Silence Is Toxic: Sexual Predators Thrive On Silence.

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I am an outspoken advocate of dealing with sexual predators in ruthless ways. Those who rape, and molest, are the lowest forms of life on the planet in my opinion. Nothing can be stolen from you with more devastating impact than the ability to control your own body. It steals childhood from children, they joy of sexual intimacy from adults, and dignity from all the victims. It is not their fault but they pay the price.

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I happened across this video on Facebook, and then tracked it to youtube.com. His name is Scott Spideralamode according to his various social media accounts. I have a hunch he’s for real. I’m sure he’s had a rough go since doing this video. Not because it was a bad thing, but revealing a secret like this is shattering in so many ways. Please watch the video and then we’ll resume.

Amazing, eh? Stuff like that never happens to tough guys (wrong!) I’ve never been molested or raped. But I’m close to several people who have been assaulted and had parts of their lives stolen from them. The thing I’ve found is that each of them told me about it in the hope that I wouldn’t judge them, or be mad, or disown them as a part of my life. I can’t say that I’ve always taken the news well. A few times it laid me low.

But both of us, the abused and the listener, grew stronger as a result of that shared secret. I know for a fact that getting it out in the sunlight where disinfection can begin has helped a few of them. A few still keep it a dark part of their lives, known only to a very select few friends. I have found that those people are troubled by it and poisoned by it far more than those who are open about it.

I know that when some read this blog they will think I’m talking about them. Perhaps. But does it matter? I hope not, except that if they are still harboring the secret they will open up and give it some air. Many whom I’ve never met will fall into this category. If you’d like to anonymously share your story, I’ll compile a collection and tell your story – no names, no email, nothing. Just email me the story at headdoofus AT commotioninthepews DOT com (Yeah, you have to “do the math” or the web bots spam me senseless.) It might be the first step in freeing yourself, just like Spider, from the poison of being a victim. All I ask is that you present it in a way that I can print the story on a family/public blog.

You are not alone. You are not responsible. You are loved. I’m offering some sunshine to help heal wounds. Please consider it if you would.

Other Than The New Header, I Want To Chat About Stuff.

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Seems that the blog is no longer the eye-catching mother of all inventions that I’d hoped it would be when I put it up a few years ago. Consequently we will be exploring some new headers over the next month or so. Today’s is a very lovely Kimber .45 on top of an Arabic Bible. Kind of like the way it looks, how about you?

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Now, back to our regularly scheduled blogging…

Monday morning started at 05:30. That blasted alarm went off exactly as it should have, and Stormy and I got busy right out of the chute. She quietly went about her business and I got ready to hit the road. Once she’d finished fertilizing I set the alarm and headed for my first stop of the day.

Instead of taking the car I walked. 6.5 miles to be exact, but it was a glorious morning and at 0645 the traffic is pretty light. I made my way over to University Avenue and walked through the neighborhood known as Little Mekong. At 0715 the drug pushers, hookers, and general lay-abouts are not cluttering up the sidewalk. You see a lot of young men headed to manual labor jobs, a few business men waiting for the train, a bunch of older Asian women headed to their stores, and very few souls total.

It’s a great time to be on that street in that neighborhood: the pork is starting to simmer for lunch and the bakeries are busy turning out donuts and Bahn Bo. I have a major weakness for the stuff and it started me on the road to being ravenous.

Half way through my walk I arrived at stop #1. I was at a church to meet with the installer who was going to wire up our computer room. I’m not a member of the church, but it’s the place where I used to tutor kids. I’d built the computer room and put in the first internet system a few years ago. Today we upgraded. I’m pretty handy with wiring and working my way through small holes in thick walls. With my help it only took the installer about twice the time it normally would have taken him. By the time we were done, we were both covered in filth, plaster dust, boiler ash, and 60 year old dust and dirt from the ceilings we drilled through.

Normally this is not an issue. But now I was a stinky, dirty, large fellow walking past the State Capitol. Yup, looked like every other homeless dude in the neighborhood. I stopped at my beauty salon to make a hair appointment for my best friend – my beard. The receptionist actually gasped when I walked in the door. Then she recognized me. For that first split second I’m sure she was in fear for her life. Glad she couldn’t get to the panic button before she figured out it was me.

Perchance you remember my railing about my local McDonalds? Today proved, once again, why I have given them a few months off. I stopped in for a cone on the final leg of my journey. A dip cone, to be precise. The very nice woman behind the counter said no dip cones at that time. Okay. A regular cone would be acceptable. I’d just walked 6 miles and was a bit peckish.

I’m pretty sure the manager was crouching on top of the shake machine, because she sure swooped in at an acceleration of 9.8 m/second squared. She shrieked (yes, that is the appropriate word) “Who told you you could sell cones???!!!!” The nice woman behind the counter cringed and asked if I’d like something else. “Yes, my money back.”

Guess they need another month off.

After a brilliant, yet foot-sore, conclusion to my walk, I did the shower and lunch thing with my beautiful wife. That is a tale for another time. I’m still a little shaken from the flying monkeys pouring out of the castle windows.

Sorry About The Misunderstanding.

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I’m not very attentive to much of what happens on Facebook, I generally look at the pretty pictures and wander on to the next post about puppies or beheadings. (Yeah, seems to be the two top topics today. Weird, eh?)

