You’re probably too nice, and you know it. You need to be more honest, and you know that too. What’s keeping you from it? Honesty isn’t that hard – err on the side of brutal honesty if you must. Analogy: better a bad Van Gogh than a good Van Gogh forgery.

That’s the problem. If you can be nice and honest at the same time, by all means do so. If you can’t, don’t. People will think less of you. It’s pretty much guaranteed that people will think less of you when you do something right. You’re not allowed to be a jerk, but you’re not allowed to be nice.

I’m sick of wimps and nice guys. Nice guys finish last. It’s true. Men weren’t made for Bridge and Canasta – they’re the stuff of legends and swords and building castles and designing skyscrapers and preaching fiery sermons.

If I see another nice guy or nice girl hiding behind their little wall of “niceness”, I’m going to gag. Come on, be honest. It’ll sting a little, but you need to stop the infection now – not when it’s too difficult to excise.

And, in an entirely different vein, please do remember to check out the Frapper Map and plunk yourself down on it somewhere.

dan (that was a very long href, wasn’t it?)

There’s something about people, as they say, and that something always seems to kick me in the back of the head when I’m not looking.

It’s motivation. Everyone has them. Generally, I think, people’s motivations are good. In Christian circles more than anywhere else. Mine certainly aren’t always good, but I like to judge other people – or try to – with a degree of love.

But you know what? Motivation is not the litmus test for the fitness of an idea. That’s like trying to tell something is a sheep because it has four legs.

When a person says “I meant well!” I usually like to ask why that should matter: once you’ve determined you have good motives you can just go ahead and never look back? No. Once you’ve determined you have pure motives or a reasonable faximile thereof, you come up with a good idea, a sound plan. In fact, in an entirely effective way, your motivations don’t really matter.

dan (the road to hell is paved with… well meaning people’s bones)

Everyone knows that money doesn’t buy happiness. If you’re a preacher and you’re trying to impress that point, every millionaire in your congregation will agree, it doesn’t. Probably every millionaire ever will agree, no matter how much money they have, or how much time they spend tending that money.

That’s because they understand the link between money and happiness is non-defined. But somehow at the same time we know it’s till there. There’s still some way that people go from wealth to happiness in their heads.

Personally, I think how a person gets there is a sign of the times they live in and what those times value. Money once could buy you a donkey or a camel, and though it can still buy you a camel, most people eschew livestock in favour of an automobile. Most. There are still people who insist on riding a camel in New York, but they’re like rebelious goth/punk kids at a conservative Presbyterian church.

Let me illustrate. What did people in strongly paternal societies value? Well, they’re built around family and male leadership and interdependance, and status at least as far as the story goes. In today’s society, most of our favorite buzzwords are about independance and free living and status.

So maybe people don’t think that their money can make them happy in so many words, but they most certainly used to think it would buy them status and help ensure their family was provided for and that they could exercise leadership in a greater extent and that due to their interdependance as a society, more people would have to rely on them. And in a sense, it can give them those things, just not very well. It’s like buying a car with pesos. It’s not going to get you very far, although maybe you like the Volkswagen Beetle. So the route to happiness is paved with gold, just, you need to get some other things first.

And as we know, money does not a happy family make, nor does it buy influence very well, and just because you have some cash doesn’t mean people actually like depending on you. But at least people were pushing for a lofty goal, or the form of a lofty goal.

We moderns and postmoderns have it a lot worse, because not only does money still not lead to happiness, but now our goals suck the monkey’s droppings too. So even if you do have the money, the dots don’t lead to happiness no matter how you slice them. Independance is a crappy idea, and free living is pretty darn boring after a while, and the status that you can get still doesn’t really mean anything unless it’s built on who you are. We’re screwed two ways. Isn’t that just fun?

dan (doesn’t advocate being poor for the heck of it, but geez, this whole wealth thing is pretty overhyped)

You know what the cool thing about love is? Nobody really knows what it is. If you ask the producers of The O.C., love involves a lot of fistfights and makeout, and ends up in your devorced wife sleeping with your daughter’s former boyfriend, the woman who then marries the father of your best female friend who’s married (though that didn’t stop you from trying to kiss her) to a Jewish guy, and whose sister you are now, and let us be oh-so-delicate here, you are “involved” with even though she’s an international playgirl turned stripper.

