Virgin (near the) Atlantic: NY Pepperdine Alumni in Rolling Stones

I was chatting with a coworker the other day who mentioned that a group of Pepperdine alumni we were in school with were recently featured in a Rolling Stones article. The alumni (among them Matt Dunbar, Robin Power, Anna Larson, Hillary Rushford, Brian Powell...) are all part of what has become the "New York Pepperclan" - a group of very talented theater majors who moved to the Big Apple in pursuit of fame, fortune, and the best polish dogs in the country.

Apparently, the article was picked up when the author ran into Matt Dunbar in a bar (the coincidence of last-name and location is... well, a coincidence), and somehow in the natural course of conversation about whether or not large freshwater catfish should be protected from game hunting and where one can get a good polish sausage , it came up that Matt was a virgin - as were all the friends he was with. A few Coronas later, the Rolling Stones writer still couldn't believe that these good-looking men and women who were artists and actors were still virgins. Why? More so, how? What kind of sick, idealistic, bizarre freaks of the industry would subject themselves to such nightmarish torture? Apparently, it was worth an article to explore.

I went to school with these people; I sang in choir with most of them, performed with some of them, and although they are by no means my best friends, it was a delight to find this article. I will warn you, it is very much a "Rolling Stones" article - complete with language - but I think it is fascinating. It made me re-realize just how ludicrious the thought of saving your virginity until marriage would seem (and frankly, is) if God is not a factor in that journey. This article is an interesting mix of fascination, disbelief and criticism, and raises many intersting topics that I'm sure I'll be discussing in the future - including the current administration's ongoing push for "abstinence only sex-education" and some of my own thoughts on my journey of virginity until my wedding night. The article isn't a short read though, so get started here, and I'll blog more on my thoughts with the topics raised in future entries.

[side note: Jeff Sharlet, the author of the article, has written other interesting Christian-related articles for mainstream magazines in the same vein of critique/fascination. You can check out other good articles here, at TheRevealer.org, that are written by Jeff.]
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The Young & the Sexless
A New Generation of Young Men and Women is Embracing Celibate Life
By JEFF SHARLET

What if the true face of the Christian right in America is not that of Dr. James Dobson or Jerry Falwell or Pat Robertson; not that of an aging, comb-over preacher orange with pancake makeup, smiling orca rows of ungodly white teeth on The O'Reilly Factor or Hardball? Nor that of spittle-flecked Fred Phelps of Topeka, Kansas, roaring that God hates fags? What if the true face of the Christian right is, instead, that of a twenty-four-year-old religious-studies graduate student at New York University?

Matt Dunbar is a handsome young man, though his face is still ruddy with acne. He has rounded cheeks, a soul patch beneath his lips and soft eyes that hold yours like he trusts you. He's not a prude. He will say the word "fuck," but he will never, not even in the wedding bed he hopes God has prepared for his future, embody it as a verb. He will make Christian love. What most of us call sex he calls communion, and he believes it can happen only within marriage.

Chastity is a new organizing principle of the Christian right, built on the notion that virgins are among God's last loyal defenders, knights and ladies of a forgotten kingdom. Sex outside of marriage is, in the words of D. James Kennedy, pastor of the influential Coral Ridge Ministries in Florida, "an uprising against God." But if sex is the perfect enemy of the blessed lifestyle, it is also the Holy Grail for those who wait: "A symphony of the soul for married couples," according to John Hagee, author of What Every Man Wants in a Woman.

"Abstinence," says Dunbar, "is countercultural," a kind of rebellion, he says, against materialism, consumerism and "the idea that anything can be bought and sold." It is a spiritual war against the world, against "sensuality," according to one virginity manual popular with men like Dunbar. This elevation of virginity -- especially for men -- as a way of understanding yourself and your place in the world is new. It's also very old. First-century Christians took the idea so seriously that many left their wives for "house monasteries," threatening the very structure of the family. The early church responded by institutionalizing virginity through a priestly caste set apart from the world, a condition that continues to this day within Roman Catholicism. Now, though, the Protestants of the Christian right are reclaiming that two-tiered system, only they're projecting it onto individual lives, making every young man and woman part of an elite virgin corps.

"The world hasn't yet seen what God can do with an army of young men free of sexual fevers," write the authors of Every Young Man's Battle, one volume in a hugely popular series of "purity" manuals. "You can remain pure so that you might qualify for such an army."

It's a never-ending war, and not one that can be fought alone. Which is why virgins like Dunbar tend to travel in packs, to church and to Bible studies but also to parties and even to bars. Dunbar and his friends help one another stay "pure," which they consider "authentic." He lives with three close friends in a warehouse apartment in Williamsburg, a Brooklyn hipster neighborhood of artists and slackers. Two of his roommates are virgins; the other, a Mormon named Edd Lewis, is a "recycled virgin." He's had sex but won't again until he's married.

All four are from Visalia, California, a small farming city far from the coast. Dunbar's best friend in the group is Robin Power, whom he met in the ninth grade. Power's whole family looked like the ideal of Christian authenticity Dunbar had begun desiring for himself since his parents divorced when he was seven. Dunbar grew up in an Episcopal church and entered evangelicalism only after the separation; Power's family had always been zealous for God. Power's dad recorded Christian rock albums and the whole family jammed together, not like the Partridges but like Christian Ramones. Power played around town in Visalia's punk scene; Dunbar practiced the drums at home and dreamed of joining one of Power's bands.

Then, when Dunbar was fifteen, he became "convicted of secular music," which means he decided it was causing him to be sinful. He had a lot of friends who were destroying their collections, hammering their CDs or burning them or snapping each in two, but Dunbar concluded that it wasn't the music itself that was wrong, it was his own shallow response. He couldn't distinguish between the mood of the music and the meaning of the lyrics. Rage Against the Machine were all right, because they were angry and their music told you so. Sublime, with their punk-ska beat married to brooding lyrics about heroin and whores, were too advanced for him. He tossed his copy and committed himself to a painful period of Christian music. Later, he bought another copy.

When I first meet Power, he's working a gutter-punk look, a thick, dark beard and layers of ratty hoodies and buttons advertising deeply obscure bands. Faith, to him, is an ascetic discipline, its purity polished by constant self-criticism. "I can get aroused looking at a stoplight," he says, his giant eyes leaving mine and following a woman down Broadway. They snap back to me and he says, "Anything can be inappropriate. If I look at some woman and undress her with my eyes, that's just as bad as going down on her."

After church one day, Dunbar, Power and I sit on a bench and lean back in the sun and watch Sunday morning stroll by. "Cleavage everywhere," notes Dunbar, not disapprovingly. Power holds up his right hand. Wrapped around his wrist, in a figure eight, is a black plastic bracelet. "This," he says, "is a 'masturband.' " One of their friends at college -- Pepperdine University -- came up with the idea. As long as you stay pure -- resist jerking off -- you can wear your masturband. Give in, and off it goes, a scarlet letter in reverse. No masturband? No one wants to shake your hand. "It started with just four of us," says Dunbar. "Then there were, like, twenty guys wearing them. And girls too. The more people that wore them, the more people knew, the more reason you had to refrain." Dunbar even told his mother. He lasted the longest. "Eight and a half months," he says. I notice he's not wearing one now. He's not embarrassed. Sexuality, he believes, is not a private matter.

Dunbar has started dating, a gorgeous blond actress named Anna Larson - also a virgin -- and Power is engaged to a makeup artist at UCLA. She's a virgin, too. Dunbar and Larson believe in kissing, but he'll always tell Power and his other housemates if he feels tempted to push it further. Power and his fiancee sometimes get hot talking on the telephone, but afterward Power likewise confesses to Dunbar or another Christian brother. On Sundays they attend services at the Journey, a floating evangelical church. The congregation is around seventy-five percent single, most of them under thirty. Not having sex means talking about it constantly; the topic of sex and why to wait for it comes up in nearly every sermon, under titles such as "Desperate Sex Lives," "Sex and the City" and "What a Girl Wants."

One spring Sunday, the church meets in a theater on Upper Broadway. (It's since moved to a larger venue. Only three years old, the congregation is growing so fast it doesn't want to commit to real estate.) The lobby is packed and loud right up to the beginning of the service, with well-scrubbed men and women greeting one another with chaste sideways hugs. Body to body, chest to chest, says Power, is just too enticing.

