Interesting times

The first decade of the third millennium after Christ will soon come to an end and I do not know if it is due to my advancing years or that we just get bombarded with too much information but it seems like a lot has happened. If we were to step in to our Tardis (Dr Who fans unite) and go back ten years we would look on a very different time. Imagine a world without...Twitter, Facebook, Youtube even texting (let alone sexting). Now consider the time it takes to keep up with these new time tyrants and how they have entered the collective western subconscious in  a way that we would not even consider ten years ago.

Go back to near the beginning of the decade when there was the event that has shaped much of what passed in public life since then, the 9/11 attacks. They were not the most deadly, or widespread attacks on a nation, consider Serbia and Iraq's treatment, yet in some strange way the surreality of the nature of the attacks almost makes them play like an outlandish unimaginable action film in our minds, at least those of us who were not there, or in some way forever hurt by the attacks. We now close the decade with the almost unimaginable exploding underwear on Nigerians scenario. Almost hilariously surreal because no one but the foolish young man was hurt but it could have been awful and I fly Northwest through Amsterdam all the time, so it is close to home in so many ways.

So now to the great African nation of  Nigeria's list of things to work on, 411 scams, corruption as an art form, brutal shariah law in the North etc, we now have a true piece de resistance, young Nigerians wearing exploding underwear on airlines. Interesting times indeed. Thankfully though the decade that started with a bang mercifully did not end with a bang from two day old underwear on a Nigerian.

It is sad to think that it is the violently unimaginable that bookends the decade. Then again there is always Y2K to not think of and the countless generators, safe rooms, gun stores and can repositories that were assembled over that one. I am sure somewhere in this there is a message for all of us.

Maybe the decade actually started with a fizzle and ended with a sizzle....Hmmmm?

For 3xl the thought of hibernating for a few months or the next decade does seem mildly appealing. However when I woke up what would I find?

May you continue to live in interesting times friends.

Next?

Greetings fellow turkey tasters, stuffing scoffers, cranberry consumers. Let us all bid a hurried farewell to 2009. Whether it ends with a bang or a whimper it ends nevertheless and we all look forward to the next decade. To say the year ended inauspiciously would be an understatement worthy of someone from my fair isles. Yes we are still in the dead zone between Christmas and New Year, Kwanzaa suspended and Hanukkah held looking to a decade we hope will be more Gator, and less Lemon-ade.

So what now? New ideas, better plans, less loans? The possibilities are nothing like endless, but with all of this frugality, fear and pink slip petrification comes a sense of that special magic that every new year brings, that it will be different.

In the regions around Azerbaijan and Iran the new year festival of Novruz comes in the spring time and in commemoration of that time children build fires and jump over them. They trust that the old bad things will be burned away as they leap over the tongal and a new year will begin with them free and clear. For many despite foreclosures and credit crunches there arises in the breast of man a sense that things can change and will be better, and why not! 

So whatever 2009 did to you, take five minutes to linger in the luxury or melancholy of it and then turn your head to 2010 and shout out, Next!

Tweelight or other semi dark things...

Greetings shape keepers, blood keeping, plasma avoidant types, and others who do not suck!!!

3xl has just been subjected to a gratuitously non gorey two hours of duskness courtesy of every swooning tweens fantasy...Vampires that are nice-ish humanitarians and werewolves that are really protective not predatory moon howlers.

Yes you know what I am talking about, the latest celluloid manifestation of the mormon who should know better's work of fiction, New Moon or in Taylor Lautner's case, New Swoon. As if it was not bad enough to have to put up with everyone and his lycanthrope's fawnings about his tremendous six pack, washboard or whatever else we want to call the dear lad's tummy, I then had to watch the blessed film with my 4 passions. Yes it was too long, too much teenie angst and not enough action for a 3xl movie and all that pining stuff, groan. Get on with it, bite her, we know you are gonna!!!

