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Introduction To The House of Carr
Introduction To The House of Carr

Ten minutes to Wapner . . .

[Insert People's Court Music here. If typed out it looks like: DA! D'DUM! DUM!]

I've always been fascinated by the law; before my preaching desires kicked in, I always thought I would be a lawyer. It seemed such a cool profession, on LA Law and in the movies [My Cousin Vinnie, anyone?], why wouldn't I want to be a lawyer?

I became a friend with Kevin while on staff at Christ's Church. Kevin is a defense lawyer up in Lebanon who sometimes tries appeals cases before the United States Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals. He always offered to let me watch and we finally made it happen this afternoon.

First off, no one tried on a bloody glove and there was no opportunity for me to yell, "No Justice, No Peace!" After getting over that disappointment, it was an interesting time. The room in the Courthouse was gorgeous, cherry wood everywhere with a Gold Eagle carved above the judges' bench. There are three judges that cases are brought before, and lawyers. At this point in the appeals process, it's all about arguments over the laws themselves.

As a defense lawyer Kevin is forced to represent scum, but he'll only argue what he believes in. Today it was an argument concerning the way a judge sentenced a drug dealer. There was no denying the guilt of the defendent, but the judge took some leeway in how he came up with the sentence; he used hearsay evidence to come up with the sentence. Kevin argued to the appeals court that it was a violation of the sixth amendment [still not sure what women voting had to do with this]. The judges get a month or so to come up with a decision but, despite already winning one of his points, you could tell that his argument wasn't going to fly.

After listening to about an hour of legaleze, I went away with one thing on my mind:

I'm glad I didn't become a lawyer.

Sure it's exciting when you're before a judge, but with all the research you have to do just to get in court, it's like being stuck in term-paper hell. You research rulings and cases to come up with arguments so you can go back and research some more. That is unless you're an ambulance chaser and then . . . well, Duebber can fill in the blanks.

Mad props to all you hard-working law school grads, but I'll stick with the preaching gig, thank you very much. No one objects to my sermons . . . well, at least not while I'm giving them.

Can't you hear Doug Llewellyn wrapping up this post? He says something like this:

"This is Doug Llewellyn reminding you that when you're too lazy to actually go to law school, you have little ambition and think you can skate through life by going to Bible College and becoming a minister, don't take the law into your own hands- go to court . . . for an afternoon."

[Insert ending People's Court theme here: DA! D'DUM! DUM! followed by the wicked drum solo.]

Delicates- Low Heat

Problem: I hate wrinkled clothes.

Additional Problem: I hate ironing.

Ultimate solution: the dryer.

Does it remind you of this Seinfeld episode:

Kramer: Feel this. Yeah! It's piquing hot. It's fresh out of the dryer. Hey Elaine you have to feel my pants . Elaine: I'll see you later. Kramer: Oh. All right. You don't know what your missing. I'm loving this, Jerry! I am never putting on another piece of clothing unless it's straight out of the dryer.

Hijinks ensue when Kramer gets the calzone place to put his pants in their oven.

I used to do this all the time when I was growing up. My room was in the basement, as was the laundry room, so it was easy access to the dryer. I don't think I ever ironed then. I had to go without in college [no way was I going to run down four flights of stairs and pay 75 cents]. Same thing in our apartment days. I started using the dryer again in our last house, but only sparingly.

My in-laws have one of those steamers that they let me use when we were there over the holidays. In my first attempt using it I burned my hand. That's all I needed to know. I've never been burned by my trusty, reliable dryer.

Today was the first time I reinstituted the time-honored tradition at the condo. I had absolutely no desire to iron so I threw my jeans and sweater in the dryer. One has to be careful not to leave the clothes in too long, lest they end up shrinking. About four minutes gets the job done. I nailed the timing on it. And then I was able to enjoy a few extra minutes of added warmth. Friends, can life get any better than this?

We have really bad static in the house, so a dryer sheet is a must. My jeans felt like plastic-wrap on my legs for a few minutes.

Like Cosmo, I might never put on another piece of clothing unless it's straight out of the dryer.

A Whale of A Time

I don't know much, but the little I do know could've prove helpful to people in London yesterday.

People in England sprang to action as a bottlenose whale was swimming in the Thames River, a body of water not known for it's whale population. They dispatched help to try to get the whale back to the ocean. Unfortunately, the whale didn't survive the trip and died. Shocker.