Church takes place on a stage set for a play. Half of every service features the Journey band, a competent ensemble that sets hymns to grunge and emo arrangements. During my visit, I can't take my eyes off the three female backup singers, especially a redhead on the right, swinging her hips in loose cargo pants that are nonetheless tight in the ass. She's braless and grooving, way too sexy for church, shooting a single finger over her head -- the "One Way" Jesus sign Billy Graham embraced more than thirty years ago.

Since then, the Christian right has steadily reinvented itself by co-opting the language of the sexual revolution. Pastor Nelson Searcy, a roly-poly thirty-three-year-old Jimmy Buffett fan who moved from California, "called" by God as a pastor to New York, preaches not in a suit or a collar but in a hipster's bowling shirt, and he references his Bible as often as he shows trailer clips from contemporary movies like The Stepford Wives and The Notebook. But the message remains the same: a laundry list of fundamentalist prohibitions rephrased in PowerPoint alliteration. The three proper passions -- God's presence, God's people and God's plan - combined with purity equals power. Power is the objective, the strength to stay "pure" in a world full of sexed-up heathens.

A few days earlier, Dunbar says, he'd gone to a bar with "secular friends." They all got a little buzzed -- the Bible is big on wine, he points out -- and began talking about sex. "Dunbar," volunteered one of the secular guys, "is a virgin." The guy was laughing. "By choice," the guy added.

Which was a huge mistake, notes Dunbar. All female eyes left the man who wanted their attention and rotated Dunbar's way. Four girls surrounded him, demanding to know everything. Was he embarrassed? ("I'd only be embarrassed if I was trying to get some.") Is oral OK? Anal? Hand jobs? (He doesn't like to be "legalistic," caught up in rules, and he has friends who had enjoyed anal sex and still call themselves virgins, but - no.) Has he always been a virgin? ("Uh, yeah. That's what 'virgin' means.") Why? (Jesus, romance, it all blends together.)

One of Dunbar's roommates once found himself in a similar situation, Dunbar tells me. He'd had a harder time deflecting the attention, until one woman had moved in for the kill. "Sex is something I just do," she'd said, and then took a chip off a plate of nachos. "Like eating." If she'd had a chance of bagging Dunbar's virgin comrade, she'd lost it there. "The whole sex/ nacho thing?" Dunbar tells me. "It just doesn't make sense to a virgin."

Food, in fact, is the opposite of sex among most Christian virgins. Food, after all, belongs to the material world. Sex, on the other hand, is supernatural. They read the biblical Song of Solomon -- lovers rhapsodizing over each other, he obsessed with her breasts like "two fawns" and her "rounded thighs like jewels"; she with his legs like "alabaster columns" and his lips like lilies, "dripping sweet-smelling myrrh" -- not as erotica but as a metaphor for the love between man and God. Sex that is just two bodies in motion strikes them as empty, even if love is involved. Every encounter must be a kind of threesome: man, wife and the Lord. Without that, it's just fucking.

Suckers for romance," leslee Unruh, the founder of Abstinence Clearinghouse, describes men like Dunbar and Power. She means that as praise, because she considers virgins revolutionaries. "We want authenticity," she says. "We want what's real." Unruh launched Abstinence Clearinghouse in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, in 1997. She had been a self-declared "chastity" educator since the early Eighties, but it wasn't until the Clinton years that the Christian right fully discovered sex as a weapon in the culture wars, and Unruh began working with conservative politicians.

Abstinence Clearinghouse acts as a nexus for activists and as their voice in Washington, claiming as "our friends" a who's who of the GOP's hard-right edge, Karl Rove, Sen. Rick Santorum, Sen. Sam Brownback and a slew of officials with unrecognizable names and a great deal of money to work with, abstinence crusaders in the departments of Health and Human Services and of Education. Abstinence Clearinghouse brings these people together with activists at conferences, "purity balls" and abstinence teas. It sponsors "Faces of Abstinence" around the country, good-looking young men and women who work the Christian lecture circuit spreading the no-sex gospel.

The Clearinghouse has been working with the federal Centers for Disease Control, in part to establish a "gold standard" for abstinence-only sex-education programs in public schools. Meanwhile, this year the Bush administration is backing the movement with $167 million in public funds. By statute, these programs are secular, but Unruh considers herself broad-minded enough to work within those guidelines. If religion is to be kept out of the schools, she says, "shame and conscience" are important tools in its place. But romance, more than anything else, guides her understanding of sexuality. This is what she finds romantic: a father who gives his teenage daughter a "purity" ring, which will be returned on her wedding day and handed to his daughter's new husband, her virginity passed from man to man like a baton.

Therein lies the paradox of the virginity movement. It is at once an attempt to transcend cultural influences through the timelessness of Scripture and a painfully specific response to the sexual revolution. The "women's lib" movement, Dunbar believes, preached a message of self-satisfaction: "Do what you want." It is, in his view and that of many in the virginity movement, a product of the same cultural mindset that produced America's booming porn industry. Both are based on instant gratification: women obsessed with winning the privileges of men rather than learning to enjoy the pleasures of Christian submission, men demanding the fast-food sexuality of explicit imagery.

But it's not just feminism that's to blame. It's also what the Christian right sees as an effeminized church. "Christianity, as it currently exists, has done some terrible things to men," writes John Eldredge, the author of a best-selling manhood guide called Wild at Heart. He thinks that church life in America has pacified Christian men and made them weak. Women who are frustrated with their girlie-man husbands and boyfriends seize power, and the men retreat to the safe haven of porn instead of whipping the ladies back into line. What women really want, he says, "is to be fought for." And men, he claims, are "hard-wired" by God for battle; Jesus wants them to be warriors in the vein of Braveheart and Gladiator.

Wild at Heart and Eldredge's other best sellers, The Journey of Desire and The Sacred Romance (as well as "field manual" workbooks that can be purchased separately), address sexual "purity" as part of the fabric of Christian manliness. The most important of these books is Every Man's Battle, which, in the past five years, has become a powerful brand name unto itself, with dozens of Every Man spinoff titles: Every Young Man's Battle, Every Woman's Battle, Preparing Your Son for Every Man's Battle and on and on. There's also an Every Young Man's Battle movie filmed on actual battlefields from history and featuring an interview with former NFL player William White and a discussion between Christian-right leader Dr. James Dobson and serial killer Ted Bundy.

The Every Man premise is that men are sexual beasts, so sinful by nature that, without God in their lives, they don't stand a chance of resisting temptation in the form of premarital sex, masturbation and straying eyes. I first heard about the Every Man books from a volunteer at the Journey, a twenty-five-year-old man who said he'd slept with forty women before he re-virgined with the help of the series.

"Your goal is sexual purity," write Stephen Arterburn and Fred Stoeker. "You are sexually pure when no sexual gratification comes from anyone or anything but your wife." To achieve this, they argue, men must go to a kind of war. Citing Dobson, they note the "fact" that men experience a buildup of sperm demanding "release" approximately every seventy-two hours. For single men, wet dreams, if purged of sexual imagery, can act as "God's natural release valve." (Arterburn and Stoeker believe you can actually train yourself to remove the lust from such dreams.) "Your life is under a withering barrage of machine-gun sexuality that rakes the landscape mercilessly," they report. They encourage making lists of "areas of weakness." They seem particularly concerned with shorts: "nubile sweat-soaked girls in tight nylon shorts"; "female joggers in tight nylon shorts"; "young mothers in shorts, leaning over to pull children out of car seats." To avoid these temptations, men must train themselves to "bounce" their eyes off female curves. They recommend memorizing the locations of sexy billboards so that you can look away and switching your TV to ESPN or Fox News if a tempting commercial comes on the screen. And there's always Scripture. The authors hold up the books of Joshua and Ezekiel as armor against non-Christian women. "Mixture," they write, "can destroy a people."

The books' implicit disdain for non-Christian women - in Every Young Man's Battle, one name for a sexually active unmarried woman is "Betty Jo 'B.J.' Blowers" -- is matched by their reverence for the virtue of Christian womanhood. There are books that address the temptations faced by Christian women, but the Every Man series more often presents the decadence of the world as a result of men's failure to be guardians and servants of female purity.

Every Man operates a hot line, 800-NEW-LIFE, for men who've "threatened" their relationships through their use of pornography. When I called to confess that reading about tight nylon shorts in Every Young Man's Battle had aroused me, a professional masturbation counselor named Jason told me that pornography is "probably the number-one cause of divorce." Then he suggested I sign up for a five-day, $1,800 Every Man's Battle workshop (held monthly in hotels around the country) in which I would take classes on shame, "false intimacy" and "temptation cycles" and work with other men in small groups toward "recovery."

