Feet Up, Parts on the Way

Looks like I won’t be going to Lakeland this week. I just got the word. The pastor is going to be so busy, I wouldn’t even see him.

This works fine for me. Saturday was a bear, I suffered all day yesterday working on the Harley, and I’ve been busy with something all day today, so when I got the news, I was ready for a break. Now I can spend some more time on the book.

I have some Harley parts on the way. I still wonder what killed my carb float. I think I dumped some water remover and fuel injector cleaner in the tank. Not sure. In the future, I plan to be less creative with additives. I just assumed they were all safe.

Now That I Can See Them

This morning I got on the scale. A few weeks back, after a fast, I found I had the ability to control some behaviors that were causing me problems, and one of them was overeating. The abilities have persisted, so I like to get on the scale to see how I’m doing.

I weighed myself and got a certain figure, which was very satisfactory. Then for some reason, I got on the scale again a minute later. The number was 0.8 pounds lower! Nothing had changed. There was no reason for a difference in the reading. I got on a third time, and the lower reading appeared again. I’m down nearly fifteen pounds. The number has been a couple of pounds lower after a fast, but today’s measurement was after a weekend of normal eating.

Getting a miracle is confusing. The natural tendency is to keep confirming it over and over, until you can accept it. I guess that’s where I am now.

This weekend I saw Perry Stone deliver a message about Lot’s wife. I’m sure you know the story. Mr. and Mrs. Lot lived in Sodom, which was destroyed for selfishness, sexual perversion, dishonesty, mistreatment of visitors, and other sins. God warned them to get out, and they were told not to turn around. Mrs. Lot looked back–the book of Jasher says her children were being destroyed in the holocaust–and she turned into a pillar of salt, and Josephus claimed he saw the pillar later.

It’s an interesting message.

When Lot and Abraham parted ways, Lot chose the part of the land that was near Sodom. He pitched his tent toward Sodom. Perry Stone and some other preacher whose name I forget say this meant he was expressing his interest in the Sodom lifestyle. Lot eventually ended up living in Sodom, surrounded by thieves and perverts. The Bible says their filthy talk vexed him every day. It must have been like living in lower Manhattan.

If I recall Perry Stone’s message correctly, he was telling people not to look back with longing at sinful ways they had left behind.

I’ve been thinking along these lines since the fast I mentioned above. In the past, I wanted to behave in a certain way, but I couldn’t do it, because something (whether flesh or spirit) had a grip on me. Then I found myself “set free, indeed.” But I was tempted to go back. A little voice told me that when my problems blew over, it would be safe to resume living like an idiot. I had no plans to do this, but you know how thoughts are. They roam around in your head like stray dogs.

I suspect that a person whose free will is restored can’t get away with sins that wouldn’t harm an addict much. If you’re tormented by a constant urge to overeat, maybe it’s not a big deal when you break down and have a dozen doughnuts. But what if you’ve been freed by a miracle, and then you decide to eat a whole pizza? That has to be much worse. The temptation is not as powerful, so it’s a sin of will, not weakness.

So I think Perry Stone’s message was right on target, where I’m concerned. I needed to hear it. I don’t want the thought of future lapses in my head. I don’t want to plan my own failure, and I definitely don’t want to lose this.

When I got this unexpected blessing, I wanted to tell other people about it so they could get it, but as usual, I got nowhere with it. I have a horrible track record in this regard. In an email this morning, I said my miracles tend to be boring. If you can stand up and say you instantly dropped a crack habit, people will clap and churches will invite you to speak, but nobody cares when you find yourself able to turn down pizza. There are probably a lot of churches where they’d stone you, with rocks held in empty fried-chicken buckets. Christians want to hang onto that last “acceptable” vice. Many of us are gigantic.

Freedom from food addiction is a great gift. It’s huge. If I drop another fifteen pounds, it will be like taking off a lead apron.

Overeating costs you a lot. It ruins your ability to do many things, such as sports. It cuts way back on your dating pool. Like any addiction, it can make you hate yourself. It will cause people to mistreat you. If you’re married, it can wreck your sex life. It will cost you jobs, because employers like hiring skinny people. It will put a burden on the people around you. You’ll be in the way all the time. People will groan when they see you in a narrow hallway or an elevator or a doorway. They’ll have to sit in the back seat because you’re too big. You’ll crush them on airplanes, because you flow over the armrest. It’s not a trivial thing. I’m beside myself with gratitude. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I feel like God put a billion dollars in my bank account, and nobody else cares.

Here’s how I see it. Anything that controls you is evil. Right or wrong?

I’ll probably get stoned for saying things like that. But at least now I’ll have a chance of outrunning them.

Needle Valve Crud

I’m not sure I’m cut out for riding motorcycles.

I used to let the bikes sit for long periods. I finally learned to use Sta-Bil and make sure I got on the road once in a while. That saved me from replacing the Harley’s slow jet every time I wanted to ride.

Then last year I found gas pouring out of the Harley when I tried to start it. That required a Golan petcock. The Harley unit is complete garbage, almost intended to fail.

Today I tried to start the Harley, and black gas ran out through the air cleaner. This was new. I won’t mention the fact that I had to charge the battery in order to get this far. One month of down time killed it.

