Because I Will Never Write a Book

2011-11-26T05:13:00.008-05:00

2011 Books

2011 marks the first year in which I have maintained or exceeded a reading pace of a-book-a-month. Without further fanfare, below is my list of 2011 books (in chronological order as read):

Gilead - Marilynne Robinson - One doesn't read a Marilynne Robinson novel so much as one steeps oneself in a subtly-crafted work of art, one page at a time. These two books read at the pace of summertime twilight on a comfortable back porch, sometimes without feeling like reading at all. Instead, one could refer to an encounter with Gilead as a time of getting to know her characters--and from a seat at their own tables or by walking their garden paths. Deep, full-orbed themes throughout. A pleasure to read.

Home - Marilynne Robinson - The remarkable feature about Home is that its story involves the same few characters from the same two families, is set in the same small town, and takes place at the exact same time as Gilead. Yet somehow, the reader will be drawn sweetly through Home without the slightest hint of repetitiveness or foreknowledge. Brilliant work by an incredibly gifted author.

Reforming Marriage - Douglas Wilson - My brother Joel did well when he identified this as his "Manager of the Year" in his Third Annual Book Awards. I have never before read someone who so [appropriately] identifies the husband's immense responsibility and does so without pulling any punches, so to speak. Reforming Marriage should rouse even the laxest husband into action with a sense of the high calling that is his in marriage.

The Secret History of New Jersey - Tony Gruenewald - I probably wouldn't have cared for this brief poetry collection had I not lived and worked in New Jersey my whole life. The poetry is free-form and not particularly nuanced, but Gruenewald is to be commended for charming in verse the least charming parts of our dear State. Recommended for true New Jerseyans alone.

The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame - It would be impossible for me to overstate the magnificence of this "children's" book. Laying aside the endearing characters, and the simple beauty of the setting and the stories, it is the masterful language of this book that I found breathtaking like no other. It was a common occurrence for me to pause in a chapter in order to be able to re-read a particular sentence over and and over and over, so as to let its richness and complexity saturate my mind. I have never read a wordsmith equal to Kenneth Grahame, nor do I expect to.

Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair - Pablo Neruda (re-read for perhaps the 12th time?) - If you don't know my thoughts on Neruda by now, we're obviously not Facebook friends.

Love, 10 Poems - Pablo Neruda (re-read) - See above.

Future Men - Douglas Wilson - Becca and I laugh at some of the ultra-specific movie genres that Netflix features, and one of our favorites is "British Romantic Dramas with a Strong Female Lead." Future Men would fall neatly into the "Principles of Parenting Written by Somewhat Controversial Christian Authors With a Strong Male Lead" category if books were movies (let's all rejoice that they're still separate for now). When Wilson describes biblical Manhood, either here in Future Men or in Reforming Marriage (above), it is not a Manhood muzzled by undue domestication or effeminate undermining. The principles in Future Men are founded in solid biblical exposition, unlike the speculative unorthodoxy of Eldredge's Wild at Heart. I want to raise sons Doug Wilson would be proud to know.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith - The foreword of the edition I read this summer contains the caution, "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is not the sort of book that can be reduced to its plot line." Quite true. In much the same way that To Kill a Mockingbird doesn't so much construct a plot as dissolve a reader into the very essence of a community and its time, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn wrapped me up in all the people, emotions, and dimensions of 1920's Brooklyn. So many aspects of these poor immigrants' lives create such a wide array of emotional responses: heartache, inspiration, admiration, joy. This immediately found a place on my list of all-time favorite novels.

Just Do Something - Kevin DeYoung - This was one of those rare books in the Theology/Christian Life genre that left me thinking, "I think I knew all that already." Perhaps it comes from growing up under preaching that not only acknowledges the Sovereignty of God, but holds fast to all the logical outworkings of that same doctrine. This book would have served me better in college, but was still worth the read as a 29-year-old husband and father of two.

Children of the Living God - Sinclair B. Ferguson - Far be it from me to speak poorly of a giant of the Church like Sinclair Ferguson, but I was rather indifferent to this, the first work of his I ever read. I love the doctrine of Adoption, and I had only ever heard great things about Rev. Ferguson. My expectations were not realized here.

Fighting the Good Fight - D.G. Hart and John Muether - I'm sure that I had never before rendered the amount of respect or appreciation due academic historians, but the re-read of this OPC history kindled such a pride and admiration for the OPC founders so as to prove the historians' worth. With disgust and shear disbelief I was reacquainted with the contents of the Auburn Affirmation of 1924. With great sorrow and remorse did I relive the mockery of a trial that put Machen and others out of Princeton and the PC (USA). Yet how great it is to be reminded that a sovereign God is ruling his Church, despite such bursts of wickedness that have tarnished her. Praise the Lord for the OPC.

Lest We Forget - Robert K. Churchill - A personal, pastoral account of the terrible events in 1920's/30's American Presbyterianism. Churchill's perspective is seemingly innocent as a child's yet buttressed with the conviction of truth and right doctrine that so characterized the founders of the OPC. A pleasure to re-read.

Winnie the Pooh - A. A. Milne (five reads in four months!) - This is the first chapter book I've read with Liam at bed time, and he has not let me read anything else since September! The illustrations are scant in number and basic in form, but the stories have kept Liam's attention every night. The language is as cute and British as the characters. I am not ashamed to state that I have posted some of my favorite quotes as Facebook stati. A must for the Gahagan and J.V. Pearce family shelves.

Other People's Love Letters - edited by Bill Shapiro - In the uber-fluff column. Although not affiliated with the Postsecret project, this is essentially the love letter version of those collections. Very few worthwhile reads amidst a sea of smut, poor spelling, and melodrama.

The Great Bridge - David McCullough - After starting in August, I only just finished in late December. I never would have imagined something in the history genre would have kept my attention through 562 pages, but I remain unalterably impressed with McCullough's storytelling abilities. I found the descriptions of old Manhattan and Brooklyn particularly fascinating, and delighted to read about streets I know fairly well through work projects. The chapters recounting the sinking of the caissons were unbelievable in the truest sense of the word. A Fantastic Book.

A Boy's Will - Robert Frost - The only regret I have about reading Robert Frost in 2011 is that I had not read him sooner. North of Boston will be an early read of 2012, no doubt.

2010-07-17T10:08:00.009-04:00

American Boys Don't Play Baseball

Every spring, I am more and more saddened to hear reports from the boys of our church when I ask them what sport will take them out onto the newly greened grass. It was once unusual for a boy to respond that he signed up for a spring sport other than baseball, but the opposite is increasingly true--the boys I know rarely play baseball. Below are what I think are some contributing factors:

Baseball involves a lot of rules. Soccer involves few. A boy can play soccer effectively if he understands five basic instructions: "1) Put the ball into that goal; don't let the ball go into your own goal. 2) Only the goalie can use his hands. 3) Throw the ball in if the other team kicks it out of bounds. 4) Stay onside. 5) Don't foul." The explanation of the Infield Fly Rule alone is more complicated. Sure, the basic operating rules of baseball are simple enough, but an alien observer could explain very few of the rules of the game after merely watching others play baseball. Many of the rules are tied to specific or rare circumstances and some would even seem to be contradictory.

Baseball requires critical thinking and planning. Soccer decisions are mostly reactive. Generally speaking, a boy can learn to play soccer better just by giving it a try. It doesn't take expert instruction to realize that he has a better chance of coming into possession of the ball if he remains in open space; he will quickly realize that dribbling the ball too much often results in a turn-over. A boy can even improve his game IQ just by mimicking better players. Conversely, to play defensive baseball in even the most basically effective way, a boy needs to spend a significant amount of time considering what to do with the baseball if and when it is hit to him. To play even the simplest position in baseball, right field, one needs to have considered at least four different circumstances before the fall is fielded every time the ball is fielded. Every time a new batter comes to the plate, the right fielder needs to have considered: How many outs are there? What runners are on base and what is their configuration? Where should I throw the ball if I catch a fly ball? Where should I throw the ball if I field a single or a double? If the ball comes to a soccer player's feet, he usually only needs to decide if he will pass, dribble, or shoot.

Baseball is not fast-paced. Soccer is fluid and continuous. Although a baseball game is highly segmented into shorter, individual pieces--each batter, each half of an inning--to the ignorant or uninterested observer, it can seem to drag on. From afar, there is not much difference between watching players in a baseball field and watching someone do yoga--there are very few moving parts. Despite the numerous complaints about boring World Cup games, the ball is continually moving in a soccer game and players are almost never stationary.

Baseball involves failure on an individual level. Contrasted with youth soccer, in which an average field player will almost never be perceived to have "blown it," failure is built into the game of baseball. On average, Derek Jeter strikes out every six at-bats. Joel Pearce hit safely in exactly one at-bat during the 1995 Hackettstown Little League season and didn't really come close in the other 30-something. Errant throws, botched ground balls, and dropped flies are all more likely to occur than be avoided in any one inning of any Little League game. When a baseball player misses a fly ball or strikes out, the failure is acutely individual. The team doesn't strike out--little Johnny strikes out. Goalie is the only position in soccer where failure perceived to have been individual. No casual observer blames the other ten players when the ball gets by the goalie, but everyone unfairly blames Bill Buckner for blowing an entire World Series in one play.

Baseball requires a significant group in order to play even a casual game. Nearly every other sport can be enjoyed with a reduced number of players. One-on-one basketball is extreme as an exception, but 3-on-3 or 4-on-4 hockey, football, and soccer all very closely resemble the original sport when adjusted to accommodate a low turn-out of players. Even a drastic modification of the playing field and rules still requires in excess of ten baseball players to enjoy baseball competitively. The group needs a field, bases, a bat, enough gloves for the field positions, and a baseball. Soccer can be played with a ball and two trash cans in a street.

I think that reduced attention spans and a general avoidance of failure-rich activities are the most disturbing culprits in the reasons baseball is losing ground. I have not even mentioned the decline in black Major League stars, World Series games starting at 9:00 p.m. EST, or the glut of other extra-curricular activities as tertiary contributing factors.

2010-07-14T20:30:00.000-04:00

Christianity and Liberalism - Doctrine

It wasn't until I left home for Geneva College that I ever came across someone who confidently asserted that doctrine was not an important aspect to the Christian life. Before my time in Beaver Falls, PA, I had certainly met others who by their practice showed that doctrine had no place in their life. Yet on the campus of a reformed Christian college I first came to know many who tried to intellectually defend the idea.

"My church doesn't really get caught up in confessions and creeds--we just read and teach the Bible," a friend would humbly boast. "No creed but Christ," and "Deeds, not Creeds" are popular phrases among those of like mind. Is a higher state of Christianity being achieved by claiming to reject doctrine? Can all creeds be reconciled with each other? Is the Sermon on the Mount and the life/example of Jesus all we need in this life?

The second chapter of J. Gresham Machen's Christianity and Liberalism, "Doctrine," deals with some of these seemingly innocuous conjectures. The entire text can be found here. Any boldface in the excerpts below are my emphasis.

“At the outset, we are met with an objection. ‘Teachings,’ it is said, ‘are unimportant; …creeds are merely the changing expression of a unitary Christian experience, and provided only they express that experience they are all equally good. The teachings of liberalism, therefore, might be as far removed as possible from the teachings of historic Christianity, and yet the two might be at bottom the same.’...Such is the way in which expression is often given to the modern hostility to ‘doctrine.’ But is it really doctrine as such that is objected to, and not rather one particular doctrine in the interests of another? Undoubtedly, in many forms of liberalism it is the latter alternative which fits the case. There are doctrines of modern liberalism, just as tenaciously and intolerantly upheld as any doctrines that find a place in the historic creeds. Such for example are the liberal doctrines of the universal fatherhood of God and the universal brotherhood of man. These doctrines are, as we shall see, contrary to the doctrines of the Christian religion. But doctrines they are all the same, and as such they require intellectual defense. In seeming to object to all theology, the liberal preacher is often merely objecting to one system of theology in the interests of another. And the desired immunity from theological controversy has not yet been attained.”

“If all creeds are equally true, then since they are contradictory to one another, they are all equally false, or at least equally uncertain. We are indulging, therefore, in a mere juggling with words. To say that all creeds are equally true, and that they are based upon experience, is merely to fall back upon that agnosticism which fifty years ago was regarded as the deadliest enemy of the Church. The enemy has not really been changed into a friend merely because he has been received within the camp. Very different is the Christian conception of a creed. According to the Christian conception, a creed is not a mere expression of Christian experience, but on the contrary it is a setting forth of those facts upon which experience is based.”

“But if any one fact is clear, on the basis of this evidence, it is that the Christian movement at its inception was not just a way of life in the modern sense, but a way of life founded upon a message. It was based, not upon mere feeling, not upon a mere program of work, but upon an account of facts. In other words it was based upon doctrine.”

“The primitive Church was concerned not merely with what Jesus had said, but also, and primarily, with what Jesus had done. The world was to be redeemed through the proclamation of an event. And with the event went the meaning of the event; and the setting forth of the event with the meaning of the event was doctrine. These two elements are always combined in the Christian message. The narration of the facts is history; the narration of the facts with the meaning of the facts is doctrine. ‘Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead and buried’--that is history. ‘He loved me and gave Himself for me’--that is doctrine. Such was the Christianity of the primitive Church.”

“The new law of the Sermon on the Mount, in itself, can only produce despair. Strange indeed is the complacency with which modern men can say that the Golden Rule and the high ethical principles of Jesus are all that they need. In reality, if the requirements for entrance into the Kingdom of God are what Jesus declares them to be, we are all undone; we have not even attained to the external righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, and how shall we attain to that righteousness of the heart which Jesus demands? …The Sermon on the Mount, like all the rest of the New Testament, really leads a man straight to the foot of the Cross.”

“Let us not deceive ourselves. A Jewish teacher of the first century can never satisfy the longing of our souls.”

“As a matter of fact, however, in the modern vituperation of ‘doctrine,’ it is not merely the great theologians or the great creeds that are being attacked, but the New Testament and our Lord Himself. In rejecting doctrine, the liberal preacher is rejecting the simple words of Paul, "Who loved me and gave Himself for me," just as much as the homoousion of the Nicene Creed. For the word "doctrine" is really used not in its narrowest, but in its broadest sense. The liberal preacher is really rejecting the whole basis of Christianity, which is a religion founded not on aspirations, but on facts. Here is found the most fundamental difference between liberalism and Christianity--liberalism is altogether in the imperative mood, while Christianity begins with a triumphant indicative; liberalism appeals to man's will, while Christianity announces, first, a gracious act of God.”

“It is often said that the divided condition of Christendom is an evil, and so it is. But the evil consists in the existence of the errors which cause the divisions and not at all in the recognition of those errors when once they exist.”

2010-07-07T20:26:00.003-04:00

Thoughts on the World Cup

With the World Cup final a few days away, I am nearly ready to return to my normal state of soccer hibernation for the next three years and eleven months. While my international soccer enthusiasm may wane back into a dormant state, I can say with certainty that I am already looking forward to 2014's tournament more than I ever expected.

2010 marks the year of the World Cup into which I most passionately invested myself. I have watched every game that was possible for me to watch (all of two), listened to games on the radio (three) and watched highlights of all 38 games played. I have checked scores on my Blackberry and solicited pre-game analysis from people born in England, Portugal, and Ecuador. While I have not gone so far as to refer to the game as "fútbol" or report scores using the word "nil," I have jumped into this World Cup with both feet. I have been an ardent soccer fan for a month.

Below are some rapid-fire thoughts on this year's tournament and/or international soccer in general:

1. Soccer on a high definition TV is amazing! Granted, so is any other sport, but the improvement over what the '92 World Cup looked like on the 14" tube set in my parents' bedroom is indescribable. For the record, the high definition screen I was watching was in the Electronics section of the Costco in New Rochelle, NY.

2. Is there a reason that the tournament must always be referred to as the "FIFA World Cup?" Is this to distinguish it from another World Cup? Who doesn't think soccer when one hears "World Cup?"

3. Let me address the "Why Americans Don't Like Soccer" theories as briefly as I can. The biggest reason professional soccer isn't big in America is because--are you ready for this?-- professional soccer has never been big in America. Duh. Do people really expect a sport to permanently catapult into the top American tier because of spiked interest every four years? The secondary reasons are related to our society's fascination with shiny objects, immediate results, and sex appeal. Watching soccer takes patience. Investing time to watch a soccer match does not always reward one with a winner and a loser. Americans who complain about soccer generally reveal more about themselves than they do identify flaws in the game.

4. In a related note, have those who were complaining about low scores noticed how the per-game goal counts have increased in the elimination round? That teams can strategically settle for a tie in group matches leads to conservative play. Conservative play leads to fewer goals.

5. I have heard several voices complain about the perceived ambiguity of stoppage time. However, I have not heard any of those same voices state the obvious advantages to a running clock--the greatest of which is the predictable time frame in which a soccer match is completed. Coming from a fan who must suffer through 18 Yankees-Red Sox games a year at up to four hours a match-up, regularity in game length is a breath of fresh air!

6. The US-Algeria game was the first soccer game I ever listened to on the radio. Not only could I not bring myself to turn the game off, but I was physically reacting to the drama of the moment. My stomach was in knots and my chest was pounding throughout the entire game.

7. There were some bad calls. There were just as many really bad calls. It would serve the public well to remember that we are the first generation to have the seemingly omnispective power to observe, review, and judge every single call in crystal clear, super slow-motion video. Officiating may not be getting worse--we may just be more aware of it than ever.

8. The sentiment that there is an anti-American conspiracy among FIFA officials speaks to a conceitedness than the American soccer fan hasn't earned yet.

9. From my days as a junior varsity soccer star in high school, I remember yellow cards only being awarded for fouls that were clearly intentional. Further, I can recall the issuance of perhaps three red cards in three years of playing high school soccer--those were for intentional fouls that were also malicious and/or dirty. It seemed like players in this World Cup were receiving yellow cards on a whim or for sneezing at someone.

10. To my admittedly untrained eye, it seemed like the American team doesn't quite possess its own style of play. Watching the US team look tentative and give up a goal early in nearly every match made it seem like they were starting each game waiting to react to the other team's plan of attack. It never seemed like the US set out to take control of the tempo or style. Maybe we're not that good yet.

11. The brazen deception of the Ghana players in the closing minutes of the elimination game against the US was offensive. I know soccer players are bred to hit the grass writhing in pain if they're even given a dirty look, but such excessive, obviously fabricated/phantom injuries were beyond the pale.

2010-06-10T07:25:00.005-04:00

Christianity and Liberalism - Introduction

It occurred to me recently that I have been a member of an Orthodox Presbyterian Church my entire life and I had never read anything by J. Gresham Machen. I started my first reading of his classic work Christianity and Liberalism earlier this year and have almost completed it.

From the first chapter, I have been struck with Machen's clarity and conviction of truth. His language is not flowery or grandiose, but his statements are as fine and sharp as a scalpel. In clear, concise language he identifies the errors in liberal theology as they are manifested in a number of ways, and Machen calls the reader to instead see and believe what God's Word says.

Each chapter addresses one way in which liberal doctrine/theology conflicts with, or is in complete contradiction to orthodox Christianity. The chapter list is as follows: Introduction, Doctrine, God and Man, The Bible, Christ, Salvation, The Church. Read piecemeal or collectively, the chapters reinforce Machen's bold conclusion: Liberalism is not Christianity, but is, in fact, a completely different and false religion.

Below are some excerpts from the chapter titled Introduction (the entire chapter can be read here). Any bold face type is my own emphasis.

"Clear-cut definition of terms in religious matters, bold facing of the logical implications of religious views, is by many persons regarded as an impious proceeding...Light may seem at times to be an impertinent intruder, but it is always beneficial in the end. The type of religion which rejoices in the pious sound of traditional phrases, regardless of their meanings, or shrinks from "controversial" matters, will never stand amid the shocks of life. In the sphere of religion, as in other spheres, the things about which men are agreed are apt to be the things that are least worth holding; the really important things are the things about which men will fight."

"Vastly more important than all questions with regard to methods of preaching is the root question as to what it is that shall be preached."

"The modern world represents in some respects an enormous improvement over the world in which our ancestors lived; but in other respects it exhibits a lamentable decline. The improvement appears in the physical conditions of life, but in the spiritual realm there is a corresponding loss. The loss is clearest, perhaps, in the realm of art. Despite the mighty revolution which has been produced in the external conditions of life, no great poet is now living to celebrate the change; humanity has suddenly become dumb. Gone, too, are the great painters and the great musicians and the great sculptors. The art that still subsists is largely imitative, and where it is not imitative it is usually bizarre.”

“This unprecedented decline in literature and art is only one manifestation of a more far-reaching phenomenon; it is only one instance of that narrowing of the range of personality which has been going on in the modern world. The whole development of modern society has tended mightily toward the limitation of the realm of freedom for the individual man. The tendency is most clearly seen in socialism; a socialistic state would mean the reduction to a minimum of the sphere of individual choice. Labor and recreation, under a socialistic government, would both be prescribed, and individual liberty would be gone... It never seems to occur to modern legislatures that although "welfare" is good, forced welfare may be bad. In other words, utilitarianism is being carried out to its logical conclusions; in the interests of physical well-being the great principles of liberty are being thrown ruthlessly to the winds.”

“The result is an unparalleled impoverishment of human life. Personality can only be developed in the realm of individual choice. And that realm, in the modern state, is being slowly but steadily contracted. The tendency is making itself felt especially in the sphere of education. The object of education, it is now assumed, is the production of the greatest happiness for the greatest number. But the greatest happiness for the greatest number, it is assumed further, can be defined only by the will of the majority. Idiosyncrasies in education, therefore, it is said, must be avoided, and the choice of schools must be taken away from the individual parent and placed in the hands of the state...Such a result is being slightly delayed in America by the remnants of Anglo-Saxon individualism, but the signs of the times are all contrary to the maintenance of this halfway position; liberty is certainly held by but a precarious tenure when once its underlying principles have been lost...The dominant tendency, even in a country like America, which formerly prided itself on its freedom from bureaucratic regulation of the details of life, is toward a drab utilitarianism in which all higher aspirations are to be lost.”

“A public school system, in itself, is indeed of enormous benefit to the race. But it is of benefit only if it is kept healthy at every moment by the absolutely free possibility of the competition of private schools. A public school system, if it means the providing of free education for those who desire it, is a noteworthy and beneficent achievement of modern times; but when once it becomes monopolistic it is the most perfect instrument of tyranny which has yet been devised. Freedom of thought in the middle ages was combated by the Inquisition, but the modern method is far more effective. Place the lives of children in their formative years, despite the convictions of their parents, under the intimate control of experts appointed by the state, force them then to attend schools where the higher aspirations of humanity are crushed out, and where the mind is filled with the materialism of the day, and it is difficult to see how even the remnants of liberty can subsist. Such a tyranny…is certainly far more dangerous than the crude tyrannies of the past, which despite their weapons of fire and sword permitted thought at least to be free.”

“But whatever solution be found for the educational and social problems of our own country, a lamentable condition must be detected in the world at large. It cannot be denied that great men are few or nonexistent, and that there has been a general contracting of the area of personal life. Material betterment has gone hand in hand with spiritual decline.”

“In setting forth the current liberalism, now almost dominant in the Church, over against Christianity, we are animated, therefore, by no merely negative or polemic purpose; on the contrary, by showing what Christianity is not we hope to be able to show what Christianity is, in order that men may be led to turn from the weak and beggarly elements and have recourse again to the grace of God.”

2010-05-02T14:45:00.002-04:00

Disney World By the Numbers

Because of the persuasive solicitation of our dear friends the Kennedys, Becca and I recently enjoyed our first vacation to Walt Disney World. We spent six nights at the Pop Century resort on the Disney campus in a room next door to Kyle, April, and their three children. We spent two days traveling (by means of our Honda Pilot) each direction, spending a night in Richmond, VA both legs.

Instead of compiling what would certainly become lengthy, verbose lines of prose, I have compiled a list of the elements of our Disney trip that can be numerically quantified. The list can be found below.

0: The number of DVD's played in our vehicle during the trip. Zero is also the number of iPod's plugged in, video games played, and laptops used (we did periodically check Facebook, Gmail, and our bank account via Blackberry during the trip).

2: The number of calf muscles that I sunburned on Wednesday. For not applying a single dollop of sunblock, I consider myself to have made out very well.

3: The number of maps we picked up at state Visitors Centers.

4: The number of Disney characters with whom we had our picture taken (Buzz, Woody, Mr. & Mrs. Incredible).

8: The number of rides that Liam went on. Toy Story Mania, Studio Backlot Tour, Kilimanjaro Safaris, Small World, Jungle Cruise, Peter Pan's Flight, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.

10: The number of rides that Becca went on. Toy Story Mania (twice), Studio Backlot Tour, Kilimanjaro Safaris, Small World, Cinderella's Golden Carousel, Jungle Cruise, Peter Pan's Flight, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, Soarin'.

18.3 mpg: The lowest gas mileage for any one tank on our trip (the last tank used arriving in Disney).

19: The number of rides I went on. Tower of Terror (twice), Rock 'N' Roller Coaster, Toy Story Mania (twice), Studio Backlot Tour, Star Tours, Expedition Everest (twice), Kilimanjaro Safaris, Small World, Cinderella's Golden Carousel, Jungle Cruise, Peter Pan's Flight, Pirates of the Caribbean, Space Mountain, Splash Mountain, The Barnstormer, The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, Mission: SPACE, Soarin', Test Track.

21: The number of CD's listened to during the trip. We also repeated three of the 21 discs.

22.8 mpg: The peak gas mileage for any one tank on our trip (the first tank used leaving Disney).

48: U.S. state license plates spotted during the trip. The only two we didn't see were Montana and Kansas. We also saw plates from five Canadian provinces as well as ones for D.C. and "U.S. Government."

$160.97: Dollars spent on gas for the trip.

1,180: Minutes spent driving home from Disney (205 minutes of this was spent taking breaks).

1,220: Minutes spent driving to Disney (210 minutes of this was spent taking breaks).

2,021: The number of miles traveled between departure on April 23 and arrival home on May 1. I drove every mile!

2010-04-15T00:01:00.002-04:00

Caesar's Rendering

Earlier this year, I took advantage of the graciousness of my employer and used a vacation day (carry-over from 2009) to avoid traveling during a snowstorm. I took advantage of the snow day by filing the appropriate Scott Pearce Family Tax Return documents for 2009. Some observations:

- I have been, and continue to be grateful to God that our government encourages Christian tithing by allowing those monies to be deducted from one's income.

- By giving tax breaks to families who pay for child care, the federal government encourages an activity that weakens families. Tax breaks for child care also make it easier for families to live as two-income families; the increased prevalence of two-income families adds increased financial pressure to families committed to living on one income.

- There are several ways in which Income is qualified as Earned Income or Other on the tax forms. Income that is not earned is certainly not a new phenomenon, but the stigma attached to unduly benefiting from the work/property of others has hardly been lower than it is today.

- Because we wrapped our furnace pipes with insulation in October, we received a "tax break" equivalent to a few pennies. The federal government would like me to believe that it has rewarded my behavior by giving me those few pennies as incentive. Because I am smarter than the federal government thinks I is, I know that the insulation was placed as an act in *gasp* my own self interest. In the form of lower natural gas costs this winter, the insulation saved us the equivalent of a payment on Becca's car. In the form of tax break "incentives" the federal government ensured that we can stock the car with one (1) air freshener.

- I will always strive to "render unto Caesar what is Caesar's" with a submissive and willing spirit, but I will also always fervently pray for and hopefully vote for leaders who will tax me less. Dollar for dollar, I can do more good with my wealth and property than can any government on earth.

2010-04-11T14:21:00.005-04:00

A Toast, An Ode, A Tribute:

To my darling wife, on the occasion of the completion of a year of Motherhood.

I had known you to think of others more highly than yourself, but I did not know selflessness until I had seen you as Mother. Never with such intimacy have I seen the life of one so devoted to the lives of others as yours has been.

I have known your heart to be capable of great love in our romance. What foothills were the heights of affection and adoration previously scaled--and how grand the pinnacles of love and devotion which you have ascended as a mother! If it weren't so strange to compare you to a furry animal, I would deem you my mountain goat of love.

Your commitment to our marriage has not lessened in the year we have shared with our son. In fact, you have daily defied mathematical order. You and I, Love, were one when we were two. Somehow, with a child, we two are still one even as we three have become one.

Sleeplessness and physical exhaustion have not weakened your pursuit of personal holiness. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed hunk has not come between you and the husband of your youth. The toddles of our toddler have not kept you from your quest for domestic dominion.

I have been witness to wonders in this year past. Our son has breathed with his own lungs for one year, he has fed with his own mouth (and how!) for every day of the past 365. We have seen the body, mind, and soul of William Isaiah Pearce grow for these months, and we are richer for it. These are wonders--indeed what wonders!--yet you are more wonderful.

2010-01-14T13:34:00.002-05:00

Five Years Without Television

At the start of our life together, my bride and I resolved that we would not get television service in our apartment for at least the first year of our marriage. June will mark five years since the resolution, and we have not connected our television to anything but a DVD player and an electric outlet.

Too much time has passed for me to remember if our resolution was based on the advice of someone whose crown was greyer than our own. If so, it also escapes me to whom we owe the acknowledgment of wisdom. Perhaps we found the recommendation in a book or magazine, perhaps we just saw it lived out by couples that we admired. Regardless, enough time had passed at the end of our first month without television to know with certainty that we had made a good decision. By the end of the first year we knew that we would never look back.