They also offer a two-day "outpatient program" for women, Every Heart Restored, to help wives deal with their husbands' depravity. The message there is that women are inherently more pure than men and thus simpler, and yet their sexuality is complicated and subtle. Husband and wife must play carefully scripted roles. "True manhood," promises one Christian manhood guide, gets "polished by the hand of God." True womanhood, meanwhile, requires the servanthood of a man devoted to his wife's pleasure, a dedication virgins believe will be diluted by men's premarital adventures. "Robin read a statistic," Dunbar tells me on the phone one day, "that men who have sex before marriage are something like 600 percent more likely to experience a drop-off of sexual passion once they are married." If you accept that number, the incentive for premarital chastity is stunning: a post-wedding life of sex that's 600 percent more awesome.

One night, Dunbar and Power show me a video of a party they hosted at their Williamsburg apartment. They and their two roommates were the entertainment, playing Eighties covers for a packed house. Since the last time I've seen him, Power has shaved his beard and taken to wearing eyeliner for no particular reason. In the video, he wore snakeskin tights and played a red guitar; Dunbar was a retro vision in white pants, white muscle shirt and a red, white and blue headband. They sang "Like a Virgin" and "I Want Candy." Power wailed "Roxanne," Dunbar closed his eyes and moaned "Tainted Love."

"You're so hot!" screamed a girl in the crowd.

After the video, we head out to a bar to meet a group of Christians celebrating a birthday. It's a low-ceilinged basement with dim light and a belly dancer. We sip our beers, hovering over a table of dancers and musicians, mostly women, about half of them, to the best of Dunbar's knowledge, virgins. I tell him I'd like to talk to one of them about her chastity.

He nods toward a brunette at the end of the table. "That's Hilary. She'd be good. She's a Rockette."

"How should I broach the subject?"

Dunbar looks confused. "Just tell her you want to talk about her virginity."

So I walk up to a beautiful woman in a bar and say, "I hear you're a virgin." And she looks up at me with eyes like blue velvet and smiles like I've just paid her the best compliment of the evening.

It turns out Hilary Rushford is an inch too short to make the official Rockette squad, but she performs backup with them. And she is, indeed, a virgin, twenty-five years old. Next to her sits her date, Chad Riley. It's their second time out together. He's twenty-seven, lean and muscled, a commercial photographer and also a "warrior," an "on-fire" Christian who describes himself as a "total virgin."

Rushford says that a friend of hers had sex and said it was awful.

"I hate fornication!" agrees Riley, who is still recovering from a relationship that lasted nine months without a kiss. But he doesn't want me to mistake him for frigid. "I love kissing," he says. "But I know my body and who I am." Riley, it turns out, is actually a "born-again virgin." In his early twenties, he strayed.

Rushford giggles. "Ephesians 5:3," she says -- the signal verse for Christians who prize chastity. " 'But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality. . . .' "

"A hint?" I ask. "How can you tell?"

"Once I get aroused, I know," Riley says.

"Do you ever wonder what you're missing?" I ask.

"How can you worry about what you're missing if you've never tried it ?" he says.

Not knowing, he explains, is the best part, the biggest selling point of virginity for both Riley and Rushford. They will each be their spouse's first lover, which means that she will not have to worry if her husband wishes her breasts were bigger, because he wouldn't know, and he will not have to worry whether size matters, because she wouldn't know.

Back in high school, Rushford dated guys who called themselves Christians who constantly pressed her for more. She kept her virginity, but only just, and when she left for college, she vowed to never let herself get used again. For her, virginity is the one truth about herself that no man can touch. But then, that's long been the case for Christian women. Riley regards his chastity, lost and regained, as just as precious. His feelings about it are, by traditional standards, almost feminine. That's what celibacy offers Christian men: the vulnerability of being a woman.

The closest Anna Broadway ever got to the "one flesh" of sexual communion were the busy hands of a secular man who took her on her first date in New York. She'd just moved here from Arizona, where she'd finished a master's degree in religious studies at Arizona State University, when she met a man she describes as a short James Gandolfini. Not exactly her style. Broadway is twenty-six, tall and slender, with eyes the color of aspen leaves and lush lips that enjoy what she calls "salty language." She's busty, and she likes to wear tight tank tops and baby-doll tees. This particular date was a chubby, balding advertising executive she refers to only as "Ad Weasel." Their evening went from dinner to his car to parking on the street outside her apartment, where Broadway, a virgin, felt for the first time a man's hands "down there." It felt good. Then he made his offer: His tongue, he said, would be more nimble. "That's when I realized," she tells me, "I don't have a battle plan." So she made one up on the spot. Chastity, she decided, could not include orgasm. She removed Ad Weasel's hands and informed him of her decision. Months later, he said to her, "Call me when you want to fuck," and left her, still -- by her definition -- pure.

Broadway (a writing pseudonym she created so she wouldn't shock her missionary parents) poured her frustration into her blog, "Sexless in the City," and revisions of a dense essay on John Cusack movies she'd written in graduate school, "The Cult of the Orgasm as Romantic Mysticism." "In a world that functionally operates on atheistic terms throughout most of its supposedly separate and autonomous spheres," she writes. "What kind of ecstasy is left us, even, but that which occurs in sexual release?" In the movies, she writes, secular romance leads only to orgasm, but the real answer to her question is, of course, Jesus.

Broadway was part of what she describes as the "first wave" of Christian home-schoolers, protected by her parents from the false teachings of evolution and all the attendant pornography of so-called alternative lifestyle education, but her sex life began at age eight, when she began fantasizing about Almanzo, from The Little House on the Prairie. At twelve, she began lulling herself to sleep every night with elaborate sexual scenarios in serial form. Always, she swears, in the context of marriage.

Now she is part of an intellectual avant-garde of the purity brigades, an elite made up mostly of women. Besides Broadway, for instance, there's Lauren F. Winner, a Jewish convert to Christianity and a religious-studies graduate student at Columbia and author of Real Sex: The Naked Truth About Chastity, and Dawn Eden, also a convert from Judaism who writes a blog called "The Dawn Patrol" and is working on a book about "becoming newly chaste."

Broadway views the Every Man books and Dobson's precise approach to sexual regulation (Dobson offers a ten-stage scale in which pretty much everything after stage one -- holding hands -- is off-limits) as bad theology. She doesn't want a sexuality that's controlled and contained, and after much consideration, she's decided that a sexless wet dream isn't very hot. Broadway longs for a chastity that isn't so much a denial of desire as its embrace. One of her favorite verbs is "savor," and she talks about sex like it's a food she is waiting for. In "Sexless in the City," she writes about sending a vagina made of chocolate to "Ad Weasel" in lieu of her taking him up on his offer of cunnilingus.

The world, she says, is pulsing with sex. Some of it ugly; some of it, like the Song of Solomon, very beautiful; and most of it stupid and sad. Most people, she says, can't help but look at the world through what she calls the "flesh-colored lens." But Christians, she says, see a different reality. Like The Matrix, she claims. The Wachowski brothers' trilogy of women in black latex and men with big guns have become cult films to Christian conservatives, drawn by the Christ story at the movies' core, the search for "the One" - i.e., the Messiah. The fact that the series portrays the everyday world as not only in a state of decay but ruled by evil forces makes for an easy parallel to the theology of Christendom.

Years ago, in college, Broadway participated in a Campus Crusade for Christ "infiltration" of the University of California at Berkeley, an attempt to plant covert evangelists in "subcultures" at the university so that they could gather information that could later be used to convert Bay Area heathens. It was, she says, a raid on enemy territory.

"The students were the enemy?" I asked. She thinks for a while. No, she said. Lust was. Evil is like an ocean, icy cold. Non-Christians are on the verge of drowning, but they don't realize their peril. Their minds are dulled by hypothermia. When a Christian pulls them out of the water, they struggle. The warmth makes their frozen nerve ends scream. "It hurts," says Broadway.

Before power became fully Christian - back when he cared as much about his guitar as he did about God - he dated a non-Christian girl. His voice gets husky as he remembers: "There were times, when we were naked, and my tongue was inside her, and she's whispering for me to go further." Dunbar is staring at him. He knows this story, but he doesn't mind hearing it again. It's not prurient for them, it's bonding. "There were times," continues Power, "when I had to ask myself, 'What do I believe?' "

"But you weren't alone with her," Dunbar says.