I took the carb out, stuck a new slow jet in, checked the float, checked the needle valve, and put it all back together. Miserable job. Then I realized I had left the ignition on, which means the headlight was burning. I had to attach the charger again. Now I’m waiting.

For future Googlers, here is the answer I found. Crud can get into your needle valve, holding it open and flooding the carb. Then the excess pours out onto your pipes. Call me crazy, but I think this is unsafe.

I don’t know if I fixed it or not.

I was hoping to ride to church to pick up my Pyrex. I left it up there last night.

Hope she fires up this time.

More

Now it looks like I ruined the carb float by using a fuel additive. Oh, well. At least I got to enjoy taking the carb apart several times, for no good reason.

Harley-Davidson won’t put a part finder online. If you want to buy parts, you need the part numbers. Guess what they do to help you find the numbers? They charge $48 for a manual. I’m serious. They omit the numbers from the service manual, so you have to spend more money.

I can’t find a new float online anywhere, so I posted a message on a forum. Hopefully someone will save me.

More

Harley-Davidson part number 27576-92 (40mm Keihin CV carb float for 2001 FLSTC). Hope someone else finds this useful.

More

The fuel gauge is dead. And the sender has a float on it.

I think I see a pattern here.

“Steve”?

What a day.

At first, nobody at my church realized I was alive. Then the pastor asked me to help him turn some sermons into books. Now I’m right in the nerve center. It happened so fast, it freaked me out.

I keep writing about how God freaks me out. It’s true. He does it several times a week, I guess.

My pastor and his wife have been running the church for 11 years, and it has been in its present location for maybe 6. As you can guess, there are lots of people there who have been around for years. They know each other well. They’re used to working together.

I showed up about eleven months ago. I sat in the back. I came in, gave my offerings, listened to the sermons, and went home. People introduced themselves to me twice because I made such a weak impression on them.

A month or so ago, I got some face time with my pastor to discuss some problems I was having, and he mentioned the book. I got to work on that. He invited me to join his weekly prayer group, and through that, I met some volunteer leaders. He just hired a publicist. I met with him and her this week.

At one of the prayer things, they asked for volunteers to help with a women’s conference, so I signed up. This week, they said they wanted me to help in the cafe. Then that changed. The pastor wanted me to join the “armor bearers.” These are guys who help out with all sorts of things behind the scenes. They pick speakers up at the airport. They hang out in the green room, helping speakers and musicians get their needs met. They roam around with earpieces, like CIA agents, fixing problems as they appear.

Today I showed up, dropped some desserts off at the cafe, and met up with the pastor and the armor bearers. I ended up driving the pastor and an older armor-bearer to the airport. While I was there, I picked up John Gray, a well-known speaker and comedian and singer. I took him to Nordstrom’s so he could get a shirt for his appearance. I took him to his hotel. Then when he arrived at church, I helped out with the service. That was pretty wild. There was a mass anointing, and about 90% of the attendees were women, so you can imagine how crazy it got. Some of them nearly had to be carried away from the altar.

I really enjoyed getting to know the other armor-bearer. He’s a fantastic guy. I feel like we’re old friends.

The pastor asked if I could run up to Lakeland and pick him up at a speaking engagement. I’d actually spend a night up there. I can’t believe that. It’s like I’m going from invisible to indispensable. What about all those people who are in line ahead of me? The people at the church are treating me like I’ve been there for years, proving my trustworthiness. I’ve never seen anything like it.

I want to do all I can, when I can. It’s not just because I want to please God and feel like part of the church. It’s also because this is like sitting on the couch, having valuable contacts delivered via dumptruck. I just met someone who has been in Christian publishing for years, and we’re working together. Then I met John Gray. Who will it be next week? I can’t even guess.

I keep thinking about Joseph, Daniel, Nehemiah, and Esther. Being useful can put you in the company of important people. It can change your life, or even the world.

I have made some observations.

First, I’m surprised how humble prominent Christians are. John Gray seems like a good example. In the truck, he was friendly, and he made conversation, but he was a wallflower compared to the powerhouse I saw in church. Sherman Klump versus Buddy Love. A few minutes after having hundreds of adoring women shriek at him, he was as regular a guy as you could ever hope to meet. I’m sure not all Christian personalities are like that, but it’s remarkable that any are. I also saw Robia La Morte, who used to work for Prince. I helped carry some chairs for her. Absolutely unprepossessing. I wish I had remembered that she played a character on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I would have had to shake her hand and mention it.

Second, Christian women are really attractive. I hadn’t realized. I used to think the things that turned me off about Miami women and northeastern women were cultural, and to some extent they are, but tonight I realized a lot of it is the difference between Christian and non-Christian. Worldly women are hard and closed compared to Christian women. They’re jaded. Their innocence is gone. They are more likely to have stupid, hateful ideas about men. If I got involved with one, I would spend a tremendous amount of time fighting with her over my “backward” morals and values. Christian women already believe most of what I believe. Dealing with them isn’t like trying to force a left shoe on a right foot. The chemistry is healthy, not corrupted.