Below is a brief list of ways in which my life is different because we have not had television for five years. The perceptive reader will notice that they are all advantages.

We've Saved Money. This is perhaps the most obvious (and certainly the most tangible) advantage, and not one to be glossed over. If cable would have cost us $50 a month (probably a low estimate), then in 60 months we've saved $3,000. Very small is the list of things for which I would willingly part with $3,000. Access to "So You Think You Can Dance" does not make the list.

We've Insulated Ourselves from Temptations to Covet/Consume Excessively. What regularly sets me aback when I do find myself in front of a television are the commercials (that and how much more of a sports game can be observed on an HD screen). They are excessive in number. They are increasingly explicit and immoral. They unabashedly generate urges of greed, indulgence, and lust to drive viewers to consume. I am subjected to enough indecency in my daily commute (five different strip clubs currently advertise on NYC taxi cabs)--I relish the fact that I can do something to tear down an altar of consumerism by not connecting our cable.

I've Watched Far Fewer Sports Games. While on the one hand I do miss the chance of witnessing truly classic sporting events as they happen, there are fewer matchups and sporting events that get enough of a rise out me anymore to make me pine for the good old days (the older I get, the truer Ecclesiastes becomes to me). These five years of my married life mark the first time I've actively tried to reduce the quantity and quality of time that I invest in the sports world/culture. Without television of our own, to watch any sporting event now necessitates buckling a seat belt, burning gasoline, and inviting myself over to my parents or Ben's house. In much the same way that politicians know the surest way to discourage any activity (tax it), I have found my craving for sports irreversibly quelled by the limited viewing access I've had for the past five years. [The following is partially unrelated and entirely anecdotal, but where else am I going to share it? I am more than a little tickled to report that I've managed to finish the regular season ranked 1st and 2nd in two consecutive Fantasy Football seasons while watching a combined total of maybe half a dozen NFL games.]

I Haven't Watched a Single Rap Video, Award Show, "Reality" Show, Dance Competition, or Dating Show For Five Years. I could identify fewer than 10 American Idol contestants by mug shot, and fewer than five contestants by name.

"We Don't Have TV" Has Become My Most Reliable Party Trick. People's reactions are telling (often alarming) when I confess that we've never had television. The most common reaction is an innocent but awkward pause in the conversation, but my revelation often kills the conversation completely. Rightly so--what is there for humans to discuss other than television? The saddest observations I've made occur when people react as if I'm neglecting a great service of personal betterment by remaining unplugged. "There are children in Africa who are dying to know who's getting voted off the island tonight--how can you be so indifferent?"

It Has Been a Practical Way For Me to Obey Matthew 5.29. In this verse Jesus says, "If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell." It is no small understatement to assert that the temptation to lust and to crave what is sexually immoral is heightened by watching television. I know my weaknesses. I know the spiritual dangers contained within an hour of a network broadcast, and I know that the dangers are deliberate. A friend once candidly shared his observation that his former (huzzah!) cable provider placed the empty channel number where the Playboy channel would otherwise be immediately after the sports channels. Coincidence, or a cunning tactic? It doesn't make me a beacon of righteousness just because I never connected my cable, but the decision has certainly acted as an agent in the purification of my relationship with my wife.

It Has Furthered the Health of Our Marriage. Beyond the realm of sexual purity alluded to above, keeping television out of our home has forced us to *dramatic pause* TALK to each other far more. Granted, the elimination of the computer and Netflix might potentially contribute to the deterioration of at least a couple aspects of our relationship (after all, it is possible to have too much of a good thing, right?).

It Makes Us Better Hosts. Can anyone remember a significant conversation he or she has had during the Super Bowl? Or during Must See TV? What is ever learned about someone by watching television with them? When I watch football with a friend I always resolve to initiate conversation during the commercials. What happens more often than not is that the commercials are more interesting than the game and the moments are lost to shiny objects and cheap laughs. I wonder if my relationship with my college roommates would be deeper in the present than exchanging Christmas cards and an occasional phone call if we had spent fewer hours watching Joe Millionaire and Crank Yankers. Perhaps the factors contributing to the present distance relate more to geography and gender, but I think all four of us agree that we were at our relational best with the TV off.

Removing television from a home will not have the magical effect of promoting an immediate level of increased sanctity. Keeping a television from a child's room will not cause them to suddenly engage in dinner conversation. Yet for all the reasons above, it is highly unlikely that cable television will ever gain entrance into any place that we call home.

2009-12-18T18:14:00.003-05:00

Resolved: I Will Not Create Any "My Favorite _______'s of the Decade" Lists.

It is nearly impossible to avoid the myriad lists generated at the end of any year. Magazines, radio shows, and "news" programs spend much of late December tricking us into consuming more advertising by summarizing the year between 30 second pleas to add gold to our portfolio.

Is there a better way to catalog the events of a year than with a Top 10 List? Not in the modern age, apparently. When, for an entire decade, world events are distilled and fed to us in sound bites and bottom-screen tickers, a Top 10 list does seem an appropriate way to "reflect" on things of significance. Things like the adultery of a man who plays golf well and the invention of a fancy music box...

While I will resist the urge to list and rank the few dozen books and albums that I have consumed in the last decade of my life, I believe that it befits a believer to frequently recall and meditate on what the Lord has done for him/her.

In retracing the days ordained for me since we learned that Y2K wasn't ordained to usher in the apocalypse, methinks that there will probably not be a decade of my life that will contain as many significant life events (especially of the "first" variety) as did this one.

The Scott Pearce Greatest Hits 2000-2009:
(in roughly chronological order)

I graduated from Hackettstown High School.

I began life as a college student.

I served as a counselor at Camp Susque (fulfilling a simple but significant boyhood dream).

I met the girl that I would marry.

I received a B.S. in Engineering from Geneva College.

I took on almost $20,000 in debt to accomplish the preceding, my first foray into the world of indebted servitude.

I became certified as an Engineering In Training (E.I.T.).

I began a career as a civil engineer.

I bought my first (and to date only) truck, my second foray into the world of indebted servitude (although this knife was only over my head for two years).

I proposed to the girl that I would marry. She said yes.

I married the girl who said yes.

We rented our first apartment.

I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time.

We bought our first house, by far my farthest foray into indebted servitude.

I became certified as a Grade I Field Technician Concrete Inspector, a Structural Masonry Special Inspector, and a Reinforced Concrete Special Inspector.

We became parents for the first time.

I put 200,000 miles on my truck.

Psalm 90
1 Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.
2 Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God...

4 ...For a thousand years in your sight
are but as yesterday when it is past,
or as a watch in the night...

12 ...So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom...

2009-12-05T17:15:00.003-05:00

Listen, My Son (Installment II)

William, one of the most important things you can learn is how to work. Through the work of our hands, we men fulfill one of the first commands that God gave Adam at Creation. The fruit of a man's labor is the ordinary means by which God has ordained that his family will eat, be sheltered, and meet physical needs of others.

While I hope that the majority of what I teach you is through example, I thought it worthwhile to record a set of axoims which would behove you to observe.

- Work the same way / produce the same work product whether or not you are being supervised or observed. There is One who always sees how you are working and you are to do all things to His glory (I Corinthians 10.31).

- Let your reputation speak highly of you. Let your body or work build your reputation. Don't produce anything, even a minor project, that isn't your best work.

- Be suspicious of a man who boasts about his work ethic. Remember that the son who obeyed was the son who did his father's will (Matthew 21.28-32). Remember that a tree is known by its fruit (Luke 6.43, 44).

- God does not command you to always make a profit. He does command you to always be righteous.

- The most efficient way is not always the easiest way. Be wary of those who would suggest that the fastest way to complete a list of tasks is to skip items on the list.

- Memorize the following and put them to practice: Measure twice, cut once. Fifteen minutes early is on time. Don't ever sit down on a job. Take care of your tools. Pay the extra money for steel toe boots.

2009-10-28T06:23:00.002-04:00

But Stay-At-Home Mothers Surpass Them All

I have always been proud of the work of my wife's hands. Employed as a registered nurse for four years, Becca served hundreds of patients at two hospitals in our area. She commuted 45 minutes each way to the first hospital, then logged 13+ hour shifts--many of them logged as the overnight variety. Her passion and heart for the care of others came through in all she did as a nurse, and I believe that the luster of the staff at her former hospitals is lessened slightly without Rebecca R. Pearce, RN among them.

Becca and I have together decided that she will not, Lord-willing, work outside the home while our children are young. As such, she has not worked as a nurse since March. Deciding to try to live on one income in New Jersey has been a continual act of faith on our part (I am not boasting--it's the truth!), but our Lord has seen fit to bless our decision thus far. Praise the Lord, Jehovah Jireh: we have lived on one income since January 1, 2009!

The purpose of sharing the above is not to garner pity or even to hearten our fellow Garden State families. I wish for the above to reinforce the significance of the new work in which my wife has engaged herself--the work of furnishing our home, raising our son, filling our table, caring for our church, etc. Using the phrasing of the description of an excellent wife found in Proverbs 31, below are examples of some of the ways in which I wish to praise my wife for what she does.

verse 13 "She seeks wool and flax, and works with willing hands" It may seem an inconsequential thing, but Becca has taken up knitting again. She has quickly learned to make winter hats, and has knitted one for our friends' newborn son; she has plans for two more next month.

verses 14, 15 "She is like the ships of the merchant; she brings her food from afar. She rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household and portions for her maidens." Becca makes her own granola; she has made two loaves of homemade bread and a different pot of soup each week since it got chilly; I have not had store-bought cookies in my lunch since May; I don't remember the last time our dinner involved a portion of anything that was bought pre-made. One of Becca's greatest delights is preparing food and serving it to others. I, of course, delight in eating it. I love her love languages.

verse 16 "She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard." Although she already did a wonderful job before we were pregnant, Becca has since re-dedicated herself to saving money in every aspect of our lives. She has resurrected her affinity for coupons and upgraded it to a passion. She takes our $50 groceries per week budget on as a challenge and meets it more weeks than not. She plans our meals throughout the week, accounting for leftovers and lunches--it is rare for any food to be tossed. She uses every part of the buffalo, so to speak: she used part of a baked chicken for four different meals, and recently stretched a baked ham into three dinners, one breakfast, and seven lunches!

verse 18b "Her lamp does not go out at night." Until Liam finally slept 12 hours straight last week, Becca had not enjoyed a single night of uninterrupted sleep for over a year! Considering that pregnancy prevents a woman from sleeping well, and further considering Becca's dedication to breastfeeding, Becca might possibly wake up three times a night out of habit for the rest of her life. How she manages to be as gracious and cheerful as she does despite the sleep deprivation is beyond me.

verse 20 "She opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy." One of the advantages of a homemaking mother that I did not consider is the availability of the mother to minister to others. Although Becca's "To Do" list is hardly ever satisfied, she has not hesitated to minister to different families in the church as she has been aware of their needs. She has made and delivered meals for mothers of newborns, she has spent two days with a church family after the passing of their grandfather, she has visited her recently widowed grandmother, and more. Seeing my wife's example of love for others has helped me to better understand how my employment is fulfilling Ephesians 4.28, which reads, "...let him labor, doing honest work with his own hands, so that he may have something to share with anyone in need." The Lord has blessed my labor with enough income that Becca does not have to work. As a result, she has a greater abundance of time to spend ministering to others.

verse 27 "She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness." Becca has dedicated herself solely to the purposes of being my wife, being Liam's mother, managing our home life, and ministering to others. There is hardly a hint of "taking up a hobby" or "finally getting Becca time." The self-less-ness of stay-at-home mothers is something that can hardly be overstated.

verse 28 "Her children rise up and call her blessed;" While Liam is not speaking coherently at this point, the ways in which he praises his mother are myriad. He is abundantly healthy, bubbling over with cheerfulness, and developing rapidly. All these are primarily testaments to the Lord's graciousness, and secondly are convincing evidences that my son has a mother who loves and cares for him well. I have made it my standard response to any compliment I am paid regarding Liam to say merely, "He has a great mother."

To conclude, my heart does trust in Rebecca, my bride (v.11); I know full well that she does me good, not harm (v.12). Together, she and I will face many snows without fear (v.21); we delight to consider the future that our Lord has for us (v.25).

It is the Lord who has allowed me to find a wife of such excellence and worth. To me, there is not a woman in my life whom Rebecca does not surpass.

2009-10-05T14:30:00.001-04:00

Saw this on the side of the road Friday and found it interesting on a number of levels. I've passed this sign for five years and never noticed it.

2009-09-24T19:23:00.004-04:00

UN Speech Falls on Unborn Ears

President Barack Obama addressed the General Assembly of the United Nations on Wednesday. It was his first such address, and was a speech that the President himself acknowledged was significant on many levels. Talking (not to mention screaming, blabbering, and driveling) heads of every medium and political persuasion have flooded all 113 cable news channels, each of the 2.1 million political websites, and both remaining newspapers with a glut of expert, fair-and-balanced opinions. If you are one to consider and draw conclusions from national and international events, it is likely that your opinion has been formed, reinforced, tied with a ribbon and placed on your living room mantle in the time since the President's address. Well, no--who am I kidding? It was probably formed before the speech was delivered.

With a straight face, I would request that the reader temporarily forsake as many political presuppositions as possible, and engage with me in what I find to be a worthy exercise. Consider with me, first at face value, selected portions of the President's speech. Then, below I will ask you to re-read them in light of a particular position on which President Obama has shown a clear history of consistency.

Below are word-for-word excerpts from the transcript of the speech (as presented at CNN.com). I have tried to precede each paragraph with enough contextualization so as to maintain the integrity of the President's message. I have changed certain words to boldface for reasons that will be apparent in my comments below.

Speaking in the context of the "Second Pillar of Our Future, the Pursuit of Peace":

"That effort [to end conflicts around the world] must begin with an unshakable determination that the murder of innocent men, women and children will never be tolerated. On this, no one can be -- there can be no dispute."

Speaking of children in Israel afraid to sleep at night because of the threat of ever-present violence:

"These are all God's children. And, after all the politics and all the posturing, this is about the right of every human being to live with dignity and security. That is a lesson embedded in the three great faiths that call one small slice of Earth the Holy Land. And that is why -- even though there will be setbacks, and false starts, and tough days -- I will not waiver in my pursuit of peace."

In the section discussing objectives that the President deems imperative to solidifying a global economy which advances opportunity for all people:

"And I pledge that America will always stand with those who stand up for their dignity and their rights, for the student who seeks to learn, the voter who demands to be heard, the innocent who longs to be free, the oppressed who yearns to be equal.

[one paragraph later]
But that does not weaken our commitment. It only reinforces it. There are basic principles that are universal. There are certain truths which are self-evident, and the United States of America will never waiver in our efforts to stand up for the right of people everywhere to determine their own destiny."

Taken at face value, the above statements would hardly spur even the most tongue-jerking "Political Consultant" to dispute or debate. There is nothing in the above text to suggest from which source or political party the words originate. There is nothing in the speech that almost any political figure wouldn't say given the same position, podium, and pre-written political verbage to recite.

But we do know the source of these words, and I think that it's worth considering some of the ideals behind the speaker. I think it will be beneficial for the reader to view the above boldfaced statements through the lens of President Obama's position on Abortion.

It is no secret that the President's voting record and Presidential campaign speeches identify him as strictly in favor of legalized abortion. There is, in fact, little room for discussion on the matter. A quick Google search of "Obama's position on abortion" led me to this itemized presentation of the President's own words and votes on the issue of abortion. The complete list can be found HERE . (Disclaimer: I cannot speak to the credibility or potential sensational nature of www.ontheissues.org as I've never used the website before)

Considering that the excerpts presented above were delivered by a President who has repeatedly voted in favor of legalized abortion (even partial birth), and has not confessed anything resembling a biblical perspective regarding the beginnings of human life, I find the boldfaced statements above to be at worst hypocritical and hollow at best.

Is the following a fair alteration to the President's promise to the General Assembly? "And I pledge that America will always stand with those who stand up for their dignity and their rights, for the student who seeks to learn, the voter who demands to be heard, the innocent who longs to be free...unless, of course, the innocent in question is an unwanted child still within his or her mother's womb."

How about this? "There are basic principles that are universal. There are certain truths which are self-evident, and the United States of America will never waiver in our efforts to stand up for the right of people everywhere to determine their own destiny. But let me clarify: The only "people" who have such a right are those whose life is not dependent on an umbilical cord for survival."

This? "These are all God's children. And, after all the politics and all the posturing, this is about the right of every human being to live with dignity and security. That is a lesson embedded in the three great faiths that call one small slice of Earth the Holy Land. At the risk offending the other great faiths, consider Mary, the Mother of Jesus, who 2,000 years ago exercised a woman's God-given right to choose."

But the quote that appears first in the speech is the one that I find most telling. It is a fine thing to claim that "the murder of innocent men, women, and children will never be tolerated." I hope that the United States never knows a time where her President would not stand by such a statement with actions as well as words.

An easy way to measure the effectiveness of a judicial system is to evaluate how it treats those who cannot speak for or defend themselves. Any politician who claims to have no tolerance for the murder of "innocent" human beings cannot at the same time approve of the current prevalence of abortion in this or any nation. The President's words to the UN in this regard are inconsistent with the biblical concept of justice.

Imagine that a house in your neighborhood was burning. Imagine that it burst into flames at midnight while all the residents were inside. Every able person would rush to respond to the fireman who proclaimed "We must rescue the family, regardless of how much of the house is lost!" The response personnel would be regarded heroes by all as they pulled men, women, and children from a house that otherwise would have been their death.

Yet how different we would regard the same leader in crisis if he had instead called out, "We must rescue the family in the burning house--except for the people trapped in the basement! Although it is possible to save them, we must only save those above ground!" He would unanimously be discredited as a barbarian and would probably be removed from the scene so as to not be a hindrance to the rescue.

Is it any different when a politician (of any nation or political party) boasts of the life-saving efforts and relief projects championed by his administration while remaining resolute in the belief that death should be a legal destiny for an unwanted unborn child?

I am more than a little grieved to be reminded that the billions of dollars which have been put to AIDS relief in recent years (a Bush initiative), have come from the government of the same nation that has perhaps never been more committed and invested in the murder of American children.

My interpretation of President Obama's message to the world: "Applaud us and love us for saving the family members on the first and second floors, but don't dare ask us to save those burning in the basement."

2009-09-15T17:42:00.002-04:00

Rosie's Records

We have recently inherited the record player and accompanying collection of records that have belonged to Becca's dad since his days in the U.S. Navy. To my knowledge, these were not itemized portions of my father-in-law's will, nor has he been diagnosed with terminal illness. It seemed to me that we were perhaps helping de-clutter his house, and Becca and I were thrilled to bring them home. As we loaded them into our Pilot, his only parting words were, "Don't ever sell them. I'll take them back if you don't want them anymore."

Each of the record sleeves, presently sorted, cataloged, and stored in milk crates below our stereo, brings with it a distinct odor of cigarette smoke; a price tag also clings to half a dozen of them. Of much greater significance are the memories that are amplified in my wife's mind when the needle lands softly on her father's old vinyl discs. While she can't conjure up stories tied to specific dates or past events, nearly each record refreshes a distinct tone or hue of the recollections of her childhood.

We have inherited more than just what others would put out at a yard sale. We have inherited more than music, a hobby, or antiques. We are, in receiving and playing this record collection, helping to preserve the soundtrack of two generations of Roszels.

Below find the complete catalog of the records that until recently belonged to Mr. Maurice Roszel:

Aerosmith - Get Your Wings
Air Supply - The One That You Love
Air Supply - Now and Forever
Air Supply - Hearts In Motion
The Alan Parsons Project - Eye In the Sky
The Alan Parsons Project - Ammonia Avenue
Ambrosia - Life Beyond L.A.
April Wine - First Glance
April Wine - Harder...Faster
April Wine - The Nature of the Beast
April Wine - Animal Grace
April Wine - Power Play
Bachman Turner Overdrive - Not Fragile
Bachman Turner Overdrive - Four Wheel Drive
Blues Brothers - Briefcase Full of Blues
Bob Seger - Night Moves
Bob Seger - Nine Tonight (Live)
Boston - Third Stage
Bruce Hornsby - The Way It Is
Bruce Springsteen - The River
Bruce Springsteen - Born In the USA
Bryan Adams - Cuts Like a Knife
Bryan Adams - Reckless
Chicago - VIII
Chicago - X
Chicago - Hot Streets (2)
Chicago - 16
City Boy - The Day the Earth Caught Fire
Dire Straits - Love Over Gold
Don Henley - I Can't Stand Still
Donnie Iris - Back On the Streets
Donnie Iris - King Cool
Donnie Iris - No Muss...No Fuss
Eagles - [self titled]
Eddie Money - [self titled]
Foreigner - [self titled]
Foreigner - Double Vision (2)
Golden Earring - Cut
Golden Earring - North East West South
Huey Lewis and the News - Sports
The J. Giles Band - Freeze Frame
Jackson Browne - The Pretender
Jackson Browne - Hold Out
Janis Joplin - Cheap Thrills
Jefferson Starship - Winds of Change
Jefferson Starship - Red Octopus
Jethro Tull - Thick As a Brick
Jethro Tull - Stand Up
Jim Croce - I Got a Name
Jim Croce - Photographs + Memories (Greatest Hits)
John Cougar - American Fool
John Cougar Mellencamp - Scarecrow
John Cougar Mellencamp - Big Daddy
Journey - Infinity
Journey - Departure
Journey - Escape
Kansas - Drastic Measures
The Kinks - Low Budget
LeRoux - Last Safe Place
Manfred Man - The Five Faces of
Meat Loaf - Dead Ringer
Meat Loaf - Midnight at the Lost and Found
Men at Work - Business as Usual
Men at Work - Cargo
The Moody Blues - A Question of Balance
The Moody Blues - Out of This World
The Moody Blues - Long Distance Voyager
Pat Benatar - Precious Time
Phil Collins - Hello, I Must Be Going!
Police - Ghost in the Machine
Quiet Riot - Metal Health
Ray Stevens - Even Stevens
REO Speedwagon - Hi Infidelity
REO Speedwagon - Wheels Are Turnin'
Roy Head - Same People
Sammy Hagar - [self titled]
Sammy Hagar- Street Machine
Steam - [self titled]
Styx - Lady
Stxy - I
Supertramp - Breakfast In America
Turtles - The Battle of the Bands
Uriah Heep - Salisbury
Uriah Heep - Look at Yourself
Uriah Heep - Demons + Wizards
Uriah Heep - The Magician's Birthday
Uriah Heep - January 1973 (Live)
Uriah Heep - Sweet Freedom
Uriah Heep - Wonderworld
Uriah Heep - Return to Fantasy
Uriah Heep - The Best of
Uriah Heep - High and Mighty
Uriah Heep - Innocent Victim
Uriah Heep - Firefly
Uriah Heep - Head First
Wishbone Ash - Number the Brave
Wishbone Ash - Hot Live
Yes - 90125
ZZ Top - Eliminator (2)

A. Wilbur Meshel - The Love Songs of
Barry Manilow - [self titled]
Barry Manilow - Tryin' to Get the Feeling
Barry Manilow - This One's For You
Bill Cosby - Himself
Buck Owens & His Buckaroos - If You Ain't Lovin'
Captain & Tennille - Love Will Keep Us Together
Dawn's New Ragtime Follies (f/t Tony Orlando) - Say, Has Anybody Seen My Gypsy Rose?
Dr. Goldfoot & the Girl Bombs - [movie soundtrack]
Dolly Parton - Greatest Hits
Eddy Arnold - The Best of
Glen Campbell - Greatest Hits
The Great Groups - [compilation]
High Voltage - Supercharged Hits of Today [compilation]
Joe Jackson - Night and Day
Jim Nabors - By Request
Kelly's Heroes - [movie soundtrack]
The Mariachi Brass! - Hats Off
Neil Diamond - Song Sung Blue
Perry Como - Golden Records
Original Rock N Roll Hits of the 60's Vol 16
Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer [soundtrack]
Sandler & Young - Love Stories
Snoopy's Christmas
Sound of Music [movie soundtrack]
The Super Record of Super Heroes
Telestar - Apollo 100 (20 Pop Classics)
Tom T. Hall - Greatest Hits
The War of the Worlds - Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of

2009-08-29T18:11:00.003-04:00

Why I Shoot Film

Most of what I know about photography I owe to Camp Susque. The same faded instructional posters and 30-minute lesson that hoards of Susque boys and girls have received was to my 12-year old self in the basement of Hemlock Hall what F = m(a) would later be to my teenage counterpart in high school Physics.

I had to look over my shoulder to be sure no grown-ups were in the room when the counselor took the lens completely off the body of the old Pentax and showed us how the shutter works. I had a hard time remembering how to say the word aperture, but it's function made perfect sense--it was just like an eye's iris! It was a blank-white-page-and-sharp-No. 2-pencil-kind of feeling when he said that we could take pictures in the dark if we just held the shutter open for a full minute. Finally, I almost uttered "Why didn't I think of that," when he taught us about the 1/3 rule for composition. There was treasure everywhere, and I only needed my eyesight and a roll of film to claim it as my own.

The statistician in me wonders how many rolls of film I have sent away for development in my life. The purist in me knows all the reasons why I still send film away for development and why I still don't own a digital camera. Below find a few:

- Film came first. Well, at least it's an older photographic process. I will never advocate a return to pinhole cameras, but I do generally impose a healthy sense of skepticism and hold my tongue whenever I hear someone try to convert me to anything new-er, quick-er, or more convenient. "Newer" is hardly ever "better" in my mind (this is probably related to at least one of the reasons that I never fully relax in a church with a "worship team").

- Film can be inconvenient. Shots can be destroyed and utterly lost if the back of the camera pops open. Prints can be ruined if someone walks into your darkroom. Granted, these things have never happened to me, but the danger is still ever-present and haunts my dreams.

- Shooting film is more difficult. There is far more pressure to capture a shot the first time when shooting with film. One can't delete and re-shoot a poor picture with film; the image permanently occupies a frame on a roll of 24 forever. No one with a digital camera is limited by the price of a roll of film. I consider it partially a matter of personal discipline to consciously engage in activities that are deliberately more difficult.

- Shooting film feels more artistic. Shooting color film feels kinda organic. Shooting black and white film makes one feel artsy. Shooting black and white film in Central Park makes one feel irresistible to really cute girls from dairy farms in Susquehanna County.

- Digital cameras have given otherwise poor photographers the illusion that they are good photographers. Even more pitiable, it has caused many people to believe that they enjoy taking pictures. Taking good pictures is not easy, nor should it be made easier for a mass of people whose only qualification is that they can afford to pay to remove another human element from their automated lives. New parents can take 72 pictures of their firstborn trying to walk, and come away with two interesting pictures of the event. This will not deter them from posting all 72 pictures on Facebook, however.

- Film produces better prints. Given two prints of an identical scene, I can always pick out which photograph was taken with a digital camera and which was film. I always prefer the film print.

- Empty film canisters make convenient cases for foam ear plugs.

- Waiting for film prints builds patience. I still love dropping a roll of film in the send-away bin at Walmart. I love writing "Wednesday after 10 a.m." on the slip and waiting until four days pass. I love stopping at Walmart on Wednesday after 10 a.m. to pick up my pictures. For the purposes of this essay, I will pretend that I don't mind how many times the clerk needs to check the same six drawers of picture envelopes before she finds my envelope (right where it should have been). I love paying for my pictures without knowing how they turned out. I love walking through the parking lot dying to know how they turned out. I love sitting in my truck for 15 minutes looking at every print at least three times and finally knowing how they turned out. I curse my mistakes and rejoice in my victories. I delight in Delayed Gratification.

- I liked Chemistry better than C++. I can't explain exactly how film exposed to light will produce an exact replica of an image (and with dead-on colors!), but I'm even farther from being able to understand how a computer can imitate the process.

I choose film because it's harder, it's less convenient, and it makes me wait. I reject digital because it's more automated, foolproof, and (I feel) sterile. The above does not necessarily sanctify me, but I do believe that it contributes to the process. Give film another try--it may make you a better person.

2009-07-21T20:37:00.005-04:00

Something to Share With Those In Need

The command to work is one of the Creation Ordinances, given to Adam before the Fall. The Lord said, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth." (Genesis 1.28) It is a command to all people of all times. Throughout Scripture, the fruit of a man's labor is repeatedly credited as a blessing from the Lord. "Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain." (Psalm 127.1) John the Baptist knew that "A person cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven." (John 3. 27)

Because of the Fall, God placed a curse on all Creation. Evidence of the effect of the fall on our Labor is obvious to the farmer, homemaker, artist, CFO, etc. No one disputes God's declaration that thorns and thistles, sweat and pain will accompany our work until we die. "By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, til you return to ground," (Genesis 3.19) are some of God's exact words to Adam.

Yet despite the curse--thorns, sweat, pain and all--there is incentive to work. There is great incentive even to work hard. Proverbs is full of admonishment/warnings relating to work. The good worker described in this book of wisdom is he who plans, is diligent, cautious, ambitious, etc. It is not a guarantee that one's work will be met with plentiful physical return, but one is not a fool to expect it. Understanding that it is the Lord who grants (and therefore also withholds) all things, our Savior declared that it is just a right for a workman to receive wages that are fitting to his efforts (Matthew 10:10, Luke 10:7).