Yeah.

On the other hand a lot of people also seem to assume that love involves a lot of being nice to people. Speaking the truth “in love”. Bringing the gospel “in love”.

I’ll diverge for a second. I’m overweight. Not majorly, but enough that I notice it when I check myself out in the mirror. I’m working on it through diet and a more active lifestyle, and as of this very moment, I’m a pretty healthy and pretty happy guy.

That disclaimer aside, I’m going to tell you a story. I saw a woman – about fifty or sixty pounds overweight – exiting a pizza parlour carrying two large pizzas. Now, normally I wouldn’t think anything. It could be “treat day” or something. Maybe she’s bringing it home to her family because she worked a long day and didn’t want to cook.

But then, her daughter. Oh my, her daughter. Where the mother was a little overweight, the daughter who looked to be about 15 was massively and morbidly obese. The sort of obese that makes a person waddle. Now, don’t get me wrong, I see this sort of thing all the time. When I was in the States back in the day, we saw some truly massive people at some buffet-style restaurants. People that almost certainly are destined for massive kidney and heart failure. I usually don’t give these things a second thought.

That moment a few days ago, however, made me hot under the collar. Childhood and adolescent obesity is running rampant in our culture, most of which isn’t exactly a medical problem. It’s more of a get outside more and eat a few apples or something problem.

You know what? That mother is a bad mother. First of all, her child is obese. Maybe she feels like a hypocrite. Who knows. I’ll just speak for parents in general here and not just to that woman. If your children are obese for any reason other than a medical reason, you are a bad parent. You are allowing your child to hurt himself. Do you let him play with guns? Do you let him smoke? Do you let him drive monster trucks? Nope. Because all of those things have a clear social stigma attached to them when children are involved simply because they are bad thing for a child. And in the same line of reasoning, if you’re feeding your obese daughter pizza, you are contributing to the problem.

See, that’s the thing with blame. Your family is a covenant, okay? As a woman married to a man, you’re in a covenant with him. He’s in a covenant with you. Your covenant is also with your children, who you are responsible to rear in a manner that isn’t going to cause them to be removed from their house later in life by a crane, or jump off a bridge with lead in their pockets, or smoke six packs of cigarettes a day. And as long as they remain in covenant with you, their problems are your problems. That means if your son is looking at porn on the internet, it’s not just his problem, and he’s not the one who gets all the blame. It doesn’t work that way.

You don’t split blame up in portions and everyones gets a percentage based on culpability. In fact, there’s lots of blame to go around. If your daughter is morbidly obese, it’s not only 100% her fault, but also 100% your fault. In the same breath. Responsibility, punishment, and blame are funny like that, and when a child is at fault, the parent is also responsible.

What is love in that case? Is it love to coddle your daughter and let her gain weight because you feel guilty about your own or because you have a problem dealing with her issues? No, of course not! Your daughter clearly needs her ass whipped into shape – and I mean that in a non-literal and literal sense all at the same time. You don’t need to be cruel, but you do need to be firm. And there’s a difference. It’s also the difference the prescribes why spanking your child isn’t endangering his welfare or abusing him physically. Firmness, not cruelty. You’re trying to help your child, not hinder him.

See, when you say that you want to speak the truth “in love”, you’ve created a sort of false dichotomy where love and truth are these two opposites that need to be wrestled into a package of niceness, sort of like disguising cough medicine with something vaguely resembling the taste of over-ripe bananas. I’ve always like Buckley’s that way. It tastes horrible – it really does – but it works! So what would you rather have? The awful taste or the nagging cough? I for one, choose the medicine.