When a worldly “expert” talks about women or men, only half of the audience claps. Because worldly men think women are wrong about everything, and vice-versa. But in church tonight, when John Gray talked about the sexes, both sexes clapped. The men gathered in the front of the church and prayed for the women. The phrase “war between the sexes” would have sounded psychotic in that atmosphere.

One of the worst things about non-Christian women is that they put you on trial, 24 hours a day. As if they have the right. They think there is something righteous about browbeating men. As if we need to be punished. Where do insane ideas like that come from?

I know I paint an overly rosy picture, when I talk about the ease of getting along with Christian women. Divorce statistics among Christians are not good. But there are Christians, and then there are Christians. I think God makes many, many Christian marriages work. A lot of Christians only dip their toes in the water, when they should jump in the pool. So they stay caught in worldly problems, when they should be getting deliverance. I speak from experience. I think I’m starting to get some clues about leading a blessed life. Not everyone lives in misery and disappointment and frustration. Our culture tells us they do, but it’s not true.

A few months back, I said I had the unshakable feeling that something great was going to happen to me. I still can’t figure out what it is. So many good things are happening. Which one is it? Is it all of them? Is something even better, which will happen in the upcoming weeks?

I feel like I’m being promoted quickly in life. Exactly the way Christian teachers say it works.

I don’t want to encourage anybody to do anything stupid. Mistakes about doctrine are not exactly rare, and many smart people have been fooled. But I’m amazed at how things are going for me.

Food Avalanche

I was going to attend to some lingering responsibilities today, but instead, I decided to try to unwind a little. I spent a leisurely morning with the Bible, and then I decided to slap together some desserts for the church. I’ll be working at the cafe tomorrow, unless they move me, so I figured it was time to show them what I can do for them.

I was going to make cheesecake, but the berries are pathetic right now. I can get good blueberries, but they’re about ten bucks a pint, and strawberries are only half ripe. There goes that idea. So I’m making brownies and flan and banana nut bread.

The banana nut bread is mostly for my own satisfaction. I was not happy with my last (second) loaf. I changed the recipe again. I’m disturbed to see that I left sugar out of the recipe the last time I posted it. Here is what I’m using right now.

INGREDIENTS

3 ripe bananas, mashed (I used two Orinocos)
2 1/4 cups non-rising biscuit flour
1 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. soda
2 eggs
1 1/2 sticks butter
1/2 cup chopped pecans
pinch nutmeg
pinch cloves
pinch cinnamon
1 tsp. vanilla

I cut the cinnamon back, jacked up the butter, and took out the coconut oil. I also cleaned the teflon pan carefully and greased it with butter. I hope the loaf doesn’t stick this time.

I’m confident this one will be very good. They’ve all been good, but this one won’t have the obvious flaws the first two had.

I guess they’ll think I’m doing too much, but this is recreation for me.

I got a letter from Perry Stone Ministries. The man does not ask for money. He says he refuses to beg, because he doesn’t like doing TV. He believes God told him to do it. I can understand that. I’d do TV if an angel ordered me to, but it must be a hassle and a complete abdication of your expectation of privacy.

The letter was a thank-you to his supporters. He says other ministries are laying off, but he’s doing fine. Is there a lesson in that? Probably. If all you do is beg and holler “SEED GIFT! SEED GIFT!” all day, you shouldn’t be surprised when people start watching and supporting shows that give them something more. Perry Stone is incredibly prolific. I don’t know how he does it. He seems to write a book every ten minutes, and if you bought every sermon series (and they’re not expensive), you’d probably blow almost a thousand dollars a year.

I think God may be sifting out a number of the less-profitable servants. Some people take issue when I indicate that I believe that the things you do here on earth can have timely and identifiable consequences, but I was thinking about it today, and they’re wrong. Look at the Bible. Achan took stuff from Jericho, and the very next time the Jews fought, they lost. Delilah shaved Samson, and the next morning, his enemies held him down and gouged his eyes out. Ananias and Sapphira lied to God, and the Holy Spirit killed them immediately. Judas died miserably shortly after his sin. Sometimes God gives you a lot of space to repent, and sometimes you get slapped down in a hurry, and you know the reason.

I suspect that the more God plans to do with you (and therefore FOR you), the shorter your leash will be. Look at Moses and David. If you’re a jerk all your life, and everything goes well for you, maybe it means there was never any hope for you. Things went great for Hitler for decades. The Bible says, “Fret not because of the man who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass.” It says, “Wait on the Lord, and keep his way, and he shall exalt thee to inherit the land. When the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see it.”

This morning, I went back over Psalm 5, which I was no longer able to recite, and I saw this: “Lead me, O Lord, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies. Make thy way straight before my face.” I used to think it meant, “Lead me around the traps,” but now I think it means, “Prevent me from sinning, so I don’t lose your protection.” God promises to guard his servants. “Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him. I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.” “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee. Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.” But sin–especially iniquity, or habitual sin–is an open door through which the enemy is permitted to enter.

I feel like my behavior is being sculpted by chastisement. First in broad and painful strokes, and then in progressively finer adjustments. I’ve made changes, and I’ve gotten victories, but there has been room for improvement, and I think that’s why I haven’t seen every triumph I hoped for.

