Obama Drinks to Race Relations

Sometimes a man just can't catch a break.

The blogosphere buzz from the Right is downright crazed about how Obama sat down to share beers with William Gates and the police officer who arrested him. Reading the tweets and Facebook replies to a recent NRP segment with Ken Rudin shows how so many people missed the boat:

Dear Mr. President: Stop wasting your time and acting "stupidly" in things that you should NOT be involved, stop giving your opinion for the actions of a "cranky old friend with a minority complex", and stop solving your verbal diarrhea with beer happy hours at the expense of Tax Payers. ...Ah, and stop walking like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever ..."Not Cool"...

Oh yeah... drinking beer is the answer to all our problems today... why don't we smoke a joint while we are at it... or now how did Bob Dylan put it... Tellin' me he loves all kinds-a people. He's eatin' bagels. He's eatin' pizza. He's eatin' chitlins.

I think everyone should take a step back and think about how you would resolve a situation involving inflammatory remarks and strong disagreements. Maybe duke it out in the parking lot? That doesn't seem very productive.

I think I have to vote with the President on this one. Go grab a couple of beers and sit around and talk about what happened. That one-on-one personal communication works in any number of situations. I think the world would be a lot better off if we followed Obama's lead and talked out our problems instead of gossiping or backstabbing or lashing out in some other way.

One of the most powerful properties of social drinking is the socialization aspect. Alcohol tends to remove the inhibitions we have in our normal lives, which if not controlled, can have disastrous consequences. But, it can also be an excellent catalyst for very frank discussions.

To put the Biblical spin on it, Jesus presents it this way in Matthew 18:15-17:

Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. But if he will not hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established. And if he shall neglect to hear them, tell it unto the church: but if he neglect to hear the church, let him be unto thee as a heathen man and a publican.

The admonition is clear--get the parties in a room and talk about it. If everyone makes up, then you've gained an ally. If you can't come to an agreement, get another trusted person involved.

For all of you asking WWJD, I think Obama is on-track here.

I would challenge anyone this:

The next time you have a serious disagreement with someone at work, be the bigger person. Invite them out for a few drinks, talk about what's bothering you, explain how you feel. And then pay for the drinks. See how much that changes your relationship with that person, and consequently, your standing in the office. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Bottoms up to that.

Times Is Hard

On the way home from work the other night, I heard a very folksy/Dylan-esque song by Loudon Wainwright III called "Times Is Hard." I've dropped the lyrics here (without permission). To hear the song, head on over to NPR.

Times Is Hard

Times is hard. Times is tough.
Nothin's easy. It's all rough.
There's not much right; so much gone wrong.
All I can do is play this song.

You're watchin' the news. It all looks bad.
The worst half-hour you ever had.
What in God's name is goin' on?
All I can do is play this song.

You're losin' your job, your house and your car.
Hittin' rock bottom don't feel that far.
Nothin' good is gonna come along.
All I can do is play this song.

Folks are scared watchin' that news.
Folks feel bad. They're gettin' the blues.
My poor stomach, it ain't that strong.
All I can do is play this song.

Times is rough. Times is hard.
Take a pair of scissors to your credit card.
Circuit City just said, 'So long.'
All I can do is play this song.

Who's at fault? Who gets the blame?
Let's string up Bernie what's-his-name.
And ask Alan Greenspan to come along.
All I can do is play this song.

They want your gold, and they'll pay cash.
The only silver lining is the price of gas.
Money's short and the odds are long.
All I can do is play this song.

The factory's closed. The bank is bust.
On the money it says, 'In God We Trust.'
So pray for all your stocks and bonds.
All I can do is play this song.

Outta luck. Outta hope.
I'm wonderin' why I even cast that vote.
I took that sign offa my front lawn.
All I can do is play this song.

There's a new man down there in D.C.
They say he's gonna help you and me.
They sure know how to bang the gong.
All I can do is play this song.

Last man in D.C., he had eight years.
Now the whole damn country is in arrears.
We got two, three, four wars goin' on.
All I can do is play this song.

Times is hard. Times is rough.
I guess you folks need some cheerin' up.
Well it ain't me babe. You got that wrong.
All I can do is play this song.

You heard it here. I sang it first.
Don't feel so bad; things are gonna get worse.
Consider yourselves all strung along.
All I can do is play this song.

All I can do is ...

Everybody is Somebody

Tonight on the way home from work, I heard an interview on the radio. The lead-in was talking about a reporter investigating some strange circumstances surrounding a death.