Look here – the truth is part of love, and separating love from the truth is just like drinking cough syrop that tastes fine but doesn’t do anything. It’s a placebo thing. There’s nothing wrong with being gentle, and there’s nothing wrong with being kind – these are, after all, fruits of the Spirit – but you simply cannot be an honest human being and always be loving in a kind and gentle way. Sometime love is tough, as much as tough love has fallen into a little bit of its own rut in our day.

I’ve often seen it described like this: the hardcore Bible-thumping wacko fundimentalists carry around clubs upon which they’ve written scripture verses, and when they find you they proceed to beat you into a pulp with them. The hardcore liberal modern and postmodernists carry around a metanarrative and the heart of Christ but really haven’t the foggiest clue what to do with it, and end up giving the homeless guy a stove and sending him on his way. Neither of these are right.

I think love is somewhere in the middle. And sometimes takes a little both tacks. It’s a malleable and adjustable thing and it works differently in different situations.

I have never publically rebuked someone for being fat or purposely treated them like inferiors for being so. But if an obese friend was in danger of ruining his health because he was eating a bag of chips for dinner in his dorm room, yeah, I’d feel compelled to say something.

I mean, that’s love, right?

Dan (Okay, I’ve ranted. Tell me what you think.)

I think the saddest lie we tell our children is also the most culture-pervasive one: “You can do whatever you put your mind to.” We all know it’s qualified by the physical universe – I still can’t stick my elbow in my ear no matter how hard I try – and that seems enough for most people. We here and now living in a land of opportunity and freedom have choices and everyone is equal and look at the rainbows and (again) the unicorns running around in the field.

It’s wishful thinking. The bareboned facts are that we don’t all start of equal, we all have different qualifications, and some of us really suck at what we want to do. If you start poor, sure, you can become rich – but rags to silk is the exception, not the rule. Many, many people are driven to succeed because of their living standards as children and adolescents, but few of them ever get anywhere. In fact, the reality of the situation is probably more an incremental increase from poverty to the median over generations.

And what’s the point of trying to be a tennis player if you’re skilled at the oboe and seem to be all left feet? Do you have something to prove, that you’re not pre-determined but, no, you’re a self-made man? How stupid is that? Can you imagine a person fighting against their natural abilities all their life to accomplish some dream, and then be celebrated for struggling against the odds? I can: our culture’s great athletic stories are men and women triumphing over outside factors to achieve some sort of dubious glory. Here we are, celebrating the human will. And it’s bullshit most of the time. What exactly is the shame in giving up and doing what you were made to?

I will never, ever tell my children that they can do whatever they put their mind to. I’m not going to sow false seeds of egalitarian hope in their little minds. Nope, the world is a harsh place, but enjoyable. You can do what you can do. You find out what you can do by trying to do it. If it doesn’t work, try again. If it still doesn’t work, try something else. If the girl keeps dumping you, let her go. If you can be a programmer, be an artist. If you can’t be an artist, be a chef. If you can’t be a chef, be a mother. If you can’t be a mother, be a lawyer. Rinse, repeat.

Dan (Doesn’t like lying to children.)

I’ve been thinking lately about a few thing. I know, I know, you all are either cringing or rejoicing, thinking I’m going to go off on some invective-laden rant about my circles, or people I know, or the government, which will all be very entertaining and invariably make me look like a narcissistic ass with a serious ego problem and possibly a martyr complex. Someone’s going to write me a nice anonymous note explaining how what I wrote is hurtful and possibly borderline inapropriate, at which time I’ll explain how anonymous notes carry all the weight of a snowflake in August (in the Sahara) and some anonymous note-writer will feel as if he or she were slighted when he or she – probably a he, because that’s the way those anonymous notes are composed, grammatically – could have just left a real name so I could interact like a real person with real cojones was on the other end of the keyboard.

See, there, you think I’m a narcissistic ass. But the problem with people leaving anonymous notes is that they either don’t understand the technology they’re using and do it by mistake, in which case they should probably actually read those cute little boxes with text on top of them – they’re not just to make the site prettier! – or stop reading blogs altogether because the concept of social interaction via the web is probably lost to them. The other class of people is probably the ones that would scream at the top of their lungs or at least nicely (and I’ll get to that later) suggest that it’s the internet and everyone can read it! In which case, it’s the internet, it’s not anonymous since you obviously know me well enough to make a point, so why not at least be consistant and leave your name? I’m really not going to track y’all down and pour acid on you while you’re sleeping. I won’t even egg your house – I promise!

