Parenthetically Yours

Stop the Madness

The latest financial "crisis," in my opinion (and the opinion of my two favorite financial gurus, this guy, and this guy) is no crisis at all. It's simply the market responding to stupid loaning and borrowing practices by people who should know better. Greed, plain and simple, is the sin here.

I say, if a business makes poor financial decisions, they should pay for their mistakes. I don't care if it's a 300 year-old, multi-national investment bank or a local yogurt shop, the public should never be called on to pay for their bad financial moves. Free markets fluctuate. That's part of the "free" in the market. Bailout or no bailout, the market will respond. 

Sure, the Dow fell more yesterday than any one day drop in U.S. history. But, considering inflation and percentage of the market, it was nowhere near depression era numbers. In two days in 1929, the market fell 23%. Over nearly three years (1929-1932) it lost 89% of it's value. With today's numbers, a 700 point fall is equal to only 6%. That's definitely a bad drop, but not unrecoverable. My goodness, I'm sick of the constant media coverage of it all. It's making people freak out and make short-term decisions. If you have money invested, you'll probably see it go down for a few quarters. You know what you should do? Buy more stock. Why? Because it's a buyer's market. Things will recover. I promise you, in ten years you'll be ecstatic that you were patient and waited it out. In fact, it's already recovered over 245 points as of this writing.

I was talking with my neighbor last night and he said something really revelatory to me. He said if you want to see how the economy is doing, go look at the Target parking lot. It's full.

Folks, don't freak out. These are unstable times, but like my mom said, this always happens right before an election. She has a little more perspective on these things than I do, and I trust her opinion. 

UPDATE: just found this great quote. Bono said, ""It's extraordinary to me that the United States can find $700 billion to save Wall Street and the entire G8 can't find $25 billion dollars to saved 25,000 children who die every day from preventable diseases."

(rw)

Knowledge is Power. Useless Power.

I have an older laptop that I use for everything. In fact, it’ll be a full 5 years old this winter. Technologically speaking, that's an eternity, but it’s doing fine for the most part. Last week, though, I had to comb through the hard drive and delete as much unnecessary information as possible to make room for some software updates. I was able to delete over 6 gigs of useless, random, or duplicate info leaving me room to spare for the updates.

If only my brain worked that way.

I have a LOT of useless information up there in the ol’ noggin and recently I’m feeling the need to comb through its hard drive and delete some uncessessary info because my memory is nearing capacity.

Just this weekend a friend and I were running an errand for his wife who needed 2 dozen 16 oz widemouth Ball mason jars and she needed ‘em quick. We left immediately for Wal-Mart which typically has one of everything. Not so this time. We got in the car, pulled out and I saw a Kroger across the street. “Hey, Kroger sells mason jars.” My buddy said, “How do you know that?” My answer: I don’t know. That is to say, I know, but I don't know why I know it. We ran in, went straight to the baking goods aisle and BINGO, 2 dozen widemouth mason jars. Full success, but it really bothered me that I had so much (any) information about where one could purchase 16 oz mason jars. That information should be relegated to grandmothers and, well, no one else really needs to know that. I know it though, yet I couldn't remember what street to turn on to get back to his house. 

Three days later I was helping Katie with a wedding she was decorating and we ran out of ribbon. We were under the gun and she gave me a piece of ribbon and said, GO! So I went. Straight to Target—because I know they have a wedding aisle within their party/crafty/giftwrap aisles (next to greeting cards, across from women’s makeup). I was back to the church in 20 minutes. Again: why do I know this stuff? I suppose the easy answer is because I’m a newlywed and I spent more time than any prospective groom should spend in that particular aisle. But how come I remembered they had spools of ivory polyester ribbon?

It’s like my brain unconsciously absorbs information I could care less about yet it has no ability to remember what time my dentist appointment is this week. That’s information I could use. Or it would be nice to know smart things, like how the dollar is doing against the Euro, but I can’t even remember the interest rate on my student loan.

