At 8:30 a.m. I was accosted by two drunken natives teenagers on whyte avenue looking for cigarettes, a light, or any spare change I might have. First of all, I don't smoke so the cigarettes and the light were out. Next, I'm a student with a family and I survive on a bus pass and leftovers so spare change was out.
Through slurred speech and bleary eyes the boy told me he and his sister were living in a garage, hadn't had breakfast, that he was sixteen, and looking for anything I had that might help him.
He didn't look sixteen. His "sister" didn't look sixteen. There is a youth shelter two blocks from where we were standing that has housing and meals for disadvantaged teens yet they were obviously not taking advantage of it. They were more interested in cigarettes than in food but they mostly wanted money. They looked and smelled and talked and acted like tweekers or meth-heads. I didn't want to give them money. I should have taken them to the A&W across the street, used by debit card, and bought them both breakfast. But I didn't. Instead, I breathed a sigh of relief when they finally realized I wasn't going to give them anything and they stumbled off down the street in search of someone else to ask.
I'm not proud of myself. I'm not even O.K. with how I reacted to them, or to the initial internal response I had towards them as they walked towards me. I'm even less happy about the fact that I am having feelings of remorse now that I'm sitting in my nice warm office on campus and am blogging about this and what I should have done. Apparently, intellectually I know what the right thing to do is, but practically I am either unable or unwilling to put what I know into action.
I'm certainly not Peter. When a disabled begger asked him for money he replied "I don't have money but I'll give you what I do have" and then Peter heals the guy. I understand that the essence of the message of Christ is to help those who are less fortunate and to love the unlovable. The gospel's main message is "do unto others as you would have done unto you" and "whatever you do to the least of these you do to me."
Does this mean that I would wish to be ignored if I was in a similar circumstance? Does this mean that I ignored Christ today?
Put it another way. Let's just say that in some other life our family is in Calcutta India and suddenly my wife and I get hit my a car and die, leaving my three children, ages 16, 15, and 13, without any family support or help, all alone without any money in a huge city where they don't know the language. Let's say nobody knows what has happened and they end up living on the streets, unable to return home because they have no money to eat, let alone buy plane tickets. After a month, they are starving, sick, and desperate. So one morning they approach an average guy on the street and ask him if he will give them $5 for food. Would I want him to ignore them? Obviously not. I'd want him to not only feed them, but help them find the embassy, or put them on a plane home, to just do something to help them. Not only is this the essence of Christianity, it is the essence of humanity. Helping the less fortunate.
I can pontificate all I want about how America is showing its lack of humanity by not giving everyone access to healthcare. I can write about how the treatment of prisoners in Guantanamo Bay is un-Christian and has no place in a supposedly Christian nation like America. I can bash on the Christian Right because they want to cut funding to welfare and food stamp programs because they feel this is only enabling the less fortunate and people like that should just go out and get a job if they don't like the way they live. But after today, I have to ask myself if I am any different.
In the mean time, while I ponder this question, I'm going back to Whyte avenue to see if I can find those two and buy them breakfast. I may not have much, but I have more than they do and if I read my Bible correctly, Jesus asks me to share what I have with those who have less.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
BBQ
I think the reason that I am the world's greatest BBQer (is that a word) is because I have almost always barbecued on crappy BBQs. Before moving to Vegas in 1999 I had never even seen a barbecue (note I will be using BBQ and barbecue interchangeably). I had no skill on the grill (I'm also a wannbe rapper). Whenever somebody suggested we all get together for a barbecue (which wasn't that often because I was raised SDA read: mostly vegetarian) I would gallantly allow any other man in the group to man the barbecue and I would provide the entertainment, the running commentary, be the life of the party...anything to avoid standing over the grill. At family functions I allowed my uncle or cousins to bbq. In essence I was devoid of all meaningful interactions with the grill.
When we moved to Vegas and bought our first house, we discovered that the previous owners had left a grill on the back deck (well, actually a slab of concrete heated to one million degrees every day by the sun, but I didn't realize this until I stepped onto the slab in bare feet...however I digress). Obviously the grill had seen better days and apparently either the garbage truck had refused to pick it up or the owners had stopped using it so long ago they had forgotten what this horrible metal contraption in the corner of their yard was. Anyway, for whatever reason, it was there and I was determined to learn how to use it.
There were some initial problems. I didn't know how to turn it on (sexy dancing in a G-string didn't seem to work). I deduced that a person needed a flame to somehow ignite the propane, but I was unsure of how to do this and tossing lit matches into the yawning mouth of the grill had no effect. Finally I realized that perhaps I needed to buy a propane tank and attach it to the grill.
