the fear factor food challenge

I recall, many years ago, learning about a Filipino delicacy called balut. For those of you unfamiliar with balut, I will let Mikey Bustos explain:



For those who may not have watched the video, balut is a popular Filipino food, consisting of a boiled egg, usually a duck egg. Now, "boiled egg" doesn't sound so bad, but these particular eggs are fertilized. Yes, that means what you think it does:

Now, I have eaten disgusting international food before. Definitely the grossest thing I've ever tasted is durian, a fruit popular in Southeast Asia. The best way I can describe the flavor is that the initial taste is fairly pleasant fruity taste; a second or two later, however, your tongue is bombarded by an aftertaste that I might best describe as a mixture of strong garlic and onions gone rancid. It also lingers for hours - after I tasted durian (mind you, I took exactly one bite), I burped like eighteen hours later and the aftertaste of durian filled my mouth again. It's totally disgusting, although I've often been told that it's an acquired taste. I do not, however, believe I will ever bother to acquire it.

Thus, when I was working with predominantly Filipino churches in the Toronto area, the topic of balut came up a few times and I said I'd be willing to try it. I found myself at someone's home one Sunday afternoon and they had balut boiling on the stove, but unfortunately we had to leave before I had the chance to try it. Thus, I left Canada having never tried the infamous eggs.

Fast-forward about two and a half years, and I was the youth pastor at a predominantly Filipino church in the Los Angeles area. Once again, balut came up in a conversation, and I said I'd give it a shot. So, one Sunday after church, some of my friends brought out a couple of the eggs, along with a couple of cameras to film the experience.

I brought with me a bag full of peppermints. I learned my lesson from the durian experience, and I was prepared if the eggs tasted as nasty as they look. I was instructed on the proper eating technique:

- First, gently crack the egg open on the top.
- Second, drink the soupy liquid inside the egg.
- Third, eat the embryo and egg yellow inside.
- Finally, discard the hard white part at the bottom of the egg. (Some people say they eat this part, but my friends told me not to.)

I braced myself, cracked open the egg, and drank the soup. It wasn't half-bad - it tasted like regular, traditional Chinese broth. I figured this wasn't the hard part, though - I still had the baby duck, possibly complete with feathers, bones, and so on.

I took a deep breath, and bit into the meat of the egg.

It was delicious.

It tasted like duck, which shouldn't have been a surprise, since it is duck, but it sort of was. I gratefully consumed the rest of the balut, and then obliged one of my friends also trying the egg by helping him finish his, since he didn't care for it. My Filipino friends cheered and applauded - not only had I successfully consumed the infamous balut, but I actually enjoyed it. I don't think I even ate any of my mints. One of my Filipino friends posted this picture, along with a couple of others, on Facebook:

His caption: "my white friend eating BALUT!"

In conclusion, don't be afraid to try crazy foods. If thousands of people in some corner of the world enjoy it, it's probably not going to kill you. You may even like it.

a city in my own image

Perhaps my all-time favorite computer games series is the Sim games from Maxis. I love a wide variety of these games: SimAnt, SimFarm, SimTower... but the SimCity series always reigned supreme. In junior high, SimCity 2000 was the coolest computer game ever. There was something strangely addicting about building a booming metropolis. This love would later transfer to SimCity 3000; I'd be uncomfortable admitting how many hours I wasted on that game during my early college years.

As I think back on playing SimCity, though, it's intriguing to realize how the cities I created tended to be influenced by my experience growing up in the Houston area. It didn't even occur to me that most of the metropolises I constructed emulated my hometown. For example:

- My cities were almost always located on or near a coastline, with a river (or "bayou") running through. They almost always had large, almost oversized ports, and booming industrial sectors.

- My cities rarely had mountains or elevation changes of any kind.

- I always tried to cultivate large, towering skylines, and usually had more than one true "downtown" area in my towns.

- Usually a freeway loop would surround the city, with other freeways intersecting it like a spoke-and-wheel (much like I-45 and I-10).

- Museums were usually bunched in a district together, as were hospitals.

- I would sometimes strike my towns, early in their creation, with a tornado or a hurricane, and then see how the city recovered.

- I even discovered a glitch in SimCity 2000 that allowed you to plant trees on water - thus, my cities often ever had swamps and marshes!

- I struggled with the concept of public transit, and would often find myself going back through the mostly-completed city late in its history to force in rail and bus stops, to appease a squawking transportation advisor.

I short, I created cities as I understood them. Mountains, earthquakes, land-locked valleys, commuter trains, and so on were not part of how I witnessed cities function, so they had no part of my simulated cities.

As I visited and lived in more urban areas, I've seen the diverse ways they operate, from the high-rise dotted mountains of Hong Kong to the bustling madness of Cairo to the narrow, tight alleys and blocks of Boston. Kids growing up in those cities think that what they're experiencing is "normal." I've heard a group of Utah teenagers express shock at the thought of a California neighborhood where white people are in the minority, and I've heard a group of California teenagers scoff at the thought of a Utah neighborhood with a homogenous Anglo population. I've heard people in Toronto express despair at the thought of warm winters, and I've heard a college student in Kuala Lumpur distressed that the outside winter temperature could get colder than the air conditioning in a library.

I've expressed variations on this thought multiple times, and I'm sure I will again in the future, but it's amazing to think about how my little assumptions about what "normal life" looks like influence even tiny details in my lifestyle - even details like how I played a video game in junior high.

replacing the planks

Yesterday, I offered my thoughts on my Houston Astros switching leagues from back when the news was fresh. Today, I offer my reflections as of today, after over a year to digest the news.

At the end of the 2012 baseball season, Houston Chronicle sportswriter Zachary Levine posed an interesting questions concerning the Houston Astros of 2012-13: Are the Astros the ship of Theseus?

A quote from Levine's article, to explain the concept:

"At the intersection of shoddy history and fascinating philosophy, we find the King of Athens.

The ship once manned by Theseus was wearing down and so as a means of preservation, one by one, all the planks of the ship were replaced over a long period of time.

Once every part on the ship is replaced, to the point where no piece of material voyaged with Theseus, is it truly the Ship of Theseus? No single replacement would seem to alter the identity, but with no parts in common, is it a whole new ship?

Ladies and gentlemen, your 2012 Astros. In the last year, it is almost unfathomable how much change has come to the organization and how much will come when all is settled with the coaching staff and rebranding in the coming months. It’s all somewhat associated given the change at the top but can all feel distinct and jarring to a long-time follower."

If you read Levine's article, you will see that he comes to the conclusion that, ultimately, "The Ship of Theseus, in this case, is still the Ship of Theseus." While I understand his argument and I'm really, really tempted to agree - in fact, I'd go so far as to say I want to agree - I think I've ultimately come to the conclusion the American League Astros are, in fact, a different ship.

This is how I have made my peace with the Astros moving to the American League: They are no longer the same team. The Astros are dead; long live the Astros.

(Notice I say this is how I have made my peace with the league change, not that I am excited or looking forward to the league change. I am every bit as disappointed and angry about it as I was when I wrote my previous blog post over a year and a half ago. I think this ESPN article by Doug Williams captures the mood of the Astros fan base fairly well; I like how James Yasko puts it: "I think it's resignation... We kind of go back and forth between anger and acceptance.")

I first got this idea in my head when looking at the SportsLogos.net page about Astros logos through the years. At the top of the page, the breakdown of the evolution of the team looks like this:

There was something about the subtle nuance of clicking on a new link to bridge the gap between the Astros in the National League and the Astros starting this season that made the reality fall into place: all teams go through transition, but there is something fundamentally different about the Houston franchise starting this season.