"No."

Dunbar turns to me. "He had responsibility to us." His brothers.

But Power kept letting them down. After high school, he stayed at home for a year while Dunbar and the rest of his friends went on to college. He joined a Christian punk band, Straight Forward. He started slipping. At Pepperdine he continued to slide. He began dating a woman only recently born again, still immature in her faith. She was thrilled by Power's attention: He was a man known to be on fire for God. The girl - a "baby Christian," in the lingo -- wanted to get closer to that warmth. She did so the only way she knew how.

"A blow job," says Power.

It had been one thing to go down on his girlfriend when he wasn't sure what he believed. It was another to let a girlfriend go down on him after he'd committed himself to God. But then, he says, that's how it works all too often when a man looks like he's devoted to Jesus. "It becomes more about giving than receiving" -- an implicit recognition of the sexism he knows permeates the best intentions. Even among Christians, the girls, he says, "will go down on you, but you don't have to go down on them."

The experience, he says, broke his heart. What it did for the girl, he can't even imagine.

In August, Power and his fiancee will be married back home in Visalia, where Dunbar will be his best man. Power feels like he has waited a long time. He didn't want to marry for sex, so he restrained himself from proposing until it did not even enter his mind. Soon he will experience his reward. A "sexual payoff," according to the authors of Every Man's Battle, that will "explode off any known scale."

Like the fundamentalists of old, today's Christian conservatives define themselves as apart from the world, and yet the modern movement aims to enjoy its fruits. To the biblical austerity of chastity, they add the promise of mind-blowing sex, using the very terms of the sexual revolution they rally against. And that's just the beginning. Sexual regulation is a means, not an end. To believers, the movement offers a vision grander even than the loveliness of a virgin: a fairy tale in which every man will be a spiritual warrior, a knight in the service of the king of kings, promised the hand and the heart and, yes, the sexual services of a "lady." That is the erotic dream of Christian conservatism: a restoration of chivalry, a cleansing of impurity, a nation without sin, an empire of the personal as political. "Power," as Pastor Nelson of the Journey promises, is the guaranteed result of "passions properly pursued."

What Do John Wesley, Henry VIII, Spaceballs and the Denver Broncos Have In Common? Me.

For no particular reason, I decided to see what famous events occurred and what famous people were born on June 28th in history. My findings were nothing short of shocking... June 28th is a really amazing day! In fact, it is probably the most historically important day of the year, just shy of December 25th.

First of all, there were many famous things that probably happened on June 28th, including:

The Magna Carta was most likely signed on June 28th, even though there is a certain breed of degenerate historians who say the actual date of signing is "unknown." As you probably know, the Magna Carta (which in latin means the Massive Cart) was a very important legal document that first placed restrictions on how many peasants a king could run over every hour in his pimped-out carriage.

The 4th of July probably occurred on June 28th, but John Hancock took a long time to finish his signature, and Sasha Fauntleroy of Virginia (who was a wealthy and influentional fashion designer of wigs and stockings for men) spent days in an unsuccessful fillibuster over whether the Declaration of Independence would seem less harsh if written on the flowery stationary his mum had given him for his birthday.

God's Creation of Man probably happened on June 28th or a Tuesday, which also makes today the birthday of all mankind.

Then of course, there are the things that definitely happened on June 28th:

Famous Birthdays: Kathy Bates (i.e., don't watch "About Schmidt"), Mel Brooks (may the Schwartz be with you!), John Cusack (who I see at Diedrich's all the time... I'll have to tell him), Mary Stuart Masterson (all the rage in the late 80's/early 90's), King Henry VIII (the one with all the wives, and the founder of the Church of England because he wanted to divorce one of them), Jean-Jacques Rousseau (Social Contract, French philosopher), Pope Paul IV (also known as John Paul the Guilty), Richard Rogers (of Rogers and Hammerstein musical-theater fame), John Wesley (if you follow the "new" calendar used after 1752, according to this article), and John Elway (of the Denver Broncos).

Famous Events: The tomato is proven to be non-poisonous, 1820 (thank God!), Raggedy Ann toy invented, 1917 (a doll my sister loved and I tortured...if only I knew!), President Cleveland officially approved "labor day," 1894 (you all owe me vacation time), and Helen Keller graduated from Radcliffe College (you go girl!).

And last but not least... God brought yours truly into this world.

Look up famous things that happened on your birthday here. If there isn't anything interesting, then embellish!

The Voice of a Martyr

Corrie and I have been on vacation since Wednesday night at the lakehouse in NorCal; the relaxation and time with her family has been wonderful, to say the least. We'll be on our way home tomorrow, and I'll have some good articles and posts this coming week (and some great pics with the new camera), but I thought I'd quickly put up an article that a good friend of mine, Chuck, just e-mailed me. Chuck was one of my best friends and roommates in college, a groomsman in my wedding, and has been living in China (with the exception of a few months back in Washington) since we graduated. I'd mention his last name, but it's probably better for friends living in China to not have direct mention of phrases like "Christian martyr" turn up in a google search with their name.

This short article is a poignant reminder that, although we're removed from it in the States (and I write that soberly from a laptop overlooking a lake...), there are still people dying for their faith in Christ in other parts of the world. I am sure there are many people and families whose stories have not been heard that have given the ultimate sacrifice for their faith, and although this is just one, it is worth more than a moment for reflection and prayer. As I have promised, there will probably be many articles in the next year involving China - all the more so as Corrie and I are asking for direction in moving there. It's not like this everywhere in China, but even in a country that is becoming more and more welcomed into world political affairs (primarily for economic reasons), it is amazing that these things happen at all. For your reference, the article apparently comes from "The Voice of the Martyrs" website.

CHINA: Executed for Distributing Bibles
Brought to you by The Voice of the Martyrs
34-year old Jiang Zongxiu went to her neighboring market last June in Guizhou Province, China. Along with her mother-in-law, Jiang went through the marketplace, taking opportunities to hand out Bibles and Christian literature and telling people about Jesus. Only this day they had an encounter with the Chinese police.

The two Christian women were handcuffed together and brought to the police station. They were interrogated throughout the evening of the 17th. The next morning they were sentenced by the Public Security Bureau (PSB) to 15 days incarceration for "suspected spreading of rumor and disturbing the social order."

Jiang and her mother-in-law knew the risk of spreading Christian literature in communist China. Both had been active in their church for more than 10 years and dared to go forth. Even when they were arrested, interrogated and sentenced to serve 15 days, they were willing to accept the consequences of their actions-all from a
government that claims to have "freedom of religion."

But it was not enough for the PSB to arrest and beat these two Christian women for the crime of passing our Christian literature. In the afternoon of June 18th, Mrs. Jiang Zongziu was pronounced dead by the PSB office of Tongzi County. They claimed she died of "natural causes." The fact is she was beaten to death.

The Voice of the Martyrs has received video testimony from the surviving family, photos of Jiang body showing her bruised body, and a copy of the actual arrest document. All of this had to be smuggled out of China as the authorities continue to attempt to hide their systematic persecution of Christians. An international campaign is now under way on behalf of the surviving family.

Much of the world would like you to believe Christians are no longer persecuted. Sister Jiang's family would disagree. Now you can stay informed of what is really happening to your Christian brothers and sisters in countries like China and even discover practical ways to help, with a FREE subscription to The Voice of the Martyrs monthly newsletter. Don't turn your back on today's persecuted church.
Subscribe today.

Totally Unspiritual Link of the Week #3

Do you ever find yourself really, really enjoying something that you shouldn't? This week's totally unspiritual article of the week is actually a totally unspiritual link. It involves a phone prank that was perpetrated, I think, by a British radio disk jockey, involving an order to a Chinese restaurant.

Chinese Takeout (.mp3)

Chinese Takeout (.wmv)

I know that posting this link dooms me to at least a month of taunting by the Chinese when I attempt to learn their language in a year, but, I think the payoff will be worth it. The site this was taken from is Compfused.com, which is a good resource for entertaining videos and sound files on it.

Have You Ever Seen Jesus?

Tell you what: do something stupid with me for a minute. Make sure no one is around. Close the door if you need to, because the way you smell might offend someone (in general, I mean – not because of what we’re about to do).

Now then: take 10 seconds, close your eyes, and try to visualize Jesus in your mind. Seriously. This post will be much better if you do it, and at the very least, closing your eyes stimulates endorphins, which, as we all know, are necessary for swimming with dolphins. Who wouldn’t want to swim with dolphins?