There are at least three reasons we are to work. Simply stated, one is to provide for our own physical needs. The second is to provide for the physical needs of our family. These are reasons that do not need to be expounded upon, for even pagans do them (1 Timothy 5.8). A third reason we are to work is so that we will be better able to share with others. Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, taught those in the Ephesian church to "do honest work with [their] own hands, so that [they] may have something to share with those in need." (Ephesians 4.28) This aspect is one to be expanded upon for the purposes of this essay.

Who are "those in need" and what am I to share with them? How am I to share with them? There are myriad examples listed in Scripture of men/women/groups in need, and almost just as many examples of how their needs were met. A sample is below.

- In Luke 10 we read how the Good Samaritan provided for an the critical needs an enemy. He acted out of love toward a victim and was not coerced.
- The Israelite people were commanded to not reap their fields right to the edge, nor to glean what was left in the field after harvest. This was a way to provide for the poor and sojourner (Leviticus 19.9, 10)
- The Gentile churches took up an offering for the Jerusalem church, which was in poverty.
- In Matthew 5.4 (and Luke 6.30), Jesus commanded his disciples to "give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you."
- It is clear that it was the practice of the early church to care for widows. The office of Deacon was established primarily to care for the physical needs of the church of Jesus Christ.

I solicit the help of the reader to provide an instance in Scripture where a government was charged with the responsibility of caring for the poor, the widow, the orphan, or the sick (teaching the children is another topic for another day). The wisdom and foresight that the Lord gave Joseph helped the nation of Egypt to feed the "whole earth" (Genesis 41.56, 57), but at a price. It is presumed the nation of Egypt made obscene profits as a sole result of the leadership and shrewdness of a righteous man (it is also interesting to note that the line of the Messiah was preserved at the same time).

Is caring for those in need not clearly the responsibility of the family primarily, and believers secondarily? If the needs of the poor, widow, orphan, or sick are not being met by these two people groups, does the government even have a say?

There are many in this nation who are clamoring for the US government to take over the existing system by which the sick (and well) are cared for. If legislation is passed which dictates how much of the wages of which I am worthy are to be used to fund the medical care of my countrymen, I will be forced to pay it. We as believers are commanded to "be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God." (Romans 13.1) The government to which the Roman church was subject happened to burn Christians as human torches. If I must pay taxes to fund a socialized system of health care, I concede that there are far more difficult acts of submission. Furthermore, Jesus commanded the Jews of His day to "render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar, and to God the things that are God's." (Matthew 22, Mark 12, and Luke 20--listed three times, perhaps so as to quell any objection!)

My desire, simply stated, is for the US government to

1) Leave decisions regarding the payment for health care for in the hands of individual citizens,
2) Leave decisions regarding the amount of health care received in the hands of individual citizens,
3) Provide greater incentive for private citizens (both believers and pagans), to provide health care for those who cannot afford what is necessary for life,
4) Clean up a judicial system where frivolous lawsuits abound,
5) Stay out of the steroid issues in Major League Baseball (sorry, unrelated)

In short, I wish for Caesar to only ask for what is Caesar's, and to stay out of realms where God has not charged them with responsibility or authority.

2009-07-13T19:11:00.002-04:00

Welcome Home, Dadda!

What cares and troubles of a work day can withstand the melting power of this smile?

2009-06-28T16:38:00.003-04:00

Thoughts on Matthew

I have owned the New Testament on CD for several years. I've recently uploaded all 20 discs to my iPod and have been listening to them on my way to work. Because I am more a child of my generation that I am proud to admit, my attention capacities are limited. As such, I try to make it through three chapters twice during my morning commute. I've made it through Matthew and am halfway through Luke.

It has been interesting to hear the Word read without being able to see verse notations, paragraphs, or footnotes. I'm not ready to claim that it is a more elevated experience, but it has been easier and more enjoyable than originally anticipated.

I am also surprised at how many things have pricked my ear as "new" or noteworthy or puzzling. If a covenant child knows any part of the Scriptures, it's the Gospels, right? How can anything be "new" to a pastor's kid? I at all times have a pad of Post-It notes in my truck, and I have been writing questions/thoughts (dare I say, meditations?) as I listen. Below find the Matthew collection:

1) In Matthew 6, right after The Lord's Prayer, Our Savior says, "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive your trespasses." This is a hard saying.

2) In Matthew 8, it is recorded that Jesus marveled at the faith of the centurion. How can it be that Jesus, who is fully omniscient God, marveled? Doesn't marveling imply that He was surprised or that He heard a response that He did not expect? Is this a proof text for the humanity of Christ?

3) In Matthew 9, Jesus tells the Pharisees to "Go and find what this means..." He commands them to search God's Word for truth, and to discern the right and proper meaning. Jesus does not tell them to be more genuine or to seek a more earnest experience as a means to achieve a relationship with God. He commands them to read, study, and discern what pleases God based on the God's own written revelation. He commanded them to have right doctrine!

4) How are the words of Jesus about the fasting of His disciples related to His words about new/old wine and new/old wine skins? They are collected as one thought in Matthew 9. Is it an old covenant/new covenant thing?

5) Is the fact that Jesus was accused on being a drunkard (Matthew 11) a proof text for the validity of drinking alcohol?

6) How am I to reconcile that Jesus was crucified on a Friday and rose on a Sunday with what Jesus says in Matthew 12: "For just as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth?" I only count two nights, no?

7) In Matthew 19, Jesus says "...in the new world, when the Son of Man will sit on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel." Are we to know for whom the twelve thrones in heaven are reserved? If 'those who have followed me' is correctly interpreted as the Disciples/Apostles, is it not also widely held that Judas will not be in heaven? Who then is the twelfth? Paul was appointed an apostle, but so also was Matthias--that makes thirteen.

8) Why does the Roman Catholic church allow its members to call priests "Father?" Our Lord insisted that the disciples not call any man on earth their father, and forbade letting others call them teacher in Matthew 23.

9) In Matthew 24, Jesus talks about the signs of the end of the age. In verse 24 he says "For false christs and false prophets will arise and perform great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray, if possible, even the elect." To me, this verse confirms both the doctrines of Election and of Perseverence of the Saints (or the "U" and "P" of TULIP, for those of you keeping score at home). Not only does Jesus refer to his people as the elect (chosen), he says it is impossible for them to lose their salvation (even in the "end times")!

2009-05-21T18:28:00.001-04:00

Listen, My Son
Installment 1: What Every Man Should Be/Know

My Son, as you live, move, and have your being as a boy in the modern world, you will no doubt come across those who will tell you what it is that A Man must be or know. There will be those who grant these opinions to you without solicitation--the majority of these sources should be immediately disregarded (anyone in a commercial, any scarcely-dressed woman who is not your wife, anyone whom you do not regard to be A Man himself). Others (The Honorable Mr. John Wesley Wallace, for one) will perhaps seem to broadside you with an axiom out of nowhere or perhaps more often than you desire. Deftly delivered or bold and bludgeoning, heed Proverbs 15.32 - "Whoever ignores instruction despises himself, but he who listens to reproof gains intelligence." My Son, a few things come to mind as you consider what A Man must be or know:

1. A Man Does Not Need to Know How to Grill

Above is perhaps the single greatest misconception about manhood in the culture into which you have been born. It is not mine to know how Grilling came to be regarded as one of the defining characteristics of a modern man, yet men, women, and children will speak of grilling as if it were a great American Sacrament.

Be on your guard! Home improvement warehouses will summon you to bow down in covetous idolatry at the stainless steel shrines to smoked sausage and lamb shanks in their stores. Be wary! The host of many a backyard picnic will boast and brag about his 17-step procedure for producing perfect ribs (which may not be distinguishable from any others you have tasted). Other men will speak of unwritten laws regarding touching another man's grill utensils or flipping fillets on a grill not your own. Such binding of your Man Conscience is unnecessary at best and childish and silly at worst.

Join your father next to his Weber as he grills if you want. Debate your friends about the merits of gas grilling vs. charcoal grilling if you must. Stock your pantry with an arsenal of marinades, rubs, and utensils. Work at it, experiment, and perfect the practice of cooking excellent meat if you feel so moved. Just please remember that it's ultimately nothing more than cooking meat.

2009-04-14T20:32:00.003-04:00

Our Firstborn, A Son

To quote Aron Gahagan, who was quoting Moses, who was quoting Eve...

"I have gotten a manchild with the help of the Lord!"

2009-04-04T21:37:00.003-04:00

Of Monkeys on Keyboards

I was first coerced into filling out a bracket for the NCAA Tournament when I was a freshman in high school. Each of the members of our baseball team--even me the third string right fielder--put in $10, and so began my practice of once yearly petty gambling. Since 1996 I have entered at least one pool a year, some years as many as three. I have never won.

UNTIL THIS YEAR!!!

By picking a 100% perfect Elite Eight, 75% correct Final Four, and 50% correct Championship Game, I have won $110 of my co-workers' money and $5 each from my brother, wife, and sister-in-law. I can now sheepishly say that my career ledger sheet is almost back in the black.

2009-03-23T21:22:00.000-04:00

Books of 2008

The circle that is my Ideal Self is always reading, paging through one stack of classics after another (and don't even get me started on Ideal Self's comprehension!). The circle that is my Actual Self works a full-time job, has a pregnant wife at home, and--worst of all--subscribes to Netflix. The circles of Ideal and Actual do not overlap as much as I'd like when considering book reading, yet when I compiled the list of books that I read in the year past, I was pleasantly surprised. List and comments below:

God of Promise, Introducing Covenant Theology by Michael Horton - One of two books that I read for the Men's Reading Group that met in January 2008, and my first Horton book. "Covenant theology" is a phrase that I hear a lot of, but has never been something about which I could speak with great confidence (the lines would blur between covenant of grace/covenant of works, Moseic covenant/Abrahamic covenant). I was grateful for Horton's clear introduction of the topic, and I am glad to have this book on my shelf as a future resource.

God and Evil, The Problem Solved by Gordon H. Clark - This was also read (at the suggestion of Gerry Cruz) for the January 2008 Men's Reading Group, and represents the first book I've read that was written in a formal philosophical style. I was kept busy looking up the meaning of phrases/words such as positive causality, surreptitious, workmanship of suasion, and necessity of compulsion, but found it well worth the effort. I was moved to the point of verbal exclamation a few times, struck by the boldness and deftness with which Clark dissected the issues. The book concludes with the same firepower as a July 4th fireworks display--but I remember being struck with how simple Clark's points were. It thoroughly excites me to read an expression of a grand, magnificent concept presented in a succinct, lucid manner. Another excellent topical resource.

Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck - I posted my thoughts on this book in June. You can dust off the post HERE.

Amusing Ourselves to Death by Neil Postman - Joel turned me on to Postman when he shared his "Rules for Living the Rest of Your Life" lecture, and I now count him on my list of not so small man-crushes. Postman cries out like a prophet in the wilderness about the "evils" of television, although the book does not represent a mere book-lover's rant against all things modern. Instead, Postman identifies the ways in which television has disintegrated the spheres of modern journalism, religion, political discourse, and entertainment, among others. The conclusions he draws are sometimes simple yet profound when one considers how obvious they should be to the common man. It is the pervasiveness of television's effect that is perhaps the most frightening to me. Do not read this book if you value cable television. Or, better yet, read this book if you think that you value cable television.

The Sovereignty of God by A.W. Pink - A most valliant defense of a most essential doctrine of Scripture, and the first time I've read something of Pink. Sections of his work read with a fury of assertion that I've not found in another author--he was a thrill to read. So often his arguments are not comprised of more than "verse A says this...verse B says this...therefore verse C cannot be interpreted thus." Yet the confidence a reader has in being shown the clarity of Scripture examined with Scripture creates a sense of a firm footing that is not easily lost. I can't imagine a more thorough book on the topic.

Won't Let You Go Unless You Bless Me by Andree Seu - I have sometimes fancied myself a clever writer, but have indulged in these delusions far less often since reading Seu's work. She is a surgeon, I a hack. This, her first collection of essays in book form, has been my toilet reading for over a year. She writes with the observational wisdom that I wish I had in greater abundance. She declares things to be so, things that I only muse over and about which I have difficulty drawing conclusions. She is an expert pen weilder.

The Peacemaker by Ken Sande - CJ Mahaney is quoted on the back cover as saying "There is no need for another book on this topic to be written, now that this volume exists." While far from well-read in literature from the Counseling shelf, I can't imagine a more thorough, Scripture-saturated approach to the topic of forgiveness and reconciliation. This book was assigned reading in my Engineering Ethics class (thanks, Dr. Gidley). I've kept it under the driver's seat in my truck, and I pull it out whenever I have down time on a job site. It took me almost three years to finish the book this way, but it was easy to pick up and put down. There is not a relationship in your life that will not be enriched as a result of reading and applying the wisdom of this book.

Memoirs of an Ordinary Pastor by D.A. Carson - D.A. Carson's stated purpose in compiling "The Life and Reflections" of his father, Tom, was to pen a "modest attempt to let the voice and ministry of one ordinary pastor be heard, for such servants have much to teach us." Memoirs is a home run of an attempt. To bring the life work of a modest, faithful minister under such focused yet intensely loving and personal attention causes one to marvel as one does admiring a streetlight (as if streetlights were ever admired). This book accurately potrays the immense weight that "ordinary" pastors bear on a weekly/monthly/yearly basis. Times of doubt and fits of maddening introspection, seasons of new harvest and faint shimmers of progress. The effects of all the above are presented accurately throughout Carson's loving account of his father's ministry and should cause anyone to have a greater appreciation and reverence for those called to the pastor Christ's church.

Not Even a Hint by Joshua Harris - I have read this slowly over the course of the past 18 months, picking it up when most in need (but not as often as I should). This is THE book on the topic of lust/sexual purity that I would recommend a father to give his son. This is THE book that I would urge a young brother to read with honesty and in order to better equip himself to fight his old man in the battle for purity.

The Inimitable Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse - Becca, Jonny Wilson, and I listened to this on cassette tape while we drove to Virginia Beach in August. It was my first experience with a book-on-tape, and an enjoyable one. Wodehouse is a master at weaving ridiculous scenarios and is as deft a composer of conversational humor as I've ever read. At the recommendation of Nanx Swift, Becca and I Netflixed the "Jeeves and Wooster" BBC television series. They feature the guy from House as Bertie Wooster, and are a more than fair presentation of the books.

2009-03-02T15:56:00.002-05:00

How Long, O Simple Ones, Will You Love Being Simple?

It has been difficult for me to settle on how I feel about the "Self-Checkout" lanes that I see at Shop Rite, Wal*Mart, Home Depot, and the like. The poet in me weeps into his beard at the sight of shoppers rejoicing over one more way to eliminate interaction with a fellow human being. My poetical side always presents the deeper, more moving arguments, but my rational, practical self reminds me that poets are not known for their accomplishments, and even less for steady employment. It is usually in a state of deep emotional anguish that I scan my few items and curse under my breath at the screen when the sensors "think" that I've not placed one of them in the bag. I would feel guilty enough to avoid eye contact with the human cashiers as I leave, but most of the zit-faced cashiers at our Shop Rite are too busy talking with their neighbour to notice me even when I'm in their aisle.

There is another new item in Shop Rite about which I have no trouble forming an opinion: the "Checkout Aisle TV's." Do you have them at your grocery store? I won't even ask you to comment with your thoughts on them because I know that you must hate them. How can you not?

The "Checkout Aisle TV's" (CAT's) are positioned above the rack of TV Guides and Soap Opera Weekly's that line the conveyor belt approaching the register. They would perhaps be no more than an illuminated version of the tabloids and women's magazines that stand as sentries at each checkout aisle--just another reason to keep one's eyes pointed toward the straight and narrow--but they play sound! These CAT's play a loop of meaningless, hit-and-run-style advertisements in full volume that cannot be tuned out. I suppose that there are those who are delighted that the store has given them "something to keep their mind occupied" while they wait in line, but I don't like those kinds of people, and it would be for their good if these CAT's never existed.

To condense my rant into one sentence, I hate "Checkout Aisle TV's" because they represent one more way in which Everyman is prevented from being alone with his thoughts. Like the character Guy Montag trying to memorize a Bible verse while the subway radio "vomited" upon him the jingle for Denham's Dental Detergent in Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, I feel as if I am being driven mad at the intrusion of the CAT's into my mindspace. What dark humor is required to laugh at the thought that if Wisdom were to be found in my grocery store, she would now literally need to "raise her voice in the marketplace (Proverbs 1.20)!"

In Fahrenheit 451, the character that first helps Guy to understand why he feels disconnected from his culture is a girl, Clarisse McClellan. Clarisse is regarded a threat to her classmates and, ultimately, society because of her "antisocial tendencies." She walks as a pedestrian instead of racing in jet cars, she spends nights outside alone instead of in the parlor surrounded by a three-walled television over which one could not hold a conversation. Guy's character was shocked and invigorated to listen to her simple observations about the Man in the Moon (because he had never looked), the smell of old leaves ("like cinnamon," she said), or the morning dew (which he was ashamed to have never noticed).

The characters in the books that I read to which I am most readily drawn are the antisocial ones, the ones that are marked as unusual by the amount of time that they spend alone. [Let me note that Boo Radley is certainly an exception to the above statement]

Clarisse is a great example in Fahrenheit 451, and the Savage character in Aldous Huxley's Brave New World is another, albeit a more tragic, example. The Savage is brought from his reservation to live in Civilization where man is conditioned from conception to exist without free will, negative emotion, or independent thought. The clash is immediate and unable to be overcome. He finds himself before one of the Controllers before his exile, where is made privy to the reasons why man is kept under such control. An excerpt is below:

The Savage interrupted him. "But isn't it natural to feel there's a God?"

"You might as well ask if it's natural to do up one's trousers with zippers," said the Controller sarcastically. "You remind me of another of those old fellows called Bradley. He defined philosophy as the finding of bad reason for what one believes by instinct. As if one believed anything by instinct! One believes things because one has been conditioned to believe them...People believe in God because they've been conditioned to believe in God."

"But all the same," insisted the Savage, "it is natural to believe in God when you're alone--quite alone, in the night, thinking about death."

"But people are never alone now," said the Controller. "We make them hate solitude; and we arrange their lives so that it's almost impossible for them to ever have it."

The above line pierced my heart as I read Brave New World recently (for the first time). What little time we as a generation spend alone, not just alone in Creation under a bowl of stars or next to a tree older than our grandfather, but merely alone with our own thoughts. One cannot use Romans 1 to teach that men would become disciples of Jesus Christ if only they went camping more often--we know that a claim of our Saviour's life, death, and resurrection to cover one's sin is the only means by which one may be saved. But how many men are kept from even considering the state of their lives or the state of their souls by the din of the maddening crowd around them!

I will not put on airs to present myself as a man of thoughts more profound or meaningful than my neighbor, but I can say that I do consider time alone a precious commodity. What's more, I feel violated when moments primed for contemplation are stolen by some stooge in a chef's hat peddling his wares as I wait in line at the grocery store. The "Self-Checkout" line may be a bleak commentary on our culture as it keeps us suckling at the breast of Convenience...but at least it only speaks when spoken to.

2009-02-21T12:44:00.003-05:00

Considering the Alternatives

Work has been especially demanding lately. Our company has received a recent influx of work from our most demanding client. I spent the first three weeks of 2009 drilling a site in eastern Long Island and did not return home two or three nights a week. The past four weeks have found me drilling a challenging site in Franklin, Sussex County, New Jersey. Our proposal provided for approximately nine weeks (45 days) of field work and three weeks of analysis/design, after which the report would be issued. Our dear client approved the proposal, but demanded that they have the report in hand after four weeks!

As such, my darling wife was in many ways without a husband for four weeks. I worked Monday through Friday and four consecutive Saturdays during the course of the project (the last Saturday was a 15 hour day on Valentine's Day). It was not uncommon for me to be away from home for 65-75 hours a week, coming home to a wife who is greater and greater with child every day.

How easy it could have been to despair or to complain. How 'justified' we could have been in grumbling about the difficulties and suffering home life that were ours for a month. Alas, I cannot report that Becca and I were free of the above during the course of the Franklin job. We needed to confront each other daily about attitudes of ingratitude that we were observing in each other.

What most helped us to stave off such spirits of sin was to consider what the Lord had brought into our lives, and--perhaps more importantly--to consider the alternative. The simplest and most convicting exercise in Considering the Alternatives for me was just to listen to the radio news station on my way to and from work. Each day brought reports of more layoffs, bankruptcies, and/or mortgage foreclosures. The reality of our nation's fragile economy was undeniable. How could I complain about "too much work" when so many in my church and family were living daily life with a sword hanging over their heads regarding their job and their house? How could I grumble about a lack of a home life, when at least the payment of my mortgage was assured?

Becca and I have found that sometimes it is difficult to "give thanks in all circumstances" (1 Thess 5:18) by merely trying to put on a brave face. Yet it can seem disingenuous to try to meet every difficulty with some lame alternative like "at least I have my health" or "it could be worse." It is a worthwhile exercise to regularly reflect not only on the particular lines that have fallen for you, but also the lines that have not fallen.

I have already noted that I found it humbling to consider how my company has been scrambling to complete our scope of work while so many other companies are facing dire ledger sheets marked in red. Other truths upon which Becca and I forced ourselves to reflect were the following: 1) By working so many Saturdays, I made several hundred dollars in overtime pay that I otherwise would not have. 2) It was difficult to be away from home for so many hours out of the day, but at least I was spending every night in my own bed next to my wife. 3) The pregnancy with which the Lord has blessed us has not been one to cause me to worry about leaving Becca alone while I am at work. 4) By driving to job sites so much this year, my Travel Expense checks have been so big that, combined with the overtime pay, we have been able to put the last four of Becca's paychecks directly into savings! 5) By chasing two/three drill rigs around a snow-covered hillside for a month, I lost all my winter fat (all three pounds of it), and I am in lean, sinewy mid-summer form.

In discussing the above with my brother, Joel, he pointed me to the third chapter in Habakuk. In verses 17 and 18, the prophet declares,

17 Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, 18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.

I am reminded that even if I could not find a "silver lining" in a situation, I am nonetheless able and compelled to praise the Lord for purchasing my soul from the depths of hell. I will perhaps find myself in circumstances for which I cannot give thanks. Yet as a redeemed child of God, my cup does not ever but run over.

2009-01-15T18:30:00.006-05:00

This Also Is Vanity

I have been working in Long Island a lot lately. The Holland Tunnel is my Hudson River crossing of choice, and I take the Williamsburg Bridge from Manhattan to Brooklyn as I drive east onto the Island. Both the trip into the city as well as the return jaunt afford me several break taking views of The City--one of the best ways to appreciate a city, in my opinion, is to view it from its bridges.

The above picture is the Manhattan skyline as viewed from the unheralded Kosciusko Bridge. It's not as well framed as I would have liked, but I captured the shot while driving. You can reference this screen shot from Google Maps in order to be able to get your bearings.

For as many years as I have been traveling to and from Long Island, the juxtaposition of the cemetery and the skyline has powerfully struck me. The view of the two on this particularly dreary day added to the aura of what I think is a poignant example of "wisdom calling out in the streets." (Proverbs 1.20)

Many are those who are proud of New York City, many are those who boast of its size, its importance, and its status among the cities of the world. Some of the greatest men in recent history are inseparably linked to New York City, and it is no exaggeration to declare that decisions of immeasurable consequence are settled behind the glass walls of the skyline towers each day and night.

Yet in the foreground of the picture, mirroring--mocking, almost?--the grandeur of the skyline, point innumerable gravestones and monuments in the cemetery. The memorials of the dead from generations past rise from the cold earth in silence and solemnity. Whose eye is caught by obelisks of marble and granite when there are majestic towers of steel, glass, and high strength concrete at which to gawk? Who has time or desire to dwell on the brevity of one's own existence when the pull to worship and praise the accomplishments of men is so strong?

The Books of Wisdom are ripe with myriad references to the mortality of Man, but never do we find gloom for gloom's sake. In each case, the reader is to gain a renewed (wiser, more godly) perspective by considering his place in relation to an eternal God. In Psalm 90, Moses prays that the Lord would "teach [him] to number [his] days aright, that [he] may get a heart of wisdom" after reflecting on the finite and fleeting number of his own days.

Moses sings, "You return man to dust and say, Return, O children of man!...You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning: in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers." (Psalm 90.2-6)

A few other examples:

Psalm 103.14-18 For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more.

Ecclesiastes 1.3,4 What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun? A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever.

Ecclesiastes 2.4-11 I made great works. I built houses and planted vineyards for myself. I made myself gardens and parks, and planted in them all kinds of fruit trees. I made myself pools from which to water the forest of growing trees... So I became great and surpassed all who were before me in Jerusalem... And whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I kept my heart from no pleasure, for my heart found pleasure in all my toil, and this was my reward for all my toil. Then I considered all that my hands had done and the toil I had expended in doing it, and behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun.

Ecclesiastes 2.18, 19 I hated all my toil in which I toil under the sun, seeing that I must leave it to the man who will come after me, and who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will be master of all for which I toiled and used my wisdom under the sun. This also is vanity.

2008-11-24T22:14:00.004-05:00

Psalm 139

Below are our latest ultrasound photos (19 weeks 4 days). The 45 minutes spent with the tech were among the most enjoyable of my life. It was with wonder that I considered in what a privileged minority Becca and I can consider ourselves--the ability to "see" our child in the womb! How many trillions of husbands and wives through history never even dared to dream of something as now routine as an ultrasound.
The greater sense of wonder came as the words of Psalm 139 filled my mind tonight in the glow of the ultrasound monitor:

"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are you works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none of them." -Psalm 139.13-16
What a sense of wonder and awe is a father's to peer behind the curtain at the masterpiece that God is crafting. The same God at which David marveled is the same unchanged God at which my own father marvels. I can only hope that the gracious Creator is even now instilling a sense of the fear of God in my unborn son greater than that of his fathers.

"How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!" Psalm 139.17

2008-11-12T17:57:00.002-05:00

200,000 Miles

On my way home from work on Hallow's Eve, I reached 200,000 miles on my truck's odometer. Pictures from the milestone are below. You may remember my post from when I hit 172,777 miles in November 2007. [An update to my geographical extents: the farthest north that I have travelled in my truck is now Henrietta, NY.]

2008-11-06T19:46:00.003-05:00

Encore Pumpkin

Our church Bible study meets on the 2nd and 4th Wednesday of every month. Because we are such a hip, cool (emergent?) small group, we decided to meet for social get-togethers during months that have five Wednesdays. Megan and Aron hosted this past months' Fifth Wednesday.

Below is the pumpkin that Becca and I collaborated on. Guess who copped out of cutting the complex stars.

The best part of Trick-or-Treat this year was the myriad compliments that parents and kids paid Becca as she answered the door. We (read: mostly me) are striving to lock up the reputation as House With the Awesome Carved Pumpkins every year.

P.S. Harass Aron at his blog to get him to post pictures of all the small group pumpkins.

2008-10-23T17:00:00.008-04:00

Pumpkin Carving Date Nite 2008

Included below are results from our pumpkin carving date nite. Click each picture to enlarge it.

Becca's is the classic Jack-O-Lantern face. Mine is the free-hand Sherlock Holmes sihouette (I look down on those who use templates/stencils).

Becca's BEFORE/AFTER:

Scott's BEFORE (35.79 pounds!)/AFTER:

2008-10-21T17:20:00.004-04:00

New Yankee Stadium Update

For those of you who haven't frequented the Bronx lately, I took some pictures this week of the exterior of the new Yankee Stadium. eNjoY.

2008-10-20T18:05:00.009-04:00

Counting Walnuts

With the purchase of our house its previous owners threw in a black walnut tree at no extra cost. It is a tree that stands over 30 feet tall in our backyard and has a trunk almost 24 inches in diameter. According to the property survey, the tree is ours because its trunk is contained on our side of the property line (barely)...and that couldn't make me happier.

Our majestic black walnut tree sprouts with leaves later in the spring than most trees, but blankets 2/3 of our backyard with shade throughout the summer. It starts to drop walnuts in late August, and is completely bare by mid-October (I don't touch a rake after the third week in October). I love our beautiful black walnut tree and, sadly, I am not completely joking when I say that I have developed a bit of a Jonah-style crush on our tree (see Jonah 4). I did not plant the tree and in my 1.5 years serving as Head Groundskeeper at 30 Broad Street I have done nothing to cause the tree to improve in any way--I haven't even named it (Editor's note: it is an unproven fact that the life expectancy of a car, machine, or other large, complex, inanimate object increases dramatically if that object is referred to by name. For example, Becca and I, not wanting to take the risk of having our boiler unexpectedly burst into flames, have named him Brutus the Boiler). I merely pick up walnuts before I mow, spend a few hours raking leaves in October, and I am otherwise hands-off when it comes to the tree.

But about those walnuts...

I wish I had an excuse better than 'curiosity,' but I don't. I wish I could say that I counted each and every walnut that fell from our tree this year because I want to be able to document and track the health of the tree by comparing walnut crops from year to year. I wish I was following through on a promise to a deceased relative, or because I lost a bet, but no. I counted every single walnut that fell inside the bounds of our fences this year for no other reason than BECAUSE I WANTED TO.

Our town collects vegetative waste every Tuesday, so as I gathered the walnuts, I loaded them into my garbage pails in increments of 500. The number 500 was chosen both as an aid to help me remember, but also because 500 walnuts is nearing the maximum amount of walnuts that can be dragged across a lawn by a 175 white boy.

