I don’t know about the rest of you, but I look at television with a critical eye. I’m always suspicious about what I see in commercials featuring beautiful women.
I like pretty women: I married one! And beautiful females are a blessing to my eyes. But I’m disturbed by how we’re defining that beauty. It is no longer a great smile, nice hair, pleasant demeanor. Nope, we’re taking the female figure and digitally altering it to meet some stereotype that an ad executive has designated as ideal.
Air brushing has gone on for decades. Photos have been cropped, makeup applied, lighting altered, photoshop applied where needed. But now we’re seeing it on television where body shapes are apparently being digitally altered.
Because I don’t need any lawsuits, I’m not going to point a finger and say that’s what happened in a certain commercial that’s currently running nationally. But I do wonder about the delineation shown on parts of the spokesperson’s figure and how her necklace vanishes into the collar line. Kind of looks “funny” to me. You’ll have to be the judge. But next time you see “that” commercial, look at the hemline, hips, collar, etc. It sure looks like Industrial Light And Magic had a whack at it!
Women are beautiful because of who they are, not what they look like. There is a certain physical element to any attraction, but the ones that last are based on personalities and common interests. You start out the race looking one way, finish it looking another way. And if the entire “love” of the affair is based on smooth skin and tight curves it’s got a shelf life shorter than some canned foods. You will change. You will expand, wrinkle, sag, and generally decline.
That’s part of life. And when we digitally alter people to meet an ideal of appearance we send the implicit message to our youngsters that if you’re not beautiful you need to change. You need to have plastic surgery, botox, and a radical diet so that you can be “beautiful.”
I’m opting out. I’m hoping that you’re raising your children to be lovable because they have sterling personalities, not because they have ideal bodies.
You can digitally alter people on the screen, but they have to be in the real world to be loved. I live in that world and love based on that most important feature of all: personality.
If you get a chance to see his concert entourage, spend the money and have a great time. 3+ hours of worship and fellowship. Gifted performers, a nice way to spend a Saturday evening. The crowd at Grace was about as Scandinavian as you could get. More blond heads than you’d find in a church in Oslo. Given the population of Minnesota it was about what you’d expect. The crowd was leavened with a few people of other ethnic groups, but in large part it was as white as Lefsa.
Sunday was another story altogether. I attended a production of You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone at the Eisenhower Community Center in Hopkins. The play is a production of 2nd Chance Productions. The show features Kimberly Brown (warning, autoloading sound file!) a noted Gospel singer and, in full disclosure, a friend of mine who has included me in previous productions.
You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone
Written by, produced by, directed by, and featuring William Pierce, it is the story of a clan matriarch Minnie Pearl (Kimberly Brown) trying to enlighten her granddaughter Lakeisha (Cearah Hamilton) in the ways of life, including raising her child without a father in the mix. Ultimately Lakeisha comes to understand that she will miss her grandmother when she’s gone and she’s got to change her life before that happens.
Stage Right.
The story, actors, audience, and world are the polar opposite of the Matthew West production. If Matthew West were a church in Oslo, this was a church in Harlem.
And that’s where the tragedy lies: both were excellent. Both had Christian values. Both featured great musical performances. Both had talented musicians and performers. Yet the audiences for one would likely not go to see the other.
The real shame is that we are all one family. The production Sunday night featured the folks from the local church’s band. Really great musicians. Fun to listen to in any venue. And the production on Saturday featured folks from the local church’s band that had made it big. What was the difference? Musical styles, worship styles, and skin color.
Underneath both sets of outerwear (skin) were good followers of Jesus. I’m blessed in drifting between the two worlds. I get to enjoy both kinds of worship and music. I don’t feel outcast with either set of friends – KTIS or COGIC. But we exist in isolated worlds. I think God must weep when he sees his people keeping themselves apart. We could all benefit from crossing that line and being with the other group of Christians.