You didn’t do it, did you? Last chance – before you hurt Jesus’ feelings. Ok, you’ve made up your mind one way or another. For those of you that did close your eyes...

What Does He Look Like?

What did you see? How was He dressed? What did His face look like? Was he doing anything? Where was he? You might even take a quick second to try picturing Him again, focusing on what you actually visualize. Who, or What did you see? [Author’s note: right about now is when the internal debate fires up as to whether or not I should capitalize “He” when referring to Jesus, or just leave it, “he.” My version of the bible doesn’t do it; but then again, the Bible was written centuries before the central issue of this debate even became a problem, namely: if He-Man is deserving of a capitalized pronoun as His name, Jesus is really deserving of it. As such, I will change all future use of “he” to “He.”]

When I do this exercise I see the face of Jesus right in front of me (as in, we’re not quite Eskimo-kissing, but we’re darn near the North Pole). Behind Him and all around Him, everything is dark. Without moving or blinking, He just stares straight at me. I find myself unable to look away, as if I am locked in a trance. The thing is, I can’t exactly see His face. I can sense His face; I know exactly what he looks like, but not in the way I would from seeing a picture of Him. He stares at me in a way that communicates several emotions all at once, each of which seems to overlap and morph into another: peace, anguish, intensity, simplicity, kindness, love - a deep, throughout-all-time kind of love. That’s the only way I can describe it. All we do is stare at one another. That’s Who I see.

Often when I see an image of Jesus, I think to myself, “That’s not Jesus – at least, not the One that I know.” I’m not necessarily saying that the image is completely wrong, but it never ceases to amaze me how many thousands of ways He has been portrayed ever since He walked (physically) amongst us. I’m sure we all see Him differently, and some of that is probably influenced by the way we have seen Him portrayed in art and media. Probably most people see a beard, shoulder-length brown hair, a simple robe, and sandals. Heck, maybe that isn’t very far off. We might see Him in a variety of roles, most of which relate to focusing on a specific part of His personality or ministry that is meaningful to us. He has been portrayed as a comforter, healer, warrior, servant, peacemaker, preacher, shepherd, friend, reformer, feminist, savior and sacrifice. Largely, we probably see Him as we want to see Him.

He Looked Just Like Us, Only More... God-like, Right?

But has it ever occurred to you that Jesus, as a man, definitely had a specific look? If you saw Him or knew Him, you’d be able to recognize Him – His nose, eyes, ears, face, beard. I think most of us are used to thinking of His face in pretty vague terms, and we accept that – but if we had walked with Him, who would we have seen?

Some people may think it’s not important. Scripture tells us that “He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him, nothing in His appearance that we should desire Him.” In other words, He was a pretty ordinary looking guy. We say, “Sure. That makes sense. People didn’t follow Him because He was some stud or charismatic charmer… they followed Him because He was the Son of God.” This is very true, but I think that part of our response is a cop-out.

You see, it’s a little bit scary to really try to picture what Jesus looked like, because it forces us to face a fact that we’re ready to acknowledge theologically, but not confront personally: Jesus was a man. He was also God, but don’t be mistaken: He was a man. That may not flap you one bit. You’ve seen “The Passion of the Christ.” Jesus was human. He was laughing, weeping, interacting with His disciples, bleeding etc. – so clearly, we realize He was a man.

Is Seeing Believing...or Knowing?

But every depiction of Jesus as a man that we have encountered has still been removed from reality. The big screen is – well, a screen – not reality. Art, pictures, even visions – they describe something that is “other than” us. It is distant, separate, and not as tangible or real (in the way we usually define real). If you think you’ve internalized the reality of Jesus’ humanity, then try this on: find a guy that’s nearby. Not the flashy, good-looking, charismatic guy. In fact, find the most average, non-descript guy you can. Regular clothes. Maybe glasses. Now, as you’re looking at him, could you believe that he is Jesus – that he is the Son of God? What if he said to you, “(Enter Your Name Here) I am Living Water. That Diet Coke you’re drinking – you think it will quench your thirst, but it can’t. But if you come to me, and take a drink of me, I promise, you’ll never be thirsty again!” How about something like: “(Enter your name here): I am the way – the only way – to the Father. I am Truth. I am Life. You can’t come to God unless you do it through me. You can only know God if you know me.”

That’s when it gets scary. Because if a guy came up to me and said those things, in my best moment, I would gracefully dismiss Him as being mental, and maybe even offer to pray for Him. In my worst moment, I would probably give Him the look that accurately reflects what I am thinking: “Of all the tools in all the world, no wrench can handle a nut-job like you.” Sure, if it had been Jesus, we all would recognize Him. But this guy isn’t Jesus. Just look at Him – how could this be the One that we’re waiting for? He’s nothing like the (savior, political reformer, comforter, warrior, feminist, preacher) that God would be. Heck, this guy has a pimple on his forehead.

This isn’t even taking into consideration that the perception of the day was that the Messiah would be a prophet or a king that would physically deliver the Jews from their oppression, not God-come-down-as-man. I wish I could say that I would have recognized my Lord if I had been alive. I wish I knew that that I would not have dismissed Him, or tried to lead Him to the truth, or prayed for Him, or been horrified at His blasphemous claims, or even consented to His death through public jeers or an attitude of indifference.

It is awkward to really place the humanity of Jesus because...He’s God. But He was fully God and fully man. It’s a paradox. Most people don’t like paradox because it is completely irrational. But without paradox, there is no such thing as the Christian faith. And there is something terribly awkward and ridiculous but incredibly powerful when we can grasp the humanity of Jesus – the humanity of God.

What would worship have looked like if Jesus were sitting with us? I don’t remember the disciples busting out a lyre and singing “Shout to the Lord” or “Shine Jesus Shine.” I don’t remember them reading a scripted program, or making announcements about the lox n’ bagel potluck at the temple gate on Sunday, or what tithing was needed to cover staff salaries for the month. I don’t think they ever once talked about a logo, a program, or attendance (other than, “how are we going to feed all these people?”). I do seem to remember reading about a lot of listening, a lot of discussing, a lot of questions, a lot of deep, growing relationship, and a lot of transformed lives. I think there was some healing, some laughing, some weeping, some praying, and walking. Lots, and lots of walking.

Warning: Objects and God May Be Closer Than They Appear

Listen to the way that John says it. “From the very first day, we were there, taking it all in – we heard it with our own ears, saw it with our own eyes, verified it with our own hands. The Word of Life appeared right before our eyes; we saw it happen!… The infinite Life of God himself took shape before us” (1 John, The Message). He was tangible! He was real – right there. You could pinch Him, hug Him – and He put up a mean fight in a thumb war. Don’t know what you should do? Ask Him. Need something? Tell Him. He wasn’t on some screen or page; He was God with us. Right here, right now. But most of all: He was nothing like you ever expected.

What, or who we see when we close our eyes and picture Jesus largely determines whether we’ll miss, dismiss, or fall down in worship before Him as He is in our lives. How many times have I missed Him, simply because He did not appear as I envisioned Him – or because I was crying for Him to come down when He was within?

“We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us. And our fellowship is with the Father and with His Son, Jesus Christ” (1 John). Maybe I can’t reach out and touch Him like John could – but maybe, because John did, I can too. I can see Him as He is and however He reveals Himself, and let the fullness of His humanity touch me as much as the holiness of His Deity.

...and as I see You now, You’re nothing like I ever expected.

It's interesting to take a look at the ways we usually "see" Jesus. Apparently, he has one of the best image-of-God consultants around, because it seems like every time I see Him, He's got a different look. Below is a collection of some of my personal favorites for how others see Him...and let me tell you, for the most part, Jesus is HOT!

The "Peaceful Personality-less" Jesus: Always speaks softly and sloooooowwly, and properly enunciates his King James English...

The Ethno-Centric Jesus: Had a minor role in the acclaimed Eddie Murphy flick, "Coming To America"... and he can 'make your Sooooouul Glow!'

The Buddy Jesus: Often heard saying things like, "He-hey! How's it hangin', bro? You down with the Holy G today? Peace in. Lates."

The Political Reformer Jesus: Would he have your vote or support in a coup d'etat?

The Forensic Jesus: Scientists constructed this head from skulls dated to the time of Jesus. So, it's what he could have looked like. But let's be honest: would you really believe this guy is the Son of God?