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So you can imagine my surprise when I was told that I had the whole ALS Ice Bucket Challenge thing backwards.

The judge told me today, and my attorney concurs, that if I wrote a blog about the incident the charges would be dismissed and we could all move on to the next item in our lives. I’m good with that concept.

I was under the impression that you had to dump a bucket of ice water over the head of three people you’d challenged. Then they would do the same thing to three other people. If you got the chain going, ultimately dozens (if not hundreds) of drippy, shivering people would give money to a charity. It made perfect sense to me: you stay dry, tag three imbeciles who aren’t situationally aware, and then they try to get the next three.

I’d even done it the right way, made a video for Facebook, challenged the three vict…candidates to be aware of my approach and give them a chance to donate to ALS. Heck, I even did a professional voice over job on it with Lou Gherig as my background! lougherig

I didn’t realize that you were supposed to douse yourself and then challenge three other people to do the same. I’m still a bit mystified about that part of the thing: why would you soak yourself with ice water? But I digress.

It seems that the three people I challenged got wind of my posting and called the police. Seriously, I figured prominent politicians like those three would have a sense of humor and just make the donation rather than risk getting doused. The judge said the words I used were threatening. Not true: I don’t threaten – I promise.

In any event, they made me take the posting and video down as part of the plea arrangement. I have agreed to donate to the ALS foundation in memory of Lou Gherig, and if I don’t “threaten” any public figures for one year my record will be expunged.

All in all, couldn’t they have just sent me an email soliciting funds? Those attorney fees are steep.

Broken Teeth From Grinding.

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My regular readers will attest to the fact that I am not a grammar Nazi. I’m not even a grammar facist. I’m not sure I know enough to get in trouble with grammar.

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I am, however, an advertising fanatic. I watch/listen to commercials and grind my teeth to the point where real pain is a problem. Sometimes it’s just bad sentence constructs. Most often it’s really bad pronunciation. Today’s particular issue is the trend in advertising where you say something to get the attention of the listener and then tie your product in somehow. Without any logical link. Or, any common sense. I will demonstrate:

“You know, Dean, Colorado has more mountains than Belgium. That’s probably because our customers here at Moronco have more time to go skiing since we plow their driveways for them year round.”

I would give you the precise language of the two commercials (in heavy rotation) that have set me to the edge of violence, but they might sue me. If they were smart enough to realize they’d been insulted. I doubt they could do the math. (See how stupid that alone is?)

Let’s dissect the example for fun, eh? I’ll grant you that Colorado has more mountains than Belgium. I mean, Duh. But how in the name of Stormy’s barking fits, does that equate to being caused by snow plowing or skiing?

Is the author of the copy for the ad such a complete dimwit that they don’t understand linkage? Are they trying to get me to remember the name of the company? (It doesn’t work, I can’t remember them while I’m fuming about how stupid they are…) Or am I so pathetic that the smartest trend in advertising is losing me as a customer.

That must be it! I’m way more stupid than I ever realized. I guess that’s a part of being stupid. Whew, glad that revelation came along.

Now I can go back to planning my trip to the state fair. I have jam entered. You know, Minnesota produces more jam than Wisconsin produces movies about zombies. So we can all sing bass now.

Please, God, come soon. The dumbing down of my culture is almost complete.

Sunday’s Present And Past.

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I’ve been at my current church a few years now. I used to be a Deacon at another church. That either reflected sterling attributes on my part or bad judgement on the Pastor’s part. I’m inclined to think it was the latter most days.

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Today I walked in to my church and headed for my assigned seat. No, we don’t have them, but I like my perch in the back on the left. It’s where I’m comfortable. As I walked into the sanctuary a woman turned to see who was approaching and her eyes got big. She said, “Is your name Joe? Did you used to go to CHURCH X?”

Immediately my inner Scooby Doo said, “Ruh-roh.” I’m sure I’ve met this person and slighted them, or I’m about to be blamed for something I didn’t do and it’s mistaken identity. (There was another deacon named Joe at the church. All Joe’s look alike, etc.)

“Yes, I did go there.”

“I thought so. You were a Deacon. I remember you because you gave me my first Bible.”

Wow. Of all the things I’ve ever done in my life, that has to be on the gooder than good list. I loved giving Bibles out. I think it made the Pastor a little nuts, because I’d buy a couple of cases of Bibles and stock the pews and hand them out to people who didn’t have one. I considered it part of my tithe and deducted it from my taxes as I gave the Bibles to the church.

The point, lest I wander too far, is that I thought it was a great thing to do then, and I still think it is today. I have bought hundreds of Bibles over the last decade. I hand them out to people, put them in care packages, have a few in the car, and donate them when I can. It’s a beautiful thing for me to spread the word on a very personal level. And, as today revealed, it left an impression on one young woman.

She looked great. All dressed for church, her male companion dressed nicely as well. I don’t remember her from that time, but the fact that it was her first scripture and she’s still going to church made me feel good. I’d won a round. Yeah!

We all have contact with strangers in any position of leadership in our churches. I was the guy who greeted you at the door, welcomed you to the church, made sure you had a Bible before you left. (I also mopped, shoveled snow, cleaned out the storage room, rebuilt the computers,scrubbed pots…) I saw a lot of faces just one time. But more saw me and weighed the experience on how good a representative I was for Jesus during that encounter.

Today I can hold my head high. I done good at least once.