Back to the play for a moment. The performances were stellar. I was dazzled by the range of the actors, from the young lead (Cearah Hamilton) to the matriarch of the production (Kimberly Brown.) Comedic timing is something that you are born with, and there were evidently wards of children that had this gift who all worked their way to the stage. I was in stitches repeatedly. Some of the humor is pretty specific to “Black” churches. The foibles and tendencies of the preachers and congregants alike are not usually witnessed in your local Catholic church. Cultural issues are definitely in play here, and my suspicion is that some people not familiar with the worship style at one of these churches wouldn’t get some of the humor. The best solution to that is to attend one of these churches a few times to prepare for the play. Yes, it’s good enough to warrant extra trips to church! (If my pastor is reading this, he’s probably laughing right now. I hope.)
The musical performances were moving both aurally and spiritually. Gifted artists with great voices raised in worship of The Lord. I didn’t know if I was “churching” or watching a play. Really great stuff when they can make you leave the audience and join the cast on stage.
The production is not a “regularly scheduled” event. My hope is that it will be back soon, so that I can take 20 or so of my friends to experience the wonder. And, the message. Because ultimately the message is that we, the adults, need to stand up to the children in our lives and take back the reigns of leadership. We need to help guide them into the proper path for life, both on earth and eternally.
Mr. Pierce and the cast have done a fantastic job with this gem. It’s a joy to watch and a sadness that more didn’t attend. Make sure you keep an eye peeled for it to return. I know I will.
Monday mornings around my house are my personal cleaning days. I get up early so that I can get a long nap in before work that night. This usually involves doing laundry, cleaning up web site messes (I manage the website for not just this blog but the local Santa organization, www.northstarsantas.com,) doing dishes, and generally picking up the mess I’ve created in the past week.
This morning I finally got around to putting away the scale I’d dragged out to weigh some large packages. I took it back to the basement and set it in its place next to the furnace. Just out of a morbid curiosity I hopped on to see just how enormously fat I’ve become since my last weigh-in three months ago. OOOOOOOOOOOOh, I’d lost ten pounds. I looked up with a smile on my face. Maybe something was going right after all.
As my eyes came level with the horizontal, they landed on the storage shelves next to the dryer. Yup, four boxes of candy bars. Ah, what the heck.
Three candy bars later I’m contemplating my next workout. I’d better double it.
During my trip to Haiti in February of 2013 I had the pleasure of getting to know the people of Healing Haiti. Part of their mission there is an orphanage known as Grace Village. It is my pleasure to present one of the children from Grace Village each week to my readership in the hope that you will take them into your heart and sponsor their care and education.
Schneider wants to be an engineer when he grows up so he works hard in school, particularly math class. When he’s not studying, Schneider likes to pull together a team to play soccer or basketball. Schneider learned how to ride a bike before coming to Grace Village and would like to have one of his own some day. Schneider’s prayer request is that he can continue to learn and finish school.
Schneider came to Healing Haiti in July, 2008. Schneider was abandoned by his mother and his father is unknown.
Birth Info
Birthdate: November 24, 1997
Place of Birth: Delmas, Haiti
It is my hope that one of you will find your heart touched by this child and take up a bit of Christ’s work by sponsoring them for an extended period. My wife and I are sponsoring a pair of sisters. Healing Haiti will do the right things for these children and I have full confidence in their work. I am not affiliated with them, they don’t endorse this blog, nothing like that at all. I just love kids (can’t be Santa and not love children) and know that Grace Village is the difference between life and death for many of these children. Please open your heart and prayerfully reflect on the opportunity God’s giving us to sponsor these children. Some of them have come out of slavery and have some of the toughest lives you could imagine prior to Grace Village.
Just click the link and it will take you directly to the page where you can sponsor this week’s child. And if God is particularly good and that child is sponsored when you get there, please grab another smiling face and change their life instead. My goal is to put Sponsorship Sunday out of business as quickly as possible and take that day off each week. Thank you. God bless you for your generosity.
Some of the finest people you’ll ever meet. The hands and feet of Christ.
Today I’m holding a little celebration. And my gift to you is another installment of Flash Fiction. Today it goes out to all, no subscription required. The rules changed again (I’d think there might be no rules…) and today’s entry is a bit of whimsy I thought up while at work.