Now, it seems like Jim Crane and company have been trying to stress the continuity of the team in many ways. The "new" logo is essentially an old logo reworked; the "new" mascot is the same mascot I grew up knowing. But I didn't feel like this when we went from blue and gold to red and pinstripes in 2000, not even with the switch to a new stadium (even though I wasn't happy about either change at that time - and still think that the 2000's uniforms were awful).

I think this season is the perfect of storm of ripping away our league history and having almost no recognizable faces wearing the uniform. Now, the second dynamic is a reality of sports fandom, and ultimately true fans roots for the name of the front of the jersey rather than the name on the back, to twist a cliché. But now I'm supposed to root for an almost entirely new cast of characters playing a foreign brand of baseball against teams I don't really know? This is a brand new ship sailing some rocky seas.

So, I cherish the memories of growing up rooting for my Astros, both in the Astrodome and Minute Maid Park. I remember fondly the cast of heroes gone by: Jeff Bagwell and Craig Biggio, Lance Berkman, Derek Bell, Brad Ausmus, Tony Eusebio, Shane Reynolds, Andy Pettitte, Adam Everett, Richard Hidalgo, and so on and so forth. I smile at the memory of the 2004 and 2005 seasons, and still find positives in the seasons of failure. 

I also have great expectations for our minor league guys - players like Carlos Correa, Delino DeShields, Jr., George Springer, and Jonathan Singleton - and eagerly await seeing who among them will be "the real deal." I have faith in the plan of Jeff Luhnow and the new front office, encouraged by the fact that the Astros have gone from one of the worst farm systems in baseball to one of the best in a few short seasons. I have real hope for the team's future, and that we may be legitimate contenders again sooner rather than later.

But now I have no affinity for either league, and honestly hope that one day Major League Baseball will turn to the same regional alignment system as basketball, hockey, or North American soccer. I lament that the one time the Astros I knew and loved reached a World Series, they were swept, and the National League iteration of the team never won a championship. While I dislike the Designated Hitter, I see as an inevitable reality for all teams.

And I'm throwing my lot in completely with these American League Astros, and expect one day I may harbor the same disdain for the Angels and the Rangers that I once (and still, really) harbor against the Cardinals and the Braves. And if these American League Astros win a World Series, I will be ecstatic beyond belief, feeling more sports-related happiness than I ever have in my life. But there will still be a piece of me that regrets that I never got to see my National League Astros reach the same height.

A ship sails on, but it's not the same ship. I'll still choose to be part of the crew.

national league pride

Spring Training and the World Baseball Classic are both in full swing, and baseball season is right around the corner. As always, I am excited, but there's a bit of heaviness to this new season, for now a long-promised and dreaded change is becoming reality: starting this season, my Houston Astros will be an American League franchise.

I came across a mostly completed yet unpublished blog post I composed when the league switch was rumored but not yet announced. I thought about scrapping it and updating it, but the words I wrote were like the screams of someone who's just been in a fight, while my resigned feelings now are those of someone who has been through the five stages of grief.

I decided I'd go ahead and make this a two-parter: today I will go ahead and post my musings from when the news was still fresh, and tomorrow (or sometime soon) I will post my reflections as of today. So, what follows in my thoughts of the Astros switching leagues as of 2011:

I've been an Astros fan all my life, but I really started following the team when I was in junior high. The first year I can remember checking the newspaper for scores everyday and keeping my radio constantly tuned to 740AM was 1998, which happened to be the first year the Astros played in a six team division. Arizona and Tampa Bay began play in the NL and AL respectively, and the Milwaukee Brewers shifted over to National League to even the leagues. I recall reading an article about how the Astros were going to play seven teams they never had that year: the Brewers, the Diamondbacks, and the five American League Central teams in newly-established interleague play.

Growing up as an Astros fan in the late 1990s, it was a good time to be a fan. The Bagwell-Biggio era was in full swing and the team was winning division titles like clockwork. But as a fan in the 90s, there was one team that was The Dark Side, the villains who deserved destruction more than anyone else:

The Atlanta Braves.

Houston made it to the playoffs in 1997, 1998, 1999, and 2001. Every year but 1998 they faced the Braves in the first round, and they won a grand total of one game against the Braves in those three series. Tom Glavine, Greg Maddux, John Smoltz... I hated them all.

But in 2004 and 2005, the Astros turned the tables and bested Atlanta, making it into the NL Championship Series. Both of those occasions Houston faced St. Louis, losing in 2004 and winning in 2005. But in '05, even though the Astros ultimately won, Albert Pujols caused one of the deepest wounds in Houston sports history with his Game 5 home run at Minute Maid Park. Personally, I think that if that home run hadn't happened, the Astros would've won the World Series (or at least not been swept).

So the two teams that I hated were the St. Louis Cardinals and the Atlanta Braves. (I actually hate the Chicago Cubs even more, but that's more due to their obnoxious fan base than anything on the field.)

I don't like the Texas Rangers, but they're pretty inconsequential to me. They've always been that team in the other league that people in north Texas like. Their success or failure doesn't move me very much.

Of course, my Houston Astros are now on the verge of having a precious piece of their identity stripped away from them. Effective 2013, the Astros will play American League baseball. That shift of the Brewers to the NL is now seen as a mistake, and the perceived solution is to have two American League teams in Texas.

I understand the logic behind the move. Really, I do: I get the arguments concerning fair scheduling and travel times. I even understand the Astros-Rangers rivalry argument, even though I disagree with it. But it's painfully, woefully unfair- nay, unjust.

I shall now offer my rebuttals for why this is an injustice to Astros fans:

1) THE "USING THE DH ISN'T A BIG DEAL" ARGUMENT

I'm also a fan of Houston's soccer team, the Houston Dynamo. (I know, I know, Major League Soccer is kind of a joke, but I'm into it. So sue me.) This season the Dynamo changed conferences, moving from the Western Conference to the Eastern Conference. I didn't even blink at that change. Why is that not a big deal, but this is?

Simple. Many leagues (the NBA, the NHL, etc) arrange their teams based solely on geography. Not so in MLB, and the reason goes back generations - the American League and the National League were rival leagues who merged. The World Series was a way of determining not only what team was best, but which league was superior - let's take Our Best Team against Your Best Team and see who wins. That heritage continues today, even with the league offices being abolished and interleague play happening in the regular season.

So now, we're supposed to just switch who we root for in the All Star Game? Our players will try to measure up to historic American League heroes in the statistics?

A lot of what I've read focuses on the issue of the Designated Hitter. Make no mistake - I hate the DH and I think it's fake baseball. But let's say a contingency of the switch was that starting in 2013 MLB will abolish the designated hitter rule. Even in this scenario, I still don't want my team to play American League baseball. It's a different culture altogether. I like being in the league with the longer history, the league without the Yankees and Red Sox grabbing all the headlines. I like watching the Dodgers, the Giants, the Cardinals, the Phillies - in some sense, these teams are family to my Astros. It's not so much that I dislike the Orioles or the Tigers or the Angels - I just don't care about them.

2) THE "NOW WE'LL HAVE A REGIONAL RIVALRY" ARGUMENT

If it's such a big deal that Rangers and Astros play in the same division, let's just dissolve the whole league arrangement altogether. One possible solution:

CALIFORNIA DIVISION: Anaheim, Oakland, Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego

WEST DIVISION: Houston, Arizona, Seattle, Texas, Colorado

LAKES DIVISION: Milwaukee, Chi. Cubs, Detroit, Minnesota, Chi. Sox

CENTRAL DIVISION: St. Louis, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Kansas City

NORTHEAST DIVISION: Toronto, NY Mets, Philadelphia, Boston, NY Yankees

SOUTHEAST DIVISION: Atlanta, Miami, Washington, Baltimore, Tampa Bay

This isn't perfect either - I've split up the Cardinals and Cubs, which breaks up a nice existing rivalry. I've also split the two Pennsylvania teams - OH WAIT THAT'S HOW IT IS NOW AND NOBODY CARES.