Of course, after I had counted a few hundred, I was bound to keep counting by the same powerful internal forces that won't let me start reading a new book until I have finished reading the book that I am currently in. It's the same force that made me cry and pout as a 13-year old boy when my parents decided to take the family away from home over Thanksgiving weekend instead of hosting Thanksgiving at our house. It's the force that makes it so that when I start in motion on a task, it takes a significant effort to get me to divert from that path.

Any walnuts that fall in August usually only come loose because of a strong storm. There is a gradual progression in size to the walnuts that fall naturally throughout September and October, from the size of golf balls to the size of racquetballs. From what my eyes can tell, my tree is officially bare for the year, and I have reached my total for the year 2008.

In 2008, I collected a total of 4,773 walnuts which fell from my black walnut tree. Keep in mind that approximately 35% of the tree's branches reach over into the backyards of my neighbors. There were probably at least another 1,500 walnuts that fell outside of our fences.

The sum of the story is that our tree produced a lot of walnuts. The moral of the story is that I am weird and counted each and every walnut. The lesson learned is that I probably could have read a book or two in the time wasted by dragging out my autumn yardwork by counting walnuts one at a time.

4,017...

4,018...

4,019...

2008-10-16T16:46:00.002-04:00

My Misty Assests

From my paychecks between July 1, 2008 and September 30, 2008, I made contributions to my 401(k) Plan totaling $830.76.

During that same time period, my balance suffered a loss of $967.80 (11.5% of my previous account balance).

I am reminded of the warning in the book of James, which reads:

"Come now, you who say, Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit, yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that. As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil." - James 4.13-16

2008-10-07T19:21:00.002-04:00

On Being a Husband to a Pregnant Wife (Installment 2)

When Becca and I first learned that a fertilized egg named Harold had set up shop in Becca's womb, it was all we could do to keep from blurting the news to the whole world immediately. A baby had been the desire of Becca's heart (Psalm 37:4) for many many months, and we were overjoyed to be able to share what the Lord had done for us (Luke 8:39) with anyone who would listen. I set up a hierarchical list of people with whom we wanted to share the news before it became "public knowledge," and we started making phone calls and house calls to friends. I eventually announced our pregnancy at the church picnic, we launched Becca's blog, and the world officially became in the know.

Without fail, everyone's first reaction was one of excitement, smiles, hugs, and kisses. Most everyone goes through the same set of questions: How far along are you? When's it due? Are you going to find out the gender? Are you nauseous? These are all fine and good. It's a blessing to be able to share such joy with those you love, and an equal blessing to be able to see their reaction.

What has been extremely disappointing has been what people often say after they are finished asking the first set of questions. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I have observed that many people feel the need to try to discourage us. I believe that it’s generally unintentional, but it happens often enough to note the trend and to not like it.

Some of the most common examples:

Oh, you’ll hate cloth diapers. We tried them with our first and couldn’t last more than a month. You’ll get sick of it real fast--just wait and see!

Have you started to gain weight yet? Get ready for blimp mode-you’re gonna get so fat!

Oh, have fun trying to breast feed. Your nipples are gonna be sore for months.

Enjoy your last few months of alone time. You won’t be able to leave your house for the next 10 years without a metric ton of baby stuff, and car seats, and diaper bags, and toys, and…and…and…

People also share unsolicited horror stories about labor, or not being able to breast feed, or not losing weight after delivery. People project their own worst-case scenario onto us and our pregnancy and all but assure us that we are doomed to share in all the terrible aspects of their first pregnancy.

I don’t understand what motivates people to share what they do. I don’t understand what causes someone to brush through seeming obligatory responses of I’m excited for you and You’re going to be great parents and skip ahead to the doom and gloom stories that everyone seems to have queued up just for us. Does anyone care to edify and encourage new parents? Even if every negative word were absolutely certain to come to pass, would it be necessary to share it?

When a friend pulls into your driveway with his new car, do you feel obligated to remind him of how much his car has depreciated since he bought it or try to get him to think about when he will have to junk it? No—you open the door, take a deep breath of the new car smell, and probably don’t even think about declining his offer for a ride around the block.

I am not foolish enough to think that Becca and I are fully equipped to be perfect parents at the moment. There are myriad things that I am sure can only be learned on the fly, as we go through our first pregnancy and become parents for the first time. But as we have done throughout our marriage, we are eager to glean wisdom from those who have trod the road on which we find ourselves presently traveling. We love asking questions of trusted friends and family, and generally receive counsel well.

We are not foolish enough to expect a flawless pregnancy, a Nicole Eskow-type labor experience, and a dreamy life as parents of a newborn. We understand that breast feeding doesn’t agree with everyone. We know full well that cloth diapers will be more of a challenge than disposable. We know that a baby will change our life forever. We don’t know everything, but we know enough.

I just wish that more people would respond like Walter Stuber, who heartily shook my hand and beamed as he said You're gonna love being a father! It's wonderful! Better yet was the reaction of his daughter, Deb Stuber, whose reaction reads as follows:

It will be so wonderful to watch him/her grow! The Creator of life is amazing. I can't think of anything that has affected our life more than experiencing childbirth! You will see your Creator in a new light.

How refreshing!

2008-09-27T17:07:00.004-04:00

Yankee Stadium Memories

The first game that I saw at Yankee Stadium was a Saturday afternoon game in April 1993. I was not even 11 years old. That Yankees team, about whom I knew almost nothing, lost to the Texas Rangers 9-0, about whom I knew even less. I attended the game with our church youth group--my first time participating in a junior high event--and sat next to Paul Wallace. This is of note because I was only a few years removed from being convinced that Paul was the starting catcher for the New York Yankees (a story for another day).

The game was not a memorable one for the home team. Jim Abbott (the one-handed pitcher) gave up six runs and didn't escape the sixth inning. I remember Margaret Wallace griping that we saw nine runs scored in the game without one of them being the result of a home run. I have vivid memories of the crowd boo-ing Jose Canseco every time he came to bat, without knowing the reason myself. Ignorance, of course, did not stop me from joining the fun and boo-ing a professional athlete for the first time in my young life (It helped that Paul Wallace did it, too). When in the Bronx...

That was by far the least informed and the least passionate state in which I ever occupied a seat at Yankee Stadium. Since taking in that first game as an impartial boy who recognized players' names only because of his collection of baseball cards, I have attended more games than I can count. Each visit has brought with it an increased sense of awe and a greater appreciation for the history that The Stadium possesses.

In his blog, Joel has amply captured a sense of what it has meant for a Pearce boy to have spent a childhood as a Yankee fan living an hour from Yankee Stadium. Many of his great memories at The Stadium are my great memories. I, too, remember the thrill that was Daryl Strawberry's 3-Home Run Game and the letdown that was Roger Clemens losing to the A's in Game 4 of the 2000 ALDS (the only playoff game I ever attended). The greatest individual performance I witnessed at The Stadium was this summer when Kyle Kennedy, Becca, and Kyle's brother, Tyler, watched Johnny Damon go 6-for-6 and deliver the game-winning hit in the bottom of the 9th!

Perhaps my favourite Yankee Stadium moment came this summer when Ben Eskow obtained four tickets to the May 23, 2008 game against the Seattle Mariners. He had told me of the ticket opportunity weeks in advance (a rarity when procuring tickets from Ben) and I had cleared my schedule. Greg Gentry and Mr. Eskow, Sr. were also invited but had to back out just hours before the game. Ben and I were left with two extra tickets and no takers from the usual crew.

After a few phone calls, Ben and I were presented with the opportunity to bring the elder Mr. and Mrs. Cruz to the game. Mr. and Mrs. Cruz are elderly and Mr. Cruz is confined to only brief trips away from the home. To bring them to the game was going to require more than a moderate amount of coordination--but hardly a more dedicated pair of Yankee fans could one ever expect to meet! I can speak to the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Cruz have watched nearly every inning of every Yankee game for the past few years.

Passing time during the drive to the Stadium, I asked Mr. Cruz how many times he had been to Yankee Stadium. When he answered that he had not been "for many years," I was thinking that perhaps he meant four or five years. After all, they have lived in New Jersey for at least that long, and, as I mentioned, he is not a casual fan. To my wonder and excitement, Mr. Cruz told us that the first and only other time that he had been in Yankee Stadium none other than Mickey Mantle played in the game! As you can imagine, this was all the priming that the pump required, as I was instantly starry-eyed and drinking up every detail of the memories of that game that gushed from Mr. Cruz.

The Yankees beat up on the Mariners that night--winning 13-2 and even scoring eight runs in an inning--but the highlight of the night was seeing the reaction of the Cruzes to each pitch, at-bat, or play in the field. They cheered loudest for their favourite players (the Puerto Rican players on the team), and without using hyperbole, I do believe that they couldn't have had a better experience.

But the same could be said about my night. I had been looking forward to seeing the game with Greg and Mr. Eskow--two of my favourite sports fans--hanging out three rows back from the left field foul line, heckling Ichiro, and pretending to know more than each other about what was best for the Yankees to do with Joba. Instead Ben and I spent at least a fair portion of the night looking after the Cruzes, arranging for a wheelchair, and helping Mrs. Cruz to and from her seat--but what an unexpected blessing! It was a thrill to see what a joy it was for them to watch their beloved Yankees in their home park. Whatever inconsequential sacrifices we made by limiting our freedom for a time were more than rewarded by serving our new favourite Yankee fans.

The instant bond formed with the Cruzes that night is one of the greatest intangibles that Yankee Stadium was able to offer to anyone--Yankee fan or otherwise. The history that The Stadium possessed is unequalled by that of any other sports arena in America and is almost worth the price of admission. That a grandfather was able to sit in the stands with his grandson and compare the current Yankees with the players that he had once seen perform on the same outfield grass is something that only few places can offer.

Yankee Stadium was a classic. Not a blockbuster movie that thrilled you some summer weekend and was forgotten the next, but a classic that you shared with generations before and after your own. It was the Wizard of Oz of sports stadiums, the It's a Wonderful Life of ballparks. I am glad to have been able to have passed through its turnstiles so often, and during such great Yankee years as these past have been.

Start spreadin' the news...

2008-09-15T19:38:00.004-04:00

On Being a Husband to a Pregnant Wife (Installment 1)

For myriad and obvious reasons, it has been a joy to be a husband to my wife whilst she is in the family way. Like the Grapes of Wrath character Rose of Sharon and her husband, Connie, during their first pregnancy, 'the world had grown close around them, and they were the center of it, or rather Rose of Sharon was in the center of it with Connie making a small orbit about her.' It would be hard to identify even one aspect of our life that has not been touched by Becca's fruited womb.

It has perhaps been most fun to watch Becca's brain occasionally liquefy and ooze out her ears. We are both convinced that it has to be Harold's fault and are having fun with it. Beyond the 'ricocheting emotions' so aptly described by a recent baby update email, the entertainment value of being near Becca when the circuits connecting her tongue and brain has yet to crest. Two-syllable words escape her grasp at any and every moment. Her attempts to explain otherwise inexplicable actions are priceless.

My favourite occurrence of prego brain to date took place last night at 2:00 am:

B - Honey, wake up!
S - What's the matter?
B - Do you smell that??
S - No, what are you talking about?
B - You don't smell it? It smells like garlic bread!
S - You woke me up to tell me it smells like garlic bread? (!)
B - Will you go downstairs to check it out?
S - No. Go back to sleep.

2008-09-06T08:15:00.004-04:00

Older Brother Wins Olympic Gold in Beijing

The US men's basketball team, as expected (hoped?), won the gold medal at

the Beijing games last month. Most all red-blooded Americans still fondly recall Michael Jordan, Larry Bird, and company destroying international competition at the Olympic Games of 1992, 1996, and 2000. Countries of the world fell helpless victims to the dominant skills of the round ball giants from America like so many peasants before the army of a ruthless and handsome dictator. Members of the US team waged private bets to see who could score 100 points in a game while sweating the least. Opponents were reduced to tears mere seconds after tip-off. America was enjoying our right as first-born of the world: global domination.

But without warning came a few years of complacency and an unexpected upturn in the level of international competition. Horror of horrors!--our men's teams finished 6th in the 2002 FIBA World Championship, took bronze at the 2004 Olympics, and placed third at the 2006 FIBA World Championship. These were disappointing surprises at best and lackluster efforts at worst. Major philosophical changes were implemented during the years of floundering, and it appears that the 'Redeem Team' is the product of a new and improved approach to international tournaments.

The 'Redeem Team' claimed gold in Beijing with relative ease. No rival team had been upset in an earlier round, no opposing star players missed the US game due to injury, no suspect officiating appeared to give the 2008 team any advantage. By all accounts, the United States regained a true claim to basketball dominance. The older brother won again.

The analogy is a perfect one for me. We invented the game. We perfected it. David Stern and stars like Jordan and Kobe are the only reason that some kid in Greece even cares about basketball. No matter how good at shooting blonde white kids from Croatia get, no matter how much genetic engineering the Chinese pull off to produce another Yao Ming (really, how is a seven-foot tall Chinese man not under suspicion?), the United States of America should never lose a basketball game by fewer than 20 points.

The older brother should always beat the younger brother. Always a few years older, a few years stronger, a few years wiser, Older Brother always beats Little Brother. May it be that the lapse between the gold medals of 2000 and 2008 were merely the period when Older Brother went away to college and concentrated on starting a fledgling career and marriage while Younger Brother was enjoying the last few years of his post-pubescent physical prime. Each has now reached the plateau that is Early Career/Fledgling Family, and order shall now be restored. Older Brother, rise and claim what is yours!

Now about those Yankees...

2008-08-19T18:25:00.002-04:00

I came across this quiz today. You have to identify the 100 Most Common English Words in five minutes. Check it out. I only scored a 47 out of 100.

100 Most Common English Words

Interesting Note: I took it a second time five minutes later and only scored a 48!

2008-07-09T17:23:00.003-04:00

Ten Things That Really Bother Me, But Shouldn't

1. Knowing that even if I brush and rinse before I go to bed, I will still wake up with rancid breath.
2. Rascal Flatts songs.
3. People who don't merge one-at-a-time.
4. Fake testicles hanging behind pick-up trucks.
5. Tabloids. And anyone in them.
6. Girls wearing matching Velour sweatsuits out of the house. Same goes for guys and pajama/lounge pants.
7. People wearing Abercrombie t-shirts. Look at me! I overpay for everyday items!
8. People wearing Hollister or Quicksilver t-shirts. No one on the east coast surfs. Aspire to convince people that you are part of something of greater worth than the surf crowd.
9. Drivers using their windshield wipers at a setting far too high than what the rainfall merits.
10. The OBX/LBI/IRE bumper stickers. See my February 2007 blog post.

2008-06-14T06:43:00.003-04:00

The Grapes of Wrath

The Grapes of Wrath was assigned reading in my freshman Honors Lit class in high school, and I remember that it was also the first book that I didn't finish. I made it through about 50 pages and then gleaned just enough from class discussions to fake my way (poorly) through the essay test. I forget what the 'conflict' was at the time--the '96 MLB playoffs is most likely--but I know I didn't give John Steinbeck's work nearly as much effort as it deserves. I subsequently resolved to never again leave a book unread.

To recall that I didn't get more than ten chapters into this classic helps to confirm that my literary discernment and skill as a reader has indisputably improved since 9th grade. I am presently reading my own copy of The Grapes of Wrath (a handsome old hardcover copy gifted from my sister as a birthday present) and I am now ashamed that I was so unmoved by this work as a young man of 14. As an older young man of 26, I can say now with certainty that Grapes is undoubtedly one of the greatest works I have read.

The Grapes of Wrath is the fictional account of three generations of an Oklahoma sharecropping family forced off their land by the bank to whom they have become indebted and lost their farm. They had lost their farm because of a series of extremely poor crops and the Dust Bowl of the 1930's. Sadly, the family distills their life and possessions into a single vehicle, traveling to California on the promise of year-round harvests and high wages. These promises prove empty and they find their prospects in California much the same as they were in Oklahoma. Men are steadily and effectively reduced to begging and stealing in order to keep their children from starving--often a vain struggle. Families dissolve or wither together as vagrants. The story is broad and terrible, yet the narrative is delivered in still, intimate moments and personal exchanges. Steinbeck's writing resonates with me and this story has gripped me like few have.

An excerpt from Chapter Five, an exchange between the bank representative and a tenant farmer:

You'll have to get off the land. The plows'll go through the dooryard.
And now the squatting men stood up angrily. Grampa took up the land, and he had to kill the Indians and drive them away. And Pa was born here, and he killed weeds and snakes. Then a bad year came and he had to borrow a little money. An' we was born here. There in the door--our children born here. And Pa had to borrow money. The bank owned the land then, but we stayed and we got a little bit of what we raised.
We know that--all that. It's not us, it's the bank. A bank isn't like a man. It's a monster.
Sure, cried the tenant men, but it's our land. We measured it and broke it up. We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it's no good, it's still ours. That's what makes it ours--being born on it, working it, dying on it. That makes ownership, not a paper with numbers on it.
We're sorry. It's not us. It's the monster. The bank isn't like a man.
Yes, but the bank is only made of men.
No, you're wrong there--quite wrong there. The bank is something else than men. It happens that every man in a bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it. The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It's the monster. Men made it, but they can't control it.

The tragic nature of the story is what I find most moving, and perhaps because I find it somewhat relevant to my own feelings as a young man of 26 in a changing world. Recent months have marked the first times that I have felt genuine concern about our national/local economy, of which I am a part. In a much less tragic, although not any less real sense, I feel as if I can relate to the men of the Joad family more at this point in my life than I have in any preceding. I see the price of gas rising and I hear only foreboding forecasts--no real solutions. I find our finances tighter than they have ever been, and my only comfort is that I know that everyone around us is in the same situation. The themes of my struggles, albeit of far lesser sacrifice and tragedy, are not unsimilar to those of the heads of the Joad family--feelings of fighting a nameless, faceless entity; the necessity of resolve and hope in seemingly hopeless circumstances.

The migrant farmers occasionally burst in anger at not knowing against whom they are fighting. My reactions to the news reports and talk radio monologues are not very different. The magnitude of the struggle of an individual against a tide of injustice or hopelessness cannot be underestimated. I am reminded Russell Crowe's character in Cinderella Man (also set during the Great Depression) choosing to continue to box because "At least [in the ring] I know who's hitting me." Sometimes I wish I had such an outlet.

O God, our Help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our Guard while troubles last
And our eternal Home!

2008-05-22T19:15:00.009-04:00

There's Treasure Everywhere

As was true last year, my hands have not been sitting idly by during these spring months still too wet to continue paint the house exterior. Putting a birthday present to good use, I spent the early part of May 2007 demolishing the concrete walkway/steps leading to our front door and then spent Memorial Day weekend (and beyond) installing a new walkway of field stone with my brother Joel.

This year's May project was transforming a 4-feet by 16-feet grass area just outside the back door into a vegetable garden. I started in late April, and now, a Saturday morning and a half dozen evenings later, the garden is ready.

Converting a grass plot into a garden plot is one of my least favorite landscaping tasks, mostly because it involves removing sod. This element was particularly frustrating because the sod to be removed happens to be the healthiest portion of grass in the backyard.

As such, the grass root mat was especially thick and cutting out the sod was increasingly difficult. I worked as efficiently and methodically as I knew how, cutting out squares measuring two-feet by two feet and then digging them up with my spade. Not wanting to waste the topsoil that was clinging to the grass roots necessitated shaking out each sod square until the topsoil had been rightly redeemed. Shaking out topsoil from sod is perhaps my second least favorite landscaping task, but it did yield some surprising results.

I had hardly made a dent into the formidable mound of sod squares and was shaking the topsoil from only the second or third of many squares when I first encountered what I consider buried treasure (my wife thinks otherwise). Upon discarding the spent sod square and searching through the topsoil below, I found the remains of a wild Indian chief, complete with head dress and rifle!

Not a real Indian chief, of course, but a yellow plastic figurine in the style of the inch-tall "Army Men" toys that little boys play with. This particular figurine had a full head dress and was aiming a rifle. And it was hardly another sod square until I discovered at whom Indian chief was aiming--a young cowboy with a cocked pistol, ready to fire! I had found some boy's lost toys!

What a miracle had just met me in the mundane task of shaking sod squares! How my pity party was crashed with the discovery of treasure in my topsoil! Imagination took hold and soon flooded my mind with thoughts of the additional treasure that may have awaited me--Indian arrow heads, old coins, jewelry--the possibilities were endless. Following my initial discovery, my senses were piqued with each stroke of my spade, listening for--expecting to hear-- the sound of metal against hollow wooden chest. For the remainder of the day I was far from my backyard and was instead trying to outwit a hoarde of pirates on Treasure Island.

Alas, my excavations were not deep enough to encounter any buried treasure of real monetary value. I finished clearing the garden plot, screened stones from the salvaged topsoil, and put a border of stained four-by-four's around. I'm pleased with how it turned out and am looking forward to literally reaping the fruits of my labors.

In all I unearthed two Indians, seven whole cowboys, one half cowboy, one half army man, one helicopter sans blades, one rusty hinge, one rusty bracket, two rusty Exact-O knife handles, two marbles, one Bic pen, a plastic quarter dated 1984, and a lucky medallion from the Philadelphia Zoo. Not a bad haul for a boy like Tom Sawyer. Not really too valuable for a boy like Scott Pearce.

2008-04-04T17:36:00.001-04:00

Becca and I spent $796.06 on gasoline in the month of March 2008.

2008-03-24T20:51:00.000-04:00

"Sheet of Integrity"

Listeners to the Mike and Mike morning show on ESPN radio will recognize the title phrase. "Sheet of Integrity" refers to, as I have recently become convicted, what a sports fan is obligated to stick with when participating in multiple NCAA tournament pools. 2008 is the first year that I have limited myself to one "Sheet of Integrity."

Every year I hear the same self-justification from fellow pool junkies: "I have Teams A, B, C, and D in the Final Four for my office bracket, but I entered Teams B, C, F, and J in my Cousin Vinnie's pool." I admit that I have been guilty of succumbing to the temptation to post different brackets in different pools. Mike Golic's reasoning was enough to convict and convert me. I am hereafter a one-bracket per year guy.

Advantages:
- Adds to the tension with each game. One bracket makes each pick more of a do-or-die scenario.
- Legitimizes boasting about correct upset picks. If you had all your money on Team X making the Final Four when no one else did, you have sole bragging rights. If you picked against Team X on your other three brackets, you lose all credibility.

Disadvantages:
- If you have a crucial team fall early, you lose all your money in all your pools early.
- Not only do you lose money, but you likely lose much interest.

Win or lose, Opening Day is just a few weeks away!

2008-02-09T13:14:00.000-05:00

Grandpa Cuomo

A man whom I considered to be my adopted grandfather, Donald Cuomo, was diagnosed with terminal cancer throughout his body a few months ago. His seemingly imminent passing has weighed heavy on many hearts in the Cuomo family and in my own, especially in the past weeks. Don and his wife, Barbara, had "adopted" my parents as their own children when my father served as an intern at the OPC church in Harmony, NJ 27 years ago. They treated my siblings and I as if we were Cuomos. You may remember that Don Cuomo gave the prayer of blessing at my wedding.

With his decreasing state of health in mind, I had, in fact, written a type of tribute letter to him which went out in today's mail. Not even an hour after the mailman came and left, my father called me with the news that Grandpa Cuomo has passed into glory. He will never read the letter, but you may find it posted below.

I post it as a tribute to a great man in my life, and a great leader and example in the church of Jesus Christ. I post it as a praise to my heavenly Father who has granted me the gift of love from this man for the years on earth in which our lives overlapped.

- Grandpa Cuomo,

It would be difficult for me to overestimate what your life has meant to my own. The Lord has used your love, your wisdom, and your example to bless me and my family in ways to numerous to count or quantify.

You have been faithful as a godly husband, father, grandfather, and elder before my eyes and the eyes of so many others. What great assurance I have when considering the future generations of my family when I can so clearly see how the Lord has been faithful to the generations of the Cuomo family after you.

What immeasurable joy and happiness I can expect to find in the future years of my own marriage when I see the depth of love and unity you share with the wife of your youth.

What confidence I have in considering the future of the church of our Lord Jesus Christ when I reflect on the wisdom, conviction, and the love of the Word with which He equipped you to serve Him. Your years of faithful leadership and service are an inspiration and a comfort to me as I consider how the Lord would have me to help build His church.

The memories and thoughts of you that I am blessed to possess are treasured in the most dear halls of my heart. I not only thank the Lord for allowing me to be loved and polished by a man such as you, but I thank you for the ways in which you, in both word and deed, have helped me to more greatly love and trust our Heavenly Father.

You are one of the greatest blessings of my life. I love you, and will see you soon.

- Scott

2008-01-25T20:34:00.000-05:00

2007 - Books in Review

There are several reasons why my list of books read in 2007 is drastically lesser than my list of books read in 2006. The introduction of Netflix to the Scott Pearce home has radically reduced the amount of reading in which I partake with any regularity. Another reason is that I will not allow myself to start reading a new book until I have completed the one with which I am presently occupied. You will notice that Moby Dick was tops on the list to start the year, and I was not able to surmount the tale of the white whale until September. This left me just enough time to plow through a surprisingly difficult encounter with God of Promise before the end of the year.

Moby Dick - Herman Melville - It started altogether promising. Immediately following the famous "Call me Ishmael" opening address began a handful of chapters which caused me to respond it such a way as to question whether I had, in fact, forsaken the true calling of my soul to be a man of the sea. A taste: Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. Great stuff.

Between the opening line and page 126 lie a wonderful sermon on the story of Jonah, a few ambiguous prophecies from a character named Elijah, and an entire chapter on the merits of chowder. Between shove off and the first sightings of the white whale on page 689 (!), Melville interrupts an appropriately deliberate narrative with a generous (read: excessive) number of chapters detailing the whaling profession, the glory of the whale, and a biological exposition of the body of the whale--body part by body part. A sampling of the chapter titles comprising the bulk of the book: The Tail, The Honor and Glory of Whaling, Jonah Historically Regarded, and Does the Whale's Magnitude Diminish? I couldn't make this stuff up.

The last five chapters were riveting. It was one of only a few times when I have ever found myself incapable of putting a book down. The close to the story was good enough to make me forget and disregard the nine months of my life that I had spent reaching the close to the story. Moby Dick is perhaps the only exception I would make in passing judgment on someone for reading an abridged version of a classic novel. I could, upon request, cut the 135 chapters of Moby Dick down to 35 essentials and you would not miss a thing.

God of Promise, Introducing Covenant Theology - Michael Horton - I knew nothing about Michael Horton before our church's Men's Reading Group suggested God of Promise for our January meeting. Somehow, I felt as if I knew almost as little about covenant theology. Sure, I was familiar with regular references to the "old covenant" and the "new covenant" and the "Abrahamic covenant" and the "Mosaic covenant," but the distinctions and characterizations of each were anything but crystallized in my mind.

All in our reading group agreed that Horton did an excellent job arguing the significance of understanding covenant theology, of expounding the topic, and of explaining the application and implications of the topic. There were a few chapters where Horton led his readers to greater depths and/or loftier heights of thinking than I was able to follow. However, I found his work most helpful and would recommend it to all. A few selections can be found below:

We were not just created and then given a covenant; we were created as covenant creatures--partners not in deity, to be sure, but in the drama that was about to unfold in history.

Reformed theology is synonymous with covenant theology.

It is hardly anti-Semitic to observe that the covenant with Israel as a national entity in league with God was conditional and that the nation had so thoroughly violated that covenant that its theocratic status was revoked. Dispensationalism and the so-called two-covenant theory currently popular in mainline theology both treat the land promise as eternal and irrevocable, even to the extent that there can be significant difference between Israel and the church in God's plan. Both interpretations, however, fail to recognize that the Hebrew Scriptures themselves qualify this national covenant in strictly conditional terms.

2008-01-19T14:12:00.000-05:00

Your Resolutions for the New Year

Not being one to take special interest in resolutions of the New Year's variety, I have been a bit of a wet blanket this January as I have been asked about my list of New Year's Resolutions. I have countered this awkward social situation by creating a list of resolutions that I would like to see you follow this year.

Don't kid yourself. It is obvious to us all that your life has not quite reached the Fulfilled plateau. Below find several resolutions to which your adherence is a must in 2008:

(in no order of importance)

1. If you claim to be a Patriots fan, generate a list of at least five reasons why. All reasons must not include any reference to winning.

2. Do not allow the balance on your credit card to carry over to the next month.

3. If you have more than one credit card, cancel all but one.

4. Walk more, especially in the company of loved ones.

5. Vote.

6. Buy, listen to, and love "Born in the USA" by Bruce Springsteen. If you have been a New Jersey resident for more than any ten years of you life, make this Resolution #1.

7. Buy a pickup truck, or at least imagine how much better your life would be with a pickup truck.

8. Tip your garbage man and mailman more than you tip your bartender.

9. Realize and embrace the fact that the current purse craze is stupid. Use a twelve-step program, if necessary. Convince yourself and your friends that a purse with a letter on the outside is no more special than one without. Remind yourself that wanting something just because every one of your friends has one is not a good reason to do anything.

10. Eat more legumes.

11. Write your mother a card on a day other than Mother's Day, her birthday, or Valentine's Day. Make it a Blank Inside card, and write your own sincere message.