The farther I get into it, the more Christianity makes sense. People always talk like we know very little about God’s mind and his plans, but that’s not true. A lot of information is out there, if you’re willing to look. Seeing through a glass, darkly, is not the same as wandering in total ignorance. It surprises me, how much is known about God.

I can’t believe how much I’ve learned from memorizing the Psalms. I should not be surprised. Jesus quoted them to Satan when he was tempted. They’re not just silly poems. God reveals his secrets in them. The Apostles quoted them. All this stuff about actions and consequences, I put together from my knowledge of the Psalms. I just finished 91, and I’m working on 27. Take a look at it, if you want to see how appropriate it is. And I haven’t even memorized twenty percent of them. I have to wonder what it’s like to have a real Biblical library in your head. Supposedly, in Jesus’s time, Jewish boys memorized the Pentateuch by the time they were bar mitzvah’d.

I have to drive to the store to get more eggs. I can’t believe I took a list and still screwed up.

If you want to see progress in your life, try this. Get the baptism of the Spirit, pray in the Spirit every day, and start memorizing. Stuff will come together inside you. Seriously.

Can YOUR President Walk on Bottled Water?

Had to edit this after a commenter pointed out the nomination deadline was in February.

New Trinket for the IWhine

Here are two things you should never doubt again.

1. Bush Derangement Syndrome is a bona fide mental illness.

2. The spirit of Antichrist upholds and promotes anti-Jewish, anti-Church leaders.

If you have better explanations for Barack Obama’s unexpected Nobel Peace Prize, I would love to hear them.

This guy is starting to remind me of Al Bundy. If you don’t recall, Al was a high school superstar. A jock. He peaked at 18. Then he ended up selling shoes. Obama will peak during the 12 months following the 2008 election. After that, a legacy of abject bundicity. Which is a noun I just coined.

Now that I think about it, the Antichrist will be a lot like Al Bundy, too. A short time in the sun, and then eternity in the deep fryer. God’s shoe store.

Obama is hostile to the necessary, God-mandated, inevitable recovery of the missing parts of the Jewish homeland, and the terrorists made it clear they preferred him to McCain, but even Muslims found this award confusing and inappropriate.

When nutty things happen, look for a spiritual reason. That’s what I have learned. This explains lots of things. The housing bubble. The disproportionate success of moderately talented people like Michael Jackson, Elvis, and Madonna. Oprah’s $31 million starting salary. Israel’s military victories. Bill Gates. And the bizarre and increasingly shameless worship of a mediocre and obscure junior senator who had the White House handed to him in a gift-wrapped package.

When his fall comes, he is going to hit the earth so hard he will go clean through it and pop out in China. His new policy–this is so stupid it amounts to psychosis–of openly attacking critics in the press is likely to accelerate his descent pretty dramatically.

Last night I watched a Perry Stone live webcast. He said he always prays for our leaders to come around and submit to God, so they’ll provide a friendly environment for the church. Same here. I long for the day when Obama says he has discarded the tiny idol he carries. The pocket-sized figure of the Hindu antichrist. I want to see him throw out the two-foot-tall gilded version he keeps in the White House. I want him to admit that Jeremiah Wright is a sad excuse for a preacher. And I’d like to see him quit stabbing the Jews in the back.

I want to see him straighten up and succeed or continue in foolishness and fail miserably. The former is preferable, but anything is better than success on Obama’s spiritually dysfunctional terms. No nation has ever been blessed for irresponsibility, man-worship, and Jew-baiting.

Question: will he donate the money to charity? Tough call. It’s fairly certain that he thinks he earned it. And at heart, he’s spoiled, ungrateful, and selfish. But his ego and his image would benefit from a conspicuous donation to a cause beloved by leftists. And I’m sure he expects to earn millions after he leaves office, although he’s likely to be a one-termer, which means he won’t pull down Bill Clinton money.

Whatever happens, I’m sure he will manage to embarrass us yet again.

Hold the Fries, Heathen

Man, am I wiped out. A family crisis developed, and my dad invited me to lunch to discuss it, and I ate a cheeseburger and a tiny container of mysterious “veggie slaw.” I feel like I ate a bowling bag full of greased marbles.

Two months ago, I would have barely noticed a meal this small. It’s amazing how I’ve changed. I had a generous breakfast today, because I was running behind on calories, but it wasn’t huge. Other than that, I’ve had two tiny bowls of All-Bran and part of a Lindt bar. I don’t think I could eat another thing all day.

My dad refuses to believe it’s an answer to prayer. He says fasting shrunk my stomach. I can’t agree. I’ve fasted before, and it never affected my appetite in the days that followed. I think if two cherubs flew in bearing a cake decorated with the message, “Way to go. Love, J.C.”, he would still insist there was an earthly explanation.

I feel almost sick. I could not be happier.

The 33-waist pants in the closet are calling to me. I still remember the days when I thought of them as my fat pants. Right now, I’d be thrilled if I could get into them with a crowbar. And I’m not that far off.

I’ve achieved absolutely nothing today. Started working on the book. Then I had to go with my sister so she could have her head shaved. Then family crisis. Then lunch.