(Incidentally, the Pirates and Phillies are the exception that prove the rule. Originally, the Athletics were also based in Philadelphia, meaning there was a split AL/NL market in Philly. When the A's moved to Kansas City, neither of the remaining Pennsylvania teams switched leagues because that would've been ridiculous.)

In fact, one of the charming things about Major League Baseball in my opinion is that, aside from the Pirates and Phillies, you have a team from each league in the mixed markets, like yins to the yangs. The Dodgers have the Angels, the Giants have the Athletics, the Cardinals have the Royals, the Cubs have the White Sox, the Reds have the Indians, the Marlins have the Rays, the Nationals have the Orioles, the Mets have the Yankees... and the Astros have the Rangers.

It's kind of nice for those outside of the main markets, because they can, to some degree, have two teams - lots of Texans roots for both the Astros and the Rangers, a stance you can take when they play in separate leagues. And maybe this is just a pipe dream, but everybody in these split markets dreams of having a World Series featuring their two representatives. Only New York and the San Francisco Bay Area have experienced it in recent memory (though Chicago and St. Louis have as well), but lots of Texans dream of an All-Texas World Series. The two teams could never get their act coordinated enough to make it a realistic possibility. In 1998 and 1999 both teams made it to the playoffs, but both exited in the first round. The Rangers then went through years of futility while the Astros were perennial contenders, and lately the Texas is one of the best teams in the majors while Houston is mired in the bottom of the standings.

Now, barring the Astros making the most shocking turnaround in MLB history and the Rangers pulling off an AL three-peat, we'll just never know. [ED. NOTE, 2013: We'll just never know.]

3) THE "YOU'LL LEARN TO LOVE IT" ARGUMENT

This is probably the one that aggravates me the most. I've read multiple writers talking about how the Astros-Rangers rivalry just HAS to become a great rivalry (even though they already play each other every year). Rob Neyer makes the strange point that if the Astros and Rangers face in a pennant race, it'll breed a great competition.

Well, news flash: Let's say that in four or five years, the Astros and Mariners start running neck-and-neck in the division and knock each other out of the playoffs several years in a row. Guess what happens? We suddenly have a fiery, dynamic Seattle-Houston rivalry, and it has nothing to do with geography.

So there will be a generation of Houston baseball fans here in about a decade that knows nothing but American League baseball and loves it. That's probably true. There's a generation of Houston football fans that knows nothing but the Texans and loves that team; that doesn't erase the fact that many Houstonians still mourn the Oilers and snarl if you so much as mention Bud Adams's name. I hope Jim Crane gets booed off the field when he makes his first appearance as owner at Minuted Maid Park - not so much because he deserves it himself, but because I don't expect Bud Selig will be making an appearance anytime soon.

I'll admit, I'll probably learn to live with the Astros playing AL baseball. People in Montréal are learning to live without a baseball team at all. My wife's car recently broke down and we had to buy a new one, but I've learned to live with making those monthly car payments. If my left arm gets chopped off in a horrific accident, I'll probably learn how to live with that disability. WE CAN COPE WITH ANYTHING, PEOPLE.

4) THE "THIS HAS TO BE DONE NOW" ARGUMENT

So, apparently it's a pressing necessity that we have two wild card teams in each league now? And that makes it a pressing need that we move a team? When did this happen?

It literally feels like someone got this idea in his head overnight and never stopped talking about it until everybody else was onboard. Why do we need a second wild card team in each league? We have compelling, dramatic playoff series without it! We don't need another gimmick to ge people interested. That'd be like adding five more nominees to the "Best Picture" Oscar Category or something ridiculous like that.

Incidentally, let's do a little thought experiment. [2013 ED. NOTE: Remember, I wrote this before the sale of the Astros was complete.] Let's say Jim Crane and MLB can't get a deal done and the sale falls apart, and then Drayton McLane reconsiders and decides he wants to hold onto ownership of the team for the foreseeable future. The next team for sale is the LA Dodgers, another National League franchise. So, DO WE BELIEVE that MLB makes it a stipulation for the new buyer of the Dodgers that he or she MUST move the team the AL West in order to buy? After all, the Astros can slide to the NL West and we'll have six five team divisions, plus we have that nifty "natural rivalry" with the Angels now! IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE, RIGHT? SURELY MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL WOULD PUSH THAT THROUGH, RIGHT???

Sigh.

I'll conclude with the one quote I've read in any article that really made me spitting mad. Here it is, courtesy of Jon Paul Morosi of Fox Sports, who favors the switch:

"That the franchise effectively sold its NL identity for the sum of $70 million tells you something about how much it mattered in the first place."

No, Mr. Morosi, you're dead wrong. $70 million tells you how much MLB wants even leagues. $70 million tells you how much Drayton McLane wanted to move on and how much Jim Crane wanted to purchase a team.

$70 million does NOT tell you how much league identity means to the Houston fans. The Astros fan base did not put a nifty little price tag on fifty years of tradition. It was arm-wrestled away from us, and now we're stuck with it. Yeah, we can live with it - I'm an Astros fan before I'm a National League fan, and I'll follow my team to a new style of play. But it won't be the same, and it'll feel that much more hollow.

Thanks a lot, Bud. Hope the new alignment works out for ya. I'm going to go sit somewhere and reminisce about the Bagwell and Biggio days.

lunch with detroit

So I'm sitting in a café at the Paseo Colorado mall in Pasadena, California. I'm in front of my laptop, busily working on a paper.

A man walks into the café, obviously a transient. I have my headphones on, but I notice him start walking from table to table, asking different people for money or a meal. I turn up the volume and stay intently focused on the screen in front of me, hoping he might see me as busy and not bother me. No such luck - he comes over and motions for me to pull off my headphones. I reluctantly but politely oblige.

He begins, "Hey man, can you help me out? I-"

I cut him off with a dismissive wave of my hand. "Sorry man," I mumble, and I attempt to refocus on my computer without giving him another acknowledgment. I hope this will send him away, and after lingering for a second, he moves on.

A week or two passes, and I find myself working on papers at that café once again. This time I have theological books and copies of articles scattered about my table, and an open bible sitting next to my computer. The same transient man from before enters the café. He sees me and walks over, and notices my open bible.

Inwardly, my heart sinks. I know where this is headed.

The man asks if I'm a Christian, and I say yes. "Oh yeah, man, I believe in God, too!" he smiles. He asks what I'm working on, if I'm reading the bible, and so on. And, of course, he then asks, "Do you think you could help me out?"

I suppose I still could say no, but it doesn't feel right this time. I get up and we walk together to the counter, where he orders a personal pizza. We then sit back down at my booth and he tells me a bit about his life.

I ask him his name, and he replies, "My friends call me Detroit, because I'm from Detroit." He talks about a brother back in Michigan he hopes to see again sometime this year. He explains that he's in Los Angeles because he likes the warm weather, but he moves around pretty frequently.

He tells me about hanging out with his buddies over by the Pasadena City Hall. He explains that the building is a frequent destination for film crews, and one day a film crew ran all of the homeless guys away from the city hall building because they didn't want them in the shot. A few minutes later, however, the director decided that he liked the way the shot looked with the homeless guys, so they ask the men to come back and be in the scene.