12. Make Brian Regan a part of your life.

13. Meditate on the Lord's unmerited favor to you in 2007. Expect more of it in 2008.

2007-11-23T17:25:00.000-05:00

The Lord Watches Over the Sojourner

The odometer on my little truck is coming up on 172,777 miles. While a seemingly inconsequential milestone, it will mark 125,000 miles that I have traveled since the purchase of my 2001 Dodge Dakota 3 ½ years ago. Some quick arithmetic reveals that I am averaging 35,700 miles of travel per year.

My truck and I have been as far east as Riverhead, Long Island, NY; as far west as Beaver Falls, PA; as far north as Cheektowaga, NY; and as far south as Virginia Beach, VA.

I am having a difficult time choosing an average speed for my total time traveled calculations. Somewhere between 30 miles per hour and 60 mph, so for round number’s sake, I will assume that I have traveled an average speed of 45 miles an hour throughout the past 3 ½ years.

In light of the above, consider the below:

Hours Behind the Wheel: 2,777 hours, 40 minutes
Days Behind the Wheel: 115.7 days
Weeks Behind the Wheel: 16.5 weeks
Years Behind the Wheel: 0.32 years

All said, I have spent 9.1 % of the last 3 ½ years of my life behind the wheel of my truck!

How good is my Heavenly Father to have preserved me through all this! And yet how often do I neglect to meditate upon my dependency for God’s care in even ordinary aspects of life? My little truck has been free from any trouble worse than a persistently on-again-off-again “Check Engine” light, and yet how unfaithful I am to remember my Lord in thanksgiving for granting me a reliable vehicle.

My heart should be more often in tune with Psalm 121, which reads:

“I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.
The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore.”

2007-10-06T07:12:00.000-04:00

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Photos from our vacation at Brigantine Beach on the Jersey Shore are now posted on my Facebook page. The first link below will take you to the main album, and the second link includes four photos that I took of Becca at midnight on the beach using a tripod, a Mag light, and some old-fashioned 30 second exposure. Enjoy.

http://geneva.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2011291&l=444bc&id=151101370

http://geneva.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2002498&l=fae53&id=151101370

2007-09-21T18:47:00.000-04:00

Moby-Dicktionary

My apologies in advance for the obvious title. You've come to expect more because I usually deliver more. Not today.

I finished reading Moby Dick this afternoon. I had started reading in January. Nine months and 725 pages later I can finally lay to rest the tale of the white whale. I am proud to be able to say that I have read the complete, unabridged version of the novel, but I may only have enough time to finish one other book before the end of the year.

Since AP Literature class with Mr. Collins (Hackettstown High, senior year), I have made it my policy as I read to underline words that I don't know, look up the definition, and write each in the bottom margin. A work like Farenheit 451 or Blue Like Jazz will net me a dozen vocabulary words, but a piece from a theologian, or worse, the Romantic Era, will slow page-turning without fail.

Below is the complete list of vocabulary words from my reading of Moby Dick -- 352 in all:

(pages 1 - 99) hypo, insular, lath, lee, decoction, portentous, grapnel, extant, wight, glazier, waiscot, dint, yeast, ever and anon, aggregate, welter, founder, tallow, direful, skrimshander, arrant, toper, obstreperous, plaguy, ider, fargo, nonplus, grego, wrapall, dreadnot, andirons, expostulation, stave, ablution, accost, sally, bombazine, scoria, proffer, candelabra, incredulous, doleful, brevet, verdure, maw, cenotaph, canticle, bale, obliquity, swarthy, main-truck, kelson, inexorable, phrenology, promintory, pyspepsia, unbidden, confabulate, tester, vitiate, nonce, punctilious, offing, hillock, spile, quohog, chamois, larboard, by dint of, repast, belie, ply, stultify, segacity, galliot, venerable, thews, parmacetty, transome, annuitant, chancery, anomalous, sanguinary, sepulchral, oblique, celerity, (100 - 199) pilau, crotchet, appellative, stove, confluent, prate, calabash, humbug, bugbear, costermonger, jocular, vernal, stave, palavere, demigod, apotheosis, carrion, plaudit, puissant, feret, pestiferous, conspicuous, palpable, quoggy, macassar, staid, pantemime, latent, evince, vicissitude, ignomonious, craven, cholera, camphorate, unvitiate, tacit, binnacle, cudgel, spermacetti, opine, ellucidate, baleen, misenthropic, appellative, tallow, aver, ferule, hone, rotund, subaltern, in terrorem, sultanism, husting, mizen, saline, pallid, abstenious, convivial, sedentary, buckler, credulous, scimitar, scabbard, progenitor, indolent, languor, cark, upbraiding, inscrutable, vortice, (200 - 299) tost, capstan, volition, quail, chalice, sidelong, pugilist, demigorgon, waggish, strand, chassee, ubiquitous, erudite, gainsay, sanguine, bruit, august, lacquer, cant, howdah, legerdemain, cordon, somnambulism, peremptory, corroborative, prefecture, aliment, ascendency, corporeal, evanescent, quiescent, sordid, perquisite, warp, samphire, swart, ebon, wallow, inculcating, enigmatical, adroit, tyro, aslant, dun, haply, bivouack, vacuity, perfidious, fuller, (300 - 399) erudition, abaft, peltry, serry, subaltern, cozen, billet, brook, conflagration, comport, poniard, brigandish, swart, visage, fetid, perfidious, bantam, maelstrom, archiepiscopacy, advert, antediluvian, veracious, hippogriff, fastidious, skrimshander, elucidate, argosy, conciliate, fastidious, unctuous, integument, rapacious, poniards, rood, punctilious, peradventure (five on one page!), interdicted, lotus, maw, peremptorily, scaramouch, laudanum (400 - 499), ligature, interregnum, calomel, jalap, gamboge, soldadoe, cooper, orlop, pannier, bandy, vacillation, volition, subtilise, portcullis, supine, galliot, busk, farthingale, unctuous, tierce, limpid, pelisse, sagacious, beadle, veneration, indomitable, paregoric, ponderosity, sordid, tutelary, confluent, flexion, nosegay, obsequious, proas, corsair, kentledge, gallied, dromedary, consternation, dalliance, bower, unctuous, lassitude, sated (500 - 599), rapacious, emolument, sinecure, fob, perquisite, cupidity, worsted, ambergris, diddle, aspersion, opine, poltroon, mollify, acerbity, appelation, coalesce, recondite, rapt, plethoric, misanthrope, profundity, mermetical, freshet, ablution, morass, talisman, scorbutic, erudite, verdant, tendril, woof, folio, hawser, antideluvian, emprise, lexicographer (five on one page!), chirography, placard, credulous, osseous, recondite, peremptorily, remunerate, cachalot, primogeniture, bruit, antidiluvian, anamalous, compendious, spavine (600 - 699), prate, puncheon, shook, demi-john, sinecure, lave, importunity, orison, corpusant, hooroosh, boon, epaulet, sagacious, incommodious, taffrail, gambol, argosy, pennon, poltroon (700 - 725), pertinacious, prescience, evanescence, hawser, heliotrope.

[Ed. note]: Please feel free to comment with the definitions of any of these words that you know from memory. Words like 'woof' and 'shook' obviously have other meanings as used by Herman Melville. Any repeats are incidental, and are not intended to bolster the list.

2007-02-25T17:38:00.000-05:00

On Choosing the Cover of One's Book

"Don't judge a book by its cover" is a proverb recited to remind those who would listen that the true character of a man or object cannot always be discerned by outward appearances.

One who would fail to listen might commit himself to wedding a girl because of her outward beauty, only to find her lacking in morals, sensibility, or faithfulness. One who would heed the advice may purchase a house despite its need of cosmetic touch-up because he has a vision for what the house could become.

The proverb lends itself to many situations, and is often applied in a suitable context. Its wisdom is understood by even a simple mind; the desired effect in its recital is typically achieved without additional commentary.

Men and women would almost universally accept the general wisdom of this proverb, yet I find that we are quick to decorate or polish our own metaphorical "book covers" and expect others to judge them as we would wish. Below are a few ways in which I find this most curiously expressed.

Care Where I Vacation Syndrome - I am no more certain today than I was the first time I saw an "OBX" bumper sticker of what is hoped to be gained by letting the world know where you vacation. Is it an attempt to communicate one's superior taste in vacation destinations? It certainly can't be done in hopes of expressing one's uniqueness--I could spot ten "OBX's" and at least 20 "LBI's" in a week if I was looking for them. If there were a place on earth where I loved to vacation more than any other, I would let as few people in on the secret as I could and then expend whatever loose change I had in my pocket to mail next summer's rental deposit--not to buy a bumper sticker.

Care Where I Shop Syndrome - What self-respecting person willingly pays money to advertise for clothing companies? Why anyone buys and wears hoodies with nothing but "GAP" across the front, or tee's with "Old Navy" and an American flag across the chest is far beyond me. It's stupid. I don't care where you shop. Really, I don't. How much you spend on clothes is between you and your wallet. Why do you want so desperately for everyone to know where you bought your shirt? The more telling question may be, Do you care that much about where other people shop that you project those same thoughts on to everyone else? I don't know who to blame with this, because each of the major retail stores is just as guilty as the next. The "Abercrombie's" and "Banana Republic's" bother me most because they're the priciest, but dumb "Old Navy" print tee's are nearly as bothersome.

Care What Sports I Have My Kid Signed Up For - This is perhaps the most puzzling to me. Do you, Mrs. Mom or Mr. Dad, really love soccer (or basketball or hockey or cheer team or wrestling, etc. for that matter)? Is the best way for you to pay homage to your kids' current favorite game to fix a static cling the shape of a soccer ball to the window of your Yukon? Or do you just do it because they passed them out with the jerseys and you don't want to be perceived as unsupportive of your kids? Team-personalized stickers for middle-school teams reek of elitist families bragging that they have enough money for Johnny and Susie to make (read: afford) the traveling team. The generic hockey pucks or megaphones just ring hollow. I have less of a problem with it if you're doing it because Johnny or Susie really loves his or her sport, but if Johnny or Susie doesn't realize how much you're already doing to be supportive of their sporting exploits, maybe you should make them aware and re-command control of the leash. And if you're afraid that being the only van at practice without "team spirit" will scar John or Sue, then maybe you should grow a spine and find something better than "O" magazine to read while you wait for the end of practice.

Care What Charity I Support - See my 09/24/05 post titled "Show Your Support" for more on this topic. It's not that I expect unbelievers to heed Jesus' command to "not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing," but it does appall me to see how external people are with their "good deeds."

I don't have enough to say about Care How Pimped My Vehicle Is Syndrome or Care How Good My Kid's Grades Are Syndrome to devote an entire paragraph to each, but each category's members fall under my same general sense of disgust and disapproval.

Not that you should care.

2007-01-27T08:23:00.000-05:00

2006 - Books In Review

Below, a list of the books I have finished in the year past, with short commentary and/or a favourite quote.

Animal Farm - George Orwell – Orwell is brilliant. Animal Farm understatedly and accurately portrays the sinful nature of Man carried out to its realistic extents. The narrative is perfectly simple, the accounts never exaggerated or sensationalized. The characters are allowed to stand as who they are and how they would simply respond in joy, greed, sadness, or lust.
"Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question, now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which."

Frankenstein - Mary Shelly – A masterful reminder of all that I love about the Romantics: ecstasy in the triumph of a dream realized, anguish of a defeat, joy, and bliss. There is such wonder in exploring the depths of the human soul--lofty language, a heightened sense of emotions, grandeur in narrative and description—all things that make Romantics Isle a place that is great to visit, but not conducive to a sojourn of any great length.
“Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.”

Blue Like Jazz - Donald Miller – I don’t think I would ever confuse Donald Miller with a great theologian or philosopher, but I don’t think he is or is trying to be. Most of the frustrations I had with the book (beside the band name dropping) were when I was holding the book to the level of a Mere Christianity or an Institutes of the Christian Religion. Blue Like Jazz is more of an open, think-out-loud, ask-unanswerable-questions kind of exploratory. The themes I saw drawn out were his search for God in all aspects of life, struggling to nurture a love and faith for the everyday. There were many of his confessions or open-ended questions that were convicting or spurred my own consideration. There was also some of his advice that I think should quickly find its way to the wayside. I liked the book—a lot at times--but would not give it a whole-hearted recommendation.
“I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes and he never opened his eyes. After that I liked jazz music. Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way. I used to not like God because God didn’t resolve. But that was before any of this happened.”

Wild At Heart - John Eldredge – I love the idea he explores and most of the conclusions he draws. So much of the bleak depiction of modern man struck me deeply, and conversely, much of the description of who man was created to be resonated with my Romantic soul. This book has made me a better Cadet counselor, a better role model, and makes me long even more so for my own male offspring. Much of Eldredge’s A-to-B thinking is good, but gets into trouble when he tries to boldly go from B to D. There is Scripture referenced throughout the book, but often the “proof texts” seem to be stretches. He reads like a counselor, which he is. There is great wisdom to be gained from experiences, but concluding something is true because you’ve seen it play out a dozen times cannot and should not be held to be as true as the Word of God.
“Adventure, with all its requisite danger and wildness, is a deeply spiritual longing written into the soul of man. The masculine heart needs a place where nothing is prefabricated, modular, nonfat, zip lock, franchised, on-line, microwavable. Where there are no deadlines, cell phones, or committee meetings. Where there is room for the soul. Where, finally, the geography around us corresponds to the geography of our heart.”

Death of a Salesman - Arthur Miller – A tragedy of dreams never realized. Of the favored son never fulfilling the inflated potential imposed upon him by his father, and the forgotten son who may have actually achieved those dreams if only he had received more than crumbs of recognition. And above all, the dreamer of all dreamers, Willy Loman, who, at the end of his life, craves more than anything the assurance that he is, in fact, leaving a legacy. Yet in the end, he finds he has built nothing lasting after a life chasing the clouds. Rich characters, deep heartache, beautiful tragedy.
“Cause what could be more satisfying than to be able to go, at the age of eighty-four, into twenty or thirty different cities, and pick up a phone, and be remembered and loved and helped by so many different people? Do you know? when he died—and by the way he died the death of a salesman—hundreds of salesmen and buyers were at his funeral.”

Fighting the Good Fight - D.G. Hart and John Muether – One of two books I was required to read in our church’s Leadership Training class, the other being Lest We Forget, immediately below. Much of what I read in Fighting the Good Fight was new to me, and I have an immeasurably greater sense of pride and gratitude with regard to the men whom the Lord has blessed throughout the history of the Church. Never before has the purity of the church been as precious to me, and therefore the fracturing of the visible church has never been as heartbreaking.
“This book is not intended to silence other perspectives but to contribute to a healthy discussion of the OPC’s identity and mission. We hope it will persuade the unpersuaded, confirm the already committed, and prompt those who disagree to voice disagreement. Above all, we hope that this book will challenge the church to think hard about its identity. For we believe that a church without an identity will lose its reason for existence.”

Lest We Forget - Robert Churchill - Fighting the Good Fight was much more the broad, historical account, while Lest We Forget is an autobiographical memoir of an early OPC minister in Washington state. What Fighting the Good Fight stated in broad, history book language, Lest We Forget delivered with a touch of genuine sadness and experiential intimacy.
“How then, you may ask, could such strong churches welcome into their teaching ministry [such liberal material] into their teaching courses? Couldn’t the church leaders recognize such un-Reformed and unscriptural instruction? The answer is not a simple one, but this at least can be said: fundamentalism in its non-Calvinistic form came into the Presbyterian Church to fill a vacuum. The vacuum existed because the church was no longer teaching the Confession of Faith and catechisms in any adequate or vital way. ‘Easy-gesis' (easy exegesis) of Scripture was often substituted for more scholarly exegesis and this allowed portions of Scripture, often taken out of context, to be forced into a human scheme of prophecy.”

Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson – As many times as I may page through Treasure Island in the rest of my life, no reading will ever compare to the first I was ever privileged to experience--that of my father reading the story to my brother and sister and I in the summer of 1992. I was ten and it was the summer of my father’s sabbatical, when, among other destinations, we spent two weeks at a cabin on a lake in Ontario. Read by the light of the fireplace like a colonial family two centuries before, my father’s dramatic—and oftentimes frightening—unfolding of this fantastic voyage stoked my boyish heart and imagination as wild as the sea itself.
“So things passed until, the day after the funeral, and about three o’clock of a bitter, foggy, frosty afternoon, I was standing at the door for a moment, full of sad thoughts about my father, when I saw some one drawing slowly near along the road. He was plainly blind, for he tapped before him with a stick, and wore a great green shade over his eyes and nose; and he was hunched, as if with age or weakness, and wore a huge old tattered sea cloak with a hood, that made him appear positively deformed. I never saw in my life a more dreadful looking figure.”

Being the Body - Charles Colson – At my suggestion, the Washington Small Group began a study of the Church, using Colson’s book as a guide. I originally intended the group to read and study the book together, but for better or for worse, we eventually strayed from using the book at all. Colson identifies and thoroughly characterizes many of the social and cultural battles the church faces, both within and without. The Lord has used Chuck Colson more than anyone else in my life to help me understand the importance of looking at issues on the level of their underlying worldview, and for that I am grateful. The book served as a great topical outline for discussion each meeting, but I didn’t find Colson’s work able to stand alone sufficiently enough to make it the only source for our study.
“Are not these days of the early twenty-first century a season of urgency, shattered complacency, hellish loss…and unprecedented opportunity? If freedom is at war with fear, if catastrophe can turn from death to resurrection, if hope can triumph over despair…if there was ever a time for the church to be the church, it is now.”

2006-12-23T10:31:00.000-05:00

2006 - Albums In Review

Listed below are the new albums that have entered the Pearce household in the last year with commentary following each.

Casting Crowns - Lifesong. Casting Crowns is a praise and worship band with a record deal. I was expecting depth, social commentary, and an elevated view of God. On the whole, I was disappointed.

Dredg - Catch Without Arms. This will be the last Dredg album I will ever buy. They went from being one of the most artistic rock bands to putting out an album named for a song about how much they hate their producer. Dredg are dead to me.

Eight Days Gone - 303 Sessions. I can't help but sound like a local newspaper columnist when I refer to Eight Days Gone as Allentown's best kept secret. They far surpass Fuel as the best band out of Allentown, and have probably been kept from Fuel's fate by the fact that no one knows they exist. Much thanks to Greg for passing this album on to me.

Jack Johnson - On and On
Jack Johnson - In Between Dreams. Jack is up there with Switchfoot as the most pleasant surprise of 2006. He has filled the vacuum that previously existed in the mellow genre between quasi-rock (Coldplay) and the soft girlie stuff (Norah Jones). Another plus is that he doesn't emit the not-so-subtle narcissism of other singer-songwriters. I feel like I could be friends with Jack Johnson. Two big thumbs up. In Between Dreams is my favorite of the two.

Jars of Clay - Who We Are Instead. The day that I gave up on Jars of Clay is now a day I regret. I was a mile-a-minute sixteen who's love affair with punk rawk was hot and heavy. I had devoured Jars of Clay's first album, but turned my nose at Much Afraid when it didn't rock nearly enough for my hormones. Seven years went by, and my wife has helped bring me back to the Jars. I'm glad they had me back. They have a depth, both spiritually and musically, that is grossly lacking in Christian music.

Jim Croce - Photographs and Memories, His Greatest Hits. I found Jim Croce about four years too late. He's got perfect songs for falling in and out of love, living in a town that is not your home, and half a dozen songs about things people just don't write about anymore.

Jimi Hendrix - Experience Hendrix, The Best of Jimi Hendrix. Again, about four years too late. I am now to the point where I don't think classic rock greatest hits albums have any appeal to me. Even the best collection only features four or five songs outside of the staple selection that classic rock radio plays every single day. Experience Hendrix has every single Jimi song I would ever want on an album, but somehow I'd still rather own an original album.

Johnny Cash - The Essential Johnny Cash. The same could be said about Johnny Cash, except this entire album was new to me. I don't think I will ever own a Johnny Cash album unless it's the live album from Folsom Prison. I was pleased to have met Johnny Cash.

Neil Young - Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere
Neil Young - Harvest. With all due respect to my wife, and Nick Ritenour, and Courtney Schmidt, I don't see what's so great about this Neil Young guy. He's not a good vocalist or lyricist, and his guitar solos are simple at best. I have no idea how Crazy Horse can be considered a "legendary backing band," and it's even further from my realm of understanding how Harvest was the top-selling album of 1972. I just don't think Neil Young is that great. However, he's definitely not. bad. and I'm glad we bought these albums. The melody and the feel of any of his songs can stay with you all day long without becoming oppressive--like the path of the sun on a summer's day. Neil Young--good but not great.

Our Lady Peace - Healthy In Paranoid Times. This album almost makes me forget how dreadful Gravity was, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone who wasn't already an Our Lady Peace fan. Raine's lyrics aren't anywhere near the level of the first four albums--he is deep in the rut of writing guy-girl relationship songs and isn't adding anything fresh. His lyrics have no nuances or quirks to them anymore. To an album, each release has been progressively less dark. Healthy is a twinge darker than Gravity, but maybe only cynically so. OLP fans take it at your own risk. All others leave it.

Pedro the Lion - The Only Reason I Feel Secure (Is That I Am Validated By My Peers). Nice little Pedro album. Didn't supplant It's Hard to Find a Friend as my favorite, but it does lend a few bright spots to my Pedro landscape.

Shiloh Ridge Band - I'll Be Alright
Shiloh Ridge Band - Big Payday Blues. Best $20 I've ever spent at a music table at a Christian festival/concert thing--and that means a lot considering I've also bought a few ska albums and a Geoff Moore & the Distance cassette in my glorious past.

Sovereign Grace - Worship Album

Switchfoot - The Beautiful Letdown
Switchfoot - Nothing Is Sound. I cannot sing Switchfoot's praise enough. Without knowing it, they are what I have been longing for my entire life. They are a Christian rock band that are both Christian and rock, without sacrificing quality for message or vice versa. Nothing Is Sound plays like the book of Ecclesiastes set to music. Both albums are well produced and feature songs that truly rock. I am a believer.

Tool - 10,000 Days. We bought this almost only to be able to say that we own a Tool album. We own a Tool album.

2006-09-04T14:07:00.000-04:00

To Joel and Liz

My kid brother, Joel, was married on August 12, 2006. I stood as his Best Man. Below is the manuscript of the toast I delivered at the reception:

I am a new face to some of you. I am Joel's older brother, Scott, older by two years. I have had the privilege of knowing Joel his entire life, and I do not remember my life without a brother.

In Joel I have been blessed with a younger brother who has been following two years behind me, doing many of the same things that I have done, but doing them better than I ever did.

Joel and I each entered public high school after each spending nine years in Christian elementary school. It wasn't until the end of my sophomore year in high school that I began to feel like I was making friends and feeling comfortable. Two years later, Joel entered already with a best friend in Alex Richards, and Joel was a big man on campus before the end of his first class.

I played baseball, my first love, for four years in high school, and finally made the varsity team my senior year. Joel played basketball, his first love, for four years, and was receiving varsity consideration during his second year, and starting varsity his third year!

After graduation, I decided that Geneva College was a responsible, practical, safe decision. I applied, and was accepted. Two years later, Joel set his sights on Grove City College, one of the most prestigious and elite Christian schools in the country. He was, of course, accepted; Joel thrived, and graduated with honors.

I chose Engineering as an academic discipline because it led to a definitive career path. Graduate with an Engineering degree, become an Engineer. I think that Joel chose Communications just so he would have the freedom to change his mind. You can't very well graduate with a Communications degree and get a job as a...Communicator, now can you? You need to do something else.

I took an engineering internship before my senior year in hopes that it would turn into a full-time position after graduation. I was planning for the future, getting my ducks all lined up in a row. Joel took an internship last summer, and after only a month decided, "I don't think I wanna work here after college, but for now I get these free golf balls with Yankee logos on them!"

My wife and I have stayed in New Jersey, and the Lord has blessed us abundantly there. Our decisions were, of course, practical ones. We wanted to remain close to our church, our family, our support group--and all the free baby-sitters. I think that Joel, on the other hand, must have looked around New Jersey and said, "Here I am in New Jersey. I don't have a car. I don't have a full-time job. I may as well be without a car and without a job in a place like Virginia Beach."

Joel, Wes Wallace's prophecy has come true. You have grown up taller, bigger, and in many ways, better than I will ever be. You have a tendency to do the things that I have done, and do them better than I ever did.

So this is my challenge to you:

Be a better husband that I am. By the grace of God, be a better husband than every man in this room. If there are ways in which I am a godly man and a good husband to Becca, be a more godly man and an even better husband to Liz. Not as a competition, but for the sake of your wife, and for the glory of God.

Love Liz more than yourself, but love her second. The only way that you will be a husband worthy of any praise is if you first love the Lord your God with all your heart, and then love Liz more than yourself.

It is only by the grace of God that you can aspire to these goals, and by His grace, may you achieve them.

I am so proud to be your brother, and I am overjoyed to be sharing today with you. May the Lord bless you both. May you be the best husband you can be--for the glory of God, and for the sake of your bride.

To Joel and Liz!

2006-08-31T19:46:00.000-04:00

I'm The Engineer

They mean it as a compliment. I should be flattered, and I am occasionally. I only hear it once every few months, but every time, I become increasingly annoyed at the phrase, "You figure it out--you're the engineer."

I'm sure that your profession or academic discipline has its own catchphrase which never fails to lurch its way out of the lips of some doofus whose intentions are innocent.

"Look out--this guy's a Psychologist. He's probably analyzing us right now."
"Oooh, a Philosophy major. Please tell me...what is the meaning of life?"
“You talk to them—you’re the Communications major.”
"Shhh! Not so loud around the Librarian."
"You're a Computer Science major, right? Why does my computer keep crashing?"

I acknowledge that by comparison, "You figure it out--you're the engineer," is not nearly as ignorant or pigeon-holing as some of the above. Some may even consider it due recognition and an aspect of the prestige that comes with a degree of Bachelor of Science in Engineering. People consider engineers to be rational, efficient, problem-solving eggheads because we work hard to maintain this reputation.

My gripe with the phrase is not what is said. Without reading too much into it, one can take it to mean: "This is a complex problem requiring a form of decision making other than relying on feelings or a group discussion. Please take the reigns." Or perhaps, "I wet myself at the thought of long division without a calculator. You have a big head and glasses—you solve the problem.”

However, I often take offense at what is implied by, and the context in which someone usually cops out with the "You're the engineer" phrase. There are very few contexts where the phrase is even reasonable to utter. Most involve a professional setting and a discussion of engineering things.

For example, an architect may be presenting the artistic vision behind his latest project to a design team. After blah blah blah-ing his way through the manner in which the outward form of the newest addition to the city skyline will embody the struggles of the immigrants of generations past, said architect will most likely be met with a blunt rebuttal from the structural engineer who will try to bring him back down to earth. The engineer will remind the architect of the finer principles of structural mechanics, and identify aspects of the design that will be nearly impossible to construct. To this, the architect will mostly likely reply, “That’s not my problem. You’re the engineer--you figure it out.”

That’s all fine and good, but I have never heard the dreaded “You’re the engineer” phrase spoken to my ears from the lips of an architect. I have instead been reminded of my academic pedigree by my father, and by my friends, and by any Joe Schmo who happens to know to what end my tuition dollars were spent.

- My father, God bless him, is not terribly handy with car repair. Having not fallen far from Father Tree, I do not know much about cars either, nor do I pretend to. We were at my parents’ house last month when the battery of mom’s car died. Not wanting to look like a puss in front of my wife, whose father could repair a John Deere tractor blindfolded, in a snowstorm, with oven mitts on, I volunteered to try to jump it. I have never had to jump a vehicle of mine in eight years, and have never even had to help someone else jump a car. I didn’t even know how to do it, but I understand the concept, and I have a healthy respect for live electric circuits. I said I’d give it a go. My dad, of course, responded with the predictable, “Yes, let’s let the engineer fix it.”

- At a recent work day at the church, Phil (an Electrical Engineering/Computer Science major from Bucknell) and I were watching two other guys (both college graduates in something other than EGR) try to alter the hinge spring on the sanctuary door in order for it to close more gently. We had been observing their progress for a not even a minute when one of these guys turned to us and said, “Well, what am I wasting my time here for? We’ve got two engineers here—let them figure it out.”

- In Pittsburgh earlier this month, the bridal party was helping my brother (the groom) and his new bride load their car with the wedding presents so they could drive away. It was plain to nearly everyone that the combined volume of the gifts was nearly the same or perhaps even greater than the available volume of storage that the vehicle could provide. If the gifts were not packed efficiently, they would not all fit. Several of us were sizing up the situation, when a voice chimed in, “Well, let’s leave this to the engineer to figure out.”

Granted, I take great pride in packing a UHaul for a move, or a loading an enormous volume of personal belongings into the back of a 1991 Ford Probe hatchback. I even like fiddling with gizmos and doohickeys of different kinds, trying to understand how things work by taking them apart and putting them back together. I volunteered to jump the car because even girls know how to jump cars, and to be handy with stuff like that validates me as a man. But what does my Bachelor of Science in Engineering have to do with any of that?

Do people suggest leaving it to the engineer because they believe that I took a class titled Space Management – How to Fit Lots of Stuff Into a Small Space? Why exactly would a civil engineer who deals with nothing but dirt, water, and rock every day know anything the inner workings of a hinge spring? Would my dad’s confidence in my ability to jump the car have wavered had he remembered that I barely passed Linear Circuits with a C-?