If you want to start taking a woman’s cancer seriously, watch somebody shave her head. It’s very disturbing. It drives the truth home in a big way. I don’t think it would mean as much if it were a man. Men shave their heads for all sorts of reasons. They lose bets. They want to make it harder for the cops to identify them. They fall asleep drunk and fall prey to their so-called friends. When a woman shaves her head, you know something is up.

Hope this day’s supply of drama has run dry.

And None of You Deserve it, Anyway

I have been thinking about the prayer meeting I went to yesterday, in which we focused on the ill effects of complaining.

At the meeting, I felt like adding my input, but I kept quiet, because once my mouth is open, it tends to stay that way. The other guys have been building the church for years, and I don’t want to show up at this late date and act like I know something they don’t.

If I had spoken my piece, I would have said this: complaining can be truly magical. A person who really knows how to complain can take any situation and turn it into a stinking dungheap.

I’ll try to capture the pain of dealing with someone like that. I’ll provide a composite character, and I’ll call him Ned. The phone rings, and it’s Ned. He wants to talk about a situation which appears to be going quite well. Let’s say Ned’s sister’s son is having a birthday, and the party is tomorrow. The kid is happy. The sister is happy. The cake has been ordered. The guests have been invited. The weather looks good. The clown is fresh out of rehab and appears to be behaving himself. Here is what Ned says:

1. I know the best place to get a cake, but Myrtle (the sister) hates me because I was popular when we were in high school, so she insisted on going to the stupid bakery down the street, which is run by Haitians, and–God bless them, you know how I hurt for them and how much money I give to Haitian charities, unlike you–they are not clean people, and I am not going near that tuberculosis-infected cake. I hope everyone enjoys it in spite of the bad things I have a duty to say about it in front of the guests, because I am not a petty person like Myrtle. I guess somebody in the family has to be the spiritual one, and I don’t mind, because that’s how Jesus and I roll. And if Myrtle gets a loathsome disease, I wouldn’t be surprised, because God withdraws his blessings when you mistreat people. But I really hope she doesn’t, because I just don’t have it in me to wish anyone ill. I thank God I am not built like that.

2. Little Elroy (the son) is bucktoothed, and I was the one who made them take him to the orthodontist, so they owe me, but they still insisted on having the party at their house instead of Chuck E. Cheese, which would have been a way better idea. And they never thanked me, and when my gout acted up, it was over a day before they called, and they didn’t even offer to mow my yard so my toe could rest.

3. I had to go without Crown Royal for a week to buy Elroy’s present, and it’s much better than anything anyone else got him, but what can you expect, when his dad is a pothead and his mom spends all her money on tacky jewelry and Hummel figurines? I know they will never thank me for it, even though I will call attention to it by putting it in a huge gift-wrapped box next to the pathetic presents they got him, and I will make him pose for about fifty digital pictures while he opens it, because I’m the only one who cares enough to preserve the precious memories of his childhood.

4. I may be late to the party because my bursitis, which could actually be bone cancer, is bothering me, and no one cares enough about me to pick me up so I don’t have to drive. I know everyone is just waiting for me to die so they can put my model train collection on Ebay, so nothing surprises me any more. It’s a good thing I’m so spiritual. Otherwise I might resent them. It’s sad how they envy me, but luckily it doesn’t bother me at all.

5. The present you got Elroy is stupid and embarrassing, but you never listen to me, so go ahead and give it to him. I hope you kept the receipt. If not, maybe they can take it to Goodwill.

6. Let’s just try to have a good time, if you can find it in your heart to stifle your negative personality for three hours. God knows I don’t ask for much. I know you don’t think about personal sacrifice the way I do, so I will understand if you embarrass everybody and ruin the party.

And Ned wonders why his calls go to voicemail all the time.

Anyone else would say, “Oh, boy! A birthday party! Sounds like fun!”

When something is wrong, and there might be a solution, you have to speak up. That’s not the bad kind of complaining. The bad kind is a sort of reverse alchemy, which turns gold into lead. A skilled complainer can take the greatest day of your life and turn it into something out of a Kafka story.

There is also a bad kind of optimism. “This space shuttle was designed by geniuses! Freezing weather won’t hurt it!” “Icebergs? This ship is unsinkable!” “Housing prices are going to go up 20% a year for the rest of our lives! Go ahead and take that loan!” “Experience? A President doesn’t need experience! If old, experienced people knew anything, the world would be perfect by now!”

You know what I’m talking about. There is nothing wrong with pointing out that the emperor is naked. Jesus did it all the time. A smart person knows when criticism is helpful and when it is not.

If you want to know what hell is like, travel with a master complainer. “You never take my secret shortcut. This will add hours to the trip.” “Wake up. This room is no better than the last one. We have to move again.” “Take off my SHOES? I demand to speak to the president of the airline!” “Go ahead and eat at McDonald’s if you want. I’ll sit in the car, and then we can go someplace clean.” “Waitress! This muffin is asymmetrical!”

Life is full of real problems. You don’t improve it by conjuring new ones.

