I've found several very cool things in my jaunt down south this past weekend to Blacskburg, VA. Among them, a bevy of shops and cafes on nearly every corner here downtown, a delightful walking/jogging trail (enhanced by the still-lingering colors of VA's fall foilage) to rival my beloved Lagoon Park back home, and — yes! — cheap gas. How does $1.99 a gallon sound when in the cold-hearted "North" we've been paying $2.99 or more in recent history?
But one of the coolest things I've found here was Sunday morning church hosted in, of all places, a restored movie theater downtown. That church would be NLCF, aka New Life Campus Fellowship. The campus in question would be Virginia Tech, home of the Hokies, who kicked some Clemson football butt last Thursday in the ACC, right before my eyes inside Lane Stadium. That was another cool experience— for a mere $10. The college students at the game loved everything loud, colorful, and invigorating, so it should come as no surprise NLCF works to create a similar atmosphere in their services, one where the students from campus will feel right at home.
That meant the rock-concert style music was near-deafening, as played by a kickin' band up on the stage of the Lyric, this adorably-restored 1930's era moviehouse on one of the side streets here in Blacksburg. That also meant the imagery and the references shared in the teaching of the jeans-clad pastor was appropriately of the moment. Hey, the current sermon series features a shot of the "Little Miss Sunshine" gang chasing that darn yellow VW bus with the title "Living the Good Life" over the movie still, so I do believe the phrase "culturally relevant" would apply. The whole thing was just wild, or wicked, depending on which phrase you'd prefer. (And that would be "wicked" as in the "wicked cool" sense of the word.) For all of that, the topic of discussion was the Lord's Prayer, or rather redeeming it from the pre-game high school sports mantra/when-in-doubt-religious plea/rote recitation "thing" it seems to have become. Interesting how the combo of music, deep theological discussion, moviehouse setting, and other quirky amenities all worked together. (For example, the offering, such as it was, was collected in oversize blue plastic bowls that I'll bet get used to serve chips later in the week.) Like I said, the whole thing worked. And the seats were comfy, even though they were missing modern cupholders to hold all the coffee students had brought in. Also interesting, the place was packed, even at 10:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning, when you'd think most college students would still be sleeping in. The Lyric is just a single screen theater, and I'd estimate, with the balcony included, it seats maybe 450? 500? Yeah, I'm terrible at math and worse at estimating crowds, but I'm telling you, the place was packed.
The whole thing got me thinking. Not only was I curious how a similar service might go over with the college/career crowd in Rochester, were such a thing held at, say, the Little, or maybe the Cinema, but I wondered if a moviehouse setting alone is what it takes to hold the attention of the college/career crowd these days. I mean, most of the churches I'm familiar with in the "North" seem essentially clueless about — and therefore devoid of — that particular demographic. Which doesn't make a bit of sense given how many colleges operate in the Greater Rochester region, and therefore how many students, continuing students and those who'd consider themselves still students in mind living and working nearby. But why is it that so many places (by which I mean churches) don't seem to know how to approach, let alone attract say, a twentysomething/thirtysomething, pro-environment, global-minded deep thinker who drinks chai, regularly volunteers with local non-profits, and considers an art show a spiritual experience?
According to its atypical "bulletin," upcoming events for NLCF include a giant tailgate party/ battle of the bands before the next big home football game; invitations to provide photographs, personal writings, sculptures, paintings or other art inspired by one of the "Blessed are the _________" verses in the Bible; and requests for donors to fill shoeboxes with Christmas gifts for underprivileged children in Third World countries, or to help collect items or raise funds to support the daily work of a mission in the Dominican Republic and/or special summer trips students may make there.
I have chai-drinking, globally-minded, deep-thinking friends I am confident would give their right arm to find any organization, let alone a church, that would get them and what they're all about that well.
Maybe this is a weird question to ask in what is akin to an electronic postcard, but ... Anybody else wish you were here?
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Baby can't buy this love
(With apologies for an unintended absence far longer than I had anticipated -- Drat! I hate being unable to access high-speed Internet when I'm away from home -- I'm diving back into the ReD Zone forthwith.)
In case any of you missed it a week or so back, the so-called "Runaway Bride" decided she needed more than her alloted 15 minutes of fame and snatched the spotlight again -- by up and suing her ex-fiance' for $500 grand. Seems she just couldn't leave the poor man alone, and let him extract what dignity he could from selling "their" story. (Hello, for the indignities he had to put up with, thanks to her shenanigans, I don't blame him at all for trying to extract something tangible from the relationship. And if that something tangible is green with dead Presidents on it, fine by me. I'm sure men everywhere will be lining up to read his memoir for all the 20/20 hindsight he can provide on what signs indicate it's time to hightail it outta there before the honey starts acting, ahem, out of whack.)