The extras on set get paid. The homeless guys do not.

After visiting for almost an hour, Detroit leaves. I'm slightly annoyed that I didn't get as much done on my paper as I'd have liked, but I'm glad that I got to meet him. It's entirely possible he just scammed me and didn't really need me to buy him a meal, but I've learned more about transient life in my resident community in the past forty-five minutes than I have in the rest of my time here combined. I just wish it hadn't taken an open bible on my table to motivate me into sharing a meal with Detroit.

the best strong bad e-mail ever seen, done, or eaten

Once upon a time, the greatest website on the internet was a strange slice of the web called Homestar Runner. It was a cartoon series - an innovative idea at the time, independent of the influence and control of a television network or producer, just a couple of brothers and their friends bringing to life an odd cast of characters. The series has been on indefinite hiatus since the end of 2010, but its influence lingers on.

Unquestionably the most popular feature on the website was "Strong Bad E-mails," in which the titular character responds to fan mail with amusing results. There are over two hundred of these shorts, and they would often introduce characters and in-jokes that would snowball and continually pop up in various places around the website.

With a library this extensive, it might be difficult to pick a single favorite, but I can pick a greatest e-mail without hesitation: e-mail #126, "best thing."



The "best thing" e-mail is far and away my favorite because it lampoons such and oddly specific experience of childhood that, before I saw this short, I never realized I might share with others. Now, I knew the ubiquity of Saturday morning cartoons, and like many other kids, I would set my alarm for some early hour so I could soak in as much of the cartoony goodness as I could on the way day dedicated to such shows. I would eagerly wake up at 6:30, 6:00, maybe even 5:30 when feeling especially adventurous.

But the rarest treat of all was those days when I turned on the television in the wee morning hours and some new show was on - some exciting, unknown show that might never be shown again. I can immediately recall episodes of kids' shows I witnessed on fables morning and never found agin, despite any amount of channel surfing or frantic flipping through the newspaper looking for the TV guide.

I am also awre that this kind of experience is more or less lost to history. Now when I watch television shows, it is often on my computer days, if not weeks, after it aired. If I miss one of my favorite programs, I just shrug it off and figure that I'll look it up on Hulu later. It isn't going to vanish or disappear into history. If I flip through the channels and catch part of an unfamiliar show, I can look up actor names, character names, and/or plot point into Google and usually uncover the name of the program.

What Strong Bad points out is that the joy is in the rarity of the discovery. Maybe those obscure kids' shows were something like the media version of a shooting star: if you blink you miss it, but if you see it, you never forget.

the non-fiducial tooth and glue story

I learned a new word a couple of weeks ago, and it was a mighty good word, too.


The word was "fiduciary." The Merriam-Webster definition:
"noun: one that holds a fiduciary relation or acts in a fiduciary capacity"

...I love redundant definitions. Let's look at the adjective:
"adj.: of, relating to, or involving a confidence or trust: as
a: held or founded in trust or confidence
b : holding in trust
c : depending on public confidence for value or currency"

...and just for fun, let's look at the Learner's Dictionary definition:
"adj.: formal: relating to or involving trust (such as the trust between a customer and a professional)"


I actually like the learners' definition best. A financial adviser explained the term thusly: "I function as a fiduciary. This means that I am supposed to always advise you to take your best course of action, even if you have no interest in doing that. If I did not function as a fiduciary, I would only be obligated to advise you on a good course of action, even if I know that there could be consequences down the road or a better option exists."

I recognized the distinction instantly, because when I worked at a hardware store, we were trained to not be fiducial toward our customers. Now, I'm not saying that we were told to intentionally sell bad products or deceive people; after all, we were still supposed to help people solve their problems and finish their projects. But, for example, if someone came in wanting a cheap paint that would fall off the walls and had no interest in upgrading, we would still sell him or her that cheap paint, even though it would almost certainly start fading or peeling in a matter of months.

One of the worst examples of this was a man who came in looking for a specific type of adhesive. I took him over to the glue aisle, and asked, "What are you trying to put together."

He gruffly replied, "I need to glue enamel to enamel."

I paused. This was the first time I'd ever heard that request. I was prepared for any of a number of other projects: wood to metal, glass to metal, plastic to rubber, repairing ceramics, and so on. "Enamel to enamel" was a first.

"What exactly are you looking at repairing?" I followed up, trying to get a clearer picture.

He proceeded to pull a tooth out of his pocket. "I need to get this tooth set back in my mouth and I can't afford the dentist."

I hesitated.

I know you may shocked to read this, but there really isn't anything a hardware store sells that's particularly safe or effective at gluing teeth back together. The most fiducial thing to say in this situation: "We can't help you."

I actually did try to explain that to the man, but he wouldn't have it. He lamented that he had already been to the dentist twice and dropped hundred of dollars on a cap that didn't hold and so on and so on. He pointed to the various glues and asked how each would be, and had a reason each one wouldn't work. This wouldn't stop him from trying, though:

Me: "Well, that one's a two part epoxy, so you'd have to hold your tooth in your mouth for about fifteen minutes..."
Him: "I can't hold it that long! Are you crazy?!"
Me: "Well, that one's made for ceramics, but it won't hold..."
Him: "Are you sure? That's pretty much like enamel."
Me: "Well, that one's also going to have to set, and it takes about an hour..."

Finally, he asked, "What would you do if you were going to try this?" I gave my most fiducial answer at that point: "I wouldn't try to do this."

At the end, he bought some Gorilla Glue and said he'd give it a shot. If I was a fiduciary, I would've taken it back and told him to find a better dentist. Since I wasn't a fiduciary, however, I let him go, to try a experiment almost certainly destined to fail.


Arguably the most disheartening aspect of working in retail was that making a sale was almost always considered more important than doing what's best for the customer. Don't get me wrong: companies and stores prefer that their associates do both, but in the end, money talks. At what point does failing to share the whole truth become a lie?

on popes and timelines

I've been reading a lot about popes lately. I suppose many people have, seeing as one of the big news stories of late is the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI.

I am mostly unfamiliar with the Roman Catholic tradition, although I know a great deal more now than when I was growing up. When I was a child one of my best friends was raised in the Catholic church, and what I knew about Catholics was mostly gleaned from him, although he himself was not especially religious.

The more I read about popes, the history of the papacy, and the history of the Roman Catholic church in general, the dizzier I become. I learned that Pope Benedict XVI is the 265th officially recognized pope in the history of the church; there have been eleven popes that reigned for thirty-three days or less, the most recent being John Paul I in 1978; the pope is only considered to give infallible statements when he speaks ex cathedra, and the most recently this has happened was in 1950 with the definition of the Assumption of Mary; and so on. I've learned most of this through Wikipedia, so it's entirely possible that my education is skewed, if not outright flawed.

The most dizzying aspect of my attempts to learn about popes and Catholicism has been the sheer historical magnitude of it all. I mean, the United Methodist Church has only existed since 1968! You may think, "Well, that's nit-picky, the Methodist tradition goes way farther back than that." And you'd be right - the United Methodist Church was formed through the merger of the Methodist Church and Evangelical United Brethren Church, and if we trace it back to its roots, we might stretch things a bit and claim May 1738 as the genesis of the Methodist movement, when John Wesley have his "heart strangely warmed" at Aldersgate Street in London. But by May 1738, the pope was Clement XII, the 246th pontiff in church history. The institution of the papacy was already over a millenium-and-a-half old!