***Without Further Ado: I Should Have Bought More Cookies.***
“Your Honor, I’d like to explain this whole thing if I might be allowed to do so.”
I figured it was worth a shot. The look on his face as he rumbled through the line of idiots was unpleasant but not outright hostile. I was just another one of those idiots standing in his courtroom at five minutes to six in the morning. If he listened I might get out of here before Consuela got home from the church.
“Mr. Rodriguez, I’ve seen your booking photo. That’s the only reason I’m letting you speak your piece. I was intrigued to say the least. I am also under the impression that the city had other charges but dropped them all. If your story is as entertaining as the picture I have on your file you might just skip out with a pristine record. So go for broke.”
I didn’t really need another syllable of encouragement. If nothing else, I could tell this story without any embellishment and walk out of here a free man.
“Thank you, Judge. I’m not really sure where I should start…”
He interrupted me with a bang of the gavel. “I want every bit of this from the moment you got up until you’re arrival in this room. Get on with it, I’ve got a date for breakfast.”
I knew I had him.
“The story actually starts before bedtime for me…
I left work at 9 in the morning. It was another night of frustration and boredom with a boss who had a little less sense than a chicken. I’d sweated over the latest software upgrade all night and about half the network was still crashed. The only reason I’d left work before noon was that my boss was upset about the overtime. He’d given the cleanup to the day shift.
My two stops on the way home were the drugstore and the bakery. Stop number one was easy: pick up the prescriptions waiting for us. One each. 30 seconds in the drive through and on to the bakery.
Halloween is not the best day of the week to spontaneously decide what you’re handing out that night. I love cookies and figured that I’d put a platter of them out and let the kids each grab one as they rang the bell. I could sit on the couch and watch zombie movies and they could get their loot. I planned to be sitting on the porch two feet away. What could go wrong?
Plenty. I hit the bakery only to find less than twenty cookies left. This was bad. But last year the number of kids was down, and the same the year before – ever dwindling numbers. I’d probably get by with 18 cookies. I didn’t have a real choice. Next year I’d order ahead. This year I just cleaned them out. I did get a dozen crullers for work the next night.
My wife was buzzing around the city of Pascagoula somewhere when I got home. Nothing but a note on the television reminding me that I had door duty while she was at the church lock-in Halloween party. The Pastor was trying to turn the best night of the year for candy fiends into an evangelism event. Best of luck, I’m sticking to Tootsie Rolls.
Anyway, I grabbed a couple of hours of sleep and got up just in time to put on my werewolf costume and wait for the first trick-or-treaters. My head was killing me. Another migraine. I left the cookie tray unattended and went into the kitchen to grab some of my pills that I’d picked up earlier in the day. I grabbed three of them and headed back to the porch just in time to hear the door bang shut and see two kids running down the sidewalk.
Horace, my cat, was sitting under the porch swing hissing. He was staring at the jack-o-lantern next to the cookies. Problem was, there were no cookies left. Those two thieving little goblins had cleaned me out. The first and last of the night unless I could come up with something.
Well, back to the kitchen for the crullers and a cola to wash those stupid pills down. I crunched them up between my teeth and swigged down half the can. Bitter little things, but they sure put the kabosh on a headache like mine.
I flipped on the television and settled in for the long haul. I had a couple of Snickers bars in the freezer if I ran out of crullers.
Twenty minutes into the movie I was down to one cruller. But the headache was gone. I was sweating like a pig inside that mask but it didn’t seem to matter. Not much at all mattered. Not even when the last cruller was gone and three urchins stood begging for their loot.
I floated to the freezer to grab the candy bars and found that my wife had nicked a few of them. This was really trouble. I grabbed what I had left and lobbed them like grenades at the kids. Seriously. Sound effects, pulled the pin, the whole deal. They ran off to the sidewalk leaving the bars on the lawn where they landed. I felt fabulous. Overheated but fabulous none-the-less.
Here, your honor, is where I went slightly off the rails. I’d made the decision to keep up the evenings festivities but I’d run out of treats. I’d also taken three very large Valium by mistake. They look just like my migraine pills and without my glasses I never noticed that the prescription was for a Mrs. Fred Mertz. At least that’s what the cops tell me.