Back when I was in college, I had a buddy who joined the Peace Corps. I don’t know if that was a great idea. He wrote me letters in which diarrhea figured heavily, and he said the Senegalese felt that he should build their bridge (or whatever) singlehandedly, while they observed from comfy lawn chairs in the shade. But he was very game.

While his trip was in the planning stages, we went to an Ethiopian restaurant in Manhattan. They screwed his order up pretty badly, and we ended up waiting while things were put back the way they should be. And he told me this was the kind of thing that made travel interesting. When something goes wrong, you can whine and stamp your feet and make silly threats, or you can find the good that comes of it. Who knows? When they bring you the wrong dish, it might be something you like better than the right dish. We agreed that when you travel with another person, the smart thing was to avoid people who couldn’t tolerate surprises, because they made travel a painful experience.

Life is a journey. I suppose the principle applies to every day that we live. Don’t pair yourself up with a happiness-seeking mood torpedo.

The worst thing about pointless, self-indulgent complaining is that it makes people hate to be around you. And that makes you more bitter, so you complain more. Eventually, you decide you are the only correct person on earth, and that the reason no one invites you anywhere is that they are embarrassed by your perfection.

People don’t owe you their company. And if it brings them down and gives them ulcers, they have an affirmative obligation to avoid it.

It’s funny how Christianity improves my attitude. I expected it to drive me away from things like sexual sin and unforgiveness and so on, but it has wider effects than that. For a long time, I’ve thought that soldiers were a lot like Christians, and the more I progress, the more I think that is true. After all, the Bible calls God “the Lord of hosts,” and the word translated “hosts” means “armies.” Positive thinking. Responsibility. Unselfishness. Esprit de corps. These are all ideas that apply equally to the military and the church. No wonder soldiers make such fantastic Christians. It’s plug and play.

Probably a Right-Wing Terrorist

I just got back from my GAP (“God Answers Prayer”) group meeting, up at the church. My second visit today. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be included, and to meet the devoted men who help make the church work.

The pastor’s theme for tonight was the harmfulness of complaining. I told him earlier today that if I could not complain, I wouldn’t be able to say much at all. Anyway, it was great to listen to the ex-military guys talk about the zero-tolerance policy the service has toward complaining. When you hear things like that, it helps you realize how our military gets so much done, in spite of bureaucracy and confusion.

They talked about weather they had endured. One guy said he had seen temperatures of 166 degrees in Iraq. I assume that’s inside a vehicle or something. They both said that when the temperature drops at night, even though it’s still warm, you feel like you’re freezing. One said he had a picture of himself shivering in a sleeping bag, in front of a thermometer reading 110 degrees.

They’re not so tough. Sometimes, when I practiced law, the girls in the office forgot to buy half and half for my coffee. I had to use that awful powdered stuff. I don’t like to talk about it. It was horrible. But I keep that to myself because I’m a stoic.

I used to drive home from the courthouse or a club or a restaurant, get out of a two-seat convertible, and walk in past an empty garage. Tonight I drove home from a prayer meeting at church, got out of a four-wheel-drive diesel pickup with an eight-foot bed, and walked into the house carrying a Bible and a pistol, past a garage loaded with tools.

What a change. I feel like I’m arriving.

Church on Wednesday Morning

I had an interesting morning at church. I went up to have a meeting about the book I’m helping the pastor write. He hired a publicist for the church, and he put us together so we could talk about the project.

This lady is the daughter of a guy who had a huge church, and she knows all sorts of people in Christian publishing. She and the pastor are making plans for a whole series of books. Oddly, I’m working on the second one, before the others come out. In any case, it will be great to have someone else involved, who can put in the time the book needs. The pastor is just too busy, and it’s not really his thing, anyway. He already created the DVD series this book will be based on, so it makes sense to hand the writing, editing, and PR off to someone else.

I’m starting to feel like people there know who I am, and that I will be able to be a part of the operation, instead of wandering in, warming a chair, and going home. I hope my involvement continues to increase. It can be tough to do well in the secular world once you’ve sold out to God, so I need all the support I can get.

I went to lunch with the pastor and the PR lady, and one of the church leaders joined us, and I met a few other folks. I can never remember names, but I’m going to make an effort.

The church has a cafe. If you’ve been reading my blogs for a while, you can see the potential for hilarity here. I was telling them about my book and the horrors I have created. This weekend, I’ll be helping out in the cafe. They’ll probably have me emptying trash bags and cleaning up, but if I end up helping with the cooking, I’ll try not to give in to my natural instincts.

The food at the cafe looks really good. The pastor says people from the area drop in and eat. Heathens, I mean. Okay, not heathens. Necessarily. But not church members. I think he said it’s five bucks for a meal. Not bad.

The pastor says he wants a copy of my book. I guess I’ll give him one. After reading it, he may wonder if he picked the right guy to write Christian material. On the up side, I might make a good subject for a sermon.