Being an American (and especially a Texan) I think I have a hard time grasping history. My wife and I visited New England last year, and history is counted in totally different terms. In Houston or Salt Lake City, something is old if you can trace it to the 1800's; in Boston, Providence, or Montréal, something is old if you can trace it to the 1600's; in Vatican City, something is old if you can trace it to the first millenium AD; when I visited Egypt in 2006, I saw old things that date to 2500 BC or so. For perspective on that, Jesus lived closer in history to us today than to the construction of the sphinx. (The way I've often seen this concept expressed online: Cleopatra lived closer to the moon landing than to the construction of the Great Pyramid of Giza.)

As I ponder these realities, I attempt to come up with some grand takeaway from my reflections. Truth be told, I'm not sure what to make of it. I guess I'm just reminded that I am a small thing in the course of history, but small people do add up over time.

a dialogue with john wesley on the subject of singing

Flipping through The United Methodist Hymnal yesterday, I came across a page at the front of the book that I had never read before. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that I had missed it, seeing as hymnals are rarely "read" like a typical book, so most of my using the book has been either finding particular songs while singing in a worship gathering or exploring and using the liturgies for communion, baptisms, and so on.

But I had missed a section amongst the first pages of the hymnal, penned by John Wesley, the father of Methodism himself, in 1761. The section is entitled, "DIRECTIONS FOR SINGING."


I thought it was pretty fantastic. Here's Wesley's seven instructions, with my responses:


"I. Learn these tunes before you learn any others; afterwards learn as many as you please."

This one amuses me, because it seems that within most churches, different people have their idea of what ought to be sung. This person thinks we need to use the hymnals and sing those songs that have stood the test of history; this person thinks we need to sing whatever's popular on Christian radio; this person thinks we need to sing praise choruses from the 1970's and 1980's. All of them would probably say, "Learn these tunes before you learn any others!" Personally, I think it's up to each church to decide.


"II. Sing them exactly as they are printed here, without altering or mending them at all; and if you have learned to sing them otherwise, unlearn it as soon as you can."

This is another one that made me crack a smirk as I read. With all due respect to Wesley, I'm actually pretty OK with changing up tunes and styles as long as everybody can still sing together. One of my pet peeves, though, is when the music leader, band, choir, etc. changes up the tune, but the congregation is still instructed to turn their hymn books to the page of the song. If you can't read music, it's no problem, but if you can, it's grating and dizzying.


"III. Sing all. See that you join with the congregation as frequently as you can. Let not a slight degree of weakness or weariness hinder you. If it is a cross to you, take it up, and you will find it a blessing."

I like this one. A conversation that seems to be popping up in my church frequently today is that of spiritual gifts and each person's individual role within the church body. I have been struck by two seemingly conflicting realities: first, God gives everyone gifts and passions to be used for his glory; second, God often calls us to work in our places of weakness to trust him. So, for one person, singing may be a spiritual gift and a place of strength, but as Wesley points out, for others it may be a cross to carry. The same is true for many other things: silent meditation, public prayer, evangelism, working toward social justice, and so on. Sometimes we are called to "find it a blessing" when doing something that is not our passion or strength.


"IV. Sing lustily and with a good courage. Beware of singing as if you were half dead, or half asleep; but lift up your voice with strength. Be no more afraid of your voice now, nor more ashamed of its being heard, than when you sung the songs of Satan."

You read it here, folks: John Wesley calls us to "sing lustily." Seriously, though, there's something profound about being "no more afraid of your voice now... than when you sung the songs of Satan." I think many people, particularly those who decide to follow Christ later in life, struggle with using their seemingly "secular" passions and gifts for the glory of God. If you have an amazing voice, sing loudly for God! If you are a bright and influential entrepreneur, use your skills for God! So on and so on...


"V. Sing modestly. Do not bawl, so as to be heard above or distinct from the rest of the congregation, that you may not destroy the harmony; but strive to unite your voices together, so as to make one clear melodious sound."

Of course, this is the necessary counterpoint to #4.  This is a truth for church life in general, though, I do believe: we should "not destroy the harmony." This remind me of what Paul says about being a body in 1st Corinthians.


"VI. Sing in time. Whatever time is sung be sure to keep with it. Do not run before nor stay behind it; but attend close to the leading voices, and move therewith as exactly as you can; and take care not to sing too slow. This drawling way naturally steals on all who are lazy; and it is high time to drive it out from us, and sing all our tunes just as quick as we did at first."

This one made me laugh, too. I've been in many a church worship gathering where the songs drug on... and on... and on... Apparently Wesley had, as well.


"VII. Above all sing spiritually. Have an eye to God in every word you sing. Aim at pleasing him more than yourself, or any other creature. In order to do this attend strictly to the sense of what you sing, and see that your heart is not carried away with the sound, but offered to God continually; so shall your singing be such as the Lord will approve here, and reward you when he cometh in the clouds of heaven."

Once again, Wesley writes something about singing that speaks to the grander reality of being part of the church. The ultimate aim and goal is always "pleasing [God] more than yourself, or any other creature."

the greatest castle ever built

Like many young boys, I loved Legos when I was a kid. Arguably the greatest childhood Christmas present I ever got was a couple of Lego pirate ships, which of course I promptly consolidated into one Ultra-Pirate Ship. I had sets from all the classic genres: pirates, space, knights, town, even the Aquanauts. One of my great joys was flipping through my Lego catalogue and finding sets and pieces to order that couldn't be found in stores.



Over time, of course, the individual sets merged together into several tubs and boxes full of bricks, minifigures, and so on. This created a magnificent Lego singularity bounded only by my young imagination. Eventually, this reached its creative zenith when I created a mega-castle using a variety of pieces.

The castle was mammoth by Lego standards, taking up the whole surface of a side-table that I claimed as my own and pulled into my room. This was to be the secret hideout for my cast of heroes, so the front of the castle consisted of large pieces resembling gray mountain sides. I then rooted through my brick collection and found every black or gray pieces I could to make the camouflaged walls of my castle. The grand throne room, however, had walls made of solid white pieces, to look more "royal."

I'm telling you, this creation of mine HAD IT ALL: an armory, barracks for the soliders, a bedroom for the king and queen, even a stable where the horses and dragon were kept. Of course, the bad guys had their hideout as well, but it was nowhere near as large and grandiose as the secret cavern castle. This didn't stop the frequent invasions from and battles with the villains, however. (In retrospect, for being a secret hideout, it was a pretty poorly kept secret if the bad guys were constantly finding it.)

I don't remember exactly how old I was when I built that grand castle, nor do I remember how long it stood. I do remember, however, at some point I literally looked at it, thought, "I'm getting too old for Legos now," and proceeded to dismantle the structure and put all of the boxes of bricks way in my closet, where they probably remain to this day.

I guess that's how growing up happens - you grow older piece by piece, mostly gradually and almost unnoticeably  but there are those occasional milestones where you have to say, "I've outgrown this now." I still remember the day, a few months after moving to Los Angeles, that I was getting dressed and thought, "I'm getting a bit old to just wear t-shirts all the time." That day I put on a button-up shirt instead, and that's basically what I wear to this day. Sometimes, you just make a decision to grow up and move on in a little way.

However, for that time in my life, that Lego castle was the pinnacle of my creative endeavors, and I may always remember fondly the adventures it provided.

dividing utah

I've been looking back through my old Xanga a fair bit lately, and was amused to find a post written about Utah almost four years before I visited the state for the first time. The subject of the post was a bill introduced to the Utah State Legislature, sponsored by Neal Hendrickson (D - West Valley City), that proposed splitting the state into two states, the dividing line between North Utah and South Utah being the modern boundary between Utah County and Juab, Sanpete, and Carbon Counties.