My beef with the “You’re an engineer” phrase is that I think it’s a cop out. It’s a cop out of a simple exercise in critical thinking. It’s a wuss out of looking at a problem objectively, flexing a little mind muscle, and deducing the best course of action.

How can it be that there are those who so easily diagnose situations as impossible to solve for anyone other than a high and mighty engineer? Why are some people so eager to pass the thinking on to an egghead? Have they no pride? If I were Joe Schmo High School Graduate, I’d take advantage of every opportunity to knock Mr. College Graduate down a few pegs by solving a problem using common sense and ‘real world’ tactics. Screw theory and mathematics. If the hinge needs tweaking, let’s tweak it. If the car needs a start, get the cables. Why is it that people jump at the chance to make way for the engineer when oftentimes they would do an adequate job on their own?

“You’re the engineer” strokes my ego more often than it bothers me, make no mistake about it. One of the reasons I chose to pursue a degree in engineering was the prestige associated with a BSE. But I will not let people assume better of me than I deserve. I will not let them believe that because of my degree I am more qualified to think than they are. I will not let people use it as a license to pass problem solving on to another.

Think for yourselves, people.

2006-07-04T09:32:00.000-04:00

Thoughts on Heaven

People have many views of what heaven will be like. My first grade teacher at the Christian school encouraged sensationalized notions of heaven in our barely-wrinkled minds, teaching us that we would be able to fly, and teleport, and have any kind of food that we wanted at a mere wish, and, of course, that all our pets would be in heaven. While I can't point to any Scripture that explicitly disputes or confirms these exact projections of Paradise, I do wish that she had focused more on the wonder of being in the presence of God for eternity, being free of sin and death, or even just tried to get us to wrap our minds around eternity. I wish she hadn't catered to our first-grade mentality by letting us create heaven in our own image. I wish that instead she had tried to elevate our notions of God's heaven.

Since those early years, it has been primarily through the reading and preaching of the Bible that I believe that I have come to a better, albeit still imperfect, view of what heaven will be like. This is not coincidentally coinciding with the fact that I am, through the Holy Spirit, coming to a better knowledge of who God is.

Heaven As a Party

To know what one can expect to find at a Christmas party, one must know a little bit about the hosts, the theme, the dress code, what the reason for celebration is, and who else will be at the party. The offer of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ functions, in a way, as an invitation to heaven. I do not wish to cheapen either heaven or salvation by treating them merely as a party and an invitation, but I do not believe that they cannot be related in this way.

Jesus compared heaven to a great wedding feast where guests will be gathered to celebrate the union of Jesus Christ to His bride, the Church. You, reader, have been invited to heaven. The offer of salvation is free to all. You are on the mailing list.

The Bible teaches that God has made it possible for all to come to the feast that is heaven. But Jesus speaks of a 'dress code' in heaven, strangely enough. Jesus says that those who will be gathered in heaven will have one thing in common: they will each be dressed in 'wedding clothes.' He even goes so far as to say that no one will gain admittance without the proper attire (this can all be found in Matthew 22:1-14).

Whether we will be wearing robes or suits and ties in heaven is beside the point. The wedding clothes of which Jesus speaks are a metaphor for the righteousness of Christ that we are given metaphorically to put on for the feast. The invitation is not 'Come As You Are' implying that living a relatively good life or even that going to church will suffice for admittance to heaven. The invitation that Jesus extends for you or me to come to heaven reads more like, 'Heaven is Black Tie Only. You will not be admitted in even the best suit that you have. I know that you don't have anything good enough to get in. I know that you could never have afforded to buy anything good enough to get in, so I have provided a suit for you. I have bought it with my own money. You need merely to come and put it on. Come and put it on!'

It would be careless and unloving of me to continue with my thoughts on heaven below without first explaining why I have a reason to be excited about my place in heaven, which I have tried to do above. The Bible teaches that all who believe that Jesus died and took the hell that they deserve can come to God for forgiveness and be saved. I do not deserve heaven; I deserve hell. But heaven has been promised to me as a gift that I merely have to accept. I can't wait for heaven. Below is what I think it might be like.

Heaven As a Place

Bible 300 at Geneva College served to significantly alter my view of heaven, much in the same way that the last book in the Narnia series, The Last Battle, has done recently as I've re-read it. Both have caused me to think of heaven less as a magical, fantasy world with golden buildings, flying creatures, and superhuman people in robes, but more as simply Earth Perfected.

In The Last Battle, when the characters pass from Narnia through the door into what is, in the story, heaven, they begin to explore the new land in which they find themselves. It is a gradual buildup of recognition that causes them to eventually realize that they are, in fact, in Narnia--and yet it is not quite the Narnia they knew before. The characters struggle to express what it is that is different about the Narnia on the other side of the door, describing the colors as more colorful, or the mountains as being farther away. Finally, Digory is able to express it well when he says, "[The old Narnia] was not the real Narnia. That had a beginning and an end. It was only a shadow or a copy of the real Narnia which has always been here and always will be here...And of course it is different; as different as a real thing is from a shadow or as waking life is from a dream." C.S. Lewis goes on in the narrative of the story to say how the difference between the old and new Narnias was similar to differences in viewing scenes through a mirror compared to viewing them with the naked eye. He says, "The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more. I can't describe it any better than that: if you ever get there you will know what I mean."

It thrills me to imagine what heaven will look like. If places like Rock Run, and the green hills of Ireland, and the wilds of Alaska are somehow tarnished by sin in this world, I cannot sufficiently anticipate what it will be like to view and wholly enjoy the splendor of the new heavens and the new earth with my resurrected body. I imagine it might be similar to the difference between watching Spiderman in a state of the art theatre with the most advanced audio/visual components available when all you've known of movies before is the 12" grainy screen in your basement; or hearing a professional symphony for the first time after only knowing high school concert bands; or falling in love when all you've ever known is to live for yourself. I think these are crude illustrations, but it's what I've got to work with having never been to heaven.

The Bible speaks very plainly to the fact that all of Creation--stars and plants and animals, and photosynthesis, and the Laws of Motion, and music, and mathematics, etc--exist both for God's glory and to point man to the majesty of his Creator. That was true before sin and death entered the world, and it continues now, however imperfectly. There is no limit to my joy as I dwell on the fact that I will know God more completely in heaven, and partly because of what I will learn of God by learning more about heaven the place.

Seeing and learning about Heaven the place will help me to understand more of the God who created it. Just as the seasons, and the beauty of the sunrise, and the wonder of music all reveal to me elements of the character of God, so much more so will these things speak more clearly and more deeply and more lastingly to me when I can enjoy them without the veil, without sin as a filter.

2006-04-10T19:41:00.000-04:00

I Pity Weight Trainers, Too.

For those of you who had a hard time swallowing my take on joggers, by reading this entry you will at least see consistency in my view of weight lifters.

*Side Note: I find it hard to think poorly of someone who's worldview is consistent, even if the worldview is utterly dumbfounding. If someone thinks that 2 + 2 = 5 but at the same time claims that 5 - 2 = 3, then you can argue with them all you want, but you will end up in a circular disagreement. However, if someone believes that 2 + 2 = 5 and also thinks that 5 - 2 = 2, then at least you can enter into a dialogue with them about the fundamentals of what they believe, and hope that their inaccuracies correct themselves.*

With that said,

I think weight training is for hosers.

I stumbled upon this facet of my worldview almost accidentally by means of the summer job I carried all through high school and college. I worked for a landscaper every summer and winter break from age 14 until I was a salaried employee of Whitestone Associates, Inc. For those of you not familiar with the in's and out's of the landscaping business, let me enlighten you.

Shrubs do not dig their own holes and plant themselves beneath sufficient cover. Brick paver patios do not lay themselves. Weed wackers do not operate by remote control. Barrels of leaves do not carry themselves across the front lawn of Cochran's Funeral Home and empty themselves into the woods.

Landscaping is a lot of manual labor. Manual labor is a lot of physically strenuous work.

What does this have to do with weight trainers?

To be fair, I should compile a list similar to the one above: Dumbells do not curl themselves in sets of ten reps each. Squats are not a spectator-friendly activity. Butterfly machines do operate on a gentle breeze. Iron does not pump itself.

Weight training is a lot of physically strenuous work.

In my opinion, however, a holistic (dare I say, more natural) approach to getting strong like landscaping or other manual labor is my first and practically only option when it comes to strength training. [This is where the tie-in with the jogger blog comes in.] Why isolate an otherwise excruciating and generally undesirable activity like lifting weights or running if you can accomplish the same purpose by means of physical labor or playing a sport? Why not get paid $12 an hour to abuse your body? Why not run until your lungs burn while playing soccer or basketball? I got tan and learned valuable skills working as a landscaper in addition to getting strong. I won't beat up on the true runners again, but I personally prefer to get my running in during a sport of some kind.

I pity the people who think that they are in shape because they jog. I pity the people who think they have a man's body because they lift weights. I pity their means by which they have chosen to attain their goals and I pity their thought process more than anything, because it's so inside the box.

Do you jog because you love to run? There are people who truly love to run. Are you really one of them or do you jog because you think that's the only cardiovascular exercise you can think of? Or do you choose it to be seen? There are people who probably love to lift heavy masses up and down repeatedly. They're called oafs.

But there are people who are in shape without running or lifting weights. I fit this bill, albeit vaguely these days. I understand it takes exercise to get and maintain a physique, but I don't like jogging or lifting weights. What am I to do? Sports and landscaping were the two horses I rode to HotBodville until I graduated college. Career and Marriage are less conducive to these methods.

So I improvise. I never take an elevator if I don't have to. I always skip every other step and try to isolate my quads. Over the three months I was inspecting piers at the Newark project, I carried every single one of the 450 concrete test cylinders (50 lb. each) from one end of the site to the other instead of loading them into my truck and driving them over. I take a walk around site every half hour even if I don't need to, instead of sitting in my truck. I make passionate love to my wife because I love her passionately. I eat well. I play basketball with the guys occasionally. I play by myself when I can't get the guys together. I lift from the legs with a straight back even if it's just the laundry basket.

I am not preaching the Gospel of Fitness According to Saint Scott here. I'm not proclaiming myself to be a guru, just trying to make the point that there may be an easier way. I somehow maintain a moderately fit physique without ever jogging or joining a gym. Go ahead and jog around town once a week. Pay $50 a month for your gym membership. Do whatever you want to do, cause that's what you're going to do anyway.

You have my pity.

2006-04-08T15:39:00.000-04:00

I Hate Joggers

Voluntary Disclaimer: Mark Bahnuk and Jeanne Roszel are exempt from this broad-brushed, narrow-minded tongue lashing. I do not want to hear excuse from any other, but instead I expect you all to immediately start living your life in a way that is more pleasing to Scott Pearce.

It has been said that in the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. Well said. Somehow, though, it seems that in the spring nearly everyone else's fancy also turns to thoughts of the winter past, pounds gained, and shapes lost. And, as predictably as the weather in Beaver Falls (it rained every Tuesday of my freshman year, as noted by Nanx Swift), the first warm Saturday in spring invariably brings them out every year--the joggers.

Before I let it fly, let me divulge my take on jogging. I think it's almost pointless. Sure, I subscribe to the basic tenet of Joggolicism which says that distance running is perhaps the purest test of physical endurance known to man. If I were a jogger, I would carry myself with an air of unspoken confidence, knowing that in almost any company I would be able to outrun anyone in the room if a distance race broke out. This is not dissimilar to a wussed-down version of the cockiness that Tyler Durden personified in Fight Club. The solitary, quasi-maverick elements of what makes a dedicated jogger are romantic in and of themselves.

I can remember four times that I have engaged in any distance running for the sake of distance running. Three were voluntary. The first time I ever carried myself any distance without the aid of a bike was my freshman year of high school; it was soccer season. There was a rainy day and we would have otherwise cancelled practice, but Mr. Noble sent the team out on a two mile run. (And by "sent out" I mean "joined us" because Mr. Noble is one of three greatest men God ever created.) As a team, we did a two mile run in the rain, and at its completion, I felt the most alive I had ever felt to that point in my fourteen years on earth.

The other three times were in college. Once, Andy Golden and I ran around Beaver Falls in a snowstorm after work. By the end, we had snowflakes stuck to our hats and our legs were four shades of blue and pink; but after completing the run, it was the most alive I had ever felt to that point in my nineteen years on earth. The other two times were when Nick Ritenour and I went down to the track after work and ran a couple miles each. I had felt more alive, but still walked back up to the apartments with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.

There is absolutely an appeal in running for the sake of running. The principles of Delayed Gratification, Persistence Through Pain, and Satisfaction at Seeing Hard Work Pay Off can all be learned by disciplining oneself to run a long distance. I have experienced all these from my limited experience. I have tasted from the well, but I decline to drink fully.

I just can't buy into the whole jogging cult. Let me share why.

Jogging is not inherently practical. There are many positive side effects to conditioning oneself to be able to run long distances, but in the end, jogging only makes you a better jogger. Unless your boss decrees that the winner of a company-wide 10-miler will be the only employee to receive a Christmas bonus, jogging doesn't ever produce anything tangible. Learning Russian only comes in handy if you need to speak to a Russian. Sure, jogging two miles will help your endurance in a game of soccer, but learning a language without immediate application borders on futility in my mind.

There is no outside impetus in jogging. Running for the sake of running holds very little appeal for me. Nike commercials make running on the beach at the crack of dawn look so romantic. Maybe it is. I'm perhaps one of the biggest fans of solitude and making every effort to spend occasional time alone with one's thoughts, but give me a ball to chase, a frisbee to catch, or a basket at which to shoot over an empty track or busy street any day of the week. People belittle golfers for chasing a little white ball around grassy fields until it drops in a hole eighteen times. I'd rather be doing something with my hands, honing motor skills, or exercising my will to win at the same time that I may be wrestling with Delayed Gratification and Persistence Through Pain.

The risk/reward balance does not favor reward. You can doll it up all you want, but long distance running as a sport is merely traveling from Point A to Point B in the shortest amount of time. Wow, Jim, you mean you shaved a whole two seconds off your time in the two mile? Bravo. What's your next goal? Shave another three? No thanks. I crave competition in my sporting activities, and a glorified average velocity contest does not fit the bill.

If I strike out in baseball, the outcome was most likely determined by reasons other than the baseball was moving faster than my bat. No, the pitcher probably threw a curve when I was expecting a slider, or a knuckleball when I was expecting the heat. He may have scouted me and pitched me up and in because he knew my weakness. However, during the next at bat I can make adjustments and do a better job anticipating, hoping for a different outcome. If I lose a race, more than likely the reasons are none other than that the guy I was racing was faster than me. Case closed. There is not enough incentive for me to train and beat my body to be able to shave a second here or there in hopes that my seconds add up to fewer than his seconds.

Joggers are not better people because they jog. I can't stand seeing joggers in public, probably because I presume that every jogger I see is jogging to be seen. Why else would someone not named Mrs. Faschan jog along a major state arterial highway? Why else would Miss College Frat Girl don a hoodie and sweats and allow herself to be seen flush-faced and glistening with sweat when at any other time of any other day, she cannot be seen without makeup and hoop earrings the size of dinner plates? It could be because she loves the solitude and Satisfaction of Hard Work Paying Off, or it could be because she wants to be perceived as a fit and active when College Boy drives by. I find it hard to believe that so many people would claim to love jogging if jogging on public streets were banned. Would a jogger alone in the woods feel refreshed and satisfied with himself if no one knew about it?

I have no problem with true runners.

Running paid for a lot of Mark Bahnuk's college education and I have only ever seen him jogging around town after dark under the cloak of night. Mark Bahnuk beat Roger Bannister in a race when he was six years old, but you'll never hear Mark Bahnuk brag about how he got up at 5am for six weeks to train. No, Mark Bahnuk loves to run, so he runs.

My cousin Jeanne used to run four miles each way to work in high school. She could have gotten a ride in a car, and she could have ridden her bike. But she ran four miles each way to work because she loves to run. She ran on back country roads because that's the only kind of paved road they have in Montrose, PA. All the others are dirt.

I have tried jogging and it's not my thing. I prefer sports with more involved goals than Distance / Time = Winner, but I do not have less respect for someone who aspires to such attainments.

I do, however, have a problem with hearing how wonderful Bill thinks he is because he proclaims to the world how high he gets by putting one foot in front of the other until he's delirious. I do have a problem with Jill putting on a sports bra and shorts and jogging down to Sheetz and back. I do have a problem with Will letting on like he's a Greek god because he has been blessed with high capacity lungs and a flair for masochism.

And I definitely have a problem with seeing Dr. Shaw in running shorts.

2005-10-08T21:45:00.000-04:00

Seasonal Music Selection

From when I was five until only just recently, my life has followed a cyclic pattern of two dominant seasons: School Year and Summer. Since graduation I have not known anything more than a long weekend away from work--months off for summer and Christmas are like dreams of youth. As a result, I have again become in tune with the true seasons of spring, summer, autumn, and winter.

With the change of seasons, people alter many things about their habitat, their wardrobes, and even their diets. Gardeners make preparations in their flowerbeds before the first frost of autumn; people put away their sweaters at the sight of spring's first robin. I am no different, but my major changes involve the music in my stereo.

Music, like most other art, is influenced by the environment of the artist. This, I believe, is the essence of what makes different music more or less suitable for any particular season of the year.

Summer and winter are the two extreme seasons, while spring and autumn are complimentary transitional seasons. The differences between the extremes are not just in temperatures. Summer is bright, warm and full of energy. Winter is dark, slower, and colder.

Summer - In our collection, Incubus is the best example of a summertime band. They're a group of pothead, modern hippies, and Brandon Boyd has recently dabbled in things political. Their sound is best suited for the bright, warm days of summer, where even the sounds in the air are energized by the sun. It's no wonder that they are a group of surfer boys from California, the land of eternal sunshine.

Other boys of summer from our jukebox include Bruce Springsteen, James Taylor, Keith Urban, and Andrew WK, although each represents a different aspect of summertime music. Country music is well suited for the everlasting twilight of a summer evening or the easy feeling of a summer Saturday--times like these are where Keith and James come in. The music of Springsteen and Andrew WK embodies the energy and joy of weekend day at the shore.

Autumn - There is no better example of transitional autumn rock than early days Led Zeppelin. A song like "Ramble On" is written at the end of summer, with a mood ready for the transition into things more introspective, but with an energy still ripe with the residual carefree feeling of summer. (Led Zeppelin is a band whose catalog of music included a wide array of rock styles. It is foolish that an attempt should be made to fit them into any one box. As a note of interest, it should not be considered coincidental that Led Zeppelin also produced music while residing in a variety of climates.)

Dredg is a good late summer/early fall band, while I use Counting Crows as a late autumn band with a generous overlap into early winter.

Winter - Winter is the musical season of choice for Becca and me. We find winter music to be more cerebral, more introspective, and generally of a higher worth as art than the work of other seasons. Winter bands dominate our collection.

Coldplay is a good example of winter music. Chris Martin and Coldplay hail from Britain, where the skies are mostly grey, the days are damp and cold, and a day of sun is a day to be cherished. In June or July, their sound doesn't come across as anything more than simplistic but catchy; however, if allowed to develop in the dark, crisp air of a winter evening, their interwoven complexities can tantalize the ears for hours.

Chevelle's music is the same way. In any other season, Chevelle is just three guys playing the same three (really loud) chords over and over. But a road trip on a winter's nite will work wonders to unravel the power of each scream, each smash, each auditory assault.

Pearl Jam comes from Seattle, which is not unlike Britain in many ways. (Discussion topic for later: Almost every great rock band has come from Britain, and the greatest number of American rock bands were formed in Seattle--coincidence??). Seattle bands are the prime examples of environmental influences on music composition. The weather is so dismal in Seattle throughout the year in the northwest that guys started tuning their guitars differently to create a sound that matched their grungey weather.

Matthew Good is from the Great White North, where summer is a merely week of days with temperature in the 70s. Long, cold nights in Canada make for conditions suitable to nurture the poignant cynicism and acute power that are Matthew Good's songs.

Spring – Spring is the season of thaw, new life, and holistic rebirth. Spring music makes the transition from the deeper introspection of winter and it’s frequently darker themes to the joy and energy of summer. By mid-March, I am usually aching for green grass and a warm sun that the spring transition is much more abrupt than that of autumn. All it takes is the first day in the 60ºs for me to break out the spring soundtrack.

Punk rawk is the tried and true selection for the spring season. Each track comes as a burst of life rich with shallow lyrics written by a love-struck high school kid. MxPx, Green Day, and Ghoti Hook collect dust much of the year, but are never caught off guard when they get the call every spring. MeWithoutYou was a welcome addition to the spring genre—they have fit deeper lyrics to a raw energy that bridges the gaps between seasons. Mad At Gravity is another springtime regular.

There are, of course, exceptions. There are the STPs and Audioslaves and CAKEs of the music world that are like little black cocktail dresses and don't even not fit. There are bands like Weezer who have produced albums of polar opposite seasons. There are albums like "Dark Side of the Moon" that mean different things in different seasons. This is a theory, not a universal law of nature.

And so it would be a generalization to say that summer bands are melody-driven while winter songs are deeper and more lyrically meaningful, but it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

As for me and Bec, it’s no wonder we’re winter music people.

2005-09-24T14:54:00.000-04:00

Show Your Support

A letter was delivered to our apartment yesterday. There was no return address on the envelope, but it looked pretty official and it was addressed specifically to me, 'Mr. Scott E. Pearce.' I opened it. Inside was a single-page letter that addressed me again as 'Mr. Pearce.' Below are the contents of the letter:

Mr. Pearce,

It has come to our attention that you are one of only nine people remaining in the greater New York metropolitan area who does not display a magnetic support ribbon on your personal vehicle. We have taken measures to confirm this through one or more reliable sources; you have not received this letter in error.

The reasons that you have as of yet not taken steps to display evidence that you do, in fact, support a cause is troubling news. In the volatile day in which we live, the need for support of all that is good and charitable has never been greater. There is no better way to support a cause than to purchase and display a magnetic ribbon on your car. After all, charitable work and donations to those in need should always be as public a gesture as possible.

Perhaps you are not aware of what you are missing by not displaying a magnetic ribbon on your 2001 Dodge Dakota. The purchase of a magnetic ribbon serves many purposes. First, almost half of the cost of the ribbon is contributed an organization consisting of many, many people who do not actually work for free. In actuality, the generous donation of $5 contributes very little financially to your cause of choice, but this should not be of concern because of the other ways in which your ribbon purchase shows support.

Not only does your purchase contribute financially, but it contributes much more importantly to you, the displayee. What good is supporting a cause if no one knows that you support it? Would your friends and neighbors have any idea of the depths of charity that your heart possesses without a collection of ribbons to make it outwardly evident? Of course not! Think of the self-satisfaction and personal pride you have not attained.

There is a veritable smorgasbord of causes worthy of your support. You have certainly noticed the variety of your fellow citizens' support, offered to the many causes available today. The list is practically limitless--limited only by cold-hearted Americans like you. Causes worthy of support include, but are certainly not limited to, the following:

"Support Our Troops" (also "Pray for Our Troops" and "Bring Our Troops Home")

"Breast Cancer" (also "Ovarian Cancer." Please no "Testicular" or "Prostate" or "Colon." Support for these causes should not be displayed--that's just gross.)

"AIDS Awareness" (Please no "Abstinence Awareness" or "Only Sex with Members of the Opposite Gender Awareness" for reasons that should go without saying.)

"Hepatitis C Awareness" (Please no "B" or "A")

"Feed Terrell Owens' Family"

"In God We Trust" (This should be displayed only in the most unassuming way possible)

It should, by now, be plain to see how your lack of support is both irrational and irresponsible. While your actions have not necessarily affected any one person or group directly, you should know that your negligence to support a cause may be interpreted by some to be an insult or worse, a sign of passive aggression.

Our troops need your support. Breast Cancer victims need your support. Hepatitis C patients need your support. They are not being supported to their maximum potential if your vehicle remains magnet-less.

This letter is intended to notify you of your grave negligence and to spur you on to show support of the cause(s) of your choosing. If you do not act in support of an approved cause, we wil have no choice but to force action.

Sincerely,

The National Commission for Citizen's Awareness and Support

2005-09-18T18:54:00.000-04:00

The Rolling Stones are the Most Overrated Legendary Rock Band of All Time.

So unless you've just returned from a summer-long missions trip to Tasmania, you've probably heard that the Rolling Stones are touring again. It's probably the big music news of the summer, and has got every radio deejay in any major city (even Pittsburgh!) simply drunk with giddiness. Ticket prices at the venues in our area started at $250 for floor level seats--and that's through TicketMaster, not even scalped yet!

I can only speculate as to your thoughts on the subject, if indeed you have any. If you're like me, you were born too early to have caught any part of the Stones' heyday, but you were born at such a time as to witness the band making (one can only hope, for their own sakes) maybe their last go-round, without exception being celebrated by the masses for their collective body of work.

If you're even more like me, you don't understand the fuss. In fact, if you are me, you think the Rolling Stones are perhaps the most overrated legendary rock band ever.

There is no doubt they are a legendary band. The fact that they have been around, practically unchanged since before man walked on the moon, grants them undisputed legend status. The fact that they can put on a show more than forty years after their first album earns my respect. I just don't think they're quite as great as so many people make them out to be.

I love a lot of Rolling Stones' songs--there might even be four or five that would crack a list of my 100 favourite songs. My complaint with the hubbub about the Stones is not the same as my confusion about the legendary status of Jim Morrison as "An American Poet"--at least I realize the Stones are a good band.

I don't even think I'm in the dark because I didn't live when they were in their prime, when they were revolutionary. This is similar to how people say "The Graduate" was a ground-breaking film in it's day but now isn't worth the price of a rental. Deejays don't build up the Stones as a band that changed rock n roll forever and therefore we should still celebrate them today. Deejays frequently call the Stones the greatest rock n roll band ever. I just don't get it.

Mick Jagger is great as a frontman. He's never not been ugly, and is altogether lacking as a lyricist, but is still a good lead guy to have. Keith Richards is even uglier then Mick and doesn't even hold a candle to any of the truly great guitarists of his day.

The Rolling Stones boast an ok frontman and an ordinary lead guitarist; as a group they haven't done enough to be considered revolutionary; as musicians they haven't had much success straying from their formulaic, almost predictable core style; and they've only just barely survived a rock scene in their lifetime that often was unhealthy enough to make them the only band left standing.

It seems to me that the only thing they really have going for them is that they've lasted. They're sixty-something and people are paying thousands of dollars to be in their audience for a few hours. It's beyond me, but it's one thing I can't knock them for. They sell. They've always sold.

Just please don't make them out to be more than they are. It grates my ears to hear deejays proclaim them the greatest rock n roll band of all time, or introduce "Satisfaction" as the greatest rock n roll song of all time. They're a good band that has lasted. Nothing more.

2005-09-18T00:29:00.000-04:00

Christian Pop Culture

Here at the outset I would like to cite a post from Daryl's blog that sparked me to put to keyboard the thoughts below. Daryl's blog can be found at http://derail.blogspot.com/ or at the link to the left. The post was titled, "Cutesy Christian Catchphrases."

Daryl vented his displeasure at the catchphrase fad that started with WWJD? and is still so prevalent in Christian circles today. He ranted about how even an edifying and beneficial idea can be manipulated in what would appear to be questionable ways. Daryl's frustration, I think, stems from the fact that both the instigating and participating catchphrase Christians seem to be displaying an image of the disciples of Christ that many of us do not wish to be associated with.

I commend you to read his blog for more on that topic and I will now continue onto my own.

My displeasure is with how much of mainstream Christian pop culture is merely a rip-off of the secular mainstream. How can it be that we who are called to be set apart as a people holy to the Lord find it so appealing to witness to this fact with spin-offs of the world around us?

Exhibit A. The "got milk?" ad campaign was rated the most effective promotion of a product in something like a dozen years, and it's easy to see evidence of that--imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so they say. There are perhaps only a few objects in the English language that have not been copied-and-pasted into the "got milk?" phrase. I've seen bumper stickers and t-shirts with everything from "got beer?" to "got peace?" to "got virus protection?" People of all kinds have no shame ripping off a popular phrase to push their own product or idea, because in doing so they can siphon off a guaranteed positive association for themselves. Sadly, in this case, Christians are no exception. "got Jesus?", "got salvation?", and "got Spirit?" can be seen plastered on the back of the car in front of you--or maybe even your own.

Other examples can be found on the tshirts that are in every Christian bookstore: the "CK" logo for Calvin Klein turned into a "JC" for Jesus Christ; what looks like a GAP tshirt, but the message is now "GAP-Jesus fills it" instead of the clothier. The list goes on. "King of Kings" instead of "King of Beers" (Budweiser); "Jesus Inside" instead of "Intel Inside"; "You're in good hands with AllFaith" (AllState insurance); and perhaps my favourite from www.christiantshirts.net : a rip-off of those lean, green heroes in half shells, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles--"Teenage Jesus-Worshipping Christians". You've got to check out christiantshirts.net to get the full effect of what I'm trying to express.

Exhibit B. Painting with a broad brush (which is apt to get me in trouble), Christian radio, on the whole, is embarrassing. There has never been a dire lack of good Christian music, but you wouldn't always be able to tell from what one can at any time receive on mainstream Christian airwaves. This is not a statement where I can point to specific examples such as with the slogan rip-offs, but there is an underlying current that is noticeable enough to me.