So, out of candy, out of donuts, and really way too hot in that stupid mask I did the only logical thing a man under the influence of too much diazepam would do: I went upstairs, changed into the mankini my wife got me for my birthday and made up a big bowl of pancake batter. Not only would I be handing out my favorite food next to bacon, but I’d be very comfortably cool while I did it…
“That’s the thing you’re wearing in the booking photo, isn’t it Mr. Rodriguez?”
“Yes, your honor. Kind of a horrible look when I think about it, but one of the side effects of valium is feeling a bit hot. May I continue?”
“Oh, please do. It’s just getting good.”
And continue I did.
“As I was saying, I went to the kitchen and grabbed the box of pancake mix. I fired up the griddle I’d gotten for Christmas and started to make a batch. I decided to triple it, because once you run out of treats you’re in trouble. Due to the effects of my erroneous medication I wasn’t thinking all that clearly.
But I did get five truly beautiful hotcakes ready in record time. I bopped out to the porch and grabbed the tray I’d been using and brought it to the kitchen. Loaded it up with those five beauties and headed back to the porch. That’s when the screaming started. Or, maybe I should say it was the first screaming of the night. At any rate I calmed the kids down and gave them each a lovely pancake. I smiled and waved and didn’t really think all that much about the looks on mom’s face. I should have.
I settled down on the swing and got back to my movie. It was getting better all the time. The pills I guess.
I thought someone was doing a great goblin shriek and looked up to see who was so talented. It dawned on me that it was coming from the house. I grabbed the empty platter and held it up like a shield. I didn’t need to: it was the smoke detector in the hallway. I’d forgotten the pancakes and they were smoldering.
My poor griddle was ruined. I guess I’d dozed off. No more pancakes tonight. About that time the smoke detector quit sounding and I heard voices calling from the porch. No options left, I grabbed the bowl of pancake batter and the ladle and returned to my post on the porch.
Horace just hissed as I walked by him. Finicky cat. The kids on the steps went silent. I told them to hold their bags open for a treat. I think this is where it took the jump that led me here. In my addled state I filled the ladle with batter and poured exactly one silver dollar pancake sized dollop of batter into the first bag. The second bag was already moving when I reached to hit it, and instead covered the poor child with the rest of the batter in the ladle.
I guess my apologizing wasn’t enough, Dad took a swing at me. That’s when the police showed up. I ran back up the stairs to get away from the kid’s father and felt a sting in my – posterior. One of the cops had tazered me from behind.
I’m not sure which had impacted my motor skills more, the valium or 50,000 volts, but I pinballed into the table I’d set up and it launched the bowl of batter into the air. The officer who’d tazed me was right behind me and shared the bounty. Both of us were covered in the stuff.
I don’t remember a lot after that, but they did stick me in the shower and give me these orange jumpers before I went to the cell. I appreciate that kindness – the mankini wouldn’t have been such a good thing to wear in the cell. Did you know some of those guys are psychotic?
“Mr. Rodriguez, have you called your wife to let her know you’re here?”
I stared at the floor. “No. And I’m hoping she never finds out. I used my call to call in sick to work last night. If you take mercy on me, Judge, I might just skate out of this little misunderstanding. I didn’t mean to do any of that stuff, and I’m the only one really hurt by any of it. I’ll pay for the officer’s dry cleaning. But I’d really appreciate the break.”
That’s when the judge lost it. He looked at that picture, then at me in my orange jump suit, and finally at the pancake batter covered mankini in the plastic property bag. I’ll admit that at 400 pounds I shouldn’t even own one of those things, but that was kind of a cruel tone in his laugh.
“Mr. Rodriguez, go forth and sin no more. I will seal your records and expunge them if you don’t get arrested for 1 year. You’re truly on double secret probation. Happy Birthday, Mr. Rodriguez.”
O.K. That was a nice touch. After all, it is my birthday.
“Thanks Judge. And I promise you that next year I’ll get three dozen cookies and order them in advance. You can keep the mankini.”