At the time, I thought the proposal was ridiculous. If you read my old post, you'll see that I make the argument that if Utah deserves to be split into two states, then larger, more diverse states like California or Texas should be split into seven or eight states each. Utah is surely not the only state with "varied interests" represented therein.

Living in Utah now, however, I appreciate the proposal a little bit more. Northern and southern Utah are very different animals, with major differences in weather patterns, geography, industry, and even culture. In particular, the Wasatch Front of Northern Utah is the most urbanized and diverse area of the state, while Dixie (yes, that's what locals call Southwestern Utah) is much warmer and closely tied culturally with Las Vegas and Northern Arizona.

In general, the way states relate out here in the Intermountain West is very different from the larger states where I have lived (Texas and California). Northern Utah bleeds into Idaho, Wyoming, and even Montana fairly seamlessly, while Southern Utah blends in with Nevada and Arizona. Utah also seems to hold a tenuous but symbiotic relationship with Colorado, competing for supremacy but sharing much in their joint resilience in the secluded Rocky Mountain region. It's also no big deal to go out and spend a weekend three or four states away, something rare in other parts of the United States where I have lived.

So, maybe Utah would be well-served by being split into two states. I still think it's kind of absurd.

tommy wiseau, creative genius

The greatest event I ever attended in Los Angeles happened on October 30, 2010, at a movie theatre in West Hollywood. It was a movie screening: the stars of the film were present, and hundreds of people gathered to watch the midnight showing of the movie.

This was not, however, a good movie. Quite the contrary, it was a movie so lacking in substance, style, and quality that it boggles the mind to think that it was created in sincerity by someone striving to make a work of art. If you are familiar with this movie, you’ve already jumped ahead of me: Tommy Wiseau’s 2003 magnum opus, The Room.

The Room has become a punchline for many a joke on the internet, and it’s best to just let the film speak for itself. (My apologies, some of these clips contain profanity.)



...I have no words.

The badness of the film has created a bit of a cultural monster, as it has grown into a cult phenomenon à la The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The movie is screened monthly at various theatres in Los Angeles, and across the country. The mother of them all, however, was the monthly screening in West Hollywood, with the movie shown on every screen at midnight after the last Saturday of the month, and Mr. Wiseau himself often attending, to the delight of irony-loving twenty-and-thirty-somethings everywhere.

The first time I went (and only time I went to a screening Mr. Wiseau himself attended) was the day before Halloween, so the crazies were out in force. Many people dress up for the event anyway, but the Halloween spirit pervaded and many people showed up dressed like their favorite characters from the film.

The screening of the film features a great deal of audience interaction: throwing spoons, yelling at characters, getting up and dancing, and so on. Perhaps even better than the film itself, though, was the Question and Answer session with Tommy Wiseau himself before the screening. My video from the night is below:


Now, my good friend Simon (who attended this screening with me) penned his own thoughts about The Room over a year ago, and you should give his post a read because it's more insightful than my own. But here's my reflection...

There's something inherently mean-spirited about a lot of internet-spawned humor. Behind the anonymity of a computer screen, we can laugh at a guy lip-synching in his bedroom or a kid pretending to be in a Star Wars lightsaber battle and feel okay about it because we never have to interact with the guy. Jokes about physical appearance, accent, race, and so on abound because there's no consequence like there probably would be in real face-to-face interaction.

What sets The Room apart (in my mind, anyway) is the sheer reckless abandon with which Mr. Wiseau has embraced the cult around his movie. Wiseau has defiantly defended his movie to critics time and time again; in his own words (and own style), he says, "The Room is a special place, a private place, my own place, and it's not a room but 'The Room' and I think that a lot of people will relate to it. The Room is a place where you live or invite your friends and you have a good time and a bad time." Not only has Mr. Wiseau accepted the insane fandom around his film, he encourages it and participates in it himself.

For that, I must say that Mr. Wiseau oddly sets an example worth emulating (in some regards) when it comes to being creative. Once you produce something and put it out there, people will do with it what they will. What you view as something intensely meaningful and profund may be received as ridiculous and poorly done.

But Mr. Wiseau triumphs over his critics by doing two things: 1) Maintaining his own belief in the quality of his work, and 2) Allowing his fans the freedom to mock it. May I have a similar mixture of pride and humility as I engage in my own creative endeavors.

a plea for an endangered species

"Like anyone who goes to the bookstore, I wasn't there to buy books. I do that on the internet at, like, 50% off and free shipping and no tax." - Mindy Lahiri, The Mindy Project, episode 1.2 ("Hiring and Firing")

A couple of weeks ago I learned that Cokesbury, the purveyor of books, curriculum, and other supplies for United Methodist, Presbyterian, and Episcopal churches will be closing all of its physical locations nationwide. This is a pretty staggering development for the centuries-old retailer, which is attempting to "make a greater investment in the ways of shopping with Cokesbury that customers increasingly prefer."

I was very sad when I heard the news about the Cokesbury stores closing, though at first it wasn't clear why. There are no Cokesbury stores in the state of Utah, so when I do order from the company I must do so online. Much like Mindy in the quote I cited at the beginning of this post, when I go to a bookstore I'm often scoping things out that I later plan to buy online at a cheaper price, or check out from the local library if they have it in their collection. Seemingly, I wasn't losing much by the physical outlets closing.

But there's just something special about walking through a bookstore, letting your eyes wander and occasionally flipping through the pages. Perusing link to link on Amazon just isn't quite the same; it feels somehow inauthentic. One of my great pleasures during my seminary years was occasionally moseying by the Fuller bookstore and looking through the books on the shelves. There was talk while I was a student that the bookstore might close down, but Cokesbury swept in and bought it, seemingly saving the bookstore from that fate; however, as far I know, Fuller's bookstore will be no more as of April 27th.

This isn't the first time I've lost a bookstore. Borders went the way of the dinosaur, leaving a significant gap in the commercial bookstore arena. I discovered a great bookstore near LAX as it was in the midst of a liquidation sale, meaning I got a lot of books for dirt cheap but the store vanished a few months after I found it.

I buy my books online, so I understand the Cokesbury decision and believe it's probably the most practical solution. However, I hope that even as media becomes increasingly digital, bookstores never completely die out. They may become a niche market, but nothing quite beats the feeling of exploring new literary opportunities by flipping through the pages of a physical text.

blog quizzes as a valid source of statistical analysis: probably a flawed approach

Back when I was in college and first began chronicling my life online, the big fad on Xanga was online quizzes. They varied in great abundance: What mythological creature are you? What Homestar Runner character would be your best friend? What shade of green matches the tone of your spectral aura? And so on and so forth...

One of the more intriguing quizzes I took was one examining your theological worldview. It was surprisingly thorough and academic, probably composed by some frustrated Calvinist in an attempt to expose heretics. (Wow, that was a rude thing for me to write. Sorry!)

Anyway, you can find my results from back in the day at this blog post, linked a second time for your convenience. But after I stumbled across this old post, I thought it would be interesting to take it again and see if, and how, my leanings have changed. So here's the results from taking the quiz yesterday: You Scored as Emergent/Postmodern You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this. Emergent/Postmodern 96% Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan 82% Roman Catholic 64% Neo orthodox 61% Classical Liberal 61% Modern Liberal 54% Charismatic/Pentecostal 36% Reformed Evangelical 21% Fundamentalist 0%

Let's examine the interesting trends. First of all, here's the comparison breakdown, from 2006 to 2013:

- Emergent - 89% to 96% - 7% increase
- Wesleyan - 82% to 82% - no change
- Neo Orthodox - 61% to 61% - no change
- Classical Liberal - 46% to 61% - 15% increase
- Roman Catholic - 36% to 64% - 28% increase
- Modern Liberal - 36% to 54% - 18% increase
- Charismatic - 36% to 36% - no change
- Reformed - 21% to 21% - no change
- Fundamentalist - 14% to 0% - 14% decrease

So, what does this mean? Well, here's a few thoughts:

- Overall, the order of things more or less stayed the same, with the one exception being the biggest surprise (for me) of the list: my apparent dramatic increase in Roman Catholic leanings, bumping it two places higher in the queue. I'm not really sure where this supposed Catholicizing of my views came from; I don't feel any "more Catholic" in my doctrine or practice. I'm not really sure what to say other than it surprised me.