I can’t remember the password to my gmail account, yet I know what song has been recorded more often than any other in history. I can’t remember my mother-in-law’s twin brother’s name, but know what time zone Indianapolis is in this month. Yes, it changes. Ask me. Why do I have to consult the menu every time I go to Peter’s Sushi? Is it the volcano roll or the dragon roll that I like? Oh, did you need to know where and when the world’s largest yard sale occurs? Good, because I know that. I would rather know the fundamental differences between Hinduism, Buddhism, and Confusionism and would rather not know all the original members’ names of Quiet Riot, Iron Maiden, and The Scorpions. Yet, I’ve managed to keep those facts intact.

I am a storehouse of the unnecessary, a treasure trove of the worthless.

I am the anti-Google.

(rw) 

Neck Cramp

Another busy day today, but in the spirit of self-deprecation and transparency, you should all know that I've been experiencing something incredibly rare, strange, and funny this week.  Every time I sneeze (which has been probably 50-75 times in the past four or five days thanks to middle Tennessee's unusually high allergen count) my neck muscles have been getting charley horses. Cramping. It's all the tiny little muscles surrounding my windpipe and it's not comfortable. I typically swallow following a sneeze (never knew I did that until this week) and it feels like I'm trying to swallow an unmoistened tortoise. I don't know what could be causing this except maybe I've strained myself from rubbernecking as I drive past gas stations to see if there's any fuel in Nashville yet. 

(rw)

* photo from the Hillsboro Village Shell next to Fido taken a few weeks ago.

The Daylights

Busy busy day today, so I thought I'd share these videos from my friends, The Daylights. Ricky, Ran, and Sven will one day be bigger than Dallas, so you can say "I heard about them before they were famous." Ricky and I played during communion at the wedding this past weekend and the brothers sang in my wedding back in January. They're simpatico, my blood brothers, believers, and their talent comes from somewhere beyond. Enjoy your Wednesday. And go buy their stuff on iTunes!

You'll never love if you protect yourself...Lay down, lay down your weapons, boy.

Oh, sure, this is part of Watercooler Wednesday over at ETHOS!

(rw)

The Beautiful Ruins of Friendships

Katie and I went to a friend's wedding this weekend in Beaufort, SC. It was one of those great southern weddings among the ruins of an old church that had been burned down by the British in 1780 and again by General Sherman in 1865. I'm sure the intact church was beautiful, but the ruins are spectacular. That's the great thing about friendships. Armies and enemies may attack hoping to destroy, but in the end, the ruins are still spectacular because you can see the beauty of what was once there. 

My friends that were there were all part of my inner circle in Los Angeles that I don't see very often anymore since I moved back to Nashville. I miss all these people (they all came to our wedding in January) and words can't express how great it was to be there with my new wife and watch her walk among them so beautifully, so gracefully. Those friendships were idyllic five years ago but distance and time have warred against them, forever altering their dynamics. What remains, though--the ruins--have a new beauty that can only be appreciated with hindsight. 

No doubt the Old Sheldon Church would not exist today had it not been bombed. But had it not been bombed, there would be no ruins, no reminders of what once stood there. But since enemies tried to take it down, the ruins are there as a memorial of what once stood and is still (partially) standing today. I even suspect that the ruins have been more impactful than the original church building ever was. Ironic. Ironic but no less true.

I still love these guys and am closer to some than others (three of them were my groomsmen), but I wouldn't trade for anything what we had five years ago for what I now have with Katie. Had I not been splintered off from them I never would've met her, my truest and permanent friend. 

(rw)

Ouch, Part II

I went to the dentist yesterday and my mouth feels like someone scraped, poked, and prodded my teeth and gums for an hour with a sharp metal hook. Oh, wait...they did.

(rw)

Ouch

What I don't understand is why people exercise. I can't even spell it without spellcheck, much less do it. But Katie and I are on a kick to get healthy so we've changed the way we eat pretty dramatically (for me) and it's been a great start. We've been eating better for several months so now that the weather has cooled it seems to be a good time to start exercising. We've taken a few walks and jogs around the neighborhood so I thought I'd be in decent enough shape to hit the gym. 

First of all, I should point out that for me to say "hit the gym" is akin to Bill Maher casually remarking that it's time for him to "head to church." These aren't natural words for me to say. Anytime I've ever exercised it's always been at the house or jogging around the neighborhood. The thought of going to a gym to workout in public is a horrible thought. Me with the birdlegs, skeletal arms, farmer's tan (I call it a musician's tan), and skinny gut? But, alas, my beloved gets a free membership to the YMCA with her job so it's almost wasteful to not take advantage. 