That aside, I think my circles suffer from a problem involving people I know meddling in the government. Oooh, a trifecta! No, wait, I’m kidding around. See that? It was a joke. No subtext. I’m making fun of me – ridiculous, I know, but there you have it.

No, what I’ve been thinking is that society in general and Christian circles in particular are suffering from a condition called Nice Guy. You know, the kind of men who seem to think that their duty in life is to be as innofensive as possible, never to step on anyone’s toes, and wear a disarmingly and sickenenly bright smile all the time. These tend to be the same men – and I’m generalising here, so don’t take it too seriously – that will speak nicely to your face and go home and unload all of this on their wives and children, assuming they have them, which in my circles isn’t such a wild assumption. Alternately, they’ll go home and unload on their little invective-laden blogs, where they’ll come off like narcissistic asses with serious ego problems. I know this, ladies and gentlemen, not because I am psychic or so exceedingly wise that I can instantly analyze any problem and come up with a reasonable solution, but because I am that guy.

Yes, yes, I know, some of you who are reading my blog at one of your grown-up friends houses are saying, “But you’re possibly the most in-your-face don’t-care-what-people-think kind of guy I’ve ever met!” And you would, of course, be partly right. I’m not really here to defend myself: what’s the point? I’m not going to change your mind, no matter how wrong your ego might not want to admit you are.

But firstly, I’m not really that guy anymore. I think I caught a virus along the way somewhere and actually decided that the community is a tiny bit more important than my own little silly preferences, and though I’d like to dress in black and suffer heat stroke, and pierce my face with all sorts of pretty little dangly metal things, I don’t. Although I’m not sure I want to do any of those things anymore either. Which is sort of confusing for me, probably like it is for you. I don’t blame you – if I don’t understand me there’s not a chance in, um, purgatory (note that my invective involves a place that doesn’t actually exist, so no worries there) that you’re going to do it – and if that’s not bad enough, my sentence structure leaves as much to be desired as the foundation of that tower in Italy, you know, the one that leans over on its side sort of? Second, I never really challenge anything terribly important. Never really did. A few cute little customs and traditions, and a few droning organs that haunt my sleeping hours, but its not like I showed up at church with a “PORN STAR!” t-shirt, or claimed that Fred Durst was, in fact, the Apostle Paul re-incarnated. And, for crying out loud, I’m wearing a suit to church tomorrow, and I’ll sing at the top of my lungs while the organ chokes out screaming faux-trumpets from its electronic bellows. If something like an organ is that important to some of the older folk – note the term of endearment – well, by all means, don’t take their pretty toys away from them! It’s not that terribly important to me; I’m only a 24-year-old pup whose tastes tend more toward things like pianos and guitars. Let’s not raise a fuss about little things like what sort of music we play in church. And I mean that.

But all this talking about me has really gotten off the track about, well, talking about me. I used to be that guy: if I had had a wife and kids – and thank God I didn’t, because I certainly wasn’t ready for that arduous trek into adulthood – I probably would have sounded off to them about all those little surface things that bother me so much that it breaks fellowship with the all-important people that actually make up the church. You know, the church, that thing that’s about God and his people, not God and whether or not the pastor reads a form from the back of the Psalter Hymnal ™? And I most certainly was that guy who sounds off on his blog – I mean, these blogs, they’re a curse! Okay, I don’t believe that. They’re only a curse when used improperly, like sounding off about stuff that should remain between you and the people that it actually involves. Some darn stupid things made themselves onto the pages of my blog back in the day via my fingers, and since I’m not the perfect man and haven’t learned to bridle my tongue completely they probably still do. Of course, the solution to that isn’t to stop blogging – that’s like telling people that because we say stupid things that we should duct tape out mouths (however fun duct taping out mouths might, in fact, be).