The Baby Jesus: This baby Jesus is far too holy to leave poopy diapers or throw-up bean curd on Mary's shoulder. Goochy-goo! You little Son of God you!

The Action Almighty: Complete the set... he comes with an AK-47 Kalishnikov Kingdom Assault Rifle, and the body of the original Luke Skywalker Star Wars figure.

The Cross-Action Jesus: The perfect playmate for a youngling, complete with "cross-action shotgun" and "ninja-messiah throwing nails."

The "You Crucified Jesus" Jesus: If your child is a tactile-learner, there is no better way to drive home the personal responsibility of the crucifixion.

The Sim Jesus: Ha ha! Now you can control a virtual world where Jesus lives! It's just like being God!

The Sunday School Jesus: Always ready for a hug...just watch out for the schnoz.

The Superstitious Jesus: He speaks constantly in signs and wonders of nature, and loves to utilize fishsticks to remind us of his presence.

The Hansel Jesus: "That Jesus... he's so hot right now... he's on fire!"

The Liberal Jesus: Au natural, and very into 'making love, not war.' Crucified by The Man, and crowned with cannibis, he is also against taking showers (unless for baptism).

The "With You In Pain" Jesus: Just remember: if intense pain makes you take the Lord's name in vain, he's usually right there to hear it, and is ready to bump the dentist's elbow.

The "Cares About the Small Stuff" Jesus: "Been sittin' here all stinkin' day, and still ain't caught a catfish..." Jesus is there to comfort you, and cares about your smallest worries. Pay heed when he says to cast your rod on the other side of the boat.

The Full-Contact Jesus: Hey Rudy - I don't care how passionate you are... it's bad juju to try tackling God, and I think it's an extra big sin at Notre Dame.

The King-Fu Jesus: He's a warrior, alright; let's bust some skulls and practice our nunchuck skills on Satan! (Note: nunchuck skills are only biblical if used in self-defense.)

The "Lord of the Dork-Sports" Jesus: Even if the other kids make fun of you for being a juggler, Jesus never will. He may make fun of your unibrow and bowl-cut though...

The Meek and Mild Jesus: The lamby-cuddly-wuddly Jesus, who gently shepherds his flock to greener pastures.

The "Whip It" Jesus: Not as popular as the meek and mild Jesus, almost entirely because of the bullwhip. Moneychangers and Pharisees beware (wait...you couldn't mean us?!?)

The "He Did It Again" Jesus: "Why can't they just get it right once? I mean, how hard is it? Just love your stinkin' neighbor people!"

The Confused Personality Jesus: Oh Father...er...Jesus, forgive us our sins, and let your glory come...or, rather, let the Holy Spirit come. Uh. Yeah. Just help, please.

The "He Is Risen" Jesus: He is Risen indeed! Just look at how he floats!

The "Rocky" Jesus: Your personal champion against sin and struggles. Looks just like the "Fabio" Jesus.

Our Savior, Our Lord: "He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him, nothing in His appearance that we should desire Him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces He was despised, and we esteemed Him not. Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered Him stricken by God, smitten by Him, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 53:2-5)

My Birthday Wishlist

That's right, my birthday is coming up. Due to internet identity theft, I won't say when my birthday is, but if you send me any of the gifts I have on my list below, make sure they arrive around the end of June-ish. So without further ado: here is my top-10 birthday wishlist:

10) This Catfish: It’s the world’s biggest catfish, people! If you put this thing on a circus tour, it’d bring home more bacon than Microsoft stock in the 90’s.

9) Cocaine Wars: I don't think this even needs an explanation.

8) Hummer With Machine Gun Mount: This should help me deter cocaine harvesters if I am even involved in an actual Cocaine war, but beyond that, it is totally practical for blending in with Malibu-ites.

7) A "Your Mom Goes To College" T-Shirt: I’m sure that someday, someone who I know will have a mother that will go to college. And I want to be prepared for that day.

6) Rhode Island: Don’t even try to tell me that someone is going to miss it. It’s barely there as it is.

5) The Old Man of Storr: This Scottish landmark is wasted on the Isle of Skye. It would make an awesome addition to the patio outside of my apartment, however.

4) The Blarney Stone: I’ve already kissed it, but having this puppy at home would really give us some quality time to “get acquainted.” A national speaking tour, and I’m set for life.

3) A Zoldar-Speaks Machine: You know, the one that was responsible for the title of Tom Hank’s movie, “Big.” It's the gift that keeps on giving. Who wouldn’t want to be able to make their own wish for only a nickel?

2) Uncle Booger's Dumper Bumper: The real question is, why don’t I already have one? If I could only figure out a way to use the dumper bumper on my Hummer while manning the machine gun mount, I could officially claim the title of “most manly-man, ever.”

1) A Silver Canon Digital Rebel XT (with 18-55mm lens): The perfect combination of maunal and automatic settings in a digital SLR camera = fun times for many, many years.

Interesting Article: "Housechurches Have No Sex Appeal"

Came across an interesting article from aways back on housechurches, or the "housechurch movement." It is written by a British pastor, Brian Jones, who has been/is both a traditional minister of a church and a planter of housechurches. If you can't imagine a British accent in your head, you really need to find someone that can read it to you with the right inflections, as a posh British accent is key to really getting the dry wit.

The article can be read here.

What I found most interesting about the article is that it offers some decent critiques of the housechurch while recognizing its merits. But if you read it carefully (especially the last two points) it almost seems that the author advocates that the housechurch movement won't be ideal until it is more... structured? Has more resources to help it along? More speakers, topics, strategies, etc. Isn't that more of the same though? Are we really waiting for more resources to get things off the ground when we have obviously been given the Resource?

Some people probably think that the housechurch movement (I wonder if they will still call it a 'movement' if it ever become stagnant?) is the future of church as we know it. I definitely don't think that the house-church is the answer to some of the larger church's issues - I think its maybe just a new form that supports relational Christianity more easily, because it does do away with a lot of the programming/staffing/finance/parking/leadership-team baggage.

Notice that even a housechurch is different from relational Christianity, which is simply being the body of Christ wherever and whenever and with whomever you find yourself. It's sharing a journey of deepening relationship with Christ. Period. That can be done in lots of places, and I think if Jesus ever wanted us to find a single structure for worship, He probably would have mentioned it once or twice. And I think that some housechurches can be just as full of issues as a church-churches, and that some church-churches can be far more functional than a housechurch. Neither is the point though - and that is the point. It's not about the structure - it's about relating to Christ and one another in and through Christ. Wherever, however... and that's it.

Totally Unspiritual Article of the Week, #2

I've indulged in one or two "eat-our-live-450lb-walrus-and-receive-the-second-free" challenges in my life before. The thing with most of these offers is: a) there is usually enough food to fill a swimming pool, b) it isn't very tasty or special c) if it's a burrito, you should be scared at what's inside, and very scared at what it will become once it is inside of you...

I've posted this finding as my "totally unspiritual article of the week," but I think that finishing this burger might just qualify as a spiritual experience. You say it can't be done? Nay, my friend: "All things are possible through Christ who expands our stomachs and heals our large intestine..."

You can check out the site for "Denny's Beer-Barreled Pub" in Clearfield, PA., but I have also done you the courtsey of posting the pictures below. INCREDIBLE. (I wish In-N-Out had a challenge like this with a 20x20 or something...)

Hm...Either the grill is really small, or the patty is really big...

Over 16,000 cows were ground up to contribute to this patty, which is infamously known in many parts of India as "the great Hindu travesty."

I strongly believe that God created tomatoes specifically so that this exact moment would one day be possible. Bravo.

If I didn't know it was a burger, I would probably have mistaken this as a giant flying saucer that contained a miature version of an entire alien ecosystem.

Guy on the Left:"...crapcrapcrap...I can't remember if I put on my diaper this morning!" Guy on the Right: "Oh yeah. My sideburns will structurally reinforce my jawbone from the weight of this badboy... you are so going down."

I really only have one thought when I look at this picture: Vomit. Lots and lots of vomit.

What's even more amazing about this whole thing, is that a 100lb woman allegedly ate this burger's predecessor, which weighed in at a measly 6lbs. Although I don't think this gal weighs 100 pounds, it is still an impressive feat, and only reinforces my theory that a determined woman could eat an entire man if motivated.

Censorship Central

Take that, Chairman Mao!