Our first trip was Monday and she suggested going to a Bosu class. I had no idea what Bosu is. She might as well have said Bozo class because I felt like a clown the whole time. Apparently it's really good for you to jump around on a half-ball and look like a clown. Also apparently I seem to have freakishly neglected every muscle from my thighs to my neck because today they feel like I spent a week hiking and/or fighting bears. I didn't realize there were muscles in between my ribs or that they could hurt so much.

After the 30 minute class I was sweating and breathing like a pentecostal preacher, except no one got saved and no love-offering was taken. Katie was more daring and spent the next hour with a personal trainer. I took some headphones to a treadmill to watch Monday Night Football (how 'bout those Cowboys?). I ended up running over three miles on the thing--hey, I was impressed--and felt great. 

That night we both fell asleep fast and slept like we had died. The soreness started kicking in pretty good around 8 last night and I can barely lift my hands to type this but it's a good soreness. I feel like I've done something, something worthwhile. The cool thing about the soreness is that it feels like the best way to deal with it is to do it all some more.

And all I can think about is jumping around on that stupid ball some more.

(rw)

Please visit the wonderful ETHOS blog for Watercooler Wednesday.

Inspiration in row 14

Heroes seem so few and far between. At least that’s what I tend to believe. They’re not unlike comets—a rare event that happens from time to time stirring up a lot of attention then vanishing into air that’s thin and opaque.

I was on a flight recently and an elderly man and his 27 year-old grandson sat next to me. Typically I don’t talk on flights. One could even say I'm anti-social. I like my space and my time. I realize this is selfish, but it is what it is. The first thing the man did was take out a weathered leather day-timer and opened it up to September. He said to his grandson “In September ’01 I had a brain aneurism, in September ’06 I had colon surgery, and this September I took this trip. A lot of things have happened in September.” A few minutes later he leaned over and asked me, “Did you have a grandfather that fought in World War II?” From that statement I knew three things: 1) I liked this guy, 2) I wanted to get to know him, and 3) I could learn a lot from him. I put everything down and got ready to listen and learn.

Ken Shotts was born in 1927 and was part of the US occupation force in Yokohama, Japan when he was 18.  Are you kidding me? I was desperately trying to learn Winger songs when I was 18. He was keeping a watchful eye on the Imperial Army with a machine gun in his hand.

He and his grandson were returning from a trip to Washington D.C. where he was able to see the WWII memorial and was greeted by Sen. Bob Dole upon arriving. He told me great stories of people he met while stationed in Japan and how he went back there in 1963 for an evangelical crusade and visited some of the friends he had made in the 40s. Like me, he is a musician and was in a band while in the army playing standup bass. He's still active musically and has been leading singing at a retirement home for 36 years near his home outside Dallas. He told me that he’s used the same hymnal for all 36 years and has written down every song he’s sung and every person he’s met over all this time.

He told a great story about when he was working for Toshiba USA and was asked by one of the visiting Japanese managers to translate his message to a gathering of the US sales force. Knowing very little Japanese, he obliged and sat patiently as the foreign manager spoke briefly. When he finished, he nodded to Ken that he could translate. Ken had no idea what the man had said so he decided to make up his own speech on the spot. It was encouraging and uplifting to the gathered salesmen and everyone applauded as Ken sat down. Ken knew one of the visitors from Japan and asked him what the manager had actually said. Jibberish, he said. They had tried to pull one over on Ken, but he unknowingly turned the tables on them. My kind of guy!

There has been a slight curtain drawn over me since turning 40. I’ve had this gnawing sensation that the good half of my life is over and now I’m entering into the bad half. I know, that's an incredibly pessimistic (and not typical for me) attitude. Thank you Ken Shotts for showing me that life is not a series of halves or even quarters. There’s a flow and a stream to living and it's to be lived every day. You collect experiences along the way that hopefully decorate the journey.  They aren't there to stop the journey and set up camp. They are there for you to look at as you pass by, like strolling through an art gallery. There's beauty, sadness, truth, ugliness, craziness, warmth, light, and shadow. But you keep going, always reminding yourself that there is something new around the corner in the other room that will be worth retelling. Ken is 81, and is a gentleman whose mind is sharp as a scalpel and is still collecting stories to tell. 