But deep inside of me – and this is partly cultural, due the fact that our culture seems to frown on actual honesty and any offence whatsover, unless a feminist or an atheist is doing it, or even better, a feminist atheist man who’s had himself neutered – is this thing that wants to just get along, sing the Love Jive, and dance with unicorns under rainbows on a hill covered in swaying grass while holding hands with everyone. That part of me has got to go. I mean it. And if you took any sort of offence to this post up to this point because you didn’t actually want to engage the ideas and only want to look at the tone, that part of you probably has to go too. Not because we should all be nitpicking sarcastic losers constantly slapping eachother with flyswatters and pointing out those horrible eye-flecks of our imperfect neighbors, but because if anyone told you that love involves ignoring big problems, then you’re living in unicorn land. Have some Skittles, will you? Everything’s going to be just fine.

Like the elders of my church – they had a problem and they addressed it recently in a letter to the congregation. It was a good thing, because not only are they not hiding under rocks with machetes, ready to go all Antonio Banderas on the first bit of criticism to come their way, but also because they made right. It’s a manly sort of thing to do. It’s not, “Oops, look at the little peccadillo!” Rather, it’s owning up to something and taking resposibility, which is a huge part of leading the church as actual leaders who actually lead with actual leadership.

I had a friend who was tailgating some people the other day for no good reason whatsoever. You know, if my friend tailgates people like that, he could die. Cease to exist. Shiny wood box, lots of people crying, welcome to heaven young tailgating man. So what should I do? Should I say something? Why would I not? I don’t have to be a jerk about it. I don’t have to bang his head on the bumper of his car to get the point across that bumpers and heads do not mix at high speeds. And he could point out that I’ve tailgated people in the past (after all, as I’ve pointed out several times, I’m pretty much imperfect too), but why would he? Am I bringing this up because I’m an anal-retentive asshole who has to have the entire world just so> No, I’m concerned for his safety. Ignoring it, of course, would be nice thing to do, but I’m pretty sure that it would be dead wrong. Note my pun. It was a joke. Levity is a wonderful thing!

In fact, from my 24 year of experience, I’ve observed that the nice guys don’t give and can’t take. You know what? You want to be a man? Then don’t ignore what people say to you and pretend like they’re somehow wrong because you didn’t like the way their voice inflected when they reached the second sentence and that really offends the female side of you wants to go home and cry on your pillow. And I’m not insulting women here, you really do cry more than guys do, okay? What I’m not saying is that presentation isn’t important – part of loving people is not hitting them over the head with the truth. Be gentle. Just don’t be nice. That’s all I’m saying. Not giving and taking criticism when its needed isn’t nice; it’s incredibly selfish. Are you merely a bodily extension of your ego? No? How about your fear glands? No? How about your easily-pierced feelings? No? Good, then you have a head start of me, because I have an ego problem, I fear confrontation, and my feelings are easily injured. I am a basket case of psychological problems stemming from an incident with an extra slice of cake when I was child and the fact that I didn’t get to go skiing enough. Oh, Freud, how you’ve enlightened my childhood! Good for you! But seriously, I have this desire to be a nice guy. I don’t want to be a nice guy. I want to love people, not with a stick, but also not with a egomaniacal emotional sponge-bath that inevitably turns out to be a facade.

Enough of that. I think you get my point. It was a very long point, but I think well made with plenty of pleasant small-talk to bend your mind away from the fact that not only was I talking about me, but I was talking about you! And yes, I mean you you, not the other you.

The other thing I was thinking about is how people tend to get upset if someone things he’s right, especially when the corellary is that others are wrong. Now, this may seem incredibly controversial, but what’s wrong with being right? (Again, there’s something to be said for not being a jerk who’s always right.) And what’s wrong with thinking that I’m right? Let me ask you a question: how do I operate under the opposite assumption? Am I supposed to constantly second-guess myself in order to appear humble? I see absolutely no use in that. Everyone thinks they’re right. They have to – the other possibility leads to madness, or maybe to being a Nice Guy.