I talked to him about gluttony. He agrees that it’s a sin, just like drunkenness, but you don’t hear much about it from preachers. Strange. Think about it. If you gluttonize consistently, you ruin your knees, your arteries, your heart, your pancreas, and maybe your brain. You can become diabetic and end up having your feet amputated. If you become obese, you annoy and inconvenience other people all the time. Have you ever lived with a food addict? You can’t have decent food or drink. They inhale it before you can get to it. You buy six tangerines on Monday, and on Tuesday, they’re all gone. You have to eat peanut butter sandwiches because the jelly disappears in two days. Gluttony causes a lot of problems. It’s not a trivial thing. How can a thing that makes you ugly, sick, uncomfortable, and annoying be trivial?

That being said, I do miss it. But I still enjoy food. I just enjoy it in human amounts.

There are demons around us. Christians get embarrassed when you mention them, but they surround us. Jesus and Paul talked about them all the time. I think every person has a certain number of resident demons who work to control his life and lead him to ruin. What else do they have to do? I don’t think you have to be foaming at the mouth and bending bars in your teeth to have one or more demons. I think addiction, which is less spectacular than foaming at the mouth, is generally demonic. It controls your life, against your will, like the Biblical demon that made the boy fall in the fire. And gluttony is addiction. If it were not, people would be able to control it. They can’t. Almost every person who diets down to normal size blows back up again. How is that different from cigarette or heroin addiction? You have a self-destructive habit you can’t control…isn’t that addiction?

Surely one demon will attract others. Isn’t that the way life works? If you have a serious problem you can’t control, you tend to get other problems later. If you can’t control what you eat, it will weaken your will in other areas, and sooner or later, you’re likely to have other moral problems. At least I think so.

It’s natural for Christians to think they have to have one area in their lives where they can let loose. But we’re not supposed to be natural. Shakespeare used the word “natural” to describe men who were controlled by their primitive urges. The idea that we have limited strength, and that we can only expect to win in certain areas of our lives, is probably wrong. I think we were probably intended to be hooked up to the Holy Spirit, in a way that gradually rids us of destructive urges and habits. Maybe we’re not supposed to be perfect, but I don’t think we’re supposed to dedicate portions of our lives to failure. Isn’t that what you do, when you decide it’s okay to smoke because you’ve quit taking drugs and drinking too much? How is it different if you decide you have to give up all your vices except for stuffing yourself? My diet used to work like this: 1500 calories per day, except for Saturday, which I called “fat day.” On that day, I ate everything I could carry home. If addiction is caused by hostile spirits, isn’t fat day appeasement? Isn’t appeasement just a way of delaying further aggression without preventing it? Look how well it worked in Israel.

I’m completely thrilled that I am not overeating these days, but I continue to hate fasting. It’s not as painful as it used to be, but it’s no joy, either. On the days when I fast, I look forward to that next meal. I don’t celebrate with a hoglike feast, but the first bite of whatever I eat comes as a great relief.

Life continues to improve. I assume an occasional fast is necessary to the process. I’ll live.

I think this is what Jesus meant by “free, indeed.” You can have your stomach stapled and send money to Dr. Phil, but only one power in the universe truly destroys addiction.

I could really go for a pie right now.

One More Machine to Nag and Belittle Me

Unbelievably, I got my truck’s stereo installed.

Having the correct instructions makes a world of difference. Once the Crutchfield guy explained everything, the receiver slid right in. After that, the challenge was to get various cables installed.

1. Rear-view camera. The cable was already tied to the frame, but I only got to the underside of the cab, because I couldn’t figure out how to get it through the floor. After I took the floor console up, I was able to remove the 4WD shifter, run the cable up through the hole, and reinstall the shifter. The cable is pretty well mashed against the body, but it works. I guess I could fabricate a rubber gasket kind of a thing with a channel for the cable.

2. USB. I found an old cable and ran it behind the dash into the glove compartment. My technique consisted of shoving the cable through a hole over and over, until it emerged where I could grab it and pull it into the glovebox. You can’t teach this kind of skill. It’s just a gift. Some people would use fish tape or grabby things on telescoping rods. Real men prefer trial and error.

3. GPS. I popped the trim off the forward side of the dash, rested the antenna on it, ran the cable under it, stored the vast majority of it in an empty speaker hole, and ran the end to the receiver. The antenna looks almost like it was born there.

I don’t quite get the rear-view camera. It points downward, to such a degree that if a person stood behind the truck, it would only show him from the knees down. But maybe this is good enough to keep me from ramming parked cars and posts.

The GPS is fun. I didn’t want it, but of course, I will use it constantly. The voice is named Rebecca. That’s actually the name on the screen. As I have often said, female voices are appropriate for GPS, because men are so used to women telling them what to do.

I still have to get front-door speakers, and I have to put the speaker and tweeter in the right rear door. And I have to put in a new dash panel. But that stuff is really easy.

I am all done with Crutchfield. They do a fairly good job, but for under a hundred bucks, Best Buy would have done this in two hours.

I learned a few things. First of all, if you can do a procedure in the house instead of your car, do it. It took me maybe forty minutes to connect the Clarion wiring adapter to the one from Crutchfield. If I had done that in the truck, I’d still be there, ready for a padded room. Second, get a bag of cable ties before you start. Third, pay someone else to install the stereo. Did I mention that already?

I have two extra screws now. I know where one of them goes. The other, I’ll have to think about. I hope it’s not the main screw that holds the truck together.