I'm beginning to collect some stories myself.

(rw)

 

Seven Years Ago Today

Seven years ago today, we were all waking up to a new world because everything had changed. It was the first day of post-911 America. I left the house for the first time, went to my favorite coffee shop and wrote this email to my friends. It's full of melodrama, emotion, and bombast, but those were the elements of the day. I found it not too long ago and thought it would be a good thing to share today. I'd really love to edit it but I'm just going to leave it be. It's amazing how so many things have changed since that day. It's even more amazing that so many things ended up not changing. 

My dear friends:

I awoke with a start to the phone ringing. 

It was nearly 8 a.m. which, if you know me, is when I’m typically deep into REM sleep. I’ve made it a habit to not answer the phone before 10 because it’s usually solicitors or one of my roommate’s co-workers. Anyone who knows me knows not to call before then--plus my friends are still sleeping as well, so I let the machine get it. I laid there restless for a few minutes before deciding to get online and check out some Ebay auctions I’d been bidding on. I had no idea how useless a 20-year-old Puma t-shirt would be to me in the next ten minutes. 

My cell phone began to ring. “Okay,” I thought springing from my bed, “someone is trying to reach me.” I checked the caller ID and noticed it was another roommate calling from his office. A bit annoyed at whatever could be the reason he’d call me at such an ungodly hour. And it turned out to be an absolutely unGodly hour. 

Trace told me to turn on the TV because there had been some kind of attack at the World Trade Center.  “Whatever, I’m going back to bed,” I told him, as if he was making up the whole thing. “Seriously, go wake up the guys and turn on the TV,” he nearly commanded. I switched on the television and as the picture tube warmed up, I began to see the first images of what I could only describe as completely surreal. 

Diane Sawyer and Charles Gibson were obviously as stunned as I was. I ran upstairs and woke my two other roommates and told them to come to the living room. I suppose they saw the alarm in my eyes because they jumped up without question to begin what has now become a 32-hour, commercial-free news bulletin. Peter Jennings has shown the most amazing grace, humanity, and composure I’ve seen in recent years and I have stayed with ABC for the most part with the occasional switch to FOX News, Oral Roberts University’s Chapel broadcast on TBN, and CNN.

I don’t really know why I’m writing all of this, other than I wanted to have some sort of record of what this day was like. I’ve prayed a little, although I must admit having found no comfort in it. I know in the logical sense that God has a plan and that this wasn’t part of it. I also know that He can redeem that which was intended for evil and use it to His glory. We’ve seen some of this in the constant calls to prayer, the staggering outpouring of aid from all over the world, and the hundreds of herculean, heroic acts.  

But something has changed. The thin veil of security, wealth, and liberty that we Americans live behind has been ripped apart and replaced with a black curtain of insecurity, despair, and fear. We have become grossly aware of just how vulnerable we are. We are no longer living on impenetrable soil. The irony is that the liberties and freedoms we enjoy are the same ones that allowed these demonized madmen into the country without suspicion. Now it looks like we inadvertently trained some of these to actually fly the airliners that turned into missiles at their helm. That is the price of an open society.

As a Christian, I have no choice but to look at all of this with my spiritual eyes. What does it mean?  Sen. Joseph Biden from Delaware made a statement that has stuck with me. “These men were able to do something no one in the history of the world has ever been able to do, they have united the entire globe.”  It’s a paraphrase, but a compelling thought to anyone who has studied Biblical escathology. Unexpected countries like Russia and China have rallied around the U.S. and have unilaterally condemned the attack along with all of Europe. I don’t obsess about this at all, nor do I know enough of Biblical end-times theology to state for certain, but I recognize the prophetic importance of a unified world army fighting a common enemy in the Middle East, an enemy that is unified in its hatred of Israel.

In a completely unrelated event, I lost a friend who drowned while diving in Jamaica yesterday.