Apparently, someone had called and told him that while in an abandoned building, they had discovered a body encased in a block of ice at the bottom of an elevator shaft. As the interview went on and the reporter described the case, he expressed how he wanted to bring some dignity to the deceased by burying the body properly.

His quote has been replaying in my head for the past couple of hours. "This was somebody's boy. Everybody is somebody's baby."

The interviewer repeated those words, faltering herself.

A small wave of emotion swept over me. If you're a parent, repeat those words out loud for yourself and you'll understand instantly.

Sit back and think for a minute.

There are wars raging on several continents this very minute. Genocides. Ethnic cleansings. Wholesale exterminations of millions of people because of their skin color, ethnicity, or religious beliefs. We're sending all our nation's kids to fight in places where we're not wanted for reasons that are unclear at best, and all we've got to show for it is a spiraling deficit and a wake of thousands of bodies--somebody's babies.

Hundreds of people in the Guantanamo Bay military prison. Political prisoners in China. Militia kidnapping victims in Columbia.

AIDS babies in Ethiopia. A cholera epidemic whipping through Zimbabwe. Children and farmers crippled by undiscovered mines in Cambodia and Vietnam, leftover from another generation's unrest.

So many Christians are passionate about the pro-life arguments. "50 million abortions since Roe V. Wade." "Life begins at conception."

I'm all for protecting the unborn innocents. But what about the ones that make it out of the womb? Why do we care so disproportionately for those in utero? If we are so damned concerned about life and how it begins at conception, why don't we care about when and where it ends?

We'll rally against the rescinding of the Mexico City policy, but we won't lift a finger for the kids in the Gaza strip being killed by Israeli tanks. We'll hold marches on the Hill on the anniversary of Roe V. Wade, but won't organize a canned food drive for crack babies in Baltimore. We'll chant witty slogans like "be a hero--save a whale; save a baby, go to jail," but won't serve chili at a homeless shelter or make goodie baskets for our troops in Afghanistan.

We'll pray that God will send help for hurricane or tsunami victims. Where's that help going to come from? Someone has to go. Praying that God will comfort those who've lost loved ones is great, but as a pastor friend of mine once said, sometimes the world needs God with some skin on 'em.

When's the last time you volunteered at an orphanage or senior center? Taken in a family who lost their home to foreclosure? Those lives are valuable, too. All those forgotten kids, all those abandoned elderly, all those dirty, smelly, homeless people.

Everybody is somebody's baby.

Filed from my Windows Mobile® phone.

How do you spell Evil? C-H-A-S-E

Like most households, we have a couple of credit cards. We don't really use them, though, being believers in the Dave Ramsey way of life. To a point--I use a credit card when I travel and submit expense reports for reimbursement.

Our expense reporting cycle is typically 3-4 weeks, which is a long time to be out of pocket. On some business trips, I might spend $500-$1,000 or more (on my last trip to the UK, I spent well over $5,000). Our budget is pretty close as it is, so loaning my company an extra couple thousand dollars directly out of my checking account is out of the question.

Around the Thanksgiving holiday, we missed our credit card bil due date by a few days. Not that we didn't have the money--we were celebrating with family and friends from out of town, and the last thing on our mind was feeding the Chase beast.

Until the bill showed up. Finance charges of several hundred dollars in addition to a late fee. I promptly called and complained. They waived the fees, and I thought all was good, right?

Well, December's bill came, which is due on January 31. Much to our surprise, there was a finance charge of nearly $82. There was no previous balance; only about $1,800 worth of charges. Upon calling Chase, they informed us that because we were late, they are going to be charging us a finance charge on each bill's current balance for the next two months (December and January's billing periods). When did that become fair play?

What an asinine penalty. Credit card companies are evil; the more of us that can stop using them, the better off our economy will be.

What's It All About, Anyway?

I'm sure by this time of year, you've most likely heard about the "reason for the season." This now-trite phrase is used to remind us that we're not supposed to be wrapped up in the consumerism that masquerades as Christmas.

I heard an interesting bit on NPR about "personalized" Christmas cards--you know, the ones where you take the photo of your kids or your dog down to Costco and get it made into a card to show your friends and family how well everything is going for you.

Not that I'm against them. I've sent them myself--taken the picture of our kids in their festive red outfits in front of the tree nearly eclipsed by presents, rushed down to the local big-box store eight days before Christmas in the hopes that we could get new cards minted and mailed to show up on time. We've all done it, and we will all probably continue to do it.

But the next time you prepare to do it, think about this:

On your next birthday, how would you like to get a picture of me, my house, my kids, my kids' pets, my family on vacation, or my deck?