Now, I’m only 24. I’m not always right, but when I’ve come to a conclusion in my head about something, why should I doubt it? Here’s where you’ll probably say, “Oh, but how can you be the arbiter of what’s right and what’s not?” Well, how else? Do I form a committee and we take votes? Should I amass a collection of quotes from dead Christian leaders that I can reference every time I think about something?

Hah! You thought I’d say “No!” to both those things. Well, you’re wrong. I’m right. Ding!

I never come to a place of thinking I’m right about something just because I said in my head that I am. Nor am I schitzophrenic, so I’m pretty sure I’m right about that, too. There’s history, scripture, God, friends, Christian leaders, and even tradition to guide the way. History can be wrong, as can friends and Christian leaders (and for some reason, especially tradition). Scripture can’t be. Nor can God. I can, however, get my signals from God crossed and read scripture wrong. On the other hand, I’m surrounded by a whole group of people who have probably wrestled with similar problems and issued before, so I’m not the first bloke to take a shot at this. All that input is very valuable. And once I’ve made up my mind about something being right, you’re right. I am the final arbiter of what’s right, to me. I can’t function any other way. If I don’t truly believe something, I can’t function as if it were true. I trust how most of you can see how silly that would be. On the other hand, I’m quite open to you proving me wrong, as so many of you have done so many time. Or at least once. I forget.

Being right is not a sign of narcissism. It’s a sign of being right. It’s pretty simple. Being wrong and clinging to your idea is narcissism of the highest degree – also known in some circles as being a liberal. No, no, I jest.

Anyhow – that’s long enough. Feel free to disagree. But if you don’t leave your name, I warn you, I will treat your comments as if a monkey had randomly typed it out on a keyboard.

Dan (TOO MUCH TYPING!)

I don’t know what the Canadian equivalent of the RIAA is, but they’re a lobby group built from the detrius of humanity, just like the original RIAA. That being said, however, I would like to announce that I haven’t bought any music from an RIAA associated label in over a year. That’s right. Not a single not of music, not a poster, not a band t-shirt, not a soundtrack, nothing. I do not support the efforts of people who think, “What’s going on? We’ve sued the crap out of our customers and they still aren’t buying our products!” Not only are they evil, they’re stupid.

Here’s an easy way to figure out what you’re buying: RIAA Radar. Trust me, if you’re trying to ease up on the amount of money you spend on prefab crap, you might just want to do it here.

I don’t even listen to the radio anymore. Ever. The only time I’ve heard a radio station recently was when one of my friends turned it on in the car; I was amazed how little music they played and how annoying the radio personalities are! I’ve found more substance in the least of my ditzy aquaintances.

Dan (Indie music fan and free music searcher. Legal free music.)

I don’t really have a problem with swearing. I mean, not the kind of swearing when your hand on a Bible and take an oath: the kind that involves so-called “dirty words”. Now, I’m not a big fan of swearing myself – I don’t do it that often – but I really can’t take exception with people who do. Again, as usual, watch it around people with sensitive consciences.

But I didn’t come around here to advocate swearing your head off: I was just thinking about why people don’t want their kids to swear, why they watch their language around their kids. And the point isn’t that they have a sudden case of the conscience around their children. I think they instinctively realize a couple things that make sense when you think about them.

First, children imitate: you watch kids, and you’re seeing little microcosms of their parents. You want to find out what the parents think about things and say about them in their spare time? Ask the kids. Kids say the darndest things, but they also have no inhibitions when they say the damndest things, either.

Second, children are bad with things like “knowing when to stop”. Kids like to push buttons and eat candy and run across streets, and they’re not reknowned for their good judgement in these things for a reason. They’re just kids. Same with language of any sort. Kids don’t have any idea when and when not to say “damn”. In fact, they don’t really need it. Any kid that goes around saying “dammit”, knows what he’s saying, and means it is probably headed for a troubled future in a padded room somewhere.

I think parents understand this. Children are photocopiers on repeat. They imitate and do a good job, just not with quantity and judgement.

Dan (Not a parent. Just imagining if I were.)