- I also increased in both liberal categories; perhaps I've spent too much time in California? (...sarcasm.) I guess I have moved a bit left-of-center in my beliefs, but I'm still a bit surprised to see my numbers that high in both Classical and Modern categories.

- I still think "Emergent" is a bit of a false category, but then again, that's a really "Emergent" thing to write.

- ...and my fundamentalist score dropped to a solid zero. I'm honestly not surprised one bit, and I think the fact that every other category either stayed the same or grew is relevant here.

- Seeing as I'm now pastoring a United Methodist Church, the high Wesleyan score is definitely appropriate.


Well, there's my best attempt to quantify my theological worldview. I'm sure it will continue to evolve as I grow in my walk with Christ, but the categories and stances on the minor issues will always be beside the point.

my life with boba

Today, I would like to share with you the evolution of one of my great culinary loves: the wonder that is boba tea (otherwise known as bubble tea or pearl tea).

For those who may be uninitiated: boba tea originated in Taiwan and began to gain popularity in East Asia around the late-1990's (I think), soon crossing the Pacific and invading places with strong Asian influence. The "bobas," "bubbles," or "pearls" are little black balls of tapioca that sit at the bottom of a drink, usually either a milk tea or something like a fruit smoothie. You sip with an over-sized straw so the tapioca balls can come through, then chew and eat the bobas while you drink your beverage.

Thanks to my old Xanga, I can more or less pinpoint the exact date I tasted boba for the first time: June 22, 2004 (almost a decade ago!). I was a summer intern with the Baptist Student Ministries at the University of Texas in Arlington, working with international students on campus. One of the popular local haunts for the UTA student body (especially the East Asian internationals) was the Bethany Boba Tea Shop, which featured tasty Taiwanese cuisine and these then-novel drink creations. If you took the time to read my old blog post, you probably noticed my initial reaction to boba was fairly ambivalent - I didn't hate the stuff, but I wasn't particularly convinced that I liked it, either. Over time, though, I have come to call it one of my favorite drink genres. (Also, my commentary in the Xanga post about boba in East Asia being "their Starbucks" was a gross mischaracterization on my part. But then, I guess we're always learning.)

About half a year later I would find myself in Malaysia, studying abroad for a semester. While there, my love affair with boba continued to bloom, as the on-campus internet café featured boba drinks on their menu. It was there, in Southeast Asia, that I truly learned to love bubble tea, and the ambivalence I had initially displayed toward it finally faded away.

Upon my return to the United States and my final two years at Howard Payne, I had a few years of boba withdrawal. Shockingly, there isn't much of a market for boba in Brown County, Texas, and when I was home in the Houston area I never had much occasion or opportunity to look for it. Ironically, when I spent the summer of 2006 in China, and I don't recall drinking boba tea at any point while I was there. Maybe I just don't remember because it felt natural in that setting.

I moved to the Los Angeles area in 2007, and suddenly boba was much more readily accessible. When I went to the LA Public Library to study or check out books, I would always grab a boba tea from their café. When going to hang out with friends, a common destination would be a tea shop in Alhambra or San Gabriel that served the drinks. My wife would finally introduce me to one of my favorite boba shops of all time: cha for Tea in Long Beach. I began to take the drinks for granted.

Then, last July, we moved to Brigham City, Utah. Unsurprisingly  there's about as much of a market for bubble tea here as there was in Brownwood. What was a boba-lover to do??

Fast forward a couple months into our new residency in Utah, and one rainy evening we found ourselves moseying down 25th Street in Ogden, a larger city about 15-20 minutes south of where we live. When we got about two or three businesses from the end of the street, a storefront caught my eye:

That's right - the boba invasion had even reached Utah! We had happily discovered Ogden's Pearl Milk Tea Club. We went inside and I had my fill of the tapioca goodness.

Since then we've returned to Pearl many a time, almost weekly when we can make it. And not only have we discovered a place that makes wonderful boba drinks, we've discovered a place where the owner greeted us like old friends the first time we walked in, where we've found ourselves engrossed in a card game with a collection of people we don't know, where we're starting to recognize familiar faces on repeat trips and we're getting to know fellow pearl tea enthusiasts.

So not only has my love for boba tea found an outlet, but we've found a new slice of community as well. That sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

In conclusion: boba is awesome and you should try it. That is all.

lessons of a cold winter virgin

As I compose these words, the amount of snow outside is steadily shrinking. Highs have recently been tipping into the 40's, probably the first this area has seen of that since before Christmas, and the snow cover that has lingered since December is finally starting to dissipate. We can't get too comfortable, though, because current forecasts call for snow tomorrow morning and possibly again during the weekend.

When we moved out here to Northern Utah, my wife and I heard from numerous locals that last winter was very mild and the local reservoirs and streams were hurting because of the lack of snowmelt. This winter has been much colder, and there has been much more snow than last year. But it has been a dizzying transition for this native Houstonian who had previously only lived in one area where heavy snow was common (Toronto) and that was for but a brief summer stint of a few months.

This is the record of last month's weather in Brigham City. In particular, note the temperatures around January 13th and 14th...

I'm pretty sure the coldest outdoor temperature I'd ever felt before now was around 15º, give or take a few. Here, we went fifteen days without hitting a temperature that warm (not to mention two days where the high was 15º). That's crazy to me.

There's all sorts of other adjustments too, which never would have occurred me. Sure, I expected that I'd need to acquire new driving skills, learn to dress in layers, and so on. But here's a list of some things I have learned, also know as ANDY'S GUIDE FOR WARM-WEATHER TRANSPLANTS EXPERIENCING UTAH WINTERS FOR THE FIRST TIME!

- Icicles get impossibly large. I regularly see ones that are my height and taller. And then they break off and shatter like glass, and it's beautiful and scary at the same time.

- When snow sticks around for months after it falls, it becomes this weird, black, dirt-mud-permafrost mixture on the side of every road. I've seen this is minute amounts in Texas, but nothing this pronounced before.

- Regular windshield wiper fluid can and will freeze on your windshield. (Don't worry, I now have the sub-zero-friendly stuff.)

- Keeping your car clean is a daily dance. Do I go to the carwash if my car's just going to get covered in salt throughout the day of driving again? Is it so cold that if I wash it, the water will freeze all over my car as I leave the carwash? Is the build-up underneath my car going to start messing with my tires? So on and so forth...

- Copious amounts of ice can freeze over your heating system and shut it down. (Good news: I did not learn this lesson at home. Bad news: I did learn this lesson at my church's sanctuary... on a Sunday morning.)

- When shoveling your driveway, wait until the snow plows go by to do the bottom end of the driveway where it meets the road. They will throw about 3-4' of snow onto that portion of the driveway and it's no use shoveling that out twice in a row.

- UDOT is your friend. (Plus they have a really useful mobile site! Thanks, Department of Transportation!)

- Not everything about winter is terrible, though. The air here is incredibly dry, especially compared to the humidity of Houston, but even compared to Los Angeles, San Francisco, et cetera. 30º here feels about like 50º in Texas or coastal California. (So, -20º only feels like a humid 0º! It's still miserable.)


