I just had lunch with Shane Wilson, recording and mix engineer for Derek Webb, David Crowder Band, Wes Cunningham and even me. He mixed my latest song, Kingdom Coming, and we met up today so he could hand off the master copies and buy me a burrito. Mmm, burritos.
I didn’t want to be a dork and take his picture so this one of Rick Rubin will have to do. It’s pretty dang close. Shane’s got a little more gray in his beard and his glasses aren’t quite so dark, but he’s got the same basic guy-who-lives-under-a-bridge-and-comes-out-only-to-make-rock-n-roll-and-eat-burritos vibe.
And what do a Rick Rubin lookalike engineer guy and a soft rock star talk about over burritos? The superiority of tape over digital? The ethics of beat doctoring and vocal tuning? The pros and cons of Van Halen’s three frontmen? The advantages of the wheat tortilla over the corn? Nope.
Kids.
We talked about our kids.
We.
Are.
So.
Un.
Cool.
Thanks for that reminder, Shane. And the burrito.
I wasn’t aware of it until yesterday but, apparently, all that ethical stuff in the bible, especially the parts about not lying about people and the need to accuse people of wrongdoing in private, well, those little rules don’t apply to bloggers. Did you know that? Me neither. But, apparently.
Yesterday, you see, I began my day by reading a blog post in which a Christian accused another Christian (not me, but someone close to me) of something terrible without any proof. And then - and this was quite amazing to read - his readers believed him. With no proof, just words.
But, here’s the thing. Wrong as I think this guy was, I’m not linking to him. I’m not telling you who he is. I’m keeping him safe from your criticism. And I sent him my phone number and asked him to use it. I truly hope he does. I’m optimistic that we can have a nice little adult chat about this whole thing. Perhaps I’ll even offer him a ticket to one of our upcoming Christmas concerts just for hearing me out. I think I’ll do that. Because I think that’s what Jesus would do. Even if He had a blog.
There was a marketing meeting about my face years ago. From it, a guy with an actual degree in marketing emerged and informed me that I was “unapproachable looking.”
“We know you’re approachable but you don’t look like it,” he explained. The solution was to dye my hair, shave my beard, use only pictures of me smiling a toothy smile and use Photoshop to blur my cheeks in order to create the illusion that I was much heavier than I actually was (am). Because, as any marketing major will tell you, skinny people are just plain scary to the general buying population. That’s covered in the second semester.
Today, I’m not called “unapproachable.” I don’t have friends with such robust vocabularies. Nope, today I’m mistaken as “serious” and even “angry.” “Are you angry?” someone will say. “You look angry.”
“Yes, I’m angry,” I say. “Very angry at this banana. And at this napkin. Napkins and bananas really tick me off. Quite angry.” Which is my subtle way of saying “Go away now.” And that, I guess, sort of makes me “unapproachable.”
Since so many experience such difficulty deciphering what it is I’m expressing with my face, I’m posting some visual aids that will assist you - the world - in identifying my mood at any given moment.
Here is my angry face:
Here are my other faces:
I hope that helps.
The timing of our trip to the Dominican Republic was unfortunate. Not because it coincided with an election you maybe have heard about. That’s no big deal. No, it was too dang close to Halloween, which meant my Halloween pictures couldn’t be shared here on my blog until now.
You see, a lot of first-time Shlog readers came around while I was in the Dominican Republic. I mean a lot. Like a few thousand people who’ve never come to these parts before. And, you see, the thing is, if those folks came here last week to read about our trip to the Dominican Republic and saw that just a few days before I was trick-or-treating with a bunch of guys in drag? Well, they might not have understood. But now?
Well, now, of course, they know me first as a guy who took a trip to the third world. It’s fine if they see the guys in drag now. Totally fine. It won’t be an issue I’m sure. It’s all about first impressions being lasting ones and blah blah blah…
So, anyway, here are some guys in drag.
Mind you, this wasn’t a coordinated effort on their part. Nobody called anybody else and said, “Hey, I think I’d like to dress up like a chick for Halloween, you wanna?” No, the frightening truth is these guys made the decision to don women’s clothing completely independent of one another. Completely. Frightening.
On the right there is Mr Wizard, hands down the smartest man I’ve ever known. You ask this guy what a brain freeze is and you’ll get a physics based answer, a biology based answer, and the entymology of the words “brain” and “freeze” and you’ll laugh a lot while you’re getting all that. The man is wicked smart. Yet he works for an American car manufacturer. He makes sure they’re obeying all OSHA laws or something, I’m not sure. But I know he’s got nothing to do with their inferior craftsmanship and diving stock prices. Also, because of him I do understand what the Hadron Collider is all about and I know how to make crystal meth. I haven’t, but I now know how. And that’s something.
The guy to the left of me (I’m the one not in drag) is Redneck Neighbor. He repairs fiber optic cables. He drives a truck filled with tools. He owns lots of camouflaged and brown clothing. He served in our nation’s armed forces. He practices archery in his front yard. He is almost always carrying a sidearm. He has a vehicle named “The Beast.” And he’s quite fetching in blue.
The guy on the far left? Well, that’s my brother-in-law Brian. His hand was uncontrollably drawn to Redneck Neighbor’s, er, water balloon. It should be noted at this point that Brian’s hand was not the only one that found it’s way to the water balloons but that his was the only grab caught on camera. Also, Brian’s actions do not in any way represent those of his employer, his friends, family or his nation...for the most part. I’ll let him explain why he wore an orange wig and a Geisha outfit. If he can.
I was a Native American man. Let me say that again. I, a musician and graduate of Baylor University (that was for you, Melanie) was a man for Halloween. And most other days as well.
And that cowgirl was hands down the most attractive woman I had my picture taken with all night.
Ladies, help me understand something, please.
You know those magazines in the check-out line at Kroger? They almost always have a famous woman on the cover, and then some sensational headline out beside it? These magazines tell us important life-changing stuff about celebrities, like how bad they look in a swimsuit, how unhappy their marriage is, what their addictions are, how much their purse costs, who their husband is sleeping with, etc. I mean, the kind of information you just can’t live without.
And then there are the blogs dedicated to this same kind of tripe too: Tearing down successful female celebrities, and even successful female bloggers. There’s now an entire genre of printed and on-line materials, an entire industry, built around bringing down high-profile females.
And here’s the kicker. Who’s the audience for this stuff? Who’s shelling out billions annually to read bad things about women? Is it their Male Oppressors? Nope. It’s women. Women - some very much against the objectification of and discrimination against their kind - lap this stuff up. Lap. It. Up.
Help me - a man - understand this stupidity.
Those without Perez Hilton in their feed reader and People Magazine beside the toilet may cast the first stone.