Having done so I experimented with turning nobs and dials and throwing lit matches into the grill until it nearly exploded as it erupted in flame, and I had my first lit gril to work with. (I continued to experiment until I learned how to actually light the thing and of course my eyebrows have grown back nicely).
My first attempt at grilling was chicken. I read a grill book on how to grill it and totally burned the outside to a black char while managing to leave the inside nicely red and almost cold. Needless to say attempt one was an abject failure and we celebrated that night by bringing in pizza.
My first hamburgers ended up as hard, unedable disks. My first steak was delicious, cooked to a beautiful medium rare. Apparently I could cook a steak but nothing else.
What I soon discovered, well not actually soon but over time, was that the grill actually had "hot" spots AND that I had to actually stand by the grill when grilling and adjust the food around the grill so that it alternatively was on a hot spot and then a cooler spot. This meant that after 20 or 30 attempts I was able to actually cook chicken without the fear of giving my family samonella.
When we bought our second house we decided it was time to actually buy a good grill and so I had to once again learn to barbecue. You see, I had learned how to grill on a piece of junk and now I actually had one that had adjustable heat settings, provided even heat, had a lid that closed all the way....well you get it....a grill that actually worked.
Sunday afternoons I perfected the art of learning to grill on a good grill. Eventually I graduated to salmon, kabobs, corn on the cob, asparagus, and anything else you could want grilled. I also learned that you can't leave your food on the grill while you go inside to watch the afternoon NFL game. The food will burn and your family will be unhappy with you.
Alas, when we moved back to Canada several years ago we brough our grill with us, but it did not fare well on the trip. I lovingly stowed it on the moving truck and then apparently piled everything I could find on top of it, including 4 tires and about twenty boxes. When we unloaded the truck I thought I had packed a grill designed for midgets. It also had a curious tilt to it that makes all the food roll towards the back of the grill and it now seems to have only one temperature - hot. If I want to keep anything warm, or if I am cooking chicken, I usually have to leave the lid open and only close it for brief periods of time to bring the temp back up.
However, having learned to grill on the BBQ that I did, grilling on this one actually isn't too bad.
So, why do I mention all of this?
This summer has been absolutely the worst summer I can remember for barbecuing. It has rained almost every day and here it is in September and its already below freezing at night. I've had very little chance to BBQ and I feel as if I'm losing my skillz. So, when I turned on the TV today (sexy dancing....) and saw that the weather forcast for this weekend was going to be in the 20s (that would be 70s for all my American friends) I am determined to grill one last time.
The only question is, should I do steak, chicken, or salmon? I'm so excited I might just do all three.
When we moved to Vegas and bought our first house, we discovered that the previous owners had left a grill on the back deck (well, actually a slab of concrete heated to one million degrees every day by the sun, but I didn't realize this until I stepped onto the slab in bare feet...however I digress). Obviously the grill had seen better days and apparently either the garbage truck had refused to pick it up or the owners had stopped using it so long ago they had forgotten what this horrible metal contraption in the corner of their yard was. Anyway, for whatever reason, it was there and I was determined to learn how to use it.
There were some initial problems. I didn't know how to turn it on (sexy dancing in a G-string didn't seem to work). I deduced that a person needed a flame to somehow ignite the propane, but I was unsure of how to do this and tossing lit matches into the yawning mouth of the grill had no effect. Finally I realized that perhaps I needed to buy a propane tank and attach it to the grill.
Having done so I experimented with turning nobs and dials and throwing lit matches into the grill until it nearly exploded as it erupted in flame, and I had my first lit gril to work with. (I continued to experiment until I learned how to actually light the thing and of course my eyebrows have grown back nicely).
My first attempt at grilling was chicken. I read a grill book on how to grill it and totally burned the outside to a black char while managing to leave the inside nicely red and almost cold. Needless to say attempt one was an abject failure and we celebrated that night by bringing in pizza.
My first hamburgers ended up as hard, unedable disks. My first steak was delicious, cooked to a beautiful medium rare. Apparently I could cook a steak but nothing else.
What I soon discovered, well not actually soon but over time, was that the grill actually had "hot" spots AND that I had to actually stand by the grill when grilling and adjust the food around the grill so that it alternatively was on a hot spot and then a cooler spot. This meant that after 20 or 30 attempts I was able to actually cook chicken without the fear of giving my family samonella.