I do believe the poor girl has gotten the Phil Collins/Dixie Chicks number "You Can't Hurry Love" mixed up with "Can't Buy Me Love" as sung by the Beatles (and more recently, my man Michael Buble'). I do believe I feel a song coming on. With my apologies to all afore-mentioned musical artists, here's a sampling of what might have transpired - er, transgressed? - in this star-crossed "duet."
Him:
I need love, love to ease my mind ['cause my dear ex clearly personified the antithesis of that.]
I need to find, find someone to call mine [for starters, anyone who's not her will do.]
Her:
Mama said 'You can't hurry love, no you'll just have to wait. [In Vegas, or well, just about anyplace that's not the wedding chapel or reception hall. A good 5,000 miles or so should do it.]
She said 'Love don't come easy. It's a game of give and take.' [Yeah, he gives up the story to the press, I'll take $500 grand.]
Him:
Say you don't need no diamond ring, and I'll be satisfied. [Heck, you can even keep the one I gave you on bended knee, just please leave me be. ]
Tell me that you want those kinds of things that money just can't buy [like loyalty, or discretion, or well, why not start with good, old-fashioned SANITY?]
'Cause I don't care too much for money. Money can't buy me love. [But at this point, it might go a long way toward salvaging my wounded pride, thank you very much.]
Her:
She said "Trust, give it time, no matter how long it takes. Ya gotta wait!"
Him:
How many heartaches must I stand?
Before I find the love to let me live again? [Or at least live in peace, dignity and relative anonymity.]
Right now, the only thing that keeps me hanging on [is the thought of clearing my name],
When I feel my strength, yeah, it's almost gone -- I remember -- [When I'm making the talk show rounds promoting my book, Barbara Walters will be asking me her famous question: "Was that her cry for help?"]
Her:
"Just, give it time, no matter how your heart must break."
No love, love, don't come easy.
Him:
[You got that right.]
Her:
But I keep on waiting, anticipating
for that soft voice, to talk to me at night
For some tender arms to hold me tight
I keep on waiting, I keep on waiting
Him: [And you'll be waiting forever, as long as I have something to say about it.]
Her:
But it ain't easy. You know, it ain't easy.
Him: [Um, and whose fault would that be, now?]
Her:
Can't buy me love, love. [sniff]
Everybody tells me so.
Can't buy me love, love. No, no, no! [But I think if I could just have enough money to buy some shoes, and outfits, and a ticket back to Vegas, I might convince someone to ignore everything you're going to write in that book, and still manage to land a date somehow. I mean, I still intend to search for Mr. Right and all.]
Him:
How long must I wait? How much more can I take?
Before lonliness [wait a minute, change that to humiliation] will cause my heart, heart to break.
No, I can't bear to live my life alone [But on second thought, I can be alone for quite some time if it means being free from the likes of you.]
I grow impatient for a love to call my own [Dude, ditto.]
But when I feel, I feel I can't go on.
These precious words keep me hanging on: [Permanent restraining order.]
What's really ironic is that "You Can't Hurry Love" is on the soundtrack to the "Runaway Bride" movie featuring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.
You know, on second thought, if some irrational judge or court somewhere orders this poor man to hand over even a portion of his newfound riches to this deluded girl, it may turn out to be worth every penny.
Good luck, sir.
In case any of you missed it a week or so back, the so-called "Runaway Bride" decided she needed more than her alloted 15 minutes of fame and snatched the spotlight again -- by up and suing her ex-fiance' for $500 grand. Seems she just couldn't leave the poor man alone, and let him extract what dignity he could from selling "their" story. (Hello, for the indignities he had to put up with, thanks to her shenanigans, I don't blame him at all for trying to extract something tangible from the relationship. And if that something tangible is green with dead Presidents on it, fine by me. I'm sure men everywhere will be lining up to read his memoir for all the 20/20 hindsight he can provide on what signs indicate it's time to hightail it outta there before the honey starts acting, ahem, out of whack.)
I do believe the poor girl has gotten the Phil Collins/Dixie Chicks number "You Can't Hurry Love" mixed up with "Can't Buy Me Love" as sung by the Beatles (and more recently, my man Michael Buble'). I do believe I feel a song coming on. With my apologies to all afore-mentioned musical artists, here's a sampling of what might have transpired - er, transgressed? - in this star-crossed "duet."
Him:
I need love, love to ease my mind ['cause my dear ex clearly personified the antithesis of that.]
I need to find, find someone to call mine [for starters, anyone who's not her will do.]
Her:
Mama said 'You can't hurry love, no you'll just have to wait. [In Vegas, or well, just about anyplace that's not the wedding chapel or reception hall. A good 5,000 miles or so should do it.]
She said 'Love don't come easy. It's a game of give and take.' [Yeah, he gives up the story to the press, I'll take $500 grand.]
Him:
Say you don't need no diamond ring, and I'll be satisfied. [Heck, you can even keep the one I gave you on bended knee, just please leave me be. ]
Tell me that you want those kinds of things that money just can't buy [like loyalty, or discretion, or well, why not start with good, old-fashioned SANITY?]