Growing up with animals, I understood that they didn't like to hang around the house to die. Both cats and dogs alike would wander off into the woods, returning to the wild to meet their end. As Kelly and I watched the scene unfold we asked the same question: does anyone think it went down-river to die?

Hmmmm, I guess we were right. Whale dies. Thousands of dollars wasted.

BTW, forget about the Thames or Moby Dick, this is still the best whale story ever.

What time is it?

Just flipping through channels, we came across the new VH1 reality show featuring Public Enemy Rapper Flavor Flav; Flavor [as his friends call him] is famous for two things: 1) saying "YEEE-AH BOYZ!!!!" and 2) wearing large clocks around his neck. This reality show is a Bachelor-like dating show where he picks from a large group of girls to find his love match.

But instead of giving the girls roses, what does he give to the ladies? Oh yes: large clocks to wear around their neck. How is this not the greatest show on television?

Bring the noise. Fight the power.

Bad Boys . . .

Another post title, another song.

As I was wrapping up that last post I heard some banging outside. There were three punk kids throwing stuff at the front door of the business across the street. They were younger kids [ages 12-14] but you never know who's packing around here so I called 911. They said they'd send someone right away. The kids kept pounding the glass door with a bar until it finally shattered. Instead of running far away, they half ran through the parking lot and hung out. The waited around for about fifteen minutes after my call and then walked up the street. A squad car pulled up half an hour later.

I know the police can't be everywhere but, with all the cop cars that fly up our street, you think they might have had someone come sooner. When the officer arrived I crossed the street to show him the damage. One glass door was slightly damaged, and the other was shattered. There's no way I could ID those kids, so I guess the business will have to make an insurance claim on the door.

Life in the city. You can't get much better than this.

If I were a carpenter . . .

So today was our day at Christ Hospital for our birthing class. Oh happy day! Describing this eight-hour experience is a daunting task, but I have to try.

We showed up with the prerequisite pillows in hand and met our instructor Irene. She's been a delivery room nurse for twenty years and was well qualified to teach the class. I headed immediately to the back row, still understanding that if you're going to screw around you need to be in the back. We sat next to this guy named Dave and his wife Holly. Dave was my kind of people, possessing his own arsenal of smart-aleck remarks that we were able to unleash with military-like precision. Ironically Dave is on staff at the Crossroads Community Church, working in their children's ministry. We were even able to talk about the hilarious Real Old Testament. There were a bunch of cool people in the class that made the experience more enjoyable.

After we introduced ourselves it was straight to the diagrams. It feel like Biology all over again [note to reader: the only "D" I ever received was my last semester at Bible College in Biology. Why does a minister need to know Biology?]. Suffice to say, I now understand why men fifty years ago never went into the delivery room. There are some things that happen in there that men could survive without knowing. But trust me, I learned them today. I saw video . . . after video . . . after video. Tell me, dear friends, what possesses a woman expecting a child to say, "Hey, the baby's coming. Let's allow a film crew into the delivery room, film me in the least flattering view possible, and get full view of my "hoo-ha" so thousands of future parents can watch for years to come"??? This is why the Cleavers slept in separate beds [maybe Wally and the Beav' were adopted].

So after lunch we ended up on the floor to work on breathing/massage junk. It was a good . . . for the ladies who got free massages. But after seeing all the diagrams/video footage about the birth, I'm ready to give Kelly anything she wants. The craziest thing that Irene had us do all day was to spoon while lying down on the floor as she read some visualization about walking on the beach [seriously]. I would've laughed but I was trying to fall asleep. In the moment, I wondered what effect a nuclear blast would do to us. Years later, when archaeologists discovered our bodies, they would've had a heck of time figuring out what was going on there.

All in all, it was a good day. I'm glad we took this class in one day instead of spreading it out over weeks. And I think we'll be ready to bring home baby.

I need to take a shower.

This Used To Be My Playground

I ask forgiveness for using a Madonna song as the title to this post, but it was what came to me. I am what I am, so what else can I be?

I had some errands to run this morning and was excited at the opportunity to get out and about. Working the first five-day week at "the home office" was good, but it's a little too quiet around there. I like to be around people. So my plan was to finish the errands and get some work done at Panera.

Yes, the Panera where I used to work.