I found myself rather like the "Whatevertheairy" mafia vampires, who looked on Belle with blank uncomprehending stares, unable to pierce her mind, as I often found myself staring uncomprehending at why I was still there after two hours, maybe it was contagious. The counterpoint of the intense, conflicted, urbane and artsy vampire with the outdoorsy, earthy wolf man really worked. It was a kind of Romeo and Juliet with some competition thrown in courtesy of "team one or the other" and all makes for a young girl's romantic fancy.

I realize that this has been a runaway success and I pondered a little at it and its rather dark greeny beige vampires and all too angry wolf men. The book's name is rather telling after all. Meyer has created a world that is neither dark nor light. It is twilight, the realm between darkness and light neither fish nor fowl, neither really vampire nor lycan. The rash of similar things recently on tv and in the movies where we have some really honest to goodness nasty examples of bloodsuckers and shape shifters and then like the Twilight version, those that are in control or just misunderstood has been an interesting phenomenon.

They are the nice vampire looking for acceptance, seeking to control their habits and curse, or they are the wolf man that justifies his brutality and bloodlust by adopting the guise of a guardian, that is unless you are too close and make them angry and then watch out and mind the face, as one hapless girlfriend found out.

Was this not ever though the ploy of the deceptive? Create a PC monster that can not be held accountable if it gets a little angry, but generally is fine. Is this not not the sanitized, I can live with this kiddie friendly version of every schlocker, gusher hacker movie that parents would never watch themselves let alone let their kids go to? Ah yes you got to hand it to Stephanie she hit the nail really near the head. Here is a horror movie without horror, a blood fest without much blood and we can all feel fine about watching that ....

But remember that a sanitized, cleaned up, airplane version of a bad movie is still a bad movie even with the bad language, blood and bodies taken out. It is just that much more justifiable to ourselves and our kids, and after all, not being seen for what you really are, is all part of living in the darkening, dusky world of twilight, zone or otherwise.

I guess that is why the Lord told us to walk in the light, since we ourselves are the fruit of the light and have no fear of being seen for what we really are...unlike some non people...

So here's to all us middle aged, laid back, submerged six pack toting, call it what it is, dads out here who have been made to watch the latest installment of Meyer's horror lite books. Lets keep calling our kids back into the light rather than allow them to become the next blood sucking promoter's prey in the twilight.

Uncomprehendingly yours 3XL.

Stikin it to Da Woman...

Greetings readers, 3xl here again with another rather skewed look at life and all things sacred, secular, mundane and maddening. Since Garrison Keillor took a week off his column, I thought that someone should step up and save the day. So here I am.

I was talking with passion one and some friends today and the subject of male facial hair came up. I am not an overly hirsute gentleman but I do have a bit of hair on the old visage and I have in recent days as part of a transition time decided to try something else with my beard and hair.

I have begun to grow them a little longer and in keeping with my bad boy biker and muso image I may shape or braid or do whatever with them, though I have as yet, not decided. The very mention of some of these options sent passion one in to paroxysms of defiant complaining and calls of no no, do not do it.

I wondered what all the fuss was about and then I realized. This hair thing, adornment, metrosexuality or whatever, was actually a sacred place of female domain, a shrine to their beauty and place of power and clearly this was a crossing over on my part into their turf and thrall. I realised that all this perming, moosing,gelling, curl up and dyeing was actually a point of independence for women. It was their way of expressing their independence from the over bearing unfeeling male dominance that they had long suffered under. They were not just adorning, they were sticking it to the man!!

That hundred dollars you would not let her spend on chifon drapes seemed to be an easy victory until ....boom ! She returns from her hair appointment with a multiple foil with straightening and up do, highlights, low lights and a few imbetween lights. That all in essence spells lights out on your deceptively easily won drape battle. What you kept off the wall ended up on her head and the wife carves another notch on her hairbrush.

I know what you are thinking, this guys had too many wheaties in his hyper-bole, but look, even her hairdresser is from Russia, so what do you expect from those revolutionary types but sedition, class struggle and extortionate hair dos.