'Cause I don't care too much for money. Money can't buy me love. [But at this point, it might go a long way toward salvaging my wounded pride, thank you very much.]
Her:
She said "Trust, give it time, no matter how long it takes. Ya gotta wait!"
Him:
How many heartaches must I stand?
Before I find the love to let me live again? [Or at least live in peace, dignity and relative anonymity.]
Right now, the only thing that keeps me hanging on [is the thought of clearing my name],
When I feel my strength, yeah, it's almost gone -- I remember -- [When I'm making the talk show rounds promoting my book, Barbara Walters will be asking me her famous question: "Was that her cry for help?"]
Her:
"Just, give it time, no matter how your heart must break."
No love, love, don't come easy.
Him:
[You got that right.]
Her:
But I keep on waiting, anticipating
for that soft voice, to talk to me at night
For some tender arms to hold me tight
I keep on waiting, I keep on waiting
Him: [And you'll be waiting forever, as long as I have something to say about it.]
Her:
But it ain't easy. You know, it ain't easy.
Him: [Um, and whose fault would that be, now?]
Her:
Can't buy me love, love. [sniff]
Everybody tells me so.
Can't buy me love, love. No, no, no! [But I think if I could just have enough money to buy some shoes, and outfits, and a ticket back to Vegas, I might convince someone to ignore everything you're going to write in that book, and still manage to land a date somehow. I mean, I still intend to search for Mr. Right and all.]
Him:
How long must I wait? How much more can I take?
Before lonliness [wait a minute, change that to humiliation] will cause my heart, heart to break.
No, I can't bear to live my life alone [But on second thought, I can be alone for quite some time if it means being free from the likes of you.]
I grow impatient for a love to call my own [Dude, ditto.]
But when I feel, I feel I can't go on.
These precious words keep me hanging on: [Permanent restraining order.]
What's really ironic is that "You Can't Hurry Love" is on the soundtrack to the "Runaway Bride" movie featuring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.
You know, on second thought, if some irrational judge or court somewhere orders this poor man to hand over even a portion of his newfound riches to this deluded girl, it may turn out to be worth every penny.
Good luck, sir.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Would Someone Please Explain ...
...why on EARTH some drivers (I'm certain that 99.44% of them are male) insist on squealing their wheels every time they drive down (or more likely, back up) the City Pier?
For starters, the Pier has a couple of speed bumps, so anything resembling speeding? Um, not a good idea. You want to race? Go to the County Fairgrounds most any Saturday night of the summer and get your fill there instead. Don't forget your wallet.
Beyond that, we have the actual length of the pier itself, which as piers go, is not all that long, so burning rubber and/or revving one's transmission is just pointless given one will be forced to slam on the brakes about 10 seconds or less later. After all, the Pier is, in effect, a dead-end street, even if it does have a teensy-weensy turn-around at one end.
Further, the city cops do make a habit of patrolling that area, especially late at night, so why risk a ticket?
Still further, actual people actually take walks along that pier, or stop to enjoy the view, and/or fish off the end of it, and with the maniacal way some of these idiots are driving, someone's going to get hurt. (And like the appalling way Murphy's Law seems to work, as in the case of alcohol-related driving accidents, it's probably not going to be the maniacal idiot driver that's hurt.)
And the biggest reason not to do it, fellas? Well, contrary to what you seem inclined to hold as "popular" opinion, you don't look (or sound) all macho doing it and we "chicks" remain thoroughly unimpressed, emphasis on thoroughly.
But please, go ahead. Attempt to explain to me why you feel compelled to squeal your wheels.
I could use a good laugh.
For starters, the Pier has a couple of speed bumps, so anything resembling speeding? Um, not a good idea. You want to race? Go to the County Fairgrounds most any Saturday night of the summer and get your fill there instead. Don't forget your wallet.
Beyond that, we have the actual length of the pier itself, which as piers go, is not all that long, so burning rubber and/or revving one's transmission is just pointless given one will be forced to slam on the brakes about 10 seconds or less later. After all, the Pier is, in effect, a dead-end street, even if it does have a teensy-weensy turn-around at one end.
Further, the city cops do make a habit of patrolling that area, especially late at night, so why risk a ticket?
Still further, actual people actually take walks along that pier, or stop to enjoy the view, and/or fish off the end of it, and with the maniacal way some of these idiots are driving, someone's going to get hurt. (And like the appalling way Murphy's Law seems to work, as in the case of alcohol-related driving accidents, it's probably not going to be the maniacal idiot driver that's hurt.)
And the biggest reason not to do it, fellas? Well, contrary to what you seem inclined to hold as "popular" opinion, you don't look (or sound) all macho doing it and we "chicks" remain thoroughly unimpressed, emphasis on thoroughly.
But please, go ahead. Attempt to explain to me why you feel compelled to squeal your wheels.
I could use a good laugh.
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