It's a strange feeling walking into the place your old place of employment; you see everything from a different perspective, and aren't quite sure how to act. Right when I walked in the store phone rang and I felt the impulse to answer it. It was nice to know that it wasn't my problem. There are a few new employees but still quite a people I know. They were excited to see me and wanted to catch up on life. Actually, they told me they wished I was still working there as some of the new hires weren't working out.

I got a couple bagels and went to sit down and employees came up wanting to talk to me. After awhile I pulled the laptop out, hoping to send a message but the message failed. I ended up talking the whole time I was there. Not exactly what I planned, but it was a good time. It always feels good to be missed. I'm not quite sure what God was doing during my time at Panera, but maybe it was to reach out to the people I worked with. Hopefully I'll figure it out someday.

I really love people. I'd prefer to be around people I dislike than no people at all. That's why ministry is the perfect profession for me. God cares about people and needs someone to relay the message. Who better than a schlep like me? Sure, I have a lot I'm still working on with myself, but I like people.

I know I've quoted this before, but the late sportswriter Dick Schaap said, “often I am asked what my favorite sport is, and I always say ‘people.’ I collect people.” Good answer.

So I'm making sure that I don't hide at the home office but get out and about to meet people.

*Madonna is a person. Does that justify the title?

Convicts verses Catholics

This is the one night of the year I root against Xavier.

I'm not one of those University of Cincinnati fans that's intimidated by the crosstown rival. I like Xavier, but UC is my team. I just mapped the distance between our condo and both schools and they're equidistant; we're 2.5 from both UC and XU. I know I'm a dork for just looking that up, but I was curious.

The good thing about this UC season is I'm not as anxious as I usually get. They're basically playing with the five starters. With the loss of Huggins and all the players [the Kirkland loss was a killer] I'm just glad if they do anything. A NCAA tournament birth would be a huge victory. Through thick and thin, they're still my team no matter what President Zimpher does to try to wreck it.

Bearcats have a seven point halftime lead. If they come out strong the first few minutes of the second half, I give 'em the "W."

We shall see . . .

Skyline Time!

Ate at Skyline tonight. Now that's living.

As a baby, I think I was transitioned from bottled milk straight to Skyline Chili. Living in the Cincinnati, keys to survival are oxygen, water, and Skyline. For those of you not from the area, Skyline Chili isn't like regular chili. It's a thinner consistency, having a hint of chocolate and cinnamon, and it's definitely an acquired taste. It's unique to the 'Nati, as Kelly's Elvis even asked about it. By the way, eating Gold Star feels like committing adultery.

I try to eat Skyline once a week, though I'm off that schedule since moving downtown. I've eaten in most of the restaurants in the greater Cincinnati area. My favorite location is the original in Price Hill [although they tore down the old building and moved the place down the street]. The one who serves the best chili is the Mason franchise; they never skimp on the portions.

So how can you make the Skyline experience even better? Habanero Cheese, baby! Sure it sets your mouth on fire, but it's well worth it. It's only for a limited time, so you gotta get it while it lasts.

And if you're from out of town and have never tried Skyline, it's well worth the trip our city. Fly into CVG and there's one in nearby Florence, Kentucky.

Can't wait to sneak some Skyline into the baby girl's bottle.

When The Truth Isn't The Truth

We really need to be honest about this . . .

. . . about a writer who wasn't really honest.

By now you've heard the embarrassing tale of one James Frey, whose literary career was boosted into hyper-drive when his book, A Million Little Pieces, became the first non-fiction book in Oprah's book club. The book is a memoir detailing James' life of drug and alcohol abuse that led to prison time; somehow he was able to overcome all this and reclaim his life. Pieces became a best-seller despite the fact that the book is full of fabrications by Frey. This wouldn't be such a big deal but the book was presented as nonfiction. "Nonfiction," for those unfamiliar with the term, means "literature that is not fictional." And, going further, "fiction" is "something invented by the imagination." So since parts of the book were invented by Frey's imagination, that would disqualify it as nonfiction.

But many people are giving Frey a free pass. They say that the fabrications aren't hurting anyone and, since the story is so inspirational, we should let it slide. Oprah herself said that since "hundreds of thousands of people whose lives have been changed by this book" it was no big deal. She also said Frey "stepped out of that history to be the man that he is today, and to take that message to save other people and allow them to save themselves."

Oprah has spoken. The issue should be settled. But we will press on.