So I found a way to take back that ground and declare my independence. I have stormed the beaches and taken the ramparts of their female hegemony and autocracy over hair and I am striking a blow for the Shawns and the Buzzes of life who have been so long repressed by the tyranny of women over their facial hair. Hands off my body you hair baronesess, you hirsute haridans.

It is coming out and there is nothing you can do about it. Finally those bristles can peek out of that closeted chin they have so long hidden in, without fear of the blade or the scissors. Show your bearded pride and curl twist and catch all the food you want. You are free at last.

Yes the hairy men of the world are not just messy lazy slobs who can not be bothered to shave and cut. We are freedom fighters struggling for our rights to male vanity and stickin it to the woman. Care to join us?

Hero or Narcissus hhmmm....

Dear Readers,
Today I have an unlikely hero's tale to share with you and some thoughts to go with it. If you were raised as I was, with tales of Robert Bruce and his tenacious spider, or Sir Winston with his "never never never give up" and countless other tales that basically end up with the moral "if you do not succeed, try try try again," then you will perhaps understand more of the little hero in my blog today.

Whilst sitting in my living room the other day, I heard a persistent tapping at the window. Now mind you, our living room window is ten feet off the ground so any tapping there is a cause for some alarm. There was however, no maniac on stilts seeking to gain entry but merely a young green finch who for some reason seemed very insistent that he was to be let in. I stood up and he flew away, but two minutes later he was back.

The next morning I got up and opened the blinds on the window and within two minutes there was a tapping at the window again, my little muse. This continued for three days and still does.

We tried to deduce what it was that so attracted the little fellow. There were some flowers, but they died and still he continued. We then considered it might be the shiny gold bowl in the bay window that was his bait, but that was moved and there was no abatement of the little muse's attentions. At one point another larger bird came and attacked him, and for a few minutes he was dissuaded but no sooner had the big bird gone than my green finch familiar was back again.

I pondered for a while on my own showing in the tenacity stakes, and about whether I was a quitter who.....quits, or a little green finch who can and does, despite the odds of breaking a five foot tall double glazed window with his little beak. I then was brought down to the ground by Passion number 2, who in her own inimitable way, broke the spell.

"Stupid bird keeps seeing himself in the window and wants to play!"

So this brave dogged obdurate display of 'stick to it ness' was no more than a stupid bird brained animal deceived by double glazing. As the old joke goes, don't be downcast, maybe your whole life will serve as a lesson to others!!!

He was Narcissus not Hero. A Muse who was a morality tale after all.

I wonder sometimes whether we know the difference between the two ourselves.

Faith or stubborn demanding of our will in spite of all that is contrary to sense.

Holding a vision firm that we have been entrusted with, or willfully refusing to understand that our need to succeed has become our vision and we did not know it.

Single-minded and focused, or blinkered and stubborn.

In the words of another faithful one, Lord grant me the wisdom to know the difference.

From 3 xl who usually runs away from his reflection, a happy musing to you all...

Old Faces Old Places

We are now in the dregs of the Daddy and Boop do Britain tour that was recently undertaken with passion 2. It was a time to celebrate a High School career successfully completed, a time to renew old acquaintances of the ne'er forgot variety, and a chance for passion 2 to revisit old friends and significant way markers in her yet uncompleted life.

Of course this is a time for 3 xl to revisit his old way markers also, those un-stoned Ebenezers of life. If I may I would like to typify this trip as like looking at the soup pot of life and remembering that you have to periodically stir up the good stuff from the bottom of the pot to achieve the full flavor of the soup, and truly understand and perhaps reveal the many elements that go in to making of a whole soup, or a life, as it were.

Of course there are always surprises and changes. Potatoes and carrots can get a little softer, squishier and grayer over the soups cooking time and we are not exempt from that process also. Of course some say we came from primordial soup or ooze but I prefer to look at life as a bit of an oozey' soup, some points proving to be more viscous than others, which seem to flow very quickly. The end result however tends to be far more tasty than when we started and there is nothing that ruins a soup than cooking too little or stirring too much. Life can be like that I fancy.

