, the job pays fairly well, and this assignment gives me a chance to be a reporter again, something I haven't been for many moons...and something I miss.

I'm also determined to pay some of these bills that have been staring me in the face for the past few days. And can I tell you that bills are never fun to pay when you get four checks per year? Okay, that's an exaggeration, but that's what it feels like. Money out, money never coming in. I also have to change my address again because the first time I changed it, I told the Postal Service I was in the "B" part of this duplex, when in fact, I'm in "A."

Don't even get me started on the sorts of problems that's created. I'll save it for another blog post when I'm feeling the need to make fun of myself.