This is a case of people underestimating the seriousness of the subject. Even Frey himself doesn't seem to get it. On Larry King the other night he said the following:

"The book is 432 pages long. The total page count of disputed events is 18, which is less than five percent of the total book."

Eighteen pages. No big deal. I might be able to go with that, but it wasn't as if he messed with minor events. He added years of prison to his life. That goes beyond a little stretching the truth. The manipulated material that Frey injected into the story gave the tale its power. This is indeed a big deal. If James Cameron's love story version of Titanic were actually true I might've cried at the end. Instead I laughed.

I'm not naive enough to think that Frey is the first person to ever fabricate the truth in a memoir. But the high-profile nature of this case cannot be ignored. If we turn our eyes to this we are giving permission for future writers looking for a payday to make up stories of inspiration and pawn it off as reality.

Laura Vanderkam in USA Today summed up the issue well,

"A newspaper story of a kid with a learning disability who overcomes rough odds to go to college inspires us to try harder in our lives in a way that fiction‚— where we can manipulate the outcomes to make success certain‚— can't. The outcome is never certain in non-fiction. Stories in this genre show we can be the architects of our existence. The good Frey might do for addicts with his books is outweighed by the damage he has done to future authors' abilities to convince readers of stories that will change their lives."

Everyone thinks it's about holding Frey to an unreasonable standard. We can't think too small here. It has nothing to do with him. It's actually about all those people whose lives were changed by his book. A book based on lies.

We need to hold people accountible to tell the truth. If you own the book, I'd suggest trying to return it for a refund. That would be a statement.

You Big Baby!

Went with Kelly to the doctor this morning to see an ultrasound of the little girl. I got to see the first one a few months ago, but it's such a fascinating experience I really wanted to go again.

The only detraction of the whole trip is having to actually go into the OBGYN's office. There are some things there- models, diagrams, special instruments and charts- that men just shouldn't have to see [and isn't painting an examination room pink predictable?]. There should be a special testosterone room in every OBGYN office so that men can maintain their machismo. How about some SportsCenter or a power saw? Dang, I'd settle for a freaking Sports Illustrated in the waiting room [although I was able to find some good dish about Kevin and Britney]. I'm pretty sure that if I was forced to go into this office before we had the baby, there might not be one now.

That being said, Kelly really likes the doctor, as do I. I went to elementary school through high school with her doctor's daughter which, by the way, adds absolutely no awkwardness to having to be in the office. It is nice to know that the person who will be in the delivery room with you is someone you know and trust.

So to the good news: the baby's very healthy. We even got to see her sticking her tongue out. More and more I'm looking forward to her arrival.

But the one interesting thing we learned today is that the child is already three pounds, three ounces. At this stage in the pregnancy, that puts her in the 94th percentile of baby sizes. In normal people speak, this is a big honkin' baby. Now there's always the chance that she had an early growth spurt and her weight will even out through the next few months. The doctor factored out her current growth rate and gave us a computer generated image of what she will look like at 4 weeks old. Apparently it's something like this:


Pray for Kelly. Not only is she big, but I guess she got my looks.

Finding A Voice

This week's NPR religion podcast is causing me to revisit the Pat Robertson remarks about Israeli PM Ariel Sharon.

The evangelical Christian community was quick to separate themselves from Uncle Pat's ramblings. This leaves the media with a new dilemma. No self-respecting Christian wants to be identified with Robertson's opinions; he's just a lone-lunatic who represents only himself. So now, they need to find a new spokesman, someone to quote when something crazy happens in the world. Amy Sullivan at the Washington Monthly blog offered up her suggestions to replace Pat and also defunct blowhard Jerry Falwell. Her list frightens me more than a hairspray shortage at the TBN studios. Here's the men she offers up [notice no females. Interesting?] and my immediate vote on their representation of the evangelical nation.

Ted Haggard- Not my President.
Rick Warren- The guy I [purposely] like best on this list.
Brian McLaren- Does he even know what he believes?
Joel Osteen- Um, no.
Rod Parsley- Um, seriously, no.
Franklin Graham- I'd rather have his dad.
Jim Wallis- Well intentioned, but a too liberal for even me.
Ron Sider- Call me ignorant but I really don't know who he is
Tony Campolo- I just can't see it.
Herb Lusk- See Ron Sider.
TD Jakes- Sorry, but thou art loosed.