Some of the things thrown in at the beginning seem to take a lifetime to cook, and are just now starting to give their full flavor, and some things added hastily at the end will prove to be worthless in their contribution and were just added for that quick boost or garnish. If it takes time to cook it is worth the wait, never rush it.

Take note that the best soups have many things added from many places and it is the combination of the many that makes the one soup the most exquisite and tasty, and that the complexity of the ingredients, will in its time, produce the simple result of of one good tasty soup, or life.

Roots, shoots, vegetables spices and all...

Most importantly, remember that everything in that soup needs to be held and suspended by the water that causes each ingredient to interact. Life is no different and the living water that Jesus talked about is not just a good idea, it is the one thing that can not be left out, or our lives like our soup can end up a little dry, then brown, and in the end burned... That is the last thing I would want for anyone. So add those ingredients as you go, cook and give time for the flavor's life to emerge, but never forget, without the living water it will sooner or later burn.

If you are like passion 2, still learning what goes into a good soup, or like 3xl, remembering some of the things that made him as tasty as he is today... I wish you a fond and loving happy cooking from England.

Here we go again

The time has come and can no longer be delayed. Once again the annual assault on our stoic denial of feeling for our women comes around again. It is not that we do not love our women, it is just that to have to sit up and perform our duty does not always go well with us, okay me. Perfunctory is not where I live...

Valentines day seems to have noble faith roots. The thought of a man marrying believers against an unrighteous repressive edict, strikes one as a brave courageous valiant act. The question is how did we get from there to pajamas in a tin, a weekend in Vegas or some genetically modified chocolates?

I would not want there to be any hint here however, of me not loving Mrs 3xl. Far from it, she is my lifelong love and one for whom nothing is too much. Its just that when someone has to tell me to perform it feels like I am being molded in to a shape I do not want to go, or asked to fall in line with no other reason for it other than it is expected.

For 3xl a call to do the expected is never warmly received. Ever the quiet rebel, and against the flow 3xl would like to find other times and ways to honor his missus when he wanted to do it and in the way he wanted to. Now what does that say about me... who cares, I'm a rebel remember.

So in uncharacteristically short style I will write a poem for this auspicious non occasion and trust that after 23 years, Mrs 3xl knows me well enough to laugh at me rather than beat me up.

Throughout the ages some have gazed up to the sky for signs,
Some lovelorn souls have gone outside to ponder and opine,
While others struck by cupid's dart gaze on their love and sigh,
But now in modern practical days we send a valentine.

When I was young and gauche and sweet and found affection hard,
When girlish giggles and smiles and looks could silence a nascent bard,
When friends would nudge and wink at me, and point from places far
Then in those days I do confess, to purchasing a card.

But now when love has been displayed for many a wondrous year,
When the love of my life is constant, and my affection's focus clear,
Is it right for me with some disdain to stand and give a sneer,
Or is their space and no disgrace to pander once a year.

Roses are red violets are blue,
my love for you will always be true.

Happy Valentines day dear.

Fighting the good fight

Greetings Dear Readers,
it has been a few months since we last spoke and I have been remiss in my blogging. I have no excuse other than a busy life, some illness and the holiday melee, but that is over and I need to vent my literary spleen, drain the vein and get the writing chicken kicking, as they apparently say.

I had a conversation with a colleague recently and the subject of the fastest growing sport came up. If you have no idea of which sport I am referring to, it is Ultimate Fighting, cage fighting, freestyle martial arts etc...

Apparently those who do statistics have decided that it is the fastest growing sport. Of course this is like making the sensational revelation that 4 plus 8 equals 200% growth, and that makes it the fastest growing...whatever it is.

Certainly though it is a "sport" that has grown in popularity, but so if you ask the NFL is dog fighting.

The question was raised by my colleague regarding a Christian response to Ultimate Fighting, and that if Paul did not speak about gladiatorial brutality in his letters from Corinth, was it such an issue.