When we bought our second house we decided it was time to actually buy a good grill and so I had to once again learn to barbecue. You see, I had learned how to grill on a piece of junk and now I actually had one that had adjustable heat settings, provided even heat, had a lid that closed all the way....well you get it....a grill that actually worked.
Sunday afternoons I perfected the art of learning to grill on a good grill. Eventually I graduated to salmon, kabobs, corn on the cob, asparagus, and anything else you could want grilled. I also learned that you can't leave your food on the grill while you go inside to watch the afternoon NFL game. The food will burn and your family will be unhappy with you.
Alas, when we moved back to Canada several years ago we brough our grill with us, but it did not fare well on the trip. I lovingly stowed it on the moving truck and then apparently piled everything I could find on top of it, including 4 tires and about twenty boxes. When we unloaded the truck I thought I had packed a grill designed for midgets. It also had a curious tilt to it that makes all the food roll towards the back of the grill and it now seems to have only one temperature - hot. If I want to keep anything warm, or if I am cooking chicken, I usually have to leave the lid open and only close it for brief periods of time to bring the temp back up.
However, having learned to grill on the BBQ that I did, grilling on this one actually isn't too bad.
So, why do I mention all of this?
This summer has been absolutely the worst summer I can remember for barbecuing. It has rained almost every day and here it is in September and its already below freezing at night. I've had very little chance to BBQ and I feel as if I'm losing my skillz. So, when I turned on the TV today (sexy dancing....) and saw that the weather forcast for this weekend was going to be in the 20s (that would be 70s for all my American friends) I am determined to grill one last time.
The only question is, should I do steak, chicken, or salmon? I'm so excited I might just do all three.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
two shots of happy one shot of sad
This post is a bit unfocused. There are actually several posts in this one post but I want to say some of this stuff while it is fresh in my head and no doubt will expand on various aspects of it in later posts.
I'm not a very happy person. I know, I know, for some of you this will come as a giant surprise. For others this will confirm whatever suspicions you might have been harbouring for quite some time but were too nice to openly admit to me. Whatever. After years and years of trying to appear happy I have come to the general conclusion that I am unhappy.
I don't know if this is the result of genetics or experiences or a little bit of both. Are unhappy people born this way or do they choose to become unhappy after experimenting with happiness for a while and then realizing that they are just not into it and that they are indeed unhappy? Do we just feel more 'normal' when we embrace our unhappiness despite the overwhelming 'encouragement' we feel from society to be happy?
Unhappy people get called all sort of names, to our faces and behind our backs. We get called depressed, selfish, bitchy, mean, freaks of nature, emo. We are told that we should try to see the glass half full and that if we can't, perhaps we should start a course of anti-depressants. I'm not happy that it is half full or half empty. I'm not happy that people want me to make some sort of observation about it and then judge my outlook on life based on how I answer.
Why not judge my outlook on life based on how I feel about poverty, war, culture, temptation, lonliness, government, sports, education (or lack thereof)? What I think about a glass of water....seriously!!!
Here is what I think. Happiness tends to be fleeting whereas unhappiness lasts a lot longer and you can get a lot more mileage out of it. Imagine a world where artists created art only out of their happiness. We wouldn't have any, or at least we wouldn't have great art. Unhappiness, sadness, depression, lonliness, rejection, alienation, all of these and more tend to give birth to fantastic artistic forms from painting to music.
Have you ever read "My name is Asher Lev"? If not, I suggest you read it.
Have you ever listened to Pink Floyd? If not, you should.
How about Picasso or Da Vinci or Van Gogh?
Great art produced by unhappy people. There are many, many others....
But my observations today are mostly for Christian artists.
Unhappiness with the state of the world, with the state of our lives, with the reality of sin and temptation and unanswered prayer can just as easily create great art as can heaven and angels and forgiveness and repentence and faith, all which are supposed to make us happy. Too much of what Christians pass off for art (whether in music, art, literature, drama, movies) is a trite ode to artificial happiness. The problem isn't that they are trying to be happy about this stuff, the problem is that it doesn't address the reality of life. Nobody is happy all the time. Especially not Christians. We of all people know the reality of failure, or disappointment, of longing for something we do not yet have. Yet for some reasons, we do not allow this reality to give us creative energy. Instead, we try to focus only on the happiness and create something artificial and only half true.
I guess that is why I love the desert so much. It is barren and rocky and hard and unforgiving and in many people's minds, ugly. There are no majestic snow capped mountain vistas with beautiful lakes and grass and trees. There is only heat and dust and rocks and cactus and snakes and scorpians.