Some of you might have seen this article already, but the Chinese government announced last week that they were requiring all personal websites and blogs based in China to register so that their content could be monitored and censored for sensitive political content. Some of you may be thinking, "yeah right, how can they possibly censor all blogs and personal websites- there are millions of them!"

Answer: they can do it by employing thousands and thousands of people to do nothing but browse such sites, all day long (and by designing a net-crawling program that searches sites for a registration code)! Internet censorship, as you can imagine, is becoming increasingly important for stifling the thousands of radical ideas that are spread via the world wide web. I mean, try to imagine our country without freedom of expression on the internet! How would we ever discuss important social issues such as whether Brad and Angelina are really just good friends, whether Michael Jackson used "jesus juice" to take advantage of Bubbles, or how one goes about enhancing the size of their mammary glands using natural herbal pills? I'm not sure the impact that this will have on Ruined For Life if Corrie and I do move to China, but when the time comes, don't believe any of my blogs that start with, "Chairman Mao is 'da bomb." Here are some excerpts from the article, which can be read in full here.

Update 6/13: I just found another article today, detailing how Microsoft is cooperating with the effort, restricting certain words such as "democracy" and "human rights" from being posted in blogs using their web portal. Read it here.

SHANGHAI, China - Authorities have ordered all China-based Web sites and blogs to register or be closed down, in the latest effort by the communist government to police the world of cyberspace.

Commercial publishers and advertisers can face fines of up to 1 million yuan ($120,000) for failing to register, according to documents posted on the Web site of the Ministry of Information Industry.

Private, noncommercial bloggers or Web sites must register the complete identity of the person responsible for the site, it said. The ministry, which has set a June 30 deadline for compliance, said 74 percent of all sites had already registered.

"The Internet has profited many people but it also has brought many problems, such as sex, violence and feudal superstitions and other harmful information that has seriously poisoned people's spirits," the MII Web site said in explaining the rules, which were quietly introduced in March.

All public media in China is controlled by the state, though limits on the Internet have tended to lag behind as advances in technology and the Web's rapid spread outstripped Beijing's ability to keep tabs on users and service providers.

China has more than 87 million Internet users, the world's second largest online population after the United States...read the rest here.

Mammon and Me

Today’s blog comes from the classroom. This trimester for my MBA program, I’ve got class on 6 weekends this summer (6-10 p.m. Friday, 8 a.m. -5 p.m. Saturday), and since I know my brain will be the consistency of clam chowder when I am done today, I’m getting a head start while the stew is still cooking.

This weekend’s class is a business symposium, which is the MBA-bourgeois lingo for “really, really rich, successful people telling you how they got really, really rich making fertilizer out of… (you get the point).” Don’t get me wrong – the speakers were impressive: Victor Tsao (Pepperdine graduate, mind you), the founder of Linksys, who started the company with his wife in their garage; Mary Ellen Weaver, who turned a $1 investment into a $460 million dollar company; and the turnaround king, Steven Plochocki, who took a failing healthcare company you’ve never heard of (Insight Health Corp., or “I Told You So”) and made it fabulously profitable after only 2 years and repeating the phrase “badda-bing, badda-boom” 13 times a minute.

All had fabulous stories of success by worldly standards, and they all seemed like ethical business leaders who enjoyed excelling in their fields. In a classroom of some 160 students, I could tell that, for some of them (especially those who had already been trying a startup), seeing these real success stories was as close to heaven as a dung beetle in a cow pasture. Yet, I found myself left with a very strange question:

What is the point of business?

Yep, I heard you say a 180% increase in shareholder earnings in two years. And I heard how hard you worked, and how you dealt with an unpredictable industry against all odds. But really though... what is the point? I heard what you did, and how you did it, but what is the point of it all? What is the point of business?

Now, for those of you that don’t know me, I’m not what you would call the “typical” MBA student. I think I'm the only one in my classes who got a B.A. in Humanities (emphasis in 20th century Europe and Philosophy, mind you), and minored in Religion. I don't work for a corporation, I'm not tremendously motivated by profit or little green bills, and frankly, I'm not getting this degree because my life's ambition is to be a suit. I applied to the program initially because I felt it was clearly what God wanted me to do, despite the fact that I was about as cynical as I could have been about capitalism and corporate America. Heck, one of my application essays read like a cocky 22 year old’s diatribe against avowedly corporate career goals (and although I read it now and roll my eyes at how stupid I sounded, it is truly a testament to God’s plan that I ever got in to the business program, assuming someone ever read it). I have learned a lot since then, and think that I have come to see what business can be versus what it often is not - and frankly, I've loved the learning, especially involving leadership and organizational behavior. But, I don’t sit in a room and drool over P&L or ROI figures, or catchy lingo and 10-step programs to building a performance-driven salesforce. At all.

The answer to the question is really quite simple though: the purpose of business is profit. Yep, that’s it. Profit. If we trace the purpose of this (in an admittedly simplistic way), the rationale goes somewhat like:

The purpose of business is profit.

The purpose of profit is to facilitate making even more profit, leading to the accumulation of monetary wealth both personally and organizationally.

The purpose of accumulating monetary wealth is to obtain material wealth.

The purpose of material wealth is to increase comfort in life.

The purpose of increasing one’s comfort is to achieve happiness, and possibly deep, meaningful fulfillment.

-The End.

And that's it, folks. Some people probably don't see anything wrong with the formula above. As for me, even thinking of arriving at the end goal of "meaning" or "happiness" by those means is a total farce. This is only reinforced as I realized how all of the speakers missed out on much of their children's lives, and how much of their personality and time was spent incessantly working to find satisfaction that always seemed to elude them (even at the top of their game). It's a litte uncomfortable to put it in those terms, but by all rational arguments, the point of business, as it stands, is profit. I'd challenge anyone in business to argue something else, if they were inclined to do so. Now, what I have also come to realize is that good business necessitates having some other peripheral purposes or goals, such as: meaningfully employing people, providing for employee and customer needs, contributing to the community, etc., but the purpose of business is: profit. In other words, "no margin, no mission." Period.

This is already dragging on, but I'd like to leave you with one or two closing thoughts. First, although I would argue that the purpose of business is profit (like it or not), I have to ask: should it be? Does it have to be? A big realization I had from reading a book early on in the MBA program called The Worldly Philosophers (Heilbroner), is that if we were to travel back in time only 400 years ago, the idea of personal profit was considered totally wrong and evil, because capitalism as an economic system didn't exist. Biblically, it was the sin of gluttony and avarice. In fact, today's "American Dream" of a Lexus, private schooling for the kids, and a summer lakehome was unequivocally considered sinful. Granted, oral hygene was also a sin, but think about it: there are even court cases in colonial America of people being fined and threatened with excommunication for making too much personal profit in a business transaction. What a different paradigm we live in today.

I'm not saying that profit, in and of itself, is wrong. But what if the first purpose of "business" wasn't profit, but rather community, relationship, and creating something of usefullness and excellence. Profit becomes the side-effect of a right focus on those pursuits, and in turn, helps to further those pursuits. It may even be a minor shift in focus, but a big difference in the likelihood of arriving at the desired outcome of meaning. Because I don't really think we know God through profit, unless it's at the end of a broken life that has gotten that way pursuing it at all cost. I definitely don't have all the answers here, and much of my reflection comes out of a realization that I incessantly try to fill my longings with "stuff" - but these are the ideas I wonder about from time to time, and these are the things I'd like to play some role in changing within my lifetime.

...time to go check my stocks.

Totally Unspiritual Article of the Week

Now, this posting deserves a short preface: I have *possibly* dropped a "trucker bomb" once in my life - but fear not, it was well before I knew that they had a certified name. Hypothetically, if I *did* whiz-on-the-go, it was probably when I was stuck in horrible traffic on the I-80, tremendously late for a flight from Oakland to LAX. Also hypothetically, *if* I had done said bodily function in a 2 liter bottle, then you can be sure I had to go badly enough that over half of the container was filled. Again, if this situation had actually happened, I *probably* was running to the gate just before they closed it for boarding, constituting one of the rare occasions when it is ethically acceptable to drop a 'torpedo.'

Anyone else out there ever tried this? Leave a comment with the story; according to this article, practically everyone has...although I'm assuming that most of the offenses are limited to men, seeing as a female perpetrator would have to be unconventionally indifferent to some amount of spillage for this to be possible...

SEATTLE — Roadside litter comes in all shapes and sizes — from dirty diapers to syringes — but there's one category that out-grosses the rest: trucker bombs.