Friends, I love you all and apologize for this email. It’s nothing you haven’t already heard or felt, but I just wanted to jot down my thoughts--probably for more selfish reasons than anything. I encourage all of you to do the same. Write it down. What are you thinking? What has stuck with you? I hope all of you can take thirty minutes or so and just write. Write for the catharsis, and send your thoughts to me. I’m wanting to compile a record of what my friends were going through and thinking these past two days.  I don’t know why, actually.  I just feel compelled to give you all a voice.

I know I’m being melodramatic, but I we’ve all been witnesses to unthinkable horrors. May God infuse this country with His Spirit and bring us to our knees.

(rw)

The Glamorous Life

I have a great number of friends who have this wild assumption that I lead this glamorous, rockstar lifestyle simply because I play music for a living. Now, I’m willing to admit that it can be nice not having a “normal” job. When I’m off, I’m totally off…and I’m off three, four, sometimes five days a week. The flip side of that scenario is that when I’m at work, I’m out of town, gone. And it’s rarely what any of my friends imagine.

Take this past weekend. We left at 6 p.m. on Friday evening for a 14 hour drive to Orlando. Thankfully Katie was able to come with us, so I had unusually sweet company. Usually it’s all a bunch of dudes making dumb jokes for hours until we start heading to bed. When we woke up, we were in a back lot at Universal Studios. I got up and walked Kates to the front gate where she was meeting up with an old friend for the day. It was 9 a.m. and already 90 degrees inside the park. The sweat running down my back was flowing like the Rio Grande by the time I made it back to the bus. Then it was time to soundcheck. Outside. In the heat. Once soundcheck and lunch were finished, the theme park had arranged each artist a VIP tour guide to take them from ride to ride, and escort them to the front of the line. This is usually one of the greatest perks about playing shows at theme parks. Usually.

Oh, a great time was certainly had by all for the first 90 minutes. As we were boarding our first big rollercoaster of the day, The Hulk, our guide told us to leave anything that might fall off. I left my hat, sunglasses, and phone along with several other guys. Long story short, three phones and a camera were stolen! Our guide turned his back for one minute and BAM! Gone. We ran out to see if we could see anyone or anything. Nada. Zilch. I couldn’t believe how naked I felt without my trusty Treo. Glamorous.

Then…that night, as I was getting ready to change in to my “show clothes,” I smelled something that made my eyes water. What in the world could be producing such a foul odor? My shoes? Nope. My pits? Nope. What the…? I forgot that I had taken my jeans out of the washer and packed them while slightly damp. At this point they’d been in that bag for a week. Totally mildewed. Yeah, the smell was thick. It was as if someone had smeared cat poop mixed with burnt hair all over my Levis before slinging chunks of rotten barbeque brisket on them…then washed them in buttermilk and brine before leaving them outside in the humid Florida air for a week inside a boar’s stomach. Unfortunately, these were the only jeans I’d brought for the show so I had to put them on. All night long I kept getting pungent whiffs of my pants and gagging. That’s not a lie.  On top of all that I found myself looking the crowd over for anyone fitting the description of our thief.

This is the stuff that the audience and my friends don’t see. The sweaty soundchecks, the painfully boring time between soundcheck and showtime (anywhere from 8 to 12 hours), or the alarm going off after less than four hours sleep yesterday to make a flight to Wichita (whereupon United decided to not put my guitar on the flight and after arriving two hours later they refused to deliver it until 10 p.m. so we had to send someone on a two hour trip to the airport and back…good times). They don’t see this stuff, but this stuff is where my true character is tested, where my real self lives, not on stages. That guy is show-Randy. He’s usually pretty clever and smiling. If you really want to get to know (and dislike) me, though, meet me at an early morning flight check-in, right after the security checkpoint as I’m furiously putting my belt and shoes back on (something that feels so immodest for some reason). That’s the point when I’m at my nastiest. My scowl in that moment could melt paint off a fire hydrant. I’m not proud of that guy. He gives my parents and Jesus a bad name.

(rw)

And although it's a late addition, this is part of today's Watercooler Wednesday at ETHOS. My YouTube guilty pleasure? I could watch local news bloopers all day long.  Especially this one!