There is little difference between a secular "love song" and a man-centered "praise song"--the words "baby" and "Jesus" can be interchanged between the two without either sounding much different. If Mr. Rock Star wants to tell a girl he loves her (for whatever reason), Rock Star composes priceless verses like "Can't live without you, baby" or "All I need is the air that I breathe, and to love you" or "Oh, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, cause you mean so much to me." If Mr. CCM artist wants to tell Jesus he loves Him (for whatever reason), he assembles a song with lines like "I'm desperate for you/I'm lost without you" or "This is the air I breath" or "Yes, Lord, Yes, Lord, Yes, Yes, Lord, Amen."

I don't think it's a stretch to say that it is, in this case, Christian culture that is guilty of mimicking secular culture. Ambiguous, emotionally driven, self-serving lyrics are all too common in today's Christian Top 40 and on our churches' overhead projectors.

It is true that the apostle Paul taught that we are to "be all things to all men" so as to make the gospel attractive to all kinds of people. I do not believe that this is an adequate defense for this all-out Christianizing of secular pop culture. When Paul's missionary journey took him to Athens, he noticed that the people there worshipped a great number of gods. It's noteworthy to see how Paul shared the gospel to that particular people. He could have said, "You worship this god Zeus. Well, my God is kinda like Zeus. Let me see if I can relate to you using your own gods as starting points." No, Paul instead threw all that out the window and unashamedly preached the true God to the people of Athens. No apologies. No cutesy Christian catchphrases. Just Christ crucified.

All this is not to say that it's wrong to spin-off what's already out there. It's easy. It can be effective. But why go that route? Why resort to merely taking what the world feeds us, doing a little photoshop work and presenting it back to the world--Christianized, but not necessarily improved? To me it makes Christians seem second rate, as if we can't produce quality of our own. If I were an unbeliever browsing christiantshirts.net it would seem to me that these Christians were living with a foot planted in each realm, as a child sitting in his room of Christianity, but looking out the window and longing to be playing outside with the other boys and girls.

Christ commanded his disciples to be a salt and light in a dark generation, even warning them not to lose their saltiness. It will be a constant and lifelong struggle for each of us to put off the old man and clothe ourselves with Christ. It is difficult to stand out; it is a daunting task to try to truly live in this world but not be of this world. But we must.

"You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men." Matthew 5.13

"And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect." Romans 12.2

2005-09-09T21:05:00.000-04:00

PennDOT, I'm Sorry

I was involved on-and-off in the earthwork operations of a large building expansion site in Roxbury this summer. A huge trucking distribution center was expanding its existing building and putting up a new one next to it. The earthwork involved was almost a perfectly balanced cut-and-fill situation straight from a geotech textbook. The area under construction was the slope of a hill, with the bottom half being below grade and the upper half being above grade. Solution: Move top half of hill to bottom half of hill, creating level building pad.

In cutting the upper part of the hill, the contractor generated massive amounts of boulders. They can't use boulders as structural fill, so they brought a crusher onto site for a few weeks and before long, they had turned un-usable boulders into gravel they could use as retaining wall backfill. In paying a little extra to operate the crusher and transport the new gravel, they probably made out like bandits by not having to pay to truck boulders off site and then pay to truck gravel in. The eliminated the middle man (the quarry) and came out smelling like roses.

This is common practice for such a situation since it makes sense and is to the advantage of most everyone involved. However, it got me thinking...

What do they do in areas like the Lehigh Valley, where the parent bedrock is limestone? Do they re-use limestone?

*We've come to the part of this entry where Scott has succesfully built a 'stop'--a point where the reader will have to stop to wonder, "Why would the re-use of limestone be a problem, Scott? Tell us, tell us!" This is what we in the business call a captured audience.*

Limestone is a geotechnical concern because many types of limestone are dissolvable in water. You've probably seen a picture of a sinkhole. Maybe your uncle Phil lost his Audi into a sinkhole when one opened up in his driveway. They look like imploded crater holes.

Sinkholes occur where water seeps into the subsoil, ponds on a section of limestone, and essentially causes the limestone to vanish. This happens so gradually over time that often the soils will retain enough of their strength so as to make the dissolving to be practically imperceptible until failure. On the surface, the roadway or farmer's field looks normal until one morning uncle Phil can't drive to work and farmer Maurice can't harvest any corn from his field.

Limestone, therefore, would be a problem to re-use as structural fill because the life expectancy of a subgrade prepared with limestone--particularly one close to the surface or near the groundwater table--would be significantly reduced.

So, getting to the apology, eventually...

Only a measly ten miles of the entire PA section of I-80 widens to five lanes across; the other 352 miles is only four lanes. The New Jersey part of I-80, by comparison, has only ten miles of four-lane highway; the rest is six or more! New Jersey's interstates are it's pride and joy (which is helpful since seemingly half of the ground cover of the greater Newark area is interstate) and are a smooth ride almost anywhere. In Pennsylvania, I have always complained, a driver is hard pressed to find a stretch of one mile without a pothole or 100 miles without construction.

Well, PennDOT, it seems I was too quick to pass judgment. For years I have bad-mouthed you and scoffed at your inability to maintain your sorry excuse for an interstate highway system. I always assumed that your highway design engineers were a rag tag bunch of buffoons who didn't know DGA from a DCP. It turns out, you're not bad engineers, after all--you're just good businessmen and inconsiderate of your state's drivers.

You know about limestone's susceptibility to decay over time and yet that hasn't stopped you from using crushed limestone as your roadbase. You didn't see the need to spend millions of taxpayers' dollars on importing costs when you had all the subbase material you needed right in your own backyard. Instead of bringing in clean stone from another state, you simply paid your local Tom, Dick, and Harry Pennsylvanian to give you cheap processed limestone for your roads. You save millions of dollars, and instead figure you'd just spend a portion of the fortune you saved by employing Frank, Joe, and Larry road crewman to repair the roads that always go bad because they're paved on limestone subbase and limestone dissolves in water!

Engineering school prepared me to think like an engineer (innocent as a dove), but a year of working for an engineering firm has taught me to think like a businessman (wise as a serpent). Engineers design in a perfect world, and they are driven by fear of failure. This is how we get the reputation of being out of touch and unrealistic. Businessmen live and breathe in the real world and they are driven by the bottom line. This is how they get the reputation of being ruthless and sacrificial when it comes to quality.

Any good engineering solution needs to be driven by both quality and practicality. PennDOT, in my opinion, has sacrificed quality for the bottom line. They have paved their roads with a material that dissolves in water, all for the sake of a little green.

2005-09-09T20:19:00.000-04:00

Forty-Nine!

You may remember that after my first round of golf this season, back in April, I had announced, "My goals for the year are to break 50 for a round of nine, go the whole summer without scoring over 60, and go a whole round without a 3-putt."

You probably don't, but it brings nonetheless it brings me great pleasure to declare that I have achieved one of these goals so far this summer.

On a sultry July Saturday, Phil, Ben, and I played a round of nine at Fairway Valley, the course behind Warren Hills high school. I shot a triple-bogey 8 on the par 5 first hole, and triple-bogeyed the 8th with a 6. Despite those two black eyes, I was otherwise surprisingly steady and even par-ed a par 5 for the first time.

I ended up with a score of 49, demolishing my previous best mark of 55, set in April. I hit a couple remarkable shots, but neither significant enough to be remarked on here--which is exactly my next point.

I am gradually becoming a better golfer. I'm dangerously close to becoming a golfer. Two summers ago, I would have called everyone I knew to tell them about shooting a birdie on a real golf course. I birdied a hole for the first time this summer, the morning of my bachelor party, and hardly raised my heartbeat. The difference in me these days is that I expect great things from myself and the problem is that I routinely almost achieve them. My golf game is to the point now that I'm disappointed if I more than double-bogey. In fact, snowmen and 7s are now the exception. It's exciting to think about, but only when compared to what I once was.

I am Tiger Woods.

2005-09-04T22:55:00.000-04:00

Overdue Update

My bride, Rebecca Rose, and I finally did uni-flesh this past June 25th, 2005. We have wasted no time and are well on our way to living happily ever after in the bliss that is marriage.

We are living in Washington, New Jersey, just an unladen swallow's flight away from Hackettstown and my parents and the church. Becca has started at the presitgious Lehigh Valley Hospital in Allentown, and I am a promising young geotechnical engineer with Whitestone Associates in Watchung.

We have spent our post-wedding summer seemingly alternating weekend trips to Montrose and Williamsport, visiting Becca's family and the Williams family, respectively. Now that we will be home a little more often, we will be starting and I will be leading a bi-weekly small group Bible study in our apartment. The boys and girls youth groups will be starting up again this month, and Becca and I will both be serving as counselors. I will have way more fun because boys' idea of craft time is painting a pine wood derby car.

I'm gonna put an end to this entry now because it feels like I'm writing a family Christmas letter.

2005-05-17T22:29:00.000-04:00

Apartment E-7

The entry titled "Shower the People You Love With Love" touches on the decision Becca and I had to make about where to live out our first year of marriage. I'd like to share a bit about the place the Lord has provided--both as a testimony to His goodness to us, and also as a ploy to add entries to our new Guestbook.

Early in our apartment search, we together came to the conclusion that it would be wise of us to lower our expectations and try as much as possible to "settle" for a lesser (read: smaller) apartment rather than pay more for more. Our thinking was, and still is, that if we could spend $100-150 less per month and make due bumping elbows a little more in a smaller space, it would help toward our ultimate goal of being in a house as soon as possible. We realized it might mean we could feel like we were living on top of one another, but isn't that what the first year of marriage is all about (hehe...you know...)?

It has only become more and more evident how the Lord has blessed that decision--a humbling thought. Not only are we paying at least $100 less per month than we would have been at places we otherwise would have considered over our place now, but I don't think we could have found a better apartment if we had looked for a whole year. Let me give you the details.

First, the apartment itself is practically brand new. The previous resident must have been a tenent for quite a few years because when he moved out, they redid the entire place. Our kitchen has a brand new fridge/freezer, new microwave, new stove top and oven, new counters, new cupboards, new dishwasher, and new flooring. The entire place has brand new carpet. The bathroom has a new tub and shower head, new vanity, new sink and counter, and a new toilet seat. There is nothing in the entire place that even suggests anyone had lived there prior to us. It feels like a nice hotel, but much more personal.

Second, we have no complaints about space, even though at 555 square feet, our place is easily the smallest residence we found available. What we lack in square footage is more than offset by the high ceilings (10' or higher--I can't reach them even jumping) and very tall windows that get sun nearly all hours of the day. I should reword that sentence because we don't lack space at all. We have fit a full sized couch and a large loveseat, with a dining room table and five chairs and have room to spare for dance parties, orgies, and the like. We wouldn't know what to do with more space (plus, there is the whole living on top of each other part alluded to above).

Thirdly are the intangibles. Moving day was exponentially easier because we're on the first floor--we actually passed stuff through the window. There is a Little League field across the street. We have yet to hear any evidence that we have people living above, below, or next to us on either side. Our landlady is a dear. Our town is almost exactly located between my office and Becca's hospital. There is a good pizzaria in town (but no bagel place yet--curses!).

For such a nice place in New Jersey, $735 a month is an absolute steal. It's quite a large fixed expense to suddenly tack onto two car payments and insurance and student loans. BUT the Lord has so blessed Becca and I over these last months that I have more than once wondered, "Lord, if these are supposed to be the lean years when money is tight and major sacrifices are to be made, what's in store for the fat years??"

So visit us or write us at our new locale. Becca is living solo for now, very quickly making bare white walls feel like a home. I move in June 25. The address is below.

Scott and Becca (soon to be) Pearce
66 Park Avenue
Apartment E-7
Washington, NJ 07882

We are just using our cell phones for now and do not have a land line.

I am 908.343.1962. Becca is 908.343.8632.

2005-05-02T18:49:00.000-04:00

Shower the People You Love With Love

A while back Becca and I were faced with the decision of where to live after marriage. The Lord had already blessed me with work in Jersey, so we at least had a home base of Warren County, New Jersey from which to fan out and begin our search. It quickly boiled down to a choice between western Jersey or eastern Pennsylvania.

Finances are a big deal to most any newly-wed couple. As far as I can tell, gas is the only thing more costly on the western side of the Delaware River. Car insurance, rent, houses, and property taxes are just a few of the cost of living items that make living in Pennsylvania seem so appealing. If Financial Impact was the item on our decision matrix that carried the highest weighting factor, I can say with certainty that Becca and I would have a lease contract, if not mortgage, for a place in PA.

But it's not just a dollars-and-cents decision. We both have strong convictions that money should not be a deterent to obtaining what we believe to be the worthy pursuits in life. Through prayer and wise council, we are trying to prepare ourselves now, early in our marriage-to-be, to establish habits that we hope will free us of letting money be a controlling force in our decisions in our life. With that said, the intangible reasons to stay in New Jersey were more persuasive than that which could be deposited and withdrawn.

After much consideration, the item with the highest weighting factor became our conviction that we needed to be able to live close enough to be active members in a body of believers, a local church. Through various means and living examples (both bad and good), we agreed that we would not settle for being "Sunday members" of a congregation--essentially commuting to church for Lord's Day worship and not much else during the week. We both wanted to at least present ourselves with the possibility of plugging into the weekly life of the church, if not even going to far as to engage in church ministry. We limited ourselves to a twenty-minute radius about any known reformed congregation in PA or NJ in which to settle, so this did not of necessity mean we decided to stay near the Hackettstown OPC. It certainly did, however, made it harder to leave.

There were a few reasons we chose to stay at Hackettstown OPC. The first was that we were obviously already there. Becca had been received as a communicant member this summer, and I am going on 23 years here. There are members who prayed for me on my date of birth, or changed my diapers in the nursery, or babysat me as a toddler. In some ways I have more of an affection for my "adopted grandparents" here than I do my own blood relations.

It has been difficult in ways for Becca to come into "my world" at church, with literally every member knowing so much about me. She has had to fight frustrations of feeling more like "Scott's fiance" than "Rebecca Roszel, new member." But aside from this and the subtle tendency to blur the line between familiarity and indifference, we could not be in a more caring, supportive environment to start out.

And this could not have been made more evident than it was this Saturday when Becca was thrown a surprise bridal shower. Nearly 30 women of the church came out on a cold and otherwise dismal Saturday afternoon to literally shower my future wife with gifts, food, recipes, furnishings, appliances, advice, love, joy, and cake. Another three sent a gift and their regrets at not being able to attend; two more brought theirs to church the next day.

We came away with a haul that required a Rav4 and the trunk of my parent's car to bring back to our apartment. Becca came away with an overwhelming sense of the outpouring of love that is so easily stirred up from the women of Hackettstown OPC. We both came away with gratitude and praise to the Lord who had given us such a clear and immediate sign that it was indeed a good decision to remain a part of our local church.

2005-04-20T20:04:00.000-04:00

Harder Than It Seems

Not that you would know it by checking the frequency with which I post new entries, but I swear that I think of at least five new things to write about every week. Really, all that's keeping me from making it big as a world-famous blogger is my full-time job, planning a wedding, doing housework to pay rent, sister's softball games, and golf. Oh yeah, and sleeping and dinnertimes.

2005-04-20T19:29:00.000-04:00

Round 1

I played my first round of golf of the season yesterday. I was able to play quasi-hooky from work and Greg snuck away from seminary long enough to get in 18 holes on a beautiful spring day in Philly. We played at Twining Valley (Greg's interim home course), which turned out to be the most challenging course I have played to date.

I broke my previous personal best (by one stroke) for any 9 holes by shooting a 55 on the front, and then shot a 56 on the back for a 111 18-hole score. I've only played a full 18 two other times and I don't remember how I fared.

My front score could have been much lower, but I hacked two 8's on two different par 4's, and scored a 10 on the par-4 4th hole. My lie on the green started out well below the hole and the greens were pool table fast. I think Greg and I both 6-putted, and it was almost reaching the point of comical tragedy with how many times we putted up the hill only to have it roll right back down to our feet. My final put actually went past the hole and rolled back down in.

I tallied two pars, on holes 2 and 6, and the highlight of my golf career so far was scoring a birdie on the par-4 9th hole. I had put my tee shot on the green with my driver, and then left a 35-foot eagle putt short. I tapped in for birdie and got a handshake from Greg.

My goals for the year are to break 50, not ever score over 60, and go a whole round without a 3-putt.

2005-02-24T22:29:00.000-05:00

Scott and Becca's Wedding - The Complete Soundtrack

(last updated 24 Feb 2005)

Becca and I are to be wed in the holiest of matrimonies on June 25 of this year. The reception will be outside in the backyard of the ever-generous Keith and Deanna Cuomo's house. We will not be having a DJ, per se, but are instead loading Joel's mp3 player with several million of our favourite songs (listed below).

Consider this an open invitation to suggest songs that we might have overlooked in compiling this soundtrack. We are looking for dancing songs, dinner songs, or any other appropriate tune. As you can see, our list is anything but your run-of-the-mill "Electric Slide," "Time of My Life," and "Cotton-Eyed Joe."

Feel free to go obscure, go mainstream, old or new. I can tell you right now that there will be no Celine Dion, so don't even bother.

The List (as of 24 Feb 2005)

Aerosmith - "Sweet Emotion"
Allman Brothers Band - "Melissa"
Allman Brothers Band - "Jessica"
Allman Brothers Band - "Blue Sky"
Aretha Franklin - "RESPECT"
Aretha Franklin - "Son of a Preacher Man"
AWK - "She Is Beautiful"
B52s - "Love Shack"
Bad Company - "Feel Like Makin Love"
Barry White - Can't Get Enough of Your Love Babe (thanks! Daryl)
Barry White - "You're the First"
Beastie Boys - "Sure Shot"
Beegees - "Stayin Alive"
Ben Folds - "The Luckiest" (thanks JoelandLizzz)
Billy Idol - "Mony Mony"
Billy Joel - "She's Got a Way"
Boston - "Rock 'N' Roll Band"
Boston - "Peace of Mind"
Brian Adams - "Heaven"
Bruce Springsteen - "Dancing in the Dark"
Cars - "Good Times Roll"
Cars - "Bye Bye Love"
Cars - "Shake it Up"
Cindi Lauper - "Girls Wanna Have Fun"
Coldplay - "Sparks"
Coldplay - "Green Eyes"
David Bowie - "Suffer Jet City"
David Bowie - "Golden Years"
DC Talk - "That Kinda Girl"
Dire Straits - "Romeo and Juliet"
Doobies - "Rockin Down the Highway"
Eddie Money - "Two Tickets to Paradise"
Ella Fitzgerald - "I Could Write a Book"
Eric Clapton - "Wonderful Tonight"
Flaming Lips - "Do You Realize"
Fleetwood Mac - "Say You Love Me"
Foo Fighters - "Everlong"
Foundations - "(Why Do You) Build Me Up Buttercup"
Four Seasons - "Oh What a Night"
Frank Sinatra - "Dancing Cheek to Cheek"
Frank Sinatra - "Fly Me to the Moon"
Frank Sinatra - "The Way You Look Tonight"
Frank Sinatra - "I Won't Dance"
Frank Sinatra - "Let's Fall in Love"
Frank Sinatra - "I Get a Kick Out of You"
Frank Sinatra - "The Last Dance"
Frank Sinatra - "The Best is Yet to Come"
George Thoroughgood (sp?) - "Who Do You Love"
Grand Funk Railroad - "Some Kind of Wonderful"
Incubus - "Echo"
James Taylor - "Something in the Way She Moves"
James Taylor - "How Sweet It Is"
James Taylor & Carly Simon - "Devoted to You"
Jay and the Americans - "This Magic Moment"
Jim Croce - "Time in a Bottle"
Jimi Hendrix - "Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire"
Jimmy Eat World - "Jukebox" (thanks, Greg)
Jimmy Eat World - "Sweetness" (thanks, Greg)
Jimmy Eat World - "Praise Chorus" (thanks, Greg)
Joe Cocker - "Feelin' Alright"
The Kinks - "All Day and All of the Night"
The Knack - "My Sheronah"
Kool & the Gang - "Jungle Boogie" (thanks, Daryl)
Led Zeppelin - "Houses of the Holy"
Led Zeppelin - "The Ocean"
Led Zeppelin - "Trampled Underfoot"
Louis Armstrong - "Sugar"
Maroon 5 - "Sunday Morning"
Marshall Tucker Band - "Can't You See"
Natalie Cole - This Will Be (An Everlasting Love)
Norah Jones - "Come Away With Me"
Norah Jones - "Nearness of You"
Outkast - "Hey Ya" (thanks, Daryl)
Queen - "Best Friend"
Righteous Brothers - "Unchained Melody"
Rolling Stones - "Satisfaction (I Can't Get No)"
Rolling Stones - "Hey, You, Get Off of My Cloud"
Romantics - "What I Like About You"
Roy Orbison - "Pretty Woman"
Sara Groves - "Fly"
Sara Groves - "Cannot Lose My Love"
Sarah McLachlan - "Ice Cream"
Sixpence None the Richer - "Kiss Me"
Smashing Pumpkins - "Take Me Down" (thanks, Dan Sack)
Spiral Staircase - "More Today Than Yesterday" (thanks, Nanx and Dan Sack)
Steely Dan - "Reeling in the Years"
Steppenwolf - "Magic Carpet Ride"
Stevie Ray Vaughn - "The House Is Rockin"
Stevie Wonder - "Signed, Sealed, Delivered"
Styx - "Renegade"
Thin Lizzy - "The Boys Are Back in Town"
Tim McGraw & Faith Hill - "It's Your Love"
Temptations - "My Girl" (thanks, Daryl)
Temptations - "The Way You Do the Things You Do" (thanks, Daryl)
Turtles - "Happy Together"
Van Halen - "Dance the Night Away"
Van Halen - "Panama"
Van Halen - "Right Now"
Van Halen - "Jump"
Van Morrison - "Have I Told You Lately"
Van Morrison - "Moondance"
Van Morrison - "Crazy Love"
Van Morrison - "Gloria"
ZZ Top - "Cheap Sunglasses"
ZZ Top - "Legs"
ZZ Top - "Gimme All Your Lovin"
ZZ Top - "Sharp Dressed Man"

Click "Comments" below to make a suggestion.

2005-02-15T18:24:00.000-05:00

No-Shave-Off-Season

Pale-skinned hockey fans of Scandenavia and Canadia grow 'playoff beards' during the Stanley Cup playoffs to show their devotion to their team. The prescense of whiskers on a fan's face also serves as a means of unspoken bragging rights, being that the team that eventually hoists the Cup will be the only team with bearded fans by the end of the playoffs. It is at worst an amusing tradition of the Great White North and is something of which I have spun off in an attempt to bring more order and even more regularity to my life.

I have grown a winter beard each of the past two winters. Both beards were spurred by JP$ and his dorm's "No Shave November" bonding scam (of which I was secretly jealous). Beard 1 was the first time I had ever grown more than just chin hair and eventually phased into an Amish-looking growth that I am not fond of recalling. Beard 2 lasted most of this winter past and, I feel, gave me some subliminal higher-standing with Becca's [bearded] father. Beard 3, this year's latest and greatest, started in late October and has only recently fallen into the bathroom sink, victim of the guillotine that is the Mach3.

[For inclusion into the Scott Pearce biography: "It was after a few weeks of struggling with trying to decide when to return to the ranks of naked-faced (which coincidentally coincided with a few weeks of Rebecca Rose hinting that it would be nice to kiss a naked top lip again) that Scott Pearce made an official decision..."]

I have officially decided to grow a beard annually during the exact length of the baseball offseason. I will shave for the last time the morning after the last World Series game (regardless of which team wins the game) and will resume shaving again on the first day that the Yankees' pitchers and catchers report to spring training.

The press conference will be tomorrow at 3pm. Stupid questions will be rejected with Bill Parcellsian bluntness.

2005-01-17T19:12:00.000-05:00

Licence to be Royally Pissed

So the other day I saw a Hummer H2 in local parking lot with a car-top carrier strapped to the roof.

I'll re-type that sentence for effect: The other day I saw a Hummer H2 with a car-top carrier strapped to the roof.

I have never so sincerely cursed out someone under my breath. How can this guy justify adding more cargo space atop what is arguably the largest four-wheeled beast on the roads today? Is it possible that he really couldn't contrive a means of packing into his hugeass tank-on-wheels whatever of his worldly possessions needed transport?

I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that maybe his lot was such that he had recently realized the gross lapse in judgement under which he was subject when he penned the lease for his Frigate of the Freeway and had adopted the policy of merely living out of his H2 as a make-shift RV. Maybe his monthly budget session brought him to the ultimatum of paying rent or paying for gas at 3 miles a gallon, after which he rationalized that an apartment does a far inferior job of announcing to the world, "Hey, look at me and deduce that my genitalia must be as grand in scale as my vehicle is excessive and wasteful!"

In related thoughts, I had an idea for a documentary. I would pay the Friday nite admission fee to the local cinema to watch even a half hour film of the following content. I would like to see a camera crew and a moderately-polite interview man/woman track the drivers of Hummers on the road and try to interview them when they get out of their H2s. I would like these drivers to be asked--objectively and without an air of pretense or bias--things like what made them buy their H2, if they are happy with their purchase, what their monthly gas expenses are, and how their H2 meets their particular transportation needs. I would like the interviewer to be equipped with facts informing the driver how much the gas expenses of the average economy-car-commuter match up with the typical H2 commuter, and do a quick calculation to let the H2 driver know how many children he or she could feed, clothe, and educate through Compassion International with the difference in monthly gas money alone.

I wouldn't care if this crew tracked down solo drivers of the other giant SUVs. I have nothing unique against Hummers except the added "status symbol" tag they supposedly carry. I would pay to watch a documentary like the one described above because I want to hear the H2 owner voice. I want this misinterpreted people group to be able to rationalize their very large decisions to the world; I want them to be able to plead their case to the average cynic like Scott Pearce who does nothing but assume the worst and secretly curse them out as they hum by. Really, I want to be able to secondarily look these people in the eye and hear them say that they can justify the money and gas and lifestyle they expend for the sake of [fill in the blank].

I obviously don't believe that I would hear one convincing argument/justification and would really only be looking for my own sense of justification for cursing at people I have never met.

2004-11-03T18:45:00.000-05:00

"Imagine"--more like "Imagination," as in, Fairy Tale

While I'm on the topic of musicians and their warped views of reality, let me say a few words about how much I hate John Lennon's song, "Imagine." To clarify, it's more that I hate the high esteem in which the majority of the members of the music industry hold it. "Imagine" is practically Scripture to the editors of Spin or any of the wanna-be intellects posing as lyricists and singer-songwriters.

I bring this up because APerfectCircle does an original cover (if that sounds like an oxymoron, I can explain) of "Imagine" on it's new "politically-charged" album, out yesterday. The song was released a few weeks ago and has received typical APC airplay. I heard an interview with Maynard and Billy from APC on the radio Sunday nite and to hear them talk about the song selection, themes, and motives behind the album got a little under my skin.

Let me preface the following with the clarification that I am not trying to critique the song as a piece of music. The music behind the song is simple, introspective, and beautiful. It is the song as it stands as a worldview that needs to be challenged.

For those of you not familiar with the song, I will not waste time finding the lyrics and copying them here. You should take this as a sign that you need to diversify your music collection. (Plus, I said this was only going to be a few words. I'm approaching seven thousand with this sentence.)

I will skip over the obvious lines, "Imagine there's no heaven...No hell below us" and the line that reads contrary to what I know about the Beatles well-chronicled trip to the Far East: "No religion, too." Most of you, my readers, know me and my faith so I need not explain what about these lines, these "hopes" and "dreams" puts wrinkles in my forehead that is a little larger every day.

The frustration I have with "Imagine" is that so many people buy into it. I admit that it isn't hard for the undiscerning listener to be drawn in by the sweet ebb and flow of the subdued piano and especially a song seemingly calling for world peace and brotherhood in our time. These are good things, right? Isn't this just Lennon's own retread of the "Can't we all get along" themes of the 60's?

It would be fine to dismiss "Imagine" as harmless if it were just a song calling for the end of wars or civil unrest. But it's more than that. Lennon and his disciples are subscribers to a radical and harmful way of thinking by holding out for something that will never happen. They were the last of a few burnouts who believed something completely against the truth of the Bible (and what many might call rational, common sense), that is, that man is essentially good. And not only is man essentially good, says Lennonism, but we as a people can be perfected if merely placed in the right environment and rid of all causes of sin like religion, possessions, and political systems.

That's what "Imagine" is about--the utopian worldview. "Utopia" sounds like such a nice word when used in hyperbole to describe what the world would be like "if everyone just did [this]" or "if everyone just stopped [that]." But a utopian worldview is dangerous and ridiculous almost to the point of being comical.

Seekers of utopia come in all degrees of devotion, like most any organized religion. There are those, like Lennon seems to be, who dream of a globe where there is an absolutely free, unhindered exchange of cultures and goods and ideas (uninhibited sex probably makes the list, too, but that's just speculation). There are those who merely hope for the lofty goal of an end to wars and believe that we are only a few timely treaties or summits away. These are the types of people who believe that we can reason with radical Islam and terrorists hell-bent on our destruction. Utopians are most dangerous when posing as Presidential candidates with all the answers ("I have a plan...").

Yes, there is validity to the desire to have an end to all life-taking conflicts, especially wars. Yes, there is validity to the desire for free exchange of ideas and goods and ideas across cultural borders. But it is wrong and foolish to assume that we are merely to love and embrace peoples and thoughts from all over the world based on the premise that we are all moving toward perfection. It is only a matter of time, you say, until we have chased out the last remaining demons of materialism and intolerance and can begin a world of perfection. Well, I hope I'm not around to see it.