 I'm sure there's many more where this came from, but this is off the top of my head. All of these things are second-nature to native Utahns and others who've lived in cold-weather climates, but it's been like learning to speak a foreign language for me. Hopefully I'll be much winter-wiser next year. In the meantime, I'm hoping that groundhog was right as I count down the days until spring...

sick day

It's almost a cliché by now: The internet is where people to go to present the best possible version of themselves. Facebook, Twitter, even blogs like this one, are all representative of this phenomenon. Your life could be falling apart, you could be in the midst of a break-up or just lost your job or be struggling with depression - your photos and tweets and blog posts don't have to reveal anything except how successful you are, how happy you are, how strong you are, and so on.

Cartoonist and author Peter Steiner noted this reality in a New Yorker cartoon as early as 1993, back when the internet looked wildly different than it does today:

So I was sick as a dog (no pun intended) on Saturday. I couldn't keep any food or drink down, and spent most of the day in some sort of feverish daze. Good news, though, I felt good enough to preach the next day and feel much better today.

Through much of Saturday, however, I felt like I should pull myself together enough to write a blog post. Instead, I ended up breaking my Lenten fast a mere four days in.

The disturbing thought that occurred to me later, however, was that my chief motive in wanting to publish a post wasn't to be consistant in my fast. It was so that anybody reading these blog posts wouldn't notice that I skipped a post. If I had been doing some more private fast and needed to skip it because I was sick, I probably would've made my peace with that reality early on in the day.

I'd rather be seen as the guy who is spiritual enough that he'll power through a sick day and be ever-so-committed to following through on his promise to do a post a day for forty days. But if my intention is to be seen a certain way, I might as well quit the fast today. It's worth nothing.

Anyway, I hope that I won't miss any more days, but more than that, I hope my heart will be in the right place for the next month-plus of this. That's the whole point of Lent, anyway.

inter-national conflict

A couple of weekends ago, my church's leadership team spent a weekend doing a retreat at a mountain monastery to discuss our goals for the year and do some "visioning," especially since I am still, relatively speaking, a newbie pastor. As I prepared for the weekend, I found myself pondering how I could bring in some of my passion and training - cross-cultural studies - to be relevant to the conversation. And I found myself return to a model I had learned in my seminary days, and ended up presenting it to my team:

Joel Garreau's Nine Nations of North America

I have blogged about the nine nations before, back when I first learned about this concept in one of my classes at Fuller. The idea that the national distinctions between Canada, the USA, and Mexico are less culturally significant than the distinctions between Dixie, Ecotopia, New England, and so on seemed to unlock a door in my understanding of my own life. As noted in my Xanga post, I grew up in a "border land," heavily influenced by Dixie, the Breadbasket, and Mexamerica.

In the almost five years since I learned about this, I've returned to the nine nations idea time and time again. My wife strongly identifies with Ecotopia and spent a good chunk of her childhood in The Foundry, not to mention some family influence from Dixie and New England; some of the conflicts and adjustments in our relationship have been the result of our innate assumptions that we grew up with as products of different cultural influence. When I spent time in Canada in the summer of 2009, this model helped me explain myself to my Canadian friends who often asked what's different between living in the US and living in their country. (My answer: If you're comparing southern Ontario and New York state, probably not much; if you're comparing Ontario and either Texas or California, possibly a lot.)

But now, as I live in Utah (decidedly part of The Empty Quarter), I find myself applying this model to my life possibly more than ever before. It is not uncommon for the demographic breakdown at non-LDS churches in Utah to be something like 40-50% local ex-Mormons, 10-ish% locals who weren't raised Mormon, and 40-50% transplants from other parts of the country.

That sizable transplant population actually caught me by surprise somewhat when I moved here. These are often people who moved to find work, and often intend to stay for only a few years and then move home or somewhere else. Many of these who come out intending to move away end up inadvertently setting down roots, falling in love with the area, and making their peace and staying; however, there are also plenty of people who stay true to their plans and move on to their next job or retirement destination after two-to-ten years in the Beehive State.

But this also means, when we look at things through Garreau's lenses, that Utahn Protestant and Catholic churches are deceptively diverse! When you have a committee with a chair from New England and members from The Empty Quarter, Mexamerica, and The Breadbasket, the opportunity for miscommunication becomes magnified. The Breadbasket native may find the New Englander to be rude, while the New Englander becomes frustrated that The Breadbasket native won't speak up; meanwhile, the Mexamerican comes off as superficial and the native of The Empty Quarter is perceived as naïve, even if neither characterization is actually fair.

I'm not suggesting that all conflicts and difficulties in communicating can be reduced to "inter-national" difficulties, since personality types, faith backgrounds, life experiences, and so on clearly shape each person in great ways. I do think, though, that if churches like mine better understood the differences in regional cultures of North America, we could learn to be gracious and open with one another. After all, the church is supposed to be a cross-cultural, multi-lingual, multi-ethnic community spread out over geography and history; I believe this is an under-appreciated expression of that reality.

learning how to use a gift

I was a high school student, standing in the bridal dressing room near the narthex of the sanctuary, reading through my manuscript over and over again, barely able to read the words as the pages shook in my trembling hand.

I paced around the room in my blue suit, examining my reflection in the mirror every few minutes. I basically only had four types of occasions where I wore this suit:

- Debate tournaments
- Awards ceremonies
- Funerals
- Preaching at church

This time, I was wearing my suit for that final occasion. I had come back from a youth camp a couple of summers prior and announced to the congregation my call to ministry. I was preparing to attend a Baptist college and get my ministry degree, and my local congregation had licensed me for ministry, so my pastor tasked me with delivering the message one Sunday evening.

I had spoken at the church before, on Youth Sundays and after camps and things like that, but never as "the preacher." I was probably 17 years old, had meticulously worked on my sermon, and was scared out of my mind. So here I was, a good half hour before the worship service started, reading and re-reading the words I had written, praying to God that my terror wouldn't prevent me from delivering the word.


In my memory, I've been returning to that experience time and time again as of late, because now I am tasked with delivering the word from the pulpit once a week. Now, rather than having a month's notice and several weeks to meticulously read, write, edit, and practice, I have to come up with a new sermon every seven days, with rare exception.

And perhaps most astonishingly of all, I enjoy it and am often told I'm kind of good at it.


The topic of spiritual gifts has been a point of much conversation at my church in recent weeks. And I believe that God does give talents and abilities - "gifts," if you will - to everyone. But I think an assumption exists that if God gives you a gift, it's something you'll just naturally excel at doing. You won't have to practice, you won't ever do it poorly, you'll never wonder if you're good at it - you'll just be kind of awesome at it and everybody will know and that's that.

But as I compare myself ten years ago to myself now, I realize that, although I may claiming preaching and teaching as a spiritual gift I possess, it isn't something that always felt natural or something I never had to work at doing. I've often doubted my ability to craft a good sermon, especially on a consistant basis without much prep time. It's only because I've been forced to stretch myself in my new role as a pastor that I've learned that this is a God-given talent of mine.

This encourages me, because there are points in my life where I feel very un-gifted and uninspired, and yet I am in the position where I must try to work out of these points of weakness. And perhaps these are places where I have gifts that I have not yet explored or developed, or perhaps these are places where I'll always feel weak and that's basically why God uses me in those areas - as Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 9, God's power can be made perfect in my weakness.


I have no idea what my life will look like in ten years, but I'm hopeful that I'll be using abilities and talents I don't even have at this point. I guess I shall just have to wait and see... and that's the exciting part.