My personal Christian response to a crazed, snarling, muscle bound barbarian would be to run but many, even in the land of faith seem to have considered this fair game as a platform to share their faith, no doubt committing every opponent's bone they break, to the Lord for healing.
Experience though tell us that some have sanctioned promiscuity, breaking bricks with their heads and selling themselves as slaves to share the faith, and knowing this, helps us see that human ingenuity knows no bounds in supporting its actions.

Why would such a brutal and cruel sport that's sole purpose is to beat one other human being in to submission, even be considered conscionable, by a modern society let alone a Christian in modern society and why would some pastors name themselves amongst the roll of fans of this activity.

Perhaps we need to look to the nature of man in contemporary society for some of our answers. Mr Hunter Gatherer of old has had to develop other skills and seek other ways to display prowess in this modern jungle. The rush of testosterone comes infrequently now at sporting events or tax audits, but rarely as one is chasing or being chased by a large animal intent, on making you or evading you as a dinner option. The constant demands for peaceful coexistence through life and in the work place, at school, and on the street and the zero tolerance sanctions that enforce it, jar at a man's sense of expressing his physical power and in some senses brutality that lurks all too close to the surface, looking for a little outlet for aggression.

We talk about the mild mannered man who goes postal, the straw that broke the camel's back or the jilted quiet man who silently and brutally kills without warning. We strive to understand Columbine, Virginia Tec. and the like. He showed them... but what ? That he is a man who can not be messed with, left, spurned or abused, a man who can only inflict pain to show that he is a "real" man, thrashing like a man who feels his impotency, and powerlessness to succeed, and shows it all the more clearly as he acts out?

Film culture explores this phenomena and provides us with hundreds of vengeful quiet people who have a death wish...no, not theirs, or who only attack because someone else draws first blood. Of course, when payback time came, the result was rarely commensurate to the situation.

Films like Fight Club explore what is in the nature of man and his desire for empowerment, approval, validation and worship as the champion, the most brutal of them all. Yes this desire for all out fighting may actually come from the sense that they have lost what it is to be warrior and for many men even Christians that is a cry that needs to be heard and answered, an energy that needs to be channeled.

Books that seek to identify the place and power of men, Fathers, sages and kings within a Christian context and parameter are perhaps a quiet yearning for the same thing that is in the heart of the common man. Leadership is male... depending on your view of a leader, world inspired or not.

So what is the object of Ultimate Fighting and does our desire as Christians to watch it and fantasize about being able to last ten seconds with these guys come from some thing lacking in ourselves. Has our understanding of our faith become a little too meek and a little too mild. The training of bodies and the discipline required to be a fully functioning fighter is probably no more rigorous than what it would take to be a fully functioning disciple, it just seems that we do not believe that, or that our view of a disciple's life is one of restraint and passivity rather than storming the gates of hell and bringing life into the darkest and meanest parts of the Earth. We perhaps envy the wrong kind of glory and what it might mean for us to have it. 3G may be a phone system but it also speaks of the Gold the Gals and the Glory,3 pervasive and powerful elements in creating our meaningful validation context.

Our desire to conquer as men is very strong in us, but our desire to Father and stand in the face of the onslaught of the demonic host should be no less strong, and certainly no less dangerous than three rounds with the Brooklyn Bomber, the Punxatawny Panther and the Sacremento Smasher.

We do have a powerful brutal adversary.

We do have a task to do that will take no less commitment and cost no less in terms of our devotion and sacrifice to achieve, if we are to be fit to vanquish this foe and take back the captive from the warrior.

As Paul said, our enemy and our fight is not with flesh and blood, and our meekness is not passivity, it should be like that of a horse trained for riding and work, but no less strong or vital. If we want to fight we have no lack of opponents, but they do not usually come at us in cages with boxing gloves.

In the spirit world the gloves are always off, the rounds last a life time, and the stakes are eternally high.

That sounds a little more "Ultimate" to me... Ready, ding ding, round one!