Imagine there's no heaven/It's easy if you try
No hell below us/Above us only sky
Imagine all the people/Living for today

Imagine there's no country/It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for/And no religion too
Imagine all the people/living life in peace

Imagine no possessions/I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger/A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people/Sharing all the world

You may say I'm a dreamer/But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us/And the world will live as one

2004-11-01T17:42:00.000-05:00

Rock 'N' Roll is from the Devil

It's widely known that people involved in the arts--the thespians, the artists, the musicians, the poets of the world--and even those involved in Hollyweird are a breed slightly to the left of center. The vegans, the tree-huggers, the left-over hippies all have an artsy flavour to them and find themselves leaning liberal on most any political issue. Whether it truly is the majority of these left-brained artists and lyricists and musicians that tend to be liberal or it only just seems to be so is something that I have no way to qualify; for now let's procede with the common assumption that practically all artsy-types are liberals, even radically so, at times.

I admit that it has only been a recent revelation on my part to the fact that the vast majority of the musician sect of the art cult is included in this group. Until only recently, I was under the assumption that all politically-charged bands were obscure Naderites or just voiced an anti-everything-government/authority voice. With almost no exception, I had no idea that rockers actually had rational political views and chose to voice them.

When I heard the news that several noteworthy bands (including Pearl Jam, Dave Matthews, REM and Bruce Springsteen, to name a few) were touring the country this election season to promote the cause of all that is anti-Bush, it actually came as a bit of a shock to me. Of the extensive and diversified lineup of bands on the Vote for Change Tour, the inclusion of Pearl Jam and REM and the Dixie Chicks made sense to me, but that any of the other bands would join in on a Tour to raise support for the Democratic party came as a surprise to me, even my dear Bruce.

I guess Bruce shouldn't have come as a surprise--in retrospect, it was more of a disappointment than a surprise. I've always taken a degree of pride in what Bruce represents. To me, the Boss is EveryMan, the hard-working, high school graduate, middle-class average Joe Tea--and from Jerseyland, no less. Such a strong affiliation with the plight of the regular guy, in my mind, makes Bruce a conservative Republican, not someone who would be introducing Kerry before 80,000 people in Wisconsin on the campaign trail. Just when you think you know a guy.

The more press these liberal rockers have been getting, playing shows in "battleground states," supporting the Dems with a portion of the proceeds, casting stones at the President between songs...is there anything a rock-loving conservative Bush-supporter to do? I have kept my eyes and ears open for news of a counter-tour supporting the GOP and the President, but it doesn't exist as far as I know. Are there conservative, Republican rockers? Do they express their views in the public forum or does the mainstream press just not give them the same coverage? If not--if the liberals are the only group that has the endorsement of the highly-informed, highly-educated, all-wise Rock Star party--then this only goes to confirm what has made it all so appealing in the first place: Rock 'N' Roll is from the Devil.

2004-10-20T21:42:00.000-04:00

They Call it Riding the Gravy Train

It was surreal; it was unexpected; it was a bit of a downer. I was "driving" to work on I-80 East during "rush" hour earlier this week, when the sight of a car ahead of me snapped me out of my morning slog. Two cars ahead of me, two lanes over, was a gold, '70-something Ford Mustang putzing along in the stop-n-go. It looked an awful lot like the gold, '70-something Ford Mustang that my high school buddy, Mark Bahnuk, used to drive, so because I had nothing better to do than blur-stare at the taillights of the car in front of me, I changed lanes and hoped to catch up.

It wasn't long before we were next to each other, the Mustang and I, and to my delight I saw that it really was Mark Bahnuk's Mustang and Mark Bahnuk was driving it! I tapped my horn a few quick times to get his attention; recognition on his part came quickly, followed by smiles of surprise and little waves across the dashed white lines of the interstate.

We soon lost each other in the mess that is commuter traffic in north jersey, which left me alone with my thoughts and the faint grin lingering on my face. The smile was washed to a pensive forehead wrinkle once it settled in my mind what had just happened.

I had just passed Mark Bahnuk on I-80, both of us driving as working adults in commuter traffic. Working adults! I was in a sweatshirt, fleece, and jeans, but Bahnuk was in a shirt and tie! Shirt and tie! This is the kid whom I've never seen wear pants! Never ever! Shirt and tie! Mark Bahnuk, C.P.A. Great, just great.

It was easy to be in denial about the fact that I am so far removed from childhood (read: so far in "real world" debt that I won't be able to buy my way back into childhood until I have lost all my teeth) that I might as well start letting kids call me Mr. Pearce. It was easy to pretend I was still a kid when everyone else around me was pretending or at least resisting the pressure of time. But then my childhood buddy (Ben Eskow) became the father of a baby girl this past Sunday morning and I now know that my high school buddy sits in rush hour traffic every morning with me wearing a shirt and tie.

Shirt and tie!

2004-10-06T18:56:00.000-04:00

Pee-foam Green

Great to Be a Guy Reason #174: When guys pee into a toilet with those tablets that make the water blue for 1,000 flushes they are granted the profound pleasure of watching the blue water turn green as they pee. This is because they have penes and pee standing up and can watch the whole thing. Girls only get to see the finished product because they have vaginas and pee sitting down, sometimes with their legs crossed if they are wearing a dress.

2004-08-07T13:41:00.000-04:00

You always remember your first

The sports section of my Sunday paper had a special centerfold this week. It was a feature on baseball gloves--a time line of the evolution of the glove, some of the new technology in baseball glovery, and a few blurbs in the right margin about noteworthy gloves in baseball history (gloves in Cooperstown and noteworthy errors committed in crucial games).

This was all eye-catching enough on it's own, but what kept me reading the entirety of the page was what made up the meat of the spread: a collection of excerpts from two dozen or so major league ballplayers describing or telling the stories behind their first baseball gloves. Being a local paper, most of the players interviewed are or were Yankees and Mets, but there was enough diversification in the roll to dispel any chance of monotony.

Tony Clark said he used his first glove from second grade and through his first few years in the majors. Mariano Rivera described the piece of cardboard he rigged up while playing as a boy in the Dominican Republic. Others told their own secrets for breaking a glove in and giving it it's shape, or just reminisced about the smells and sounds of their favourite pieces of leather. I read every story from start to finish. I could have read an entire book of such nostalgia, I'm sure, and each one would have brought me farther and farther back into the baseball glory days of my youth.

This is where I will take you now. Beware ye who fare not well on the seas of others' sentiments and sap. Ye will lose your lunch, to be sure.

My first baseball glove was received as a present from a family in our church at the time, the Heaths (young Joel had a major league thing for Crystal Heath, which is how we scored the gloves). Joel and I were probably eight and six at the time and couldn't have made any use of anything but kids' peewee imitation leather gloves. This is what we received one Sunday after church. I don't remember Joel's reaction, but I was as stoked as a Woodsman man fire and wasted no time putting the glove to use.

[Note: I use the term "glove" to describe the piece of leather one uses to catch and field baseballs. Others may say "mitt" or "catcher thingy" (what else can it be called but "mitt" or "glove?"), but I have always called it a "glove." I do not look down on those who say "mitt"--in fact, I might even admit that "mitt" has a much more romantic, old-timer tone to it, but I'm gonna stick with "glove" for the rest of this memoir.]

I wish I could remember what brand gloves they were or even which player's name was "autographed" onto the palm. I do remember that the stitching started to break after not even a few summers and it wasn't soon after that when they were neglected for new, bigger, and better gloves, winding up as chew toys for the dog (accidentally, of course--I wish I still had mine). 'Twas a sad final destiny for a baseball lover's first baseball glove, but hey, I was ten.

I remember that I was ten when my old glove was used to death and laid to rest because I remember that I was ten when I bought what I consider my first "real" glove. I use "real" in quotations because it was still a fake leather kid's glove, but I consider it my first because I used it for the whole of my childhood prime and I paid for it with my own allowance money.
The glove was a Bo Jackson model, but I can't remember the brand at the moment. I'm almost sure it was Spalding (I admit that with a cringe of embarrassment...who buys Spalding baseball gloves, anyway). It was black with tan accent leather in the webbing and stitching. Bo Jackson had "signed" the glove in gold across the palm. It took me almost half an hour to sort through the whole KMart sporting goods aisle to find the perfect glove, but when I saw the Bo glove, I knew I had found it. It had a solid web, with the black and tan leather woven together in a checkerboard pattern. It was totally sweet, I can assure you. The only fault I ever found with it was that it didn't have one of those cool holes for me to stick out my index finger. Instead, there was a strip across the back which did just as well.

I never used any special oils to break that glove in. I liked my glove stiff anyway--I hated floppy gloves and still do. I tried my best to get the glove to essentially fold closed, so I asked my parents to drive over it with the car a few times. My mom, being a girl, couldn't understand why I would want to do that to something that just cost me months of lawn mowing money. I wrapped it in rubber bands and twine and put it under a stack of the heaviest books in the house. This worked just fine.

I remember there were a few loose stitching strings that were good for chewing in the field. One in particular turned almost completely to a wet noodle if I kept it in my mouth long enough. It was a good glove for "popping" (making a popping sound if I caught it in the web just right), but it was fake leather, so it was more of a snap than a pop. Ignorance is bliss, and ignorant I was.

I have since pulled out the old Bo Jackson glove a few times, just for old times sake. I gave it to my sister when I bought the glove I have now and she used it until Joel and I bought her her first real glove. You can imagine what it was like for me to try the old glove on after Amy had used it for three or four years if you've ever let someone borrow your car for a week. When you get it back all the mirrors are adjusted differently and the seat isn't in the same position and any noise it makes sounds suspicious. This is what it is like for me to use the old Bo Jackson nowadays, which is sad, but I am glad it was still being loved.

The glove that I will, Lord-willing, take with me into adulthood and especially fatherhood is the black Rawlings I bought before my freshman season of high school baseball. As dear as it was to my heart, I realized it wouldn't do for me to try to make a good impression on Coach Pianconne if I was still toting around my snapping fake leather Spalding, even if it was the Bo Jackson whose name was once scrawled across the palm. So I spent a half hour in the baseball glove aisle of Sports Authority and came away with My Glove: a 12" black Rawlings with gold lettering and the big red Rawlings R on the back of the pocket. The only way in which I have found it lacking is that it is endorsed by a relatively uncool player named Nolan Ryan. I would have much rather had Chuck Knoblauch or Ozzie Smith written across my palm than a big dumb pitcher.

Since this was a genuine cowhide, I used the oil stuff to mold it and break it in, caring for and learning to love it in the winter days of that off season. I pounded and pounded away at that web, getting it just right. I lodged a ball in the pocket, bound it with twine and slept with it under my pillow at nite. I became one with My Glove.

All my efforts were nearly in vain when it turns out I didn't secure a spot at second base like I was hoping to that freshman year. I platooned in right field with Erik Friden and learned how to keep a scorecard on the bench, mostly. My Glove and I found our glory days as the starting second baseman for the varsity team my senior year, even turning a double play in our only opportunity that season. Any ground ball fielded these days takes me back to the old infield grass of our home field, my knees shaking at the thought of a bad hop, but my hands swift and certain in their old dance of the two-handed catch-and-throw to Lindeblad at first.

My hope is that someday it will be My Glove and I teaching my sons and/or daughters that same dance. Watching me and My Glove they will learn how to stay in front of a ground ball and how to always always always use two hands to catch a pop up or fly ball. My Glove may one day be passed on as a family heirloom if I am sure someone will care for it. For now, though, My Glove is as much a part of my life and glory days as anything could be.

2004-07-17T10:21:00.000-04:00

College is what you make of it

This is an article I recently wrote for my church's newspaper, having been asked to write about my experience at a Christian college.

When I was considering and visiting Christian schools, I did so biased by three common assumptions; it took nearly the entire four years of my college career for me to conclude that not only were these false assumptions, but in all three cases, the exact opposite is true. I will dispel each of these common assumptions below, using them as a three-point outline to this article, as any good son of a preacher man would.

First, and most prevalent of the misconceptions of Christian colleges, is the thought that because a college hires only Christian faculty and staff, it means that they are therefore a second-rate academic institution. It is sad that this is so widely believed because it reflects what so many–the world, primarily, but Christians included–believe about Christians. Somehow people have come to believe that Christians are less fit for or will be never be as successful in their professions because of their faith. They believe a Christian lawyer or businessman cannot be as "successful" because he does not dedicate himself entirely to his work, but instead serves Christ first.

This attitude carries over into how people view a Christian school. I remember how hard I found it to tell people that I was only considering Christian schools when my friends were talking of Princeton and Bucknell or popular state schools. I let myself slip into the very way of thinking that I have described above. Granted, there are some limitations to attending a small Christian school, but almost all of them are linked to financial resources, not quality of faculty. I cannot imagine a more competent and able staff of professors than the one I sat under at Geneva. Not only are the vast majority of professors decorated with doctorates, but all also profess Christ as Lord and seek to model Him in and out of the classroom–something much more valuable than anything framed and hanging in their office.

There is a second misconception that is closely tied to the first. It is the thought that attending a Christian college means a student will be less prepared for life in the "real," secular world. On the contrary, I would argue that a Christian school can prepare you much better than can a state school (note the emphasis on can, not will). The assumption is that spending four years on a Christian campus is to live life in a sterile bubble world, and that graduates from this incubator go through culture shock after graduation.

After reading a pamphlet or visiting a Christian college, it is easy to get the impression that such a place as a shelter from all things worldly and sinful. The truth is that no campus is a bubble, and in contrast to the shock theory, discussion and debate over current events and pop culture will thrive on a healthy Christian campus. Cable TV, the internet, and the weekend movie night will still give Joe and Jane Student more than their share of the "outside world." Even if a student doesn’t move far from home to go to school, the college years are still a significant time of establishing one’s own identity, comparing the life experiences of others with one’s own, and the testing of one’s most personal beliefs. A Christian college is a unique opportunity for a Christian student to have a period of transition between the safety of the nest to the wilderness of the "real" world.

The analogy can be made to training a rookie boxer to fight. Someone new to boxing needs to learn what it feels like to be punched in the face, but to train him to be a successful fighter, a coach would need to teach him defensive and offensive technique. It would do the rookie no good to have someone pound him in the head every day, teaching him to defend. A boxer needs to learn to defend and attack to be able to win the fight. A Christian school can be an effective fight coach in this way. A student will learn of the evils in the world, and he or she will take jabs to the face–hopefully much fewer than would be received at a state school. But a good Christian school will teach their students how to fight back and how to live as Christians, "in the world, but not of the world."

Third, spending any part of your academic career on a Christian campus does not mean your sanctification and spiritual growth will occur through osmosis. It may seem obvious, but it needs to be realized that not everyone who is accepted to a Christian school is a Christian and not even every Christian comes from a reformed Presbyterian background. There are just as many, if not more, bad influences and spiritual dangers for every benefit to be found. They are perhaps even more dangerous because they aren’t obvious and external (read: their residences don’t have Greek letters above them). Complacency, a judgmental spirit, pride, even a callousness to the Gospel–the list goes on. A student’s four years at college are four years that cannot be expected to be coasted through at a Christian school. The advantages are there--they are distinct, they are wonderful resources--but they need to be sought out. A student needs to take an active role in the development of his or her faith and not assume that weekly chapel and Bible survey classes will equip him or her to fight the devil. Let me say it again: do not choose a Christian school and expect to coast through your spiritual walk.

I could (and still may, someday) write pages on the choice to attend a Christian college. It can be a great decision, and I would recommend it to most anyone. If I leave the reader with anything, let it be this: College is what you make of it, regardless of your school’s statement of faith or lack thereof. There is tremendous potential to make time at a Christian college the best four years of your life, but there are dangers and it is not for everyone.

2004-07-05T12:25:00.000-04:00

"He who finds a wife finds a good thing..."

By then I had decided I wasn’t going to leave the mountain with the ring still in my pocket, but unfortunately I still hadn’t thought up a backup plan. The intruding couple with the cloves cigarettes obviously wasn’t going anywhere, either, so we couldn’t just wait around for the lookout point to be ours alone again. I steered us to a nearby park bench.

I had tried to play it cool and stall for some time until we could have the lookout to ourselves again. I whispered, “Maybe they’re just stopping by for a quick look and they’ll leave soon. Let’s just wait and see.” Wait we did and soon saw that the cloves couple showed no signs of moving on. In fact, it seemed that they might even have plans to spend the nite. Not only did this guy show his lady friend the view of the New York City skyline to the far left, but he started pointing out the most insignificant sights imaginable. He pointed to some spotlights and started telling stories about his high school football glory days. He pointed to the town pool and started telling stories about every summer he had ever spent there. Apparently, this guy was a local and there was apparently no limit to the sights he could point out nor the stories he could tell about them. He was obviously there for the long haul. In the meantime, Becca and I played with the binocular things that you put the quarters into, waiting a few feet away for this guy to shut up and leave. We looked at the skyline and we tried to look at the moon, but we couldn’t stall enough–the cloves cigarettes couple just wasn’t going to leave.

We had kinda just stared at each other when they walked up, neither of us sure what to do. Becca would later tell me that it was at that moment that she realized what I was about to do, although in the moment she never let on. There we were on Washington Rock, caught in mid-embrace, me interrupted in mid-proposal, my left hand in my pocket, Becca wearing a smile as bright and wide as the moon, my own face torn between muted frustration and mild panic.

Two sentences away! I couldn’t believe it! I had carefully woven a seamless web of woo and had been blessed with a classic moment–the silent starlit nite, the sparkling city lights, the magic of the moon, and the sweeping ambiance of a lookout point at nite. It was all there--the ring, the girl, the boy, the magic–and it was going to happen. I had climbed the ladder and had walked to the end of the metaphorical diving board. I had taken the drop step, bent at the knees, and was ready to dive in. The mood was right, her eyes were sparkling, her smile growing wider and brighter as she began to realize why we had trudged all the way up here (I was going to ask her to marry me!) if I could just get the words out. My left hand strayed to its pocket for the ring box while my mouth poured out what my heart could not contain.

We had waited so patiently for our turn at the lookout point, and now seemingly all for naught. Keeping the lookout in view but remaining far enough away from the crowd to retain some privacy, we had enjoyed some ScottandBecca time for a while before we secured the lookout point. I had started to work the conversation toward things of romance because I had wanted to set the mood and direct the conversation so that at the moment the lookout was ours we could stroll over to the lookout point, take in the view, and become fiancés.

But the park had been crawling with cops when we found our way through the woods. My stomach bungeed to the pavement when I saw all the people still at the park and the two or three cops who were trying to move them out. We were too late. The park had closed at 9 and it was already past 9.30. Becca and I had already had a run-in with police at a state park the summer before and I didn’t want to have a repeat of “So what were you two kids doing in the woods after dark?” and “Are you here with this guy willingly, ma’am?” to ruin the nite. I didn’t have a backup plan and we were already piqued for adventure, so I led us into the park through a side entrance and waited for the coast to be clear. Despite my best efforts, there is little to thwart romance more than having to look over one’s shoulder for cops. Add that to the list of reasons not to live in the city.

It was just when Becca had reached the point where she couldn’t squeeze my arm any more tightly and just a little while after I had run out of positive spins to put on the situation when we made it through the woods, leaving the maniac drivers, the rabid deer, and what seemed to be the longest stretch of unlit pavement in North America behind us. “Here we are, my dear--Washington Rock State Park.” I had mentioned the park to her before, but she had never been. This was the second-to-last and second-best surprise I had planned for the nite. We had finally made it and I had in mind that I was going to propose to Rebecca Rose Roszel before we left.

The walk through the woods had been anything but a casual stroll. I had known the park closed at 9 and I figured there would be cops kicking people out, so I had reasoned that it would be best to park down the road a ways and then walk to the park, slip in unnoticed, and make our way to the lookout. That had all worked according to plan. It was the idea of the walk up the road to the park that had lacked foresight. Every of the dozen times I had driven by Washington Rock State Park before that nite, I had done so in the middle of the day, when the woods are not creepy and scary, the roads are well-lit, and the last thing on the minds of the drivers of all the cars that use the road is to drive recklessly and cause couples to dive off the road to avoid being hit.

“The nite is still young,” I had reminded her as we pulled out of O’Connor’s. “Why don’t we see another of the sites here in Watchung before we leave? We’ll probably never be out this way again together, you know.” She had been agreeable, so I had turned onto Washington Rock Road. I had driven most of the way up the hill and had parked the truck on a dead-end street in a new residential development a quarter mile down the hill from the park. She had put on a hoodie and we had started to walk hand-in-hand through the woods, the memory of our worst dinner to date already starting to fade.

I don’t even want to talk about dinner. Sixty bunks for a creaky old booth, a cut of inferior London Broil for me and a platter of chewy sirloin tips for her. I had been worried that it was going to put a damper on the nite and the mood wouldn’t have been right for what I had in mind later, but I had no backup plan, and it was going to have to be tonite.

“Let’s go for dinner at O’Connor’s,” I had suggested slyly. By then she had caught on that all these “suggestions” had been planned out in advance and I think she might have started to suspect that I was up to something.

There really wasn’t much to show her at the office. Everyone had already left for the nite, so the place was locked up. The grand tour of the Whitestone Associates, Inc. office building ended up being no more than a drive around the parking lot. But Becca had seemed glad to see it, regardless.

“Hey, look at this exit sign. Watchung is right here off of I-78. Did you know that?” I had toyed with her, playfully. She had rolled her eyes and seemed pleased that I didn’t intend to drive straight home. We had been in a rush to get out of Newark airport and had both been hoping for some ScottandBecca time before we found ourselves back in Hackettstown. I had that all planned out.

Holy long engagement story, Batman. This has gone on way too long. Let’s skip to the Reader’s Digest version for a quick recap and wrap-up:

Becca had spent nine days in Colorado visiting her mom. I spent those nine days shopping for an engagement ring and visiting a particular dairy farm at 4am to ask a certain Mr. Roszel for his blessing on my intended proposal to his daughter.

When the nine days were up, I picked Becca up at Newark Airport. Instead of going straight home, I decided to welcome her back to the east coast with a few surprises. I got off at the Watchung, NJ exit on the way back from Newark to show her where I work and take her to dinner at this Irish pub and steak house called O’Connor’s. I had been there for lunch once on St. Patrick’s Day and had had the best corn beef sandwich ever, but the dinner we shared that nite left much to be desired.

After dinner, I nonchalantly drove us most of the way up the Watchung “Mountain” and walked Becca to the Washington Rock State Park, where there is a view of the Manhattan skyline and beautiful (read: urban sprawl) northeast Jersey. Before we made it to the park, though, we had to walk through this dark bit of woods that is controlled by deer gangs and maniac drivers. Becca was half-afraid for her life and I was mostly afraid of the mood not being right once we reached the park.

Reach the park we did but then had to wait ten minutes before we could have the lookout to ourselves. After the dreadful walk and the long wait, we finally had Washington Rock to ourselves. We moved in, we saw the city lights, commented on the moon, the stars, the beautiful weather, yada yada. I drew her close, looked into her eyes, poured my heart out, reached for the ring, but was interrupted at the last second by another couple who came out of nowhere and figured that since it’s a public park they had just as much right to be there as we did. This is true, but it was frustrating, to say the least.

Not wanting to leave the park with the ring in my pocket, I made our way to a park bench and sat Becca down, trying to maintain the mood. Some quick-thinking and smooth-talking got me to where I felt comfortable getting off the bench and onto one knee in front of my girl. I drew out the ring, found the words to say, and asked Rebecca Rose Roszel to be my wife. She said “of course,” she threw her arms around my neck, we hugged, we kissed, and we tried to look at the ring but it was too dark.

The first time she got a good look at the ring was under the dome light of my truck when we made it back through the less-scary-this-time woods. I started telling her all that I had been doing the past nine days and she teared up when I told her about asking her dad. We made it back to Hackettstown and started the process of telling everyone our news, starting with my family and then making a whole slew of phone calls the next day.

So now you know...

...the rest of the story.

2004-05-08T02:02:00.000-04:00

What's a graduation cd without Vitamin C, Dave Matthews, Grateful Dead, and Green Day, you ask? The best graduation cd ever, I say...

I look very far down my holier-than-thou nose on people who squander shallow lives between this latest fad and that next big thing. Whether it be plugging into the American Idols and Survivors of the small screen or consuming the material idols of flip flops, Nalgene bottles, and whisker jeans, there are people—even the supposed best and brightest of my generation—who apparently find self-worth in being up to date on celebrity gossip and what style of distress is needed to set one apart as fashionable next season. These people, my peers, put mold on my brain after mere minutes of social interaction.

But I am diverse in my self-righteousness and this entry is not necessarily about blinded herds and the way they dress. Tonite finds my stomach turning at the thought of over-sentimentality, particularly the phony tears and empty well wishes associated with early May, graduation time.

It starts with the underclassmen trickling home after the “killer” week of “hell” they called their Finals Week, all three multiple choice exams and optional papers that it included. Still absorbed with the high school way of thought that doesn’t allow them to leave campus until they have wished everyone and everyone’s mother a great summer and reminded these same everyones to keep in touch, underclassmen strike me as irritatingly optimistic and annoyingly naïve.

Juniors get the hang of it by the end of their third year, but more often than not succumb to the tired lines of “We’re seniors!” and “Can you believe it? One more year!” as they trudge into their last real summer break.

Seniors are the demographic upon whom I will spew most of my ranting because they should know better. Four years removal from high school should have been enough time to learn that relationships ebb and fade with time or distance, and especially with a double team from both axes of a velocity graph.

Sure, we’re different now--more mature and wise beyond our years. Sure, we’ve established life-long relationships--the majority of us are engaged or close to it. This is not a call to cut all ties and start over once we turn and smile for the cameras one last time. Even I, cynic of all cynics, am looking forward to keeping in touch with the Family over the years, sending Christmas cards and making a Homecoming trek or two. I will make a short but thoughtful list of persons I'd like to keep in touch with, but no more than a dozen of the closest. If you're not sure you made the list, chances are you probably aren't so please, enough with the hugs and tears over someone you shared a chem lab cabinet with freshman year.

Pass on your books to underclassmen, pay your library fines, say thanks to the teachers that have touched your life forever, but do it without the high-pitched hug orgies, don’t promise you’ll keep in touch, and please—don’t post Vitamin C lyrics in your AIM profile.

Speaking of graduation song lyrics (the very thing that got me started on this rant), I am already near the watershed of tolerance for the "What a long, strange trip it's been"s and "Friends forever--love ya"s and "I Will Miss" lists (wait a minute...), so don't try to pass that crap on me--I see right through it.

In lieu of my second (final?) Pomp and Circumstance march, I am compiling a collection of moving-on-with-my-life/leaving-this-town-type songs to the end of the burning of these songs onto a cd. To close, I leave you with applicable excerpts from selected songs off the cd with the working title "Homeward Bound" (recommendations welcome)...

"and each town looks the same to me,
the movies and the factories
and every stranger's face i see
reminds me that i long to be
homeward bound (i wish i was)"

"tonite i'm leaving
this bullshit one-horse town
with its cowboys and indians
who only have balls
when there's a camera around"

"this town
don't feel mine
so drive me
far"

"did it on ritalin
i got me some good grades
now i work me the nite shift
where i
push and push and push til it hurts"

"at last it's finally over
couldn't take this town much longer
half dead wasn't what i planned to be
now i'm ready to be free"

"so here's the bright end of nowhere
here's the results of all our days
used to lay on the roof and drink beer
and try to count up all the ways
that you could waste away
looking back it seems so simple
but how we've done it couldn't say"

"take me to the shore
wrap me in a blind tomorrow
i won't fight no more
i won't scream
maybe we'll be washed away
maybe i just need a holiday"

"friday night they'll be dressed to kill
down at dino's bar and grill
the drink will flow and blood will spill
and if the boys want to fight, you'd better let them
that jukebox in the corner blasting out my favorite song
the nights are getting warmer, it won't be long
won't be long till summer comes
now that the boys are here again
the boys are back in town..."

2004-04-24T22:38:00.000-04:00

I Will Miss:
Phyllis
my corner
crosswords with Nick
Saturdays in 124
gingerbread cookies
free cable
showers with unlimited hot water
apartment comradery...hahaha
a bathroom devoid of feminine products
cherry tomatoes
"who would win in a fight..."
pre-test sex talks
my tea cabinet
impulse CD buys with textbook shopping
(almost) all things SuperFan
student discounts
the tree outside SE in the spring
Partying Hard
drives home across PA
CHRP
the view of Pittsburgh from 279
poor, sweet, naive Pittsburgh sports fans
South Park voices

I Will Not Miss:
rain/snow four times a week
jocks
a mailbox with a key
Johnston Gym
spastic, seizure-incuding overhead lights!
Steelers fans
Browns fans
hoochies
hoochies on the lawn
buying textbooks
South Park
Wednesday nite visiting hours
overhearing people complain about Steve Bandi
overhearing people complain about Humanities
overhearing people complain about trying to find a 12th credit
a kitchen drain that rarely does
labs
Brig lines
IM dependancy
going to dinner grandpass-early
a balcony without a view
sharing a bathroom with three guys
sharing a kitchen sink with Chris
monkey dishes with honey or peanut butter
Steak Nite in pits
Black History moments
“diversity,” “worldview,” “calling/vocation,” “servant leader,” etc.
John Rooke’s annual spring chastening
drives home across PA