Yet, in the Bible, every great character I can think of went to the desert to find God.
I think in the desert (literal and figurative) you come face to face with unhappiness and lonliness and anger and failure and ugliness and you see the reality of life. We don't live on the mountain top very often if ever. Most of us, if we are honest, live in the desert. It is just that artificially happy people try to pretend that they actually live on the mountain all the time.
I am not one of those people and I can't force myself to become one. No matter how much I want to be on the mountain all the time, I KNOW where I live. I know the reality of my life and of this world.
When I get to heaven I will be happy all the time. I will create great works of art based on the reality of true happiness because I believe that is what I will experience in heaven. Real, true, unending happiness. Two shots of happy.
In the mean time, I live down here and for the most part, what I experience is one shot of sad.
(with all appologies to Frank Sinatra and U2 for the blatant use of their song "Two shots of happy one shot of sad").
I'm not a very happy person. I know, I know, for some of you this will come as a giant surprise. For others this will confirm whatever suspicions you might have been harbouring for quite some time but were too nice to openly admit to me. Whatever. After years and years of trying to appear happy I have come to the general conclusion that I am unhappy.
I don't know if this is the result of genetics or experiences or a little bit of both. Are unhappy people born this way or do they choose to become unhappy after experimenting with happiness for a while and then realizing that they are just not into it and that they are indeed unhappy? Do we just feel more 'normal' when we embrace our unhappiness despite the overwhelming 'encouragement' we feel from society to be happy?
Unhappy people get called all sort of names, to our faces and behind our backs. We get called depressed, selfish, bitchy, mean, freaks of nature, emo. We are told that we should try to see the glass half full and that if we can't, perhaps we should start a course of anti-depressants. I'm not happy that it is half full or half empty. I'm not happy that people want me to make some sort of observation about it and then judge my outlook on life based on how I answer.
Why not judge my outlook on life based on how I feel about poverty, war, culture, temptation, lonliness, government, sports, education (or lack thereof)? What I think about a glass of water....seriously!!!
Here is what I think. Happiness tends to be fleeting whereas unhappiness lasts a lot longer and you can get a lot more mileage out of it. Imagine a world where artists created art only out of their happiness. We wouldn't have any, or at least we wouldn't have great art. Unhappiness, sadness, depression, lonliness, rejection, alienation, all of these and more tend to give birth to fantastic artistic forms from painting to music.
Have you ever read "My name is Asher Lev"? If not, I suggest you read it.
Have you ever listened to Pink Floyd? If not, you should.
How about Picasso or Da Vinci or Van Gogh?
Great art produced by unhappy people. There are many, many others....
But my observations today are mostly for Christian artists.
Unhappiness with the state of the world, with the state of our lives, with the reality of sin and temptation and unanswered prayer can just as easily create great art as can heaven and angels and forgiveness and repentence and faith, all which are supposed to make us happy. Too much of what Christians pass off for art (whether in music, art, literature, drama, movies) is a trite ode to artificial happiness. The problem isn't that they are trying to be happy about this stuff, the problem is that it doesn't address the reality of life. Nobody is happy all the time. Especially not Christians. We of all people know the reality of failure, or disappointment, of longing for something we do not yet have. Yet for some reasons, we do not allow this reality to give us creative energy. Instead, we try to focus only on the happiness and create something artificial and only half true.
I guess that is why I love the desert so much. It is barren and rocky and hard and unforgiving and in many people's minds, ugly. There are no majestic snow capped mountain vistas with beautiful lakes and grass and trees. There is only heat and dust and rocks and cactus and snakes and scorpians.
Yet, in the Bible, every great character I can think of went to the desert to find God.
I think in the desert (literal and figurative) you come face to face with unhappiness and lonliness and anger and failure and ugliness and you see the reality of life. We don't live on the mountain top very often if ever. Most of us, if we are honest, live in the desert. It is just that artificially happy people try to pretend that they actually live on the mountain all the time.
I am not one of those people and I can't force myself to become one. No matter how much I want to be on the mountain all the time, I KNOW where I live. I know the reality of my life and of this world.
When I get to heaven I will be happy all the time. I will create great works of art based on the reality of true happiness because I believe that is what I will experience in heaven. Real, true, unending happiness. Two shots of happy.
In the mean time, I live down here and for the most part, what I experience is one shot of sad.
(with all appologies to Frank Sinatra and U2 for the blatant use of their song "Two shots of happy one shot of sad").
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