Most drivers whiz along the nation's highways largely oblivious to their roadside surroundings. But next time you are out there, take a closer look.

"As soon as you look for it you’ll see it," says Megan Warfield, litter programs coordinator at Washington state's Department of Ecology. "You just see them glistening in the sun. It’s just gross."

They are trucker bombs, plastic jugs full of urine tossed by truckers, and even non-truckers, who refuse to make a proper potty stop to relieve themselves.

The state hasn't counted how many such jugs are found each year, but a single, small county decided to do its own tally. "In one year," Warfield says, "one crew found 2,666 bottles of urine, 67 feces covered items, not including diapers, and 18 syringes."

It even happens at rest stops. "That’s the mystery," Warfield says. "There’s a bathroom right there, there’s also a trash can."

...

Mowers 'hit them, they explode'
In April, Colorado increased its "human waste" fine from $40 to $500. Transportation employees convinced lawmakers of the need for the drastic increase with their tales of finding urine jugs as they mowed roadway ditches. "We hit them, they explode. The operator ends up wearing this stuff," Randy Dobyns told state senators.

Dobyns estimated he picks up at least 50 containers a week, sometimes milk jugs, water bottles or even bags filled with urine. "The folks who dispose of this stuff are very creative in their use of containers," he said.

Some states have gone so far as to appeal to truckers themselves, but Warfield recalls how that backfired on a colleague in Arizona. "He did not get a warm reception," she says. (full article continued here.)

Work 101 (with Zoey 101)

Ok, granted, working at Pepperdine has its advantages - seeing the beach every day, a Christian environment and community, etc., but it also has its disadvantages. Enter Nickelodeon's television show, Zoey 101. Now, living in Malibu, one becomes somewhat accustomed to seeing "moviestars" often. Pamela Anderson is at Starbucks all the time, while Adam Sandler and Rob Schneider seem to prefer Diedrich's. I ran into Pierce Brosnan at Blockbuster once, and have seen AJ (I think that's his name) from NSYNC at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Scores of others come and go- Ed Harris, Jane Seymour, Mel Gibson, David Duchovny - and for the most part, we don't think twice about it. Ever since the Star-Peon Cease Fire of 1978, our two social strata have lived in relative peace and harmony, with one rarely bothering the other.

That alliance is about to end. For those of you that don't know, (and believe me, I wouldn't if I didn't live with it every day), Zoey 101 is a Nickelodeon TV show that stars Jaime Lynn Spears (the youger sibling of Brittney Spears), who - guess what - attends "Pacific Coast Academy" as a middleschooler. I'm assuming the basic plot is something like: Jaime Lynn Spears has a ton of episodic dramas in her Jr. High years, blah blah blah, that take place at a private California prep school- by the beach, which happens to be the campus of Pepperdine University in real life.

I have nothing against Zoey, or Jaime for that matter, and I may sound like a royal whine here, but the filming is a real nuisance on campus. First, when we come into work in the morning and try to park, our beloved Zoey trucks take up no less than 20-40 parking spots. This would be minor, except for for the fact that missing a parking spot at Pepperdine, which is built on a mountainside, means hiking up a huge hill from the red-headed-step-child lots below. Once you are actually on campus, you usually have to sneak around like a ninja of the night: all must be quiet on set, afterall, and apparently, the entire campus qualifies as "the set." Today's filming was taking place at our outside coffee cart, which is located in the very center of campus. Not only does this mean that the coffee cart is closed, but it means that every time we need to walk by (which is basically any time we need to come or go from our office) we have to tip-toe around, lest we interrupt the filming for the sake of work or "academics."

Granted, the payoff to all of this is we have the priviledge of seeing Jaime Lynn Spears and the half-dozen other child television stars whisked around on golf-carts, forced to eat catered food, and pampered in basically every other way by child-television-star mothers, who I am sure will one day earn a classification as a completely distinct mammalian species.

The entertainment industry is a peculiar one indeed, and I'll have an upcoming blog dedicated entirely to it, as I have many, many friends (including my sister and her husband) who are making careers in it.

FYI: The picture on the right may or may not be one that was actually taken before someone I know was threatened with life imprisonment by a zealous stage intern, who informed said person that the set, which is located in the middle of campus in broad daylight, was "closed." The person in said photo may nor may not be Jaime Lynn Spears, whose is face partially obscured by a piece of set-equipment.

Revenge of the Script

As usual, today's blog title is a 'double entendre' of sorts; first, if you are a regular to this site, you'll notice something new that has to do with a type of scripting... scrollable menu bars! That's right, I've added these DHTML-scriptacular scrolling menus to make the site navigation a little easier. That way, you don't have to remember what's in all the rooms, as you can get some sense by looking at each major piece of furniture via the menu. Now you can whiz through the house like a five-year old who has just snorted a pixie stick and is looking for some paste to eat...

As for the other script that is worth a short mention, I went and saw Star Wars Episode III, Revenge of the Script (er, Sith) last night for the second time. Now I know that this movie has already been reviewed ad nauseam, but I feel that I have a few original contributions that might be worth a second of your time.

1) WORST. TITLE. EVER.
Did anyone else notice it? Right at the beginning of the movie, just as the music comes in? The movie is named STAR WARS! STAR WARS, people! Hang with me - I've always taken this name mindlessly for granted, but just let it ring in your ears... STAR WARS. It's up there with the worst names ever created for a movie, even a sci-fi. I know it's hard to imagine, but try to picture your reaction to a movie you've never heard of that is called "STAR WARS."

I can see the meeting George had with studio executives now: "Ok folks, we've got options for the name of this movie. There's 'GALAXY BATTLES' or 'SPACE FIGHTING,' Tom suggested 'CELESTIAL CONFLICT,' Dick's wife thought 'ASTRAL ATTACK' had a nice ring to it... and, not to bias anyone, but I came up with 'EMPYREAN BELLIGERENCY.' I think that's a blockbuster title to go with a blockbuster script! [enter janitor named Harrison, background] How about 'Star Wars?'" It's amazing how my brain has been switched off to this travesty for 25 years of life. It's time to free our minds, people.

2) WORST. DIALOGUE. EVER.

PADME: Annie, I want to have our baby back home on Naboo. We could go to the lake country where no one would know . . . where we would be safe. I could go early-and fix up the baby's room. I know the perfect spot, right by the gardens.

ANAKIN: You are so beautiful!

PADME: It's only because I'm so in love . . .

ANAKIN: No, it's because I'm so in love with you.

PADME: So love has blinded you?

ANAKIN: Well, that's not exactly what I meant . . .

PADME: But it's probably true!

They laugh.

I don't even think I need to touch this one, but the bullies made fun of me when I was an ugly junior high kid with nothing going for me, so it's payback time. In order to really appreciate this scene, it has to be re-read in its original context.

I have obtained an EXCULSIVE original draft of the script, and let me tell you, the things that were edited out could have brought home the little-golden-mantle-man for this movie. It more fully expresses the depth of emotion that George wanted to convey in the acting that surely was messed up by some rookie script editor at the last minute:

PADME: Annie, I want to have our love-child back home on Naboo. We could go to the lake country so I could have a water-birth . . . we would be safe. I could go early-and fix up the baby's 'room.' I know the perfect spot, right in the gardens, so he can be raised on granola and pesticide-free foods.

ANAKIN: You are so beautiful!

PADME: No, you're so beautiful!

ANAKIN: Nuh-uh! You're so beautiful!

PADME: Like ever! You are!

PADME: It's only because I'm so in love . . .

ANAKIN: Nuh-uh, it's because I'm so in love with you.

PADME: So love has blinded you?

ANAKIN: Well, that's not exactly what I meant . . . but YES!

PADME: Silly Billy!

They laugh heartily with "HO, HO, HO's."

Only a screenwriter like George can know the frustration of having a masterpiece torn to shreds by an intern proof-reader. Don't give up, George!

3) WORST. CONVERSION-TO-THE-DARKSIDE. EVER.

Did Anakin's betrayal of all that was good, holy, and right seem a little off to anyone else? Here' the actual script excerpt:

[Just as MACE is about to slash PALPATINE, ANAKIN steps in and cuts off the Jedi's hand holding the lightsaber.

As MACE stares at ANAKIN in shock, PALPATINE springs to life.
The full force of Palpatine's powerful Bolts blasts MACE. He attempts to deflect them with his one good hand, but the force is too great. As blue rays engulf his body, he is flung out the window and falls twenty stories to his death