So with my almost unanimous rejection of this list I'm left to wonder a few things.
- Are my standards too high?
- Am I expecting these guys to be/do more than humanly possible?
- Is the problem with me, feeling caught in the middle of the conservative/liberal theological spectrum?
- I am just stuck up?

I'm still sorting through those questions but, in the meantime, who's my choice to speak for American evangelicals?

No one.

That's right, I'd prefer silence.

It's an impossible task, so why even bother? No one would think of selecting one person to be the official spokesperson for all American Caucasians. And it's the same thing with evangelicals. If you gathered that group above in a room, how many issues do you think they'd agree on? I'd be embarrassed to hold the theology of at least half the guys on that list so why would I want them answering spiritual/theological/cultural questions on my behalf? True, I share some of the same foundational beliefs as these guys- Jesus, Bible, etc. But when some of them open their mouths, it makes me want to hide . . . or hurl . . . or do both.

Obviously this whole debate hinges on whether or not I continue to identify myself as an evangelical. Of that I'm not too sure. I find myself drifting back to my Restoration Movement roots where just being a Christian was enough. This way no one has to do the talking and I can just let Jesus speak for me.

If only it were that simple.

It's Tough Living In The 'Nati

Despite a good week personally, I had a rough week as a Cincinnati sports fan. Thinking Sunday evening, "well, even though the Bengals are out of it, at least I have my Bearcats," by Monday night all was lost. Armein Kirkland tears an ACL and two of my teams are done in the same week.

The Enquirer felt my pain and today published their "what-if's" of Cincinnati sports.

Maybe the new Reds owners will give me something to cheer about.

CityLink Center Revisited

In my first post about the proposed CityLink Center, I laid out why I would invest funds into starting urban churches rather than in a one-shop mall for those in need. My thinking was derived from a pastor's perspective, having nothing to do with the current political controversy plaguing the project. Because of some of the comments posted on Beit Carr, and not wanting my beliefs to be misinterpreted, I wanted to expound on my previous post. Three thoughts:

1) I agree with One City's vision to help people out. Just because I disagree with how they're going about it, I understand and appreciate what they want to accomplish. Unlike others, I don't believe that the groups behind this project are driven by ego, but that backers honestly care about the lives of impoverished Cincinnatian; they should be commended for their move to action. Just because I wouldn't do it this way doesn't believe I'm against what they're doing. This isn't about theology, but methodology so I'm good. If they've honestly researched this and believe that this is God's calling for their ministries, then I say, "Godspeed." That being said . . .

2) You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. This is quickly turning into a PR nightmare for the One City group. Many [vocal] West End residents are against CityLink and, most likely, they will never sway from that position. But still, I think you have to make a concerted effort to at least pretend to listen to the community opposition. Constantly waving the flag of "we're a private corporation so we can do whatever we want" isn't the best way to win friends and influence people.

3) I don't believe churches are a "magic wand" solution to our city's problems. However, I still think they are the best solution. As one person commented, it's not merely about more churches, but communities consisting of passionate believers willing to advance the cause of Christ in the city. Yes, this might seem simplistic, but if we followers of Jesus truly believe in the promises of Scripture then this shouldn't be a stretch. That's why I'm doing what I'm doing.

I think this whole thing is going to get uglier as the weeks go by. It'll be interesting to see how it all plays out.

Leaving Las Vegas

It's pretty sad when you take pictures of fake landmarks when you already saw the original. Kelly's favorite thing in Vegas was the fountains at the Bellagio, so on our last night here we went to see them one more time. At night there's a show every fifteen minutes so we hung around for a couple. The first time we watched it from the hotel side, facing the Paris casino. It's a cool little show. It's amazing how people will clamor over lighted fountains. Maybe that's the kind of thing they should try at Fountain Square.

This was a great mini-vacation, one "last hurrah" before the little girl arrives. We knew about this trip since Christmas, so I still don't feel like I've started the new year yet. But I'm rested and I'm ready to hit things hard when we get back to town. We have a full day tomorrow: preaching for the last time out at Amelia and Echo tomorrow night, so I'd better be ready.

We're sitting in the airport now, an hour and a half before our flight leaves [By the way, props to McCarran Airport for free wi-fi. Cheap old CVG makes you pay]. We're on a three-hour time difference, so we'll have to get back in sync with Cincinnati time, but after the jet-lag we felt from our Israel trip, this should be a piece of cake.

Quoting the brilliant philosopher, "Mama, I'm coming home."