Learn from my mistakes. I never do, but somebody should.

No Screws

Looks like I owe the people at Crutchfield an apology. I said their instructions for taking apart my dashboard were wrong, but–heh–it turns out I missed a page. How about that? It was only a seventy-dollar mistake. A commenter said the part I busted was a tiny doodad available in auto parts stores, but it’s not, so I had to get a new panel. I could have crammed the old one back in there, broken, but the idea made me mad.

My other complaints, I stand beside.

Against my better judgment, I decided to give the stereo installation another shot. This time, the dash came apart correctly, and I didn’t destroy anything. But the instructions for fitting the receiver to the dash were wrong. The receiver came with something called a DIN sleeve, which is a sleeve of thin perforated metal. The receiver slides into it. The instructions said to beat on this thing until it gripped the adapter that mates the receiver to the truck, but for reasons even more boring than this blog entry has already become, that did not work. The receiver projected out too far.

I called them up to whine, and they pointed out that there were some other parts I could use. I might have realized this, had the receiver adaptor thing come with instructions instead of a tiny diagram with almost no text. It turns out this will work, IF I can find screws to attach the new parts to the receiver. So I have to go to the hardware store.

I was afraid I’d have to drill holes in the truck to mount the GPS antenna, but the Crutchfield tech said I could put it on my dashboard. That would be a whole lot better.

I guess the only thing that will cause a real problem is running the rear-view camera cable. I still haven’t found a place where I can get it into the cab from outside the truck. Maybe I can find a crack in the transmission-hump opening. If I can do that, forget the custom installation guy. I’m home-free.

This was an unbelievably stupid idea. I will never do this again.

After I move my old Alpine to my dad’s Explorer.

Car Stereo Fail

I thought Crutchfield was great because they gave me lots of free stuff with my new car stereo, and they helped me choose products, and they supplied all sorts of literature to help me do the installation.

I have changed my mind. I am feeling a wee bit crabby.

The adapters they sent for the speakers don’t fit. The speakers I got for the front doors are not the ones they should have recommended. The installation information is just plain wrong.

I had a horrible time putting speakers in the rear doors. One is still awaiting installation. I had to cut a hole in the door panel for a tweeter (not mentioned when I bought the speakers), and the bit jumped and gouged the panel. Nice.

They said I needed something called a trim panel tool to pull the center panel off my dashboard. They said this in the installation information they sent me. Not over the phone, when I ordered the stereo. When I could have told them to include the tool, you understand.

I decided to yank on the panel with my fingers. It popped out! Fantastic. But it was stuck at the bottom. I pulled a little more. One side came free. Then I realized I was breaking the little plastic tabs that were screwed into the dash. The tabs the installation instructions failed to mention.

Now I have to get a new panel. I’ll bet that’s fifty bucks.

Yes, I can make a forty-minute drive to the junkyard region of Miami, walk around in the broiling sun for three hours, and hope to find a used one for forty-five dollars. Somehow, it does not appeal to me.

I got a rear-view camera from Amazon. I installed it on the license plate frame, in about two minutes. Then I got under the truck and started running the cable to the cab, tying it to the frame with cable ties as I went. I got to the cab…and there was no place to insert the cable. I poked around under there for quite some time before I concluded that Dodge was against me installing my own camera.

I quit. I gave this the old college try. I called a stereo place, and they’re going to do this for me. It will cost a fortune, but I’ll have my stereo.

I’m not a total idiot with tools. If this was as easy as Crutchfield said it was, I’d be done already. But it’s not easy at all. If I gathered all the parts and did the job myself, it would take two days, eight hours a day, minimum. And I’d ruin the truck in the process.

The speakers, I can do. Thank God for that.

Why didn’t I learn from my last Crutchfield experience? I got a stereo for the T-bird, and the website said, “It Fits!” What it did not say was that the T-bird’s computer was integrated with the factory stereo. It’s nearly impossible to remove the old audio system. People who put new stereos in Thunderbirds routinely leave the old stereos connnected to the computers and put them in the trunk. The T-bird’s new stereo is still here, waiting to be installed. I’m donating it to my dad’s ancient Explorer.

What was I thinking when I decided to try Crutchfield again?

I can’t be too hard on myself. Circuit City is gone. Best Buy’s service is not good. Sound Advice went out of business. That means I have to go to a boutique to get a stereo and have it installed, unless I want it done really badly. I was hoping to avoid boutique prices.

Until I started looking for a new stereo, I didn’t realize Miami only had one major car-stereo retailer. That’s pathetic.

Try Bacteria

I took a bunch of Tobago seasoning peppers, pureed them, stirred in a spoonful of yogurt and a little pressed garlic, and put the mixture in a container on the kitchen counter. A smart person would have nuked them first to kill whatever exotic bacteria were clinging to them, but you know me. I smirk at death.

After a week or two of fermenting, they smelled fantastic. But I couldn’t figure out what to do with them. Today I plopped a load of this stuff on a sub, and it was fantastic. Much better than banana peppers.

I didn’t make this idea up. They do it in the islands. Some people leave it in the sun to rot.

It would be even better with Home Depot cayenne